Oh, my hearin' is just fine. But I'm saying your boasts are awful broad, and you've got no way of provin' them — might as well be you're simply full of hot air.
[ there's nothing scathing in emma's tone (a marked difference between when she really means to summon up something hurtful), but rather the usual sort of playful challenge they often bandy between them. ]
[ He huffs out a laugh (and decides to not point out the fact that he’s full of no air at all, considering what he is). It’s an old, familiar argument, circling round and round Faraday’s over-inflated sense of self-importance and skill, and it eases away a little more of that ache that had settled in his chest as the week had progressed, as Emma had pulled further and further away.
Faraday had worried in more recent days that she would abandon him entirely. Leave him to his own devices to wander in silence through a town that barely remembers him; oh, they remember what he did, riding out to Bogue’s secret weapon and nearly blowing himself up to kingdom come to rid them of it, but they hardly seem to remember him. Not like Emma did.
(He’s not sure what he would’ve done, if she had withdrawn from him entirely, but he fears he would’ve gone mad from loneliness.)
Settling in again, he purses his lips, tries to think of the most tactful way of asking the question burning at the back of his mind. And that’s a wonder, that he’s even attempting tact, considering the type of man he is; the two of them have been on thin ice, the past several days, and Faraday can’t bring himself to risk it with a reckless word. ]
What’s the occasion? [ This, with a jerk of his chin toward the small table. ]
well, it was unlikely they'd manage to continue dancing around the cards and the whiskey for too long, and while it gives her a moment's pause, she's not quite so tense or uncomfortable as she'd been over the last week. she's tentative, like she doesn't know where to begin explaining herself, but she knows she ought to, at least in some manner or another. ]
I suppose you could call it a reconciliation, of sorts.
[ the words edge their way dangerously close to an apology, one she's not even sure how to make — isn't even sure what she's going to apologize to him for. ]
Edited (changes things forever i am the worst) 2016-11-17 20:07 (UTC)
[ This, repeated flatly. Not quite disbelieving, but only just. Faraday had assumed (and rightly so, in his mind) that he had been the one to create the rift between them. That he would need to be the one to work toward an apology – though he had no idea what he had done, no idea what he had said, that had caused Emma to pull away as she had.
And he’s relieved that things are slowly returning to normal, though he has no earthly clue as to why that is, either. The whole ordeal has left him confused and reeling, and even with these little overtures, Faraday has yet to find his footing. ]
[ and this is where emma feels...at a bit of a loss. how does she articulate that faraday hadn't rightly done a single thing? that she'd been far more spooked by her own reactions and the potential implications of how she'd responded to being so close to him? obnoxious and trying as faraday could so often be, this time, emma couldn't fairly say that he'd been the sole cause of her sudden separation — or, even if he was at the heart of the matter, it wasn't that he'd somehow wronged her.
with a small sigh, emma turns away from the counter and her nearly-finished meal, looking towards faraday with a touch of that usual determination in her expression. ]
Over my mistreatment of you this last while. I have been shuttin' you out over— [over what?]— something out of your own control, and that was wrong of me.
[ her lips press in a thin line, and she looks...uneasy — and at least this time, it's thanks to an ache in that pride of hers. admitting she'd been hurtful (even just through neglect rather than intentional unkindness) is still difficult for her, but she's actually trying now. ]
[ ... Well, it's something, at least, to have her acknowledge the space that had formed between them. But with the life Faraday had led, he's unused to being on the receiving end of an apology. For a few seconds, he stares and rocks a little onto his back foot. His expression is not unlike what one might wear after being handed some foreign tool and told to get to work, without having the first clue as to its function or purpose.
At length, he realizes he's been far too quiet – or at least that the conversation has lapsed into silence just a few beats longer than would be considered comfortable – and he clears his throat. ]
I...
[ He should probably accept the apology. Just to move things forward. ]
... I see.
[ ... that was not, in fact, the proper response, and he knows it. But despite all the tentative steps forward he's been taking, he presses on anyway. ]
So this whole time, with me thinkin' I'd made some kinda mistake, that I might've said some churlish thing, it's— it's nothin' to do with me?
