Alfred supposed he had to admit that this turn of conversation was more welcome than further inquiries into Zelda, but it was a tired one all the same. He wasn't quite sure where Evander got off, since their own father had never been quite so disapproving of his career choice — but then, Barclay Darrow had been eaten by a dragon, so perhaps Evander didn't consider him the soundest judge of risk and reward. Really, though, it had been the only career path that had ever really appealed to Alfred, and the only one he'd ever been any good at — and, despite the rather disastrous turns that his career had taken, Alfred thought that he was good at it.

"I was 'gone' half the time before I left for the expedition, too," he pointed out. "It wasn't a problem until people thought I was a cannibal."

He was being a little aggressive, of course, but privately he knew Evander had at least half of a point. Prior to the Sycorax expedition, Alfred had been one of two dozen officers in the 'consulting Navy,' which was a built-in social network of people who had had similar global experiences and weren't particularly fussed about not being able to speak to someone for months at a time. Since the Navy had been dissolved following the disappearance of the Sycorax and her crew, he no longer had that. It was a different work dynamic, too, being an independent marine contractor instead of merely a cog in a much larger organization. Things were different all around, now, and not just because of the rumors that had surrounded his return — loathe as he would be to admit that to anyone, least of all Evander.

"What would I do, if I stayed?" he challenged. "I'm a sailor."