[ If Faraday were an honest man, he'd tell her exactly what he expected:
His passing would go unmarked. His body would go unmourned. His grave, whatever form that took, whether his body was piled into a ditch or left in the fields, would grow grass and thorny weeds until the freshly turned earth finally dried.
He expected to be forgotten. In life, that felt like a tragedy, but it also felt like what he deserved.
What he says aloud, though, is this: ]
Dunno what I thought.
[ But it figures, really, that she'd tend to their graves. Emma always did have a strong moral sense, from the little Faraday has seen, is perfect in righteousness, has a whole mess of other qualities that Faraday desperately lacked. Stubborn as a mule, but someone who sought fairness and decency in all things.
Little wonder she was the one to bring down a devil as prolific as Bartholomew Bogue.
He feels like he should offer some word of appreciation to her – for this, for everything – but Faraday is not the type of person for whom sincerity or gratitude comes easily. Feels odd, besides, to thank someone for tidying his grave, prettying it up, because he's starting to realize that these markers are for the living more than they're for the dead.
The dead don't give a shit, after all. On account of being dead.
But he may not see her again, and Emma has been nothing but decent to him, even when he tried his hardest to form a terrible impression in their first few days together. He really ought to return the favor, at long last. ]
... Listen. I— Before I go. If I— don't come back—
[ He takes a deep breath. (He doesn't need to breathe.) ]
Thank you, for what you've done. What you did, back when I...
[ He trails off with something of a grimace. ]
Anyway. I appreciate it. I do. Or, well— [ He fidgets a little where he sits. ] I did, I suppose, at the time. You've done me a better kindness than I ever warranted, so— thank you.
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His passing would go unmarked. His body would go unmourned. His grave, whatever form that took, whether his body was piled into a ditch or left in the fields, would grow grass and thorny weeds until the freshly turned earth finally dried.
He expected to be forgotten. In life, that felt like a tragedy, but it also felt like what he deserved.
What he says aloud, though, is this: ]
Dunno what I thought.
[ But it figures, really, that she'd tend to their graves. Emma always did have a strong moral sense, from the little Faraday has seen, is perfect in righteousness, has a whole mess of other qualities that Faraday desperately lacked. Stubborn as a mule, but someone who sought fairness and decency in all things.
Little wonder she was the one to bring down a devil as prolific as Bartholomew Bogue.
He feels like he should offer some word of appreciation to her – for this, for everything – but Faraday is not the type of person for whom sincerity or gratitude comes easily. Feels odd, besides, to thank someone for tidying his grave, prettying it up, because he's starting to realize that these markers are for the living more than they're for the dead.
The dead don't give a shit, after all. On account of being dead.
But he may not see her again, and Emma has been nothing but decent to him, even when he tried his hardest to form a terrible impression in their first few days together. He really ought to return the favor, at long last. ]
... Listen. I— Before I go. If I— don't come back—
[ He takes a deep breath. (He doesn't need to breathe.) ]
Thank you, for what you've done. What you did, back when I...
[ He trails off with something of a grimace. ]
Anyway. I appreciate it. I do. Or, well— [ He fidgets a little where he sits. ] I did, I suppose, at the time. You've done me a better kindness than I ever warranted, so— thank you.