[ That should be a relief, except it isn't. It was easier to think the blame was on him, considering how he typically acted and behaved. It's somehow worse, knowing that this past (hellish) week was due to no fault of his own.
He shoves up the brim of his hat to rub at his forehead, and he laughs a little bitterly. ]
Well. That's a comfort.
[ Said in a way that implies the exact opposite. ]
[ that silence stretches long enough that emma nearly isn't sure what to do — what she ought to say, if she'd gone and said the wrong thing on top of this, and, well.
seems she probably had.
(or maybe it's rather not that she'd said the wrong thing, but that this week of forcing space between them was itself...not the right choice.)
she shifts her weight, her fingers curling a touch nervously into the fabric of her skirt as she regards faraday, forcing her usual impassive expression into place. ]
I know it wasn't a kindly thing to do, punishin' you for— I suppose nothing at all. Nothing you had done on purpose.
[he certainly hadn't been in control of how she'd responded to him before, and...this last week had been an unfair reflection of how poorly she'd handled being presented with something she couldn't quite grasp. ]
That's why I'm tryin' to make up for it.
[ in some way. because she misses being them, and really, she's missed him far too much to just silently allow their friendship or connection or— whatever she had with this ghost of a man to let it all dissolve away. ]
[ He keeps telling himself, This should be fine. This should be a comfort, but Faraday is still reeling, still trying to think over the days leading up what had driven them apart. The mess with Teddy Q comes immediately to mind, when some ugly, bitter thing had tinted his vision red, but he had reined that in, hadn’t he? And even then, Emma has seen him far more bloodthirsty than that, when they entered the outskirts of Rose Creek together on that first day, after Sam and Goody had put their heads together to put together their plan. She had seen the way he grinned, the way his hands twitched toward his guns, even before he had dismounted Jack to get into position.
Faraday had wanted to punch that pretty peach fuzz off Teddy Q’s face, certainly, but that was nowhere near the same vehemence as that first day in town.
So what, then? Calling her bad luck, maybe. Poking too hard with his jokes. But he can’t recall crossing any lines, there, or at least any lines he hadn’t toed before. That brief, odd moment after they had spilled over onto the floor, maybe – though Faraday can’t recall any peculiarity there, aside from the odd flare of heat that had ignited behind his sternum—
“Nothing you had done on purpose.”
He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in place. Maybe she had seen it in his eyes. Maybe he had tipped his hand. Maybe she had seen his confusion, had seen something in his face to signal the pang of loss he felt as she pulled away. Faraday settles the hat back onto his head, gaze flitting away to look at anything but Emma. ]
Makin’ up for it with grog and cards? [ Faraday forces a smile, though his heart isn’t exactly in it. ] You sure you wanna encourage these sinful habits of mine?
[ oh, but emma's too sharp to miss the way he doesn't look at her, that strain in his smile, and that makes this ache more than it already did. part of her just wants to try to tell him, at least find some way of explaining where exactly her mind has been this past week, why she's been so shaken, but that would involve showing far more of herself than she's sure would be...safe. she trusts faraday in so many ways, but the potential to share something she's not even sure of is frightening — like walking forward in pitch dark with no earthly idea if she's nearing a cliff.
she can't quite manage a proper smile, not with the tension still holding in her shoulders. ]
Considerin' there are few other habits I could be encouraging, these seemed like they might at least ingratiate me a touch.
[ she gives a small shrug. ]
Besides, with the cards, I reckon there may be little protesting I can do without riskin' something hypocritical.
[ she's obviously not using the tricks faraday's taught her to cheat anyone out of their money, but, well, given the man's state of existence now, neither is he.
she hesitates, her own eyes finally glancing away from faraday, like she can't quite continue to look at him while she speaks. ]
...I just want things the way they were again. I don't much care for this distance.
[ That quiet little admission at the end feels like a blow to the gut, and he winces a little with it. But it hadn’t been his fault, had it? Not really. Or at least, not in any way that she seems liable to share, considering she has yet to explain what, exactly, had transpired to drive this rift between them.
