[ emma is struck by how oddly easy it's been to adjust to having faraday around so regularly. it isn't constant, but since that sunday on the hill, she's seen him for some amount of time every day. surprising, is what it is, but also...less lonely. emma isn't necessarily reclusive, by any means, and she still interacts with the people of rose creek just fine, but, well, she otherwise lives by herself, widowed as she is — though she's made it perfectly clear to those that worry after her that she's more than capable of providing for her own needs. she isn't helpless, by any means, and never ought to be considered such.
she carries on, is what she does.
but she's not above admitting that the silence is often heavy and more than she's used to. in those times, she's come to be grateful for faraday's company and the lightness of his humor; it fills her empty hours more than anything else has, though she really doesn't much care for calling what he does "haunting." she feels like that goes on to imply some sort of malicious intent, and truly, the worst he's done is move something while she's just about to reach for it.
he's a pain, but he's not a ghoul of any kind, that's for sure.
the downside to having him around, trailing after her so often, is that she can't acknowledge him when she's around other people. she has to treat his presence with the most impassable face she can manage. she can't look like she's conversing with plain air, after all, so she's always stuck waiting until they're alone again.
however, there's also an unpredictability to his appearances. he comes and goes so frequently that emma can never figure when he'll be back again, and it's usually a surprise when he is.
like now, for instance.
she starts at the sound of his voice, in the otherwise silent house, and it's jarring enough that she yelps in the most undiginified way — and, inconvenience of inconveniences, but she just so happened to be preparing dinner, and her hand slips on the vegetables she'd been cutting, leaving a (fortunately shallow) slice on her finger.
turning to glare at him, she reaches for a nearby rag, pressing it to her hand. ]
no subject
she carries on, is what she does.
but she's not above admitting that the silence is often heavy and more than she's used to. in those times, she's come to be grateful for faraday's company and the lightness of his humor; it fills her empty hours more than anything else has, though she really doesn't much care for calling what he does "haunting." she feels like that goes on to imply some sort of malicious intent, and truly, the worst he's done is move something while she's just about to reach for it.
he's a pain, but he's not a ghoul of any kind, that's for sure.
the downside to having him around, trailing after her so often, is that she can't acknowledge him when she's around other people. she has to treat his presence with the most impassable face she can manage. she can't look like she's conversing with plain air, after all, so she's always stuck waiting until they're alone again.
however, there's also an unpredictability to his appearances. he comes and goes so frequently that emma can never figure when he'll be back again, and it's usually a surprise when he is.
like now, for instance.
she starts at the sound of his voice, in the otherwise silent house, and it's jarring enough that she yelps in the most undiginified way — and, inconvenience of inconveniences, but she just so happened to be preparing dinner, and her hand slips on the vegetables she'd been cutting, leaving a (fortunately shallow) slice on her finger.
turning to glare at him, she reaches for a nearby rag, pressing it to her hand. ]
Now that was perfectly uncalled for.