[ The use of his full name doesn't cow him, as it should. In fact, it just makes him smile a touch smugly. While she wraps her shawl over her shoulders, he waits beside the door with his weight on one leg. ]
You'll thank me for makin' a fuss once you're not gettin' blood everywhere.
[ The weather doesn't bother him, and he wonders if one of these days, he'll start to miss it. The warmth on his skin or the chill in the air – he doesn't feel much of anything, though he's aware of both, in much the same way one might be aware of a spider in the next room. It's there, of course, but its presence isn't an immediate concern.
He wears what he wore the day he died, though thankfully without the splashes of red or the accompanying holes. Despite the chill, his sleeves remain pushed up to the elbows, and every brush of cold wind goes largely unnoticed. He can smell it in the air, though, the shift of seasons, sees it in the leafless trees and in the way people shiver when he and Emma pass. (Faraday tries to step around anyone who approaches, much as he did in life. He can pass through folks, but he doesn't care to. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it's distinctly unpleasant. Feels like someone walking over his grave.)
Even with the sun tucked away behind the horizon, there are still some people wandering the town's streets, having their dinner with their friends in town rather than in their homes. Goody would probably say something poetic and solemn, were he here, something about war forging strong, unbreakable bonds. Faraday thinks they probably don't want to be alone with their memories. ]
That friend of yours, Teddy. Theodore. [ Light and teasing, in his usual fashion. No one immediately around them, for now. Faraday casts Emma a sidelong glance, as he tips his head toward the saloon. ] You know he keeps makin' eyes at you, right?
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You'll thank me for makin' a fuss once you're not gettin' blood everywhere.
[ The weather doesn't bother him, and he wonders if one of these days, he'll start to miss it. The warmth on his skin or the chill in the air – he doesn't feel much of anything, though he's aware of both, in much the same way one might be aware of a spider in the next room. It's there, of course, but its presence isn't an immediate concern.
He wears what he wore the day he died, though thankfully without the splashes of red or the accompanying holes. Despite the chill, his sleeves remain pushed up to the elbows, and every brush of cold wind goes largely unnoticed. He can smell it in the air, though, the shift of seasons, sees it in the leafless trees and in the way people shiver when he and Emma pass. (Faraday tries to step around anyone who approaches, much as he did in life. He can pass through folks, but he doesn't care to. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it's distinctly unpleasant. Feels like someone walking over his grave.)
Even with the sun tucked away behind the horizon, there are still some people wandering the town's streets, having their dinner with their friends in town rather than in their homes. Goody would probably say something poetic and solemn, were he here, something about war forging strong, unbreakable bonds. Faraday thinks they probably don't want to be alone with their memories. ]
That friend of yours, Teddy. Theodore. [ Light and teasing, in his usual fashion. No one immediately around them, for now. Faraday casts Emma a sidelong glance, as he tips his head toward the saloon. ] You know he keeps makin' eyes at you, right?