He supposes the truly painful part is that this friendship of theirs stood on much shakier legs than he had thought, if she could shut him out for reasons he could hardly understand. It makes something tighten in his chest, something barbed and cold, though he hardly understands it, hardly has a name for it.
But Faraday would be lying if he wasn’t a dupe to his own whims, though death had seemed to even out some of the more dangerous inclinations of his. In life, he was just as likely to make friends of foes and vice versa, so he supposes he can’t fault Emma too much for this sudden turn. Childish part of him certainly wants to, though.
At length, he lets out a breath (a habit, an echo of his mannerisms in life), and forces his gaze to flit up to her. Evidently he can’t sustain it, though, and he looks away just as quickly. ]
This likely to happen again? [ Quietly, with a bit of annoyance (of hurt, though less of that) threading through his voice, even as he tries to subdue it. ]
[ emma wants to say it won't happen again. she wants to say she won't find herself frightened and overwhelmed by whatever she's realized she...feels? but, no, that's what matters: even if she gets spooked, even if she's startled by whatever odd ache is in her chest, she's not going to force him away from her.
he doesn't deserve that, and preserving whatever friendship and closeness they've cultivated means the world to her. ]
No. It won't.
[ she wants to be sure in that. she wants to believe she's not going to put up another wall and force him away, because where she's managed to find herself with him, with this strange coexistence and companionship, is what she knows she's wanting now. she aches for matthew, misses her husband something fierce, but there are days when she forgets the emptiness, for the span of a few warm laughs and well-meaning smiles, and being there with faraday makes it all worth the strange, unearthly haunting she's settled into. she doesn't forget (never forgets), but she feels stitched together again with faraday at her side. ]
[ He mulls over her answer for a few seconds, even knowing that he'll ultimately accept the apology. Because he wants to, if only so they can move beyond this unpleasantness and return to something approaching normal.
(As normal as a ghost haunting a widow can be, at any rate.) ]
And are you likely to tell me what it was that got you so incensed?
[ This, asked with the resigned air of someone who already knows the answer.
[ emma hesitates, opening her mouth to respond, before she stops short. she's reconsidering herself, but she's gripped by the anxiety that accompanies her own realizations, that testing these waters would risk the tenuous reconciliation they're crossing. ]
...I wasn't "incensed."
[ is what she settles on instead. she hadn't been angry, hadn't even been upset at him.
moreso confused by herself. ]
Do you really need to hear it? Or can't well enough be left alone?
[ For a moment, he observes her, drinking in the details. Trying to find her tells. Uncertainty in her eyes, hesitation halting her words. Hands twisting into her skirts. Nerves, then, he decides. A bit of unease.
Faraday wasn't in the habit of going after folks' secrets. Curious as he was, he preferred to keep his nose out of other people's troubles. Kept him from having to involve himself any further than necessary.
In this case, it seems to be more of the latter; if she had really wanted his help in the first place, she would have said as much – though part of him thinks even that prospect was unliekly, proud as she is. She would lay her life down for others, but the second she needed something for herself? All bets were off.
Reluctantly, he shakes his head, hands up in an unthreatening gesture. ]
I'm not in the habit of stickin' my nose where it ain't wanted.
[ a bit of that unease slides from emma's shoulders, and she gives a small, appreciative nod. ]
Then I reckon it would be best to let it lie.
[ she's not ready to unpackage this for him, to risk the peace they've found — even if they'll need the time to reach an equilibrium again.
she takes a deeper, steadying breath, then gestures towards the table with her chin. ]
Why don't you see for us both if that whiskey is to your liking?
[ if he can at least taste it.
she turns back to the counter, reaching up for a cup to present to him. it's a distraction, something other than discussing what she'd let affect her so terribly, and she'll take anything other than this now. ]
[ It's a dodge, he knows. It's a sidestep. But he lets her get away with it – because anything less would shatter the ice beneath their feet, send them plummeting into dark depths that Faraday doesn't quite understand yet. Only knows enough that it's there, that it's cold and dangerous, and it's not a problem he wants to tackle. Not yet.
So he nods, though the gesture is aimed to her back as she turns to find a glass, and he moves toward the table. ]
Grab two glasses, if you would. [ This, with something approaching his usual brightness. ] Seems like we both of us could use a drink.
