[ 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. ]
[ He sees the way she silently calls him on his lie, but rather than take offense or feign the role of wounded party, Faraday just smiles. Shameless and proud of it.
True enough, he preferred company when he drank, if only because he enjoyed having an audience when he began to spin his stories and tall tales. Enjoyed sitting in and listening to others’ stories, too. Good way to share a laugh, all things considered. Better to while away the time by hooting until his sides ached than meandering his way to the bottom of a handful of bottles by his lonesome.
But he would still do that, if he had few other options. It was a trek often made on his own. Familiar like an old, worn coat.
When she stands, he spots that telltale sway, and he can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him. ]
Seems so. I’ll admit, math ain’t always been my strong suit.
[ He pushes away from the table, a sight more sure in his standing and his step than Emma seems to be. He comes around the table. ]
Might as well sit down. [ He punctuates it as he steps to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder; his touch is light, gentle, if only because he’s still unsure as to where he stands in this strange agreement to put this past week behind them. ] As charmin’ as it’d be to watch you stumble your way around the place, I doubt you wanna clean up the ensuin’ mess.
[ emma doesn't shrink away from him like she would have in the last week. she'd spent those days as if he'd returned to his previous state of solidity, like he'd go right through her if she dared get close again, but in reality, it had been a defense of sorts. it had all been to avoid the possibility of showing more of her hand than she meant to. with the warmth of the alcohol in her system, however, her response to him is far less guarded, what with the way so much tension just slides from her at the gentle touch, how it puts her at ease. tentative, light, but still contact after going so far out of her way to avoid it.
she glances at him sidelong, a faint smile almost tugging at the corner of her lips. ]
I hardly see a single charmin' thing about my unsteadiness, Faraday.
[ but there's no ice in her words, no real argument. she ought to have a seat if she's going to wait the alcohol out. ]
Though I reckon I'd be liable to actually lose a finger if I tried to finish my meal at this moment.
[ knives and alcohol seemed a terrible mix, anyway.
so, with a touch of stubbornness that's more for show than anything, emma sits back down at the table, peering expectantly up at faraday as if to say, 'good enough?' ]
[ The admission and that look of reluctance as she finally takes her seat draw a warm laugh from him – evidently his answer to her unspoken question. He wanders over to the kitchen, gathering up the plate and utensils. ]
Maybe avoid the knife for now, then. Till you’re less liable to chop off a digit.
[ He brings it all over, sets it down on the table in front of her. Without waiting for thanks, he rounds the table again, flopping down in his seat and reaching over for his new deck of cards. A smile of his own tugs at the corners of his mouth as he shuffles the stiff cards, working them and plying them to wear them in. ]
Still, you oughta eat something. Sop up the alcohol.
[ ...that laugh is nice, she thinks in the back of her mind. something else she missed.
she considers the food when faraday brings it over, actually grateful to have it in front of her. hopefully, it'll do something for the haziness in her head, the warm edges of intoxication that are just slightly there. ]
Not a terrible idea.
[ she's not embarrassed about letting herself be affected by the spirits, not around faraday. anyone else, and she'd be quite abashed — though, really, she doubts she'd be drinking around someone else, either.
she tucks into the meal without complaint, content to quietly observe the gambler with his new cards, a look of fondness in her eyes as he neatly handles the pristine deck. ]
I believe this won't be one of your vices I find myself indulging in much.
[ unlike the cards, at least. he so often teased her about being a bad influence, always to be met with a roll of her eyes and an exasperated glare, but she'd accommodated him today with the bourbon, just a touch. she doesn't care for the feeling of being drunk, and she makes a note to watch her intake more carefully (or at least go much more slowly) if she happens to find herself presented with whiskey in the future. ]
[ it’ll take some time before he softens the deck up enough to his liking, gets them as pliable as the old deck he carted around with him during life. (Those cards, of course, had been lost to the explosion. Scattered and burned, save for the one that had been pinned to the cross on the hill, until that, too, had been lost to the winds.)
