[ 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.
[ He grins at that uninterested expression on her face. She has a fair point, after all – the only folks who managed to keep up with him were the members of Chisolm’s little mercenary band. Men from all sorts of walks of life who were just as familiar with the bottom of a bottle as Faraday is and had been.
But more than that, he grins at this easy back and forth between them (and it’s worrying what a relief that is, that they just might be slowly reaching something close to normal for them). Reaching over, he lifts up the bottle by the neck, gives it a bit of a shake – as if the gesture might be enticing. ]
[ emma scrutinizes him, glancing from his face to the bottle and back again.
then after another moment, she nudges her glass close to him again.
one or two more couldn't hurt, right? ]
I think you miscalculate my tolerance.
[ but, if she's honest, one or two more will be her limit for keeping her head. she's not a particularly large person and she's never had any real sort of experience with spirits in the past, so she's not exactly advantaged here. ]
[ his eyebrows rise, caught off-guard by the unspoken request. She must have taken it as a taunt, which is just as well to Faraday. He always did enjoy seeing that competitive fire in her, that part of her that refuses to be cowed by a challenge.
Admirable, most of the time, but when the wager tends to be the little silly ones Faraday presents her, it tends to also be amusing.
He fills the glass – no higher than the width of his own finger – and passes it back with a practiced slide. A bit of a spin, to keep the contents of the glass from tipping the whole thing over as it comes to a stop. ]
I think I calculated it well enough, actually. I’m just waitin’ for your math to add up same as mine.
[ emma lifts the glass, considering faraday over the lip. ]
Three was my limit the last time, but I would hardly qualify what you've poured me here to be near more than half our take in the saloon.
[ she glances at the bourbon briefly, but instead of drinking the entire thing, she takes a shallower sip, maybe a third of what he'd given her. this time, she can't keep the wince off her face, the burn of the smaller, slower drink making itself known. there's a pleasant sort of warmth settling in her stomach, a vague-but-not-quite-there tingle in her fingers, but she doesn't feel quite so unsteady as she had that night before the battle.
this last glass will probably be enough, if she doesn't want to find herself struggling to walk straight, and she just takes another sip, leaving one last swallow in the glass. ]
[ A bland sort of answer, but the words are loaded. There were different odds, last time. Nightmares from his past, digging in their claws. Nightmares on the horizon, charging toward them with the rising of the sun. The bourbon had been an attempt at a temporary escape for both of them.
(Strange that it’s only now that Faraday realizes Emma’s company had served as a far better balm than the drink.)
He sips at his own glass, enjoys the brief tingle of numbness it leaves behind, though it fades a little faster than it had in life. It’s still something, though, and he refuses to be deterred from the joy of this little discovery. ]
Your math tellin’ you that’s your last glass? [ A wry little smile as he glances up from his cup. ] ‘Cause that’s what mine’s tellin’ me.
[ he's completely right: last time was different. last time was forgetting about sleepless nights and old demons, drowning out the bloody morning that surely awaited them — if only for a reprieve, for some comfort in a dreary night. the evening whiled away in the saloon's low light with quick shots and gentle company: because that's what she'd needed that night, to stop thinking about her war on the horizon.
faraday had done that for her.
and here, now, they sit together again with a bottle — but the day has been won, and they've moved forward. or, at least, so much of rose creek has instead, and while emma has put some of her own ghosts to rest (put matthew to rest), she's found herself with a new ghost.
her ghost isn't one to be chased away by alcohol and the morning light, not one to be shunned and feared, and she's found that she has no desire to see him gone.
this week has taught her that.
she gives a little shrug as she considers the last of the bourbon in her glass. ]
It might be.
[yes. because she has no interest in being so drunk she needs his help to get herself to bed or that she finds her words slurred — or worse: tainted with a little too much honesty.
she does, however, finish off the last of her drink, setting her glass down and nudging it away from her (but not for more). ]
But I do think I've had enough.
[ she gestures vaguely to the bottle. ]
You're more than welcome to as much as you want, of course.
[ because the discovery that he can at least taste this, enjoy it to whatever degree he may without ending up the kind of drunk he'd so often been before his death, is another flicker of humanity in this odd half-life, unlife, whatever it was that faraday clung to here. ]
[ He pulls the glass away from her as she finishes it off, as much to prove a point as it is to keep her away from temptation. Rich, coming from a man like Faraday, but he was nothing if not a man of contradictions.
At her invitation, Faraday regards the open, mostly full bottle. Most of his life was spent half-corned, to be sure, chasing away his own demons with the haze of spirits. He drank for pleasure, sometimes, but rarely for taste. Threw back the drinks too fast for his palate to appreciate it, though the taste still lingered on the back of his tongue thanks to sheer volume.
These days, he has few nightmares to chase away – being that without sleep, those dreams no longer come. A small benefit to being dead, he supposes. If nothing else should come of it, at least he need no longer suffer his own ghosts of his past. Faraday would never consider himself to be at peace – his uncertain existence was testament to that – but that desperate need to wash away the grating edge of sobriety no longer clawed as strongly at him.
Just as well, he supposes, considering the drink no longer impairs him as it once did.
He throws back the remainder of his glass, just for old time's sake, feels the familiar burning numbness wash through him, but after that, he puts the stopper back in place on the bottle. ]
Was always more of a social drinker, myself.
[ Which is bullshit, but he spouts it off easy enough, anyway. ]
[ emma just lifts an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction, because of the short time she'd spent with him in life, she'd picked up quite quickly and plainly that faraday was far beyond a "social drinker."
but it's not her place to press the matter, and she sees no need to stir the otherwise settled dust between them. ]
A rainy day it is, then.