[ emma pauses, considering whether or not she wants to indulge him...but then pulls down a second glass, before bringing them over to the table. she sets them down, then pulls out one of the chairs to take a seat. ]
I won't disagree.
[ because after this last week, after this...uncertain reunion of sorts, they could both use a bit of relief. ]
Can't say as I've indulged since our last time.
[ that middle-of-the-night drink in the saloon. talking about ghosts and dancing around their nightmares the night before that final battle. ]
[ He moves to the far end of the table and takes a seat as well, gaze flicking up and offering a rueful little smile. ]
Makes two of us, then.
[ With Bogue's men closing in, he hadn't even had time to throw back a shot to soothe his nerves, needing his wits about him for those last minute preparations and alterations. Not that he needed it, with the excitement and anticipation coursing through his nerves, setting his skin buzzing.
He scoops up the bottle, examining the label – not that it makes much of a difference, considering some of the swill he had willingly imbibed while he still had a liver to abuse. His smile turns a little teasing when he glances over to her again. ]
I can imagine the looks this earned you as you were walkin' out.
[ emma sighs as she watches him consider the bottle. ]
You cannot believe the scrutiny I underwent just to acquire this for you. They looked at me like I'd gone and grown a second head.
[ it's easier to pick up on the teasing, to ignore the soft remnants of unease left behind from their conversation. she'll think on it all more later — maybe.
for now, she's content to indulge with him here, a hint of nostalgia and melancholy memories accompanying the sight of the whiskey in his hand. ]
[ He chuckles at that, picturing the startled looks that must have crossed the barman's face as Emma Cullen, calm as the day is long, stepped up to ask for a bottle of bourbon. ]
We'll see if I can appreciate it in the first place.
[ He uncorks the bottle easily enough and pours a small amount into their glasses – nowhere near the heavy-handed pour of that first time they drank together, throwing back the whiskey in hopes of forgetting. One of the few times in life they managed to find some sort of common ground.
He pulls the glass toward himself, frowning down at the amber liquid – almost like he actually believes it might be poison. Something dangerous. Uncertainty in his brow, in the downward curve of the corners of his mouth. ]
[ emma takes her own glass, looking down at the drink thoughtfully. she's not hesitating out of distaste (though she'd be lying if she said she thought the alcohol was particularly delicious), but rather in a moment of consideration for the last time they'd shared a drink.
he'd still been pure flesh and blood, living and breathing beside her in that saloon, avoiding the reality of the impending fight. emma had been plenty prepared to face death that day, but— instead, it had been faraday who'd taken that leap into the abyss.
almost comical, really, to have him with her again after that brutal, scarlet day, when she'd knelt with him in the grass as he'd faded away before her eyes. ]
I imagine you won't find yourself much affected, either way.
[ because, really, he's dead. if by some strange miracle he can taste the bourbon, she still doubts he'll be able to manage some kind of drunkenness from it.
without hesitating any longer, emma swallows her own small helping of the drink, biting back the urge to wince as it burns its way down her throat. she maintains her composure, just exhaling slowly with the taste of spirits on her breath, setting her glass down again and nudging it towards the bottle. ]
Edited (when it's five am and u forget the difference between affect and effect) 2016-11-19 18:40 (UTC)
[ He huffs out a humorless laugh, little more than a soft exhale. True, it shouldn't affect him should he be able to drink it, but whether that meant he wouldn't be able to taste it or that the drink might fall right through him (he is, after all, reasonably insubstantial, these days) remains to be seen.
Nothing left but to try, he supposes, and there's little risk in it, all things considered. Not much of a gamble, really, and taking his cue from Emma, he throws it all back at once.
It burns on the way down, the sensation all too familiar, and he winces as it flows through him – though the look is replaced by naked surprise all too soon. For a second, he stares at his glass, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, and he lets out a single laugh, too stunned for much else. He had tasted it, felt it, just the same as if he had been alive, and the shock has him leaning forward on the table, elbow resting on the top, while his hand rubs at his brow.