The cards whisper in his hands as he lifts his gaze up to her, offers that little warning of hers. Faraday’s eyes widen in an echo of innocence, smile bright and seemingly innocuous. ]
Why, Miss Emma. Why ever would you think I’d try to tempt you with such an unpleasant habit? When have I ever acted in such a way to give you that impression?
[ emma's eyebrow cocks in a way that melts some of that irritation in her expression (though she often finds that her vexation is almost a token gesture, rather than because she finds him aggravating — obnoxious, certainly, but not actually bothersome). ]
Oh, I beg your pardon. How irksome you must find it to be confused for him when you're clearly the more handsome man.
[ ...oh, maybe that bourbon is still settled in her system yet. ]
[ Faraday barks out a laugh at that, startled but pleased. Part of him had expected more of that same teasing, a flat reassurance in Emma’s usual deadpan delivery that Faraday was not nearly as handsome as he proclaimed himself to be.
This, somehow, is better. Unfamiliar territory, sure, but amusing all the same. ]
I certainly think so. I mean, it’s as clear as the day is long, ain’t it?
[ emma might usually shut him down immediately from this point, but she's encouraged by the laugh, by the look on his face — and also the odd curl of warmth she feels in her chest. her tone implies she's joking, because she does enjoy teasing him, but...there's a measure of truth to it too. ]
Perfectly clear. Why, you've even got yourself a proper beard.
[ He snorts again, taking the teasing on the chin. This is more in line with their usual back and forth, and it's comforting. An exchange he's grown accustomed to, being the butt of Emma's jokes as much as she is for his.
That first time they had drifted apart after their blow-up had reminded him just how much he enjoyed this, how much he missed it when it was gone. This past week apart was another nail in the coffin, so to speak.
He draws a hand down the beard in question, almost as though he's preening. ]
It is a good beard.
But I like to think my winning personality has a lot to do with my attractiveness.
[ emma finishes off another bite of her dinner before sliding the plate away, leaning forward to gently rest her elbows on the table as she watches faraday stroke his beard.
she might have a real sort of grin on her face if she wasn't such a composed woman otherwise, but instead, there's the familiar impish look she occasionally gets during these exchanges, not quite a grin and not quite a smirk.
mischievous, but amused. ]
Charismatic devil that you are, I'm sure that's exactly the reason you have so many enamored women beatin' down your door. How could they resist such charms?
[ Faraday fights down the grin threatening to curl his lips, and instead, he inhales deeply, exhales slowly on a magnanimous sort of sigh. He shakes his head, as if rueful. ]
It's the cross I had to bear in life, to tell you the truth. All those broken hearts left behind me. A burden, really.
[ Another heavy sigh. ]
Bless 'em. They never stood a chance against the likes'a' me.
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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.
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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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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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True enough, he preferred company when he drank, if only because he enjoyed having an audience when he began to spin his stories and tall tales. Enjoyed sitting in and listening to others’ stories, too. Good way to share a laugh, all things considered. Better to while away the time by hooting until his sides ached than meandering his way to the bottom of a handful of bottles by his lonesome.
But he would still do that, if he had few other options. It was a trek often made on his own. Familiar like an old, worn coat.
When she stands, he spots that telltale sway, and he can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him. ]
Seems so. I’ll admit, math ain’t always been my strong suit.
[ He pushes away from the table, a sight more sure in his standing and his step than Emma seems to be. He comes around the table. ]
Might as well sit down. [ He punctuates it as he steps to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder; his touch is light, gentle, if only because he’s still unsure as to where he stands in this strange agreement to put this past week behind them. ] As charmin’ as it’d be to watch you stumble your way around the place, I doubt you wanna clean up the ensuin’ mess.
no subject
she glances at him sidelong, a faint smile almost tugging at the corner of her lips. ]
I hardly see a single charmin' thing about my unsteadiness, Faraday.