[ she glances towards her unfinished dinner, realizing she probably ought to eat. the alcohol sits warm and heavy in her stomach, and chasing it down with some food wouldn't be the worst of ideas. pushing up from the table, she surprises herself by having to take a moment to find her balance, her head spinning more than she anticipated with those few drinks.
probably the lack of a meal, she reckons. ]
...seems two would have been a much better place to stop.
[ she presses a hand to her dizzy head with a sigh, willing the effects to subside with a bit of concentration — not that it helps, but she's sure it'll wear off sooner rather than later. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
(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." ]
no subject
...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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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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But more than that, he grins at this easy back and forth between them (and it’s worrying what a relief that is, that they just might be slowly reaching something close to normal for them). Reaching over, he lifts up the bottle by the neck, gives it a bit of a shake – as if the gesture might be enticing. ]
You callin’ it there, then?
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then after another moment, she nudges her glass close to him again.
one or two more couldn't hurt, right? ]
I think you miscalculate my tolerance.
[ but, if she's honest, one or two more will be her limit for keeping her head. she's not a particularly large person and she's never had any real sort of experience with spirits in the past, so she's not exactly advantaged here. ]
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Admirable, most of the time, but when the wager tends to be the little silly ones Faraday presents her, it tends to also be amusing.
He fills the glass – no higher than the width of his own finger – and passes it back with a practiced slide. A bit of a spin, to keep the contents of the glass from tipping the whole thing over as it comes to a stop. ]
I think I calculated it well enough, actually. I’m just waitin’ for your math to add up same as mine.
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Three was my limit the last time, but I would hardly qualify what you've poured me here to be near more than half our take in the saloon.
[ she glances at the bourbon briefly, but instead of drinking the entire thing, she takes a shallower sip, maybe a third of what he'd given her. this time, she can't keep the wince off her face, the burn of the smaller, slower drink making itself known. there's a pleasant sort of warmth settling in her stomach, a vague-but-not-quite-there tingle in her fingers, but she doesn't feel quite so unsteady as she had that night before the battle.
this last glass will probably be enough, if she doesn't want to find herself struggling to walk straight, and she just takes another sip, leaving one last swallow in the glass. ]
My math is just fine, thank you.
[ ...she thinks. ]
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Last time was different.
[ A bland sort of answer, but the words are loaded. There were different odds, last time. Nightmares from his past, digging in their claws. Nightmares on the horizon, charging toward them with the rising of the sun. The bourbon had been an attempt at a temporary escape for both of them.
(Strange that it’s only now that Faraday realizes Emma’s company had served as a far better balm than the drink.)
He sips at his own glass, enjoys the brief tingle of numbness it leaves behind, though it fades a little faster than it had in life. It’s still something, though, and he refuses to be deterred from the joy of this little discovery. ]
Your math tellin’ you that’s your last glass? [ A wry little smile as he glances up from his cup. ] ‘Cause that’s what mine’s tellin’ me.
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faraday had done that for her.
and here, now, they sit together again with a bottle — but the day has been won, and they've moved forward. or, at least, so much of rose creek has instead, and while emma has put some of her own ghosts to rest (put matthew to rest), she's found herself with a new ghost.
her ghost isn't one to be chased away by alcohol and the morning light, not one to be shunned and feared, and she's found that she has no desire to see him gone.
this week has taught her that.
she gives a little shrug as she considers the last of the bourbon in her glass. ]
It might be.
[ yes. because she has no interest in being so drunk she needs his help to get herself to bed or that she finds her words slurred — or worse: tainted with a little too much honesty.
she does, however, finish off the last of her drink, setting her glass down and nudging it away from her (but not for more). ]
But I do think I've had enough.
[ she gestures vaguely to the bottle. ]
You're more than welcome to as much as you want, of course.
[ because the discovery that he can at least taste this, enjoy it to whatever degree he may without ending up the kind of drunk he'd so often been before his death, is another flicker of humanity in this odd half-life, unlife, whatever it was that faraday clung to here. ]
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At her invitation, Faraday regards the open, mostly full bottle. Most of his life was spent half-corned, to be sure, chasing away his own demons with the haze of spirits. He drank for pleasure, sometimes, but rarely for taste. Threw back the drinks too fast for his palate to appreciate it, though the taste still lingered on the back of his tongue thanks to sheer volume.
These days, he has few nightmares to chase away – being that without sleep, those dreams no longer come. A small benefit to being dead, he supposes. If nothing else should come of it, at least he need no longer suffer his own ghosts of his past. Faraday would never consider himself to be at peace – his uncertain existence was testament to that – but that desperate need to wash away the grating edge of sobriety no longer clawed as strongly at him.
Just as well, he supposes, considering the drink no longer impairs him as it once did.
He throws back the remainder of his glass, just for old time's sake, feels the familiar burning numbness wash through him, but after that, he puts the stopper back in place on the bottle. ]
Was always more of a social drinker, myself.
[ Which is bullshit, but he spouts it off easy enough, anyway. ]
Save it for a rainy day.
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but it's not her place to press the matter, and she sees no need to stir the otherwise settled dust between them. ]
A rainy day it is, then.
[ she glances towards her unfinished dinner, realizing she probably ought to eat. the alcohol sits warm and heavy in her stomach, and chasing it down with some food wouldn't be the worst of ideas. pushing up from the table, she surprises herself by having to take a moment to find her balance, her head spinning more than she anticipated with those few drinks.
probably the lack of a meal, she reckons. ]
...seems two would have been a much better place to stop.
[ she presses a hand to her dizzy head with a sigh, willing the effects to subside with a bit of concentration — not that it helps, but she's sure it'll wear off sooner rather than later. ]
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