At length, he shakes his head, rousing himself into pouring them both another share – still that same moderate pour from moments ago. He may have tasted the bourbon, felt that familiar burning numbness wash through him, but it wasn't accompanied by the warmth of oncoming inebriation. Which meant he wasn't likely to drink himself into a stupor any time soon. A shame, but this, at least, was something.
[ emma watches him like a damn hawk as he throws back the bourbon, like she might miss the results of their newest experiment with his ghostly existence. part of her is worried this may turn into a reminder of what he is, of how he haunts this plane rather than truly being on it, and the last thing she wants to do is turn her gesture into another disappointment.
however, that look on his face, that momentary wince followed by pure shock? oh, it's enough to drag a proper smile out of her — warm, satisfied, and the first one that's crossed her lips in this last week. ]
I'd say it certainly is.
[ she pulls her glass close again, trying to tone down the plain delight in her expression, glancing instead at the alcohol in front of her to hide the curl of her mouth.
good, she thinks. that's real good.
she throws back the second helping of the bourbon, feels that hint of tingling in her fingers, and mentally notes that she ought to take the next one a bit slower, keep her pace because it wouldn't do to see her drunk while faraday sits beside her stone-cold sober. ]
Bit of a— [ her voice comes a little hoarse thanks to the burn of the liquor, and she just clears her throat before finishing. ] —a pleasant surprise.
[ He swirls the liquid in his cup, contemplates it with a small smile, but rather than toss it back with his usual gusto, he instead sips at it. Faraday rarely drank for taste in life – he was chasing after the warm bliss of the spirits more often than not – but without the pleasant buzz seeping through his system, there’s little point to downing it all in one go.
He quirks an eyebrow when Emma throws back her drink.
With good humor, ]
If you’re tryin’ to drink me under the table, you’re gonna be awful disappointed.
[ emma meets that look with an easily composed flat expression (while finding herself grateful for the opportunity to push down that embarrassingly open smile on her face). ]
I've never had an ounce of misconception that I'd be outdrinkin' you, Faraday. Now or back then.
[ but there's a tiny tug at the corner of her lips anyway, a hint of amusement.
the truth is she doesn't especially care for the flavor of the bourbon, has never had the chance or inclination to develop a taste for it, so the sooner it's gone from her glass, the less time she has to spend drinking it.
...which is probably not the most sensible way to approach the alcohol, which is why she's not in any hurry to refill her glass, what with the gentle warmth settling into her body. ]
But don't go expectin' you'll see me any manner of impaired this evening.
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[ there's nothing scathing in emma's tone (a marked difference between when she really means to summon up something hurtful), but rather the usual sort of playful challenge they often bandy between them. ]
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Faraday had worried in more recent days that she would abandon him entirely. Leave him to his own devices to wander in silence through a town that barely remembers him; oh, they remember what he did, riding out to Bogue’s secret weapon and nearly blowing himself up to kingdom come to rid them of it, but they hardly seem to remember him. Not like Emma did.
(He’s not sure what he would’ve done, if she had withdrawn from him entirely, but he fears he would’ve gone mad from loneliness.)
Settling in again, he purses his lips, tries to think of the most tactful way of asking the question burning at the back of his mind. And that’s a wonder, that he’s even attempting tact, considering the type of man he is; the two of them have been on thin ice, the past several days, and Faraday can’t bring himself to risk it with a reckless word. ]
What’s the occasion? [ This, with a jerk of his chin toward the small table. ]
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the occasion, he asks.
well, it was unlikely they'd manage to continue dancing around the cards and the whiskey for too long, and while it gives her a moment's pause, she's not quite so tense or uncomfortable as she'd been over the last week. she's tentative, like she doesn't know where to begin explaining herself, but she knows she ought to, at least in some manner or another. ]
I suppose you could call it a reconciliation, of sorts.
[ the words edge their way dangerously close to an apology, one she's not even sure how to make — isn't even sure what she's going to apologize to him for. ]
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[ This, repeated flatly. Not quite disbelieving, but only just. Faraday had assumed (and rightly so, in his mind) that he had been the one to create the rift between them. That he would need to be the one to work toward an apology – though he had no idea what he had done, no idea what he had said, that had caused Emma to pull away as she had.