[ but there's no ice in her words, no real argument. she ought to have a seat if she's going to wait the alcohol out. ]
Though I reckon I'd be liable to actually lose a finger if I tried to finish my meal at this moment.
[ knives and alcohol seemed a terrible mix, anyway.
so, with a touch of stubbornness that's more for show than anything, emma sits back down at the table, peering expectantly up at faraday as if to say, 'good enough?' ]
no subject
Maybe avoid the knife for now, then. Till you’re less liable to chop off a digit.
[ He brings it all over, sets it down on the table in front of her. Without waiting for thanks, he rounds the table again, flopping down in his seat and reaching over for his new deck of cards. A smile of his own tugs at the corners of his mouth as he shuffles the stiff cards, working them and plying them to wear them in. ]
Still, you oughta eat something. Sop up the alcohol.
no subject
she considers the food when faraday brings it over, actually grateful to have it in front of her. hopefully, it'll do something for the haziness in her head, the warm edges of intoxication that are just slightly there. ]
Not a terrible idea.
[ she's not embarrassed about letting herself be affected by the spirits, not around faraday. anyone else, and she'd be quite abashed — though, really, she doubts she'd be drinking around someone else, either.
she tucks into the meal without complaint, content to quietly observe the gambler with his new cards, a look of fondness in her eyes as he neatly handles the pristine deck. ]
I believe this won't be one of your vices I find myself indulging in much.
[ unlike the cards, at least. he so often teased her about being a bad influence, always to be met with a roll of her eyes and an exasperated glare, but she'd accommodated him today with the bourbon, just a touch. she doesn't care for the feeling of being drunk, and she makes a note to watch her intake more carefully (or at least go much more slowly) if she happens to find herself presented with whiskey in the future. ]
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The cards whisper in his hands as he lifts his gaze up to her, offers that little warning of hers. Faraday’s eyes widen in an echo of innocence, smile bright and seemingly innocuous. ]
Why, Miss Emma. Why ever would you think I’d try to tempt you with such an unpleasant habit? When have I ever acted in such a way to give you that impression?
[ aside from always. ]
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An honest mistake, then. You're the picture of innocence and holy intentions, Joshua Faraday.
[ her tone is fairly flat, but dripping with sarcasm as she finally takes the next bite from her fork. ]
Must be I had you confused with another man prone to all manner of sins.
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Theodore.
[ He intones the name grimly, offering the man up at Emma’s prompting. He pauses after a second, lips pursing and eyebrows knitting together. Then, ]
Although I don’t take too kindly to the mix-up. I’m far more dashing than our dear Teddy, after all.
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Oh, I beg your pardon. How irksome you must find it to be confused for him when you're clearly the more handsome man.
[ ...oh, maybe that bourbon is still settled in her system yet. ]
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This, somehow, is better. Unfamiliar territory, sure, but amusing all the same. ]
I certainly think so. I mean, it’s as clear as the day is long, ain’t it?
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Perfectly clear. Why, you've even got yourself a proper beard.
Truly the envy of all sorts of folks.
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That first time they had drifted apart after their blow-up had reminded him just how much he enjoyed this, how much he missed it when it was gone. This past week apart was another nail in the coffin, so to speak.
He draws a hand down the beard in question, almost as though he's preening. ]
It is a good beard.
But I like to think my winning personality has a lot to do with my attractiveness.
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she might have a real sort of grin on her face if she wasn't such a composed woman otherwise, but instead, there's the familiar impish look she occasionally gets during these exchanges, not quite a grin and not quite a smirk.
mischievous, but amused. ]
Charismatic devil that you are, I'm sure that's exactly the reason you have so many enamored women beatin' down your door. How could they resist such charms?
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It's the cross I had to bear in life, to tell you the truth. All those broken hearts left behind me. A burden, really.
[ Another heavy sigh. ]
Bless 'em. They never stood a chance against the likes'a' me.
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