A habit I am mighty glad you can no longer engage in.
[ on account of being dead and all. ]
And one I'm never inclined to pick up.
[ she leads the way back to her home, walking marginally faster on account of the cold air. she'd rather be back inside, where it's warm, because while the shawl helps, it's not especially suitable to the growing chill. ]
Now hurry up; I still have to finish makin' my dinner.
[ she doesn't wait for him, mostly because she expects he'll follow along anyway, but when they're nearly back to the house, she does pause for a brief moment, glancing over at faraday. ]
...do you miss it, though? And I mean, all the things you did when you were still livin', not just smoking.
[ she's sure he does, so it must be a foolish question, but it isn't one she's ever thought to ask. ]
[ He just smirks all the more at her refusal – more in an effort to be as infuriating as possible than any real intent, on his part. Truth is, he has no intention of introducing that particular vice to her home, and doesn't think it would much suit her, besides.
... Though he does get a hoot out of the mental image.
He follows after her, as she expected he would – because what else can he do? He could leave, he supposes, wander off as he does sometimes, but he's content for now. Hasn't felt drained just yet, which happens on rare occasions when he's likely overstayed his welcome. Whatever he is, he doesn't know all his limits just yet; he's not sure when he'll know all of those, either.
Her question startles him out of his thoughts, though, and his step slows as he mulls it over. ]
... I'm— Maybe.
[ Uncertainly, slightly stilted. He doesn't know how far he wants to delve into this question. ]
Might be startin' to, now that the novelty's wearin' off.
[ Even with that brief answer, he already feels the sting of melancholy sinking in, like a hook in a fish's mouth. For a few seconds, he keeps his silence, thinking about the little things he'll never experience again, like the taste of warm beans or the burn of Tanglefoot or the feel of a gentle touch, of warm skin on skin—
He shakes himself, speeding up his step, and bowing his head a little as he walks.
Brusquely, ] Ain't nothin' can be done about it, though. No use thinkin' on it.
[ that's admittedly one of the things emma tells herself when she starts to long for the kind of life she'd had with matthew. where she is hasn't changed, what she does with herself is largely all the same, but...it's different. all the time she'd been married, she'd gotten so accustomed to having company, to the affection and casual touch she experienced with her husband, and now? now that everything has settled down in rose creek, and she's no longer distracting herself with the kind of tenacity and hellbent need for righteouness?
now she can really feel that emptiness. it's not all the time, and it's not a constant, but when she's lying in bed or when the oppressive silence of her house sets in around her, she remembers that matthew isn't there to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her until she laughs, to whisper the kind of sweet nothings that had her weak in the knees. she'd loved her husband something fierce, and now the closest she can get to him is kneeling and praying at his grave.
hardly comparable.
however, that emptiness is far lessened when faraday's around, she's noticed. it's strange that she could find so much comfort in a ghost, in ways that her neighbors and the people of the town couldn't provide for her, because when he's there she's not thinking on matthew. the silence is filled by something far more meaningful, and as much as faraday exasperates her, makes her roll her eyes, near scandalizes her with his crude humor and irreverant tongue — well. he makes her laugh.
he makes her smile.
what an odd notion, she realizes, that a dead man could help her see brighter flickers of joy than any of the living she surrounds herself with.
shaking off that train of thought, she finally leads them back to her front door, opening it and wasting no time in shuffling into the warm room. she needs to tend the fire, help the heat pick back up, but it's still far better than the temperature outside. ]
At least you won't be havin' to deal with this frightful cold.
[ it's an attempt at a slightly lighter tone, because really, when the cold truly hits, she's sure faraday won't be terribly put out he's avoiding the worst of it. ]
[ He glances up, huffing out a near silent laugh. ]
Suppose I won't, no.
[ He wonders if he'll eventually grow to miss it, though, if only for its absence, if only because he doesn't feel much of anything – neither the heat nor the chill. Even when he picks things up, pushes things around, he doesn't quite feel it. Just knows when something is in his grasp, knows how much pressure to apply or how much to hold back.
He doesn't quite feel. He just... is.
His gaze flits away again, and despite his best efforts, despite how he tries to shove it away, the melancholy sinks in. He feels that, at least, emotions. Sadness, annoyance, anger. Happiness, too, and he thinks on how strange that is, that he should actually find something to be happy about in this state. Something to laugh about or smile at, when what he is should be a constant source of dread or despair, ungodly as he is. Some sort of entity beyond the realm of possibility or understanding.
But he is happy more often than he isn't, odd though that is; he finds things to joke about, things to discuss with Emma, finds joy in the way she smiles and laughs (though he shies away from delving into the whys of that). And for now, that's enough to stave off the worst of his darkened mood.
Faraday trudges over to the hearth, steps silent despite how they drag, and after a bit of concentration, lifts up nearby log and tosses it onto the fire. He grabs hold of the poker next, brow creased with focus, and stokes the flame. ]
Go on, then. Ain't you got your dinner to attend to?
[ the drop in faraday's mood isn't especially hard to miss, but emma doesn't think to draw attention to it, not now. it must be a sore spot, she reckons, to realize how much one would lose in an existence such as faraday's. not alive, not experiencing life like those around him, but still present enough that he sees it all go by, invisible to the world, except in the eyes of one woman.
what a strange life, to be seen by one person alone, while effectively having his existence seem void otherwise.
she's appreciative of the way he sees to the fire, and it makes a quick difference, enough for her to leave her shawl behind to head into the kitchen again. ]
I suppose I ought to, as long as I'm guaranteed to have no further startling experiences while I'm at it.
[ she casts a pointed look towards him, but it's not especially disgruntled - there's almost a teasing edge to it, even. ]
I doubt the doctor would appreciate another visit this evening.