And he’s relieved that things are slowly returning to normal, though he has no earthly clue as to why that is, either. The whole ordeal has left him confused and reeling, and even with these little overtures, Faraday has yet to find his footing. ]
Over what, exactly, are we reconciling?
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with a small sigh, emma turns away from the counter and her nearly-finished meal, looking towards faraday with a touch of that usual determination in her expression. ]
Over my mistreatment of you this last while. I have been shuttin' you out over— [ over what? ]— something out of your own control, and that was wrong of me.
[ her lips press in a thin line, and she looks...uneasy — and at least this time, it's thanks to an ache in that pride of hers. admitting she'd been hurtful (even just through neglect rather than intentional unkindness) is still difficult for her, but she's actually trying now. ]
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At length, he realizes he's been far too quiet – or at least that the conversation has lapsed into silence just a few beats longer than would be considered comfortable – and he clears his throat. ]
I...
[ He should probably accept the apology. Just to move things forward. ]
... I see.
[ ... that was not, in fact, the proper response, and he knows it. But despite all the tentative steps forward he's been taking, he presses on anyway. ]
So this whole time, with me thinkin' I'd made some kinda mistake, that I might've said some churlish thing, it's— it's nothin' to do with me?
[ That should be a relief, except it isn't. It was easier to think the blame was on him, considering how he typically acted and behaved. It's somehow worse, knowing that this past (hellish) week was due to no fault of his own.
He shoves up the brim of his hat to rub at his forehead, and he laughs a little bitterly. ]
Well. That's a comfort.
[ Said in a way that implies the exact opposite. ]
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seems she probably had.
(or maybe it's rather not that she'd said the wrong thing, but that this week of forcing space between them was itself...not the right choice.)
she shifts her weight, her fingers curling a touch nervously into the fabric of her skirt as she regards faraday, forcing her usual impassive expression into place. ]
I know it wasn't a kindly thing to do, punishin' you for— I suppose nothing at all. Nothing you had done on purpose.
[ he certainly hadn't been in control of how she'd responded to him before, and...this last week had been an unfair reflection of how poorly she'd handled being presented with something she couldn't quite grasp. ]
That's why I'm tryin' to make up for it.
[ in some way. because she misses being them, and really, she's missed him far too much to just silently allow their friendship or connection or— whatever she had with this ghost of a man to let it all dissolve away. ]
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Faraday had wanted to punch that pretty peach fuzz off Teddy Q’s face, certainly, but that was nowhere near the same vehemence as that first day in town.
So what, then? Calling her bad luck, maybe. Poking too hard with his jokes. But he can’t recall crossing any lines, there, or at least any lines he hadn’t toed before. That brief, odd moment after they had spilled over onto the floor, maybe – though Faraday can’t recall any peculiarity there, aside from the odd flare of heat that had ignited behind his sternum—
“Nothing you had done on purpose.”
He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in place. Maybe she had seen it in his eyes. Maybe he had tipped his hand. Maybe she had seen his confusion, had seen something in his face to signal the pang of loss he felt as she pulled away. Faraday settles the hat back onto his head, gaze flitting away to look at anything but Emma. ]
Makin’ up for it with grog and cards? [ Faraday forces a smile, though his heart isn’t exactly in it. ] You sure you wanna encourage these sinful habits of mine?
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she can't quite manage a proper smile, not with the tension still holding in her shoulders. ]
Considerin' there are few other habits I could be encouraging, these seemed like they might at least ingratiate me a touch.
[ she gives a small shrug. ]
Besides, with the cards, I reckon there may be little protesting I can do without riskin' something hypocritical.
[ she's obviously not using the tricks faraday's taught her to cheat anyone out of their money, but, well, given the man's state of existence now, neither is he.
she hesitates, her own eyes finally glancing away from faraday, like she can't quite continue to look at him while she speaks. ]
...I just want things the way they were again. I don't much care for this distance.
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He supposes the truly painful part is that this friendship of theirs stood on much shakier legs than he had thought, if she could shut him out for reasons he could hardly understand. It makes something tighten in his chest, something barbed and cold, though he hardly understands it, hardly has a name for it.