[ and she sure would like to avoid any further stitches in the immediate future. she doesn't actively blame faraday for the mishap, because really, it had been an unfortunate accident all around, but she still had zero appreciation for getting spooked at any point, knife in hand or no. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ on account of being dead and all. ]
And one I'm never inclined to pick up.
[ she leads the way back to her home, walking marginally faster on account of the cold air. she'd rather be back inside, where it's warm, because while the shawl helps, it's not especially suitable to the growing chill. ]
Now hurry up; I still have to finish makin' my dinner.
[ she doesn't wait for him, mostly because she expects he'll follow along anyway, but when they're nearly back to the house, she does pause for a brief moment, glancing over at faraday. ]
...do you miss it, though? And I mean, all the things you did when you were still livin', not just smoking.
[ she's sure he does, so it must be a foolish question, but it isn't one she's ever thought to ask. ]
no subject
... Though he does get a hoot out of the mental image.
He follows after her, as she expected he would – because what else can he do? He could leave, he supposes, wander off as he does sometimes, but he's content for now. Hasn't felt drained just yet, which happens on rare occasions when he's likely overstayed his welcome. Whatever he is, he doesn't know all his limits just yet; he's not sure when he'll know all of those, either.
Her question startles him out of his thoughts, though, and his step slows as he mulls it over. ]
... I'm— Maybe.
[ Uncertainly, slightly stilted. He doesn't know how far he wants to delve into this question. ]
Might be startin' to, now that the novelty's wearin' off.
[ Even with that brief answer, he already feels the sting of melancholy sinking in, like a hook in a fish's mouth. For a few seconds, he keeps his silence, thinking about the little things he'll never experience again, like the taste of warm beans or the burn of Tanglefoot or the feel of a gentle touch, of warm skin on skin—
He shakes himself, speeding up his step, and bowing his head a little as he walks.
Brusquely, ] Ain't nothin' can be done about it, though. No use thinkin' on it.
no subject
[ that's admittedly one of the things emma tells herself when she starts to long for the kind of life she'd had with matthew. where she is hasn't changed, what she does with herself is largely all the same, but...it's different. all the time she'd been married, she'd gotten so accustomed to having company, to the affection and casual touch she experienced with her husband, and now? now that everything has settled down in rose creek, and she's no longer distracting herself with the kind of tenacity and hellbent need for righteouness?
now she can really feel that emptiness. it's not all the time, and it's not a constant, but when she's lying in bed or when the oppressive silence of her house sets in around her, she remembers that matthew isn't there to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her until she laughs, to whisper the kind of sweet nothings that had her weak in the knees. she'd loved her husband something fierce, and now the closest she can get to him is kneeling and praying at his grave.
hardly comparable.
however, that emptiness is far lessened when faraday's around, she's noticed. it's strange that she could find so much comfort in a ghost, in ways that her neighbors and the people of the town couldn't provide for her, because when he's there she's not thinking on matthew. the silence is filled by something far more meaningful, and as much as faraday exasperates her, makes her roll her eyes, near scandalizes her with his crude humor and irreverant tongue — well. he makes her laugh.
he makes her smile.
what an odd notion, she realizes, that a dead man could help her see brighter flickers of joy than any of the living she surrounds herself with.
shaking off that train of thought, she finally leads them back to her front door, opening it and wasting no time in shuffling into the warm room. she needs to tend the fire, help the heat pick back up, but it's still far better than the temperature outside. ]
At least you won't be havin' to deal with this frightful cold.
[ it's an attempt at a slightly lighter tone, because really, when the cold truly hits, she's sure faraday won't be terribly put out he's avoiding the worst of it. ]
no subject
Suppose I won't, no.
[ He wonders if he'll eventually grow to miss it, though, if only for its absence, if only because he doesn't feel much of anything – neither the heat nor the chill. Even when he picks things up, pushes things around, he doesn't quite feel it. Just knows when something is in his grasp, knows how much pressure to apply or how much to hold back.
He doesn't quite feel. He just... is.
His gaze flits away again, and despite his best efforts, despite how he tries to shove it away, the melancholy sinks in. He feels that, at least, emotions. Sadness, annoyance, anger. Happiness, too, and he thinks on how strange that is, that he should actually find something to be happy about in this state. Something to laugh about or smile at, when what he is should be a constant source of dread or despair, ungodly as he is. Some sort of entity beyond the realm of possibility or understanding.
But he is happy more often than he isn't, odd though that is; he finds things to joke about, things to discuss with Emma, finds joy in the way she smiles and laughs (though he shies away from delving into the whys of that). And for now, that's enough to stave off the worst of his darkened mood.
Faraday trudges over to the hearth, steps silent despite how they drag, and after a bit of concentration, lifts up nearby log and tosses it onto the fire. He grabs hold of the poker next, brow creased with focus, and stokes the flame. ]
Go on, then. Ain't you got your dinner to attend to?
no subject
what a strange life, to be seen by one person alone, while effectively having his existence seem void otherwise.
she's appreciative of the way he sees to the fire, and it makes a quick difference, enough for her to leave her shawl behind to head into the kitchen again. ]
I suppose I ought to, as long as I'm guaranteed to have no further startling experiences while I'm at it.
[ she casts a pointed look towards him, but it's not especially disgruntled - there's almost a teasing edge to it, even. ]
I doubt the doctor would appreciate another visit this evening.
[ and she sure would like to avoid any further stitches in the immediate future. she doesn't actively blame faraday for the mishap, because really, it had been an unfortunate accident all around, but she still had zero appreciation for getting spooked at any point, knife in hand or no. ]