But Faraday would be lying if he wasn’t a dupe to his own whims, though death had seemed to even out some of the more dangerous inclinations of his. In life, he was just as likely to make friends of foes and vice versa, so he supposes he can’t fault Emma too much for this sudden turn. Childish part of him certainly wants to, though.
At length, he lets out a breath (a habit, an echo of his mannerisms in life), and forces his gaze to flit up to her. Evidently he can’t sustain it, though, and he looks away just as quickly. ]
This likely to happen again? [ Quietly, with a bit of annoyance (of hurt, though less of that) threading through his voice, even as he tries to subdue it. ]
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he doesn't deserve that, and preserving whatever friendship and closeness they've cultivated means the world to her. ]
No. It won't.
[ she wants to be sure in that. she wants to believe she's not going to put up another wall and force him away, because where she's managed to find herself with him, with this strange coexistence and companionship, is what she knows she's wanting now. she aches for matthew, misses her husband something fierce, but there are days when she forgets the emptiness, for the span of a few warm laughs and well-meaning smiles, and being there with faraday makes it all worth the strange, unearthly haunting she's settled into. she doesn't forget (never forgets), but she feels stitched together again with faraday at her side. ]
...it's not somethin' you deserve.
[ and she feels wretched over it. ]
It was my own— mess.
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(As normal as a ghost haunting a widow can be, at any rate.) ]
And are you likely to tell me what it was that got you so incensed?
[ This, asked with the resigned air of someone who already knows the answer.
That answer being, "No." ]
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...I wasn't "incensed."
[ is what she settles on instead. she hadn't been angry, hadn't even been upset at him.
moreso confused by herself. ]
Do you really need to hear it? Or can't well enough be left alone?
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Faraday wasn't in the habit of going after folks' secrets. Curious as he was, he preferred to keep his nose out of other people's troubles. Kept him from having to involve himself any further than necessary.
In this case, it seems to be more of the latter; if she had really wanted his help in the first place, she would have said as much – though part of him thinks even that prospect was unliekly, proud as she is. She would lay her life down for others, but the second she needed something for herself? All bets were off.
Reluctantly, he shakes his head, hands up in an unthreatening gesture. ]
I'm not in the habit of stickin' my nose where it ain't wanted.
no subject
Then I reckon it would be best to let it lie.
[ she's not ready to unpackage this for him, to risk the peace they've found — even if they'll need the time to reach an equilibrium again.
she takes a deeper, steadying breath, then gestures towards the table with her chin. ]
Why don't you see for us both if that whiskey is to your liking?
[ if he can at least taste it.
she turns back to the counter, reaching up for a cup to present to him. it's a distraction, something other than discussing what she'd let affect her so terribly, and she'll take anything other than this now. ]
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So he nods, though the gesture is aimed to her back as she turns to find a glass, and he moves toward the table. ]
Grab two glasses, if you would. [ This, with something approaching his usual brightness. ] Seems like we both of us could use a drink.
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I won't disagree.
[ because after this last week, after this...uncertain reunion of sorts, they could both use a bit of relief. ]
Can't say as I've indulged since our last time.
[ that middle-of-the-night drink in the saloon. talking about ghosts and dancing around their nightmares the night before that final battle. ]
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Makes two of us, then.
[ With Bogue's men closing in, he hadn't even had time to throw back a shot to soothe his nerves, needing his wits about him for those last minute preparations and alterations. Not that he needed it, with the excitement and anticipation coursing through his nerves, setting his skin buzzing.
He scoops up the bottle, examining the label – not that it makes much of a difference, considering some of the swill he had willingly imbibed while he still had a liver to abuse. His smile turns a little teasing when he glances over to her again. ]
I can imagine the looks this earned you as you were walkin' out.
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You cannot believe the scrutiny I underwent just to acquire this for you. They looked at me like I'd gone and grown a second head.
[ it's easier to pick up on the teasing, to ignore the soft remnants of unease left behind from their conversation. she'll think on it all more later — maybe.
for now, she's content to indulge with him here, a hint of nostalgia and melancholy memories accompanying the sight of the whiskey in his hand. ]
You'd best appreciate it.
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We'll see if I can appreciate it in the first place.
[ He uncorks the bottle easily enough and pours a small amount into their glasses – nowhere near the heavy-handed pour of that first time they drank together, throwing back the whiskey in hopes of forgetting. One of the few times in life they managed to find some sort of common ground.
He pulls the glass toward himself, frowning down at the amber liquid – almost like he actually believes it might be poison. Something dangerous. Uncertainty in his brow, in the downward curve of the corners of his mouth. ]
You really think I might be able to drink this?
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[ emma takes her own glass, looking down at the drink thoughtfully. she's not hesitating out of distaste (though she'd be lying if she said she thought the alcohol was particularly delicious), but rather in a moment of consideration for the last time they'd shared a drink.
he'd still been pure flesh and blood, living and breathing beside her in that saloon, avoiding the reality of the impending fight. emma had been plenty prepared to face death that day, but— instead, it had been faraday who'd taken that leap into the abyss.
almost comical, really, to have him with her again after that brutal, scarlet day, when she'd knelt with him in the grass as he'd faded away before her eyes. ]
I imagine you won't find yourself much affected, either way.
[ because, really, he's dead. if by some strange miracle he can taste the bourbon, she still doubts he'll be able to manage some kind of drunkenness from it.
without hesitating any longer, emma swallows her own small helping of the drink, biting back the urge to wince as it burns its way down her throat. she maintains her composure, just exhaling slowly with the taste of spirits on her breath, setting her glass down again and nudging it towards the bottle. ]
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Nothing left but to try, he supposes, and there's little risk in it, all things considered. Not much of a gamble, really, and taking his cue from Emma, he throws it all back at once.
It burns on the way down, the sensation all too familiar, and he winces as it flows through him – though the look is replaced by naked surprise all too soon. For a second, he stares at his glass, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, and he lets out a single laugh, too stunned for much else. He had tasted it, felt it, just the same as if he had been alive, and the shock has him leaning forward on the table, elbow resting on the top, while his hand rubs at his brow.
At length, he shakes his head, rousing himself into pouring them both another share – still that same moderate pour from moments ago. He may have tasted the bourbon, felt that familiar burning numbness wash through him, but it wasn't accompanied by the warmth of oncoming inebriation. Which meant he wasn't likely to drink himself into a stupor any time soon. A shame, but this, at least, was something.
Faintly, ]
Well, that's one question answered.
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however, that look on his face, that momentary wince followed by pure shock? oh, it's enough to drag a proper smile out of her — warm, satisfied, and the first one that's crossed her lips in this last week. ]
I'd say it certainly is.
[ she pulls her glass close again, trying to tone down the plain delight in her expression, glancing instead at the alcohol in front of her to hide the curl of her mouth.
good, she thinks. that's real good.
she throws back the second helping of the bourbon, feels that hint of tingling in her fingers, and mentally notes that she ought to take the next one a bit slower, keep her pace because it wouldn't do to see her drunk while faraday sits beside her stone-cold sober. ]
Bit of a— [ her voice comes a little hoarse thanks to the burn of the liquor, and she just clears her throat before finishing. ] —a pleasant surprise.
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[ He swirls the liquid in his cup, contemplates it with a small smile, but rather than toss it back with his usual gusto, he instead sips at it. Faraday rarely drank for taste in life – he was chasing after the warm bliss of the spirits more often than not – but without the pleasant buzz seeping through his system, there’s little point to downing it all in one go.
He quirks an eyebrow when Emma throws back her drink.
With good humor, ]
If you’re tryin’ to drink me under the table, you’re gonna be awful disappointed.
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I've never had an ounce of misconception that I'd be outdrinkin' you, Faraday. Now or back then.
[ but there's a tiny tug at the corner of her lips anyway, a hint of amusement.
the truth is she doesn't especially care for the flavor of the bourbon, has never had the chance or inclination to develop a taste for it, so the sooner it's gone from her glass, the less time she has to spend drinking it.
...which is probably not the most sensible way to approach the alcohol, which is why she's not in any hurry to refill her glass, what with the gentle warmth settling into her body. ]
But don't go expectin' you'll see me any manner of impaired this evening.
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