[ faraday's words actually startle emma, and she wishes she had more than a moment to react to what he's said, but then his hand is passing right through hers and her entire body seizes up.
there is it: that flash of desperate cold that she swears near freezes the blood in her veins, like her whole body has been dunked under a wintery lake, and despite the fact that it only lasts the briefest of moments, she's left wide-eyed and shivering.
well. she's sure awake now.
she pulls her hand back, gently gripping her arm and near hugging herself to ward off that flash of death her nerves seem to instinctively realize they've encountered. death and something not of this world: she supposes that's what faraday is, but it's only when she feels something like this that she remembers it.
she leans against the wall behind her bed, eyes far more alert as she looks at faraday now, some of those ghosts banished with her exhaustion. instead of a "thank you," she says instead: ]
You've– never been asked to hold a woman's hand before?
[ she feels a flicker of regret, then, that this is the manner in which he's held hers (if it could even be called that), and she's caught off guard by the odd ache in her chest that wishes she could have foregone the ghostly contact for something more substantial, like actually feeling faraday's hand on hers again.
(in better circumstances, maybe, than on the hill as he lay dying. she'd held his hand then, but that had been far different.)
[ The shift in the room is practically audible – one moment, quiet with dread. The next, chilled and tense, like stepping out in the dead of winter. Faraday drops his gaze, looks off into a corner of the room to avoid looking at Emma.
(Because he knows what he'll see on her face, that look of wide-eyed fear, that reminder of how wrong he is.)
He keeps his silence, waits for the coldness of death's touch – or whatever the hell he ought to call what he did – to pass. When she speaks, his gaze doesn't move, remains fixed on the shadowy little corner, and—
He barks out a laugh. Of all the things to ask, he thinks, that's the first that came to mind? What an odd woman, Emma Cullen. ]
It might surprise you to know, but I ain't exactly the courtin' type. Nor was most'a' the women I went with.
[ Probably an improper topic of conversation to have with a lady, but he merely shrugs. ]
Holdin' hands weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind.
[ she's glad to see faraday laugh in the aftermath of— that. the adamant way he looked away from her didn't leave a pleasant feeling in her gut, but she doesn't blame him. it's rare that these brutal reminders shake their time together, because despite faraday's casual cracks about his undead existence, it's still...easy to forget the reality.
she has the good grace to turn a little pink when he explains himself, but she shrugs it off dismissively. ]
I suppose that's a fair point.
[ from what she'd known of faraday before he'd died, she certainly wouldn't have expected him to be the kind of man to attempt courting a woman (not like matthew had been), so she supposes she understands, but...she'd greatly enjoyed that sort of simple contact from her husband; it's such a basic way to show affection, and there was something soothing about it. ]
But I wouldn't say that's the only time you'd held my hand — though by that count, neither circumstance has been especially ideal.
[ while he was dying or while he fades right through her: what strange moments, she decides, shaking the thought away.
reaching for her blankets, she gathers them up to wrap around her shoulders, bundle up a tad. the house itself is cold, on account of the fire burning far lower, and the leftover chills she feels from faraday's touch warrant the extra layers. tucking it all around herself, she watches him from her makeshift nest of bedclothes; she looks awake now, something she's grateful for, and she doesn't feel near as close to drifting off out of sheer exhaustion again. ]
[ He laughs again, though the sound doesn't quite approach mirthful; reminders of his last moments rarely elicit anything but a grim look, a slight creasing of his brow. Faraday will speak of most things with unnerving ease – including his state of nonexistence – but dying, feeling the life leave him bit by painful but, is still a dangerous topic.
They held hands then, yes, but not out of affection. It was desperation. It was fear. It was one final link to the living, a last-ditch attempt to anchor himself. ]
No, I wouldn't rightly say either instance has been what a person might call intimate.
[ Because that's what it is, really. Intimate. Something sweethearts do, something families do. People with softness in them. Faraday doesn't consider himself one of those people, covered in cactus needles and barbs as he is, all rough edges and sharp words.
He never felt he lacked for it, that intimacy. That familiarity. He also felt himself incapable of it.
He still thinks those things, even in death.
Thinks that, but when he glances up to see her bundling herself in her blankets, he frowns, half rises from where he sits. ]
emma scoffs slightly at the word, as if possibly defining either moment in such a way is absurd to her.
by no stretch of the imagination would she call either instance "intimate," but she finds a strange sense of similarity in seeking an anchor out of the contact. he'd clung to her hand like it was the only rock in an ortherwise brutal, unrepentant storm, and emma had sought means by which to ground herself, even if that had been in faraday's touch (or lack thereof). unpleasant as the sensation may have been, it had given her an anchor of her own, forcefully rooting her in the reality of the moment because now? she didn't feel the same tug of her nightmares; the forceful drag of sleep is momentarily gone, and she knows it's her body's way of responding to something that it can't understand.
but that's rightfully better than drifting off without meaning to and spending hours more in bright and hellish dreams. it may not be death that she seeks to tether herself from, but faraday had provided a much needed anchor to the waking world, and she's beyond grateful for it.
as he starts to rise, she nods, resting her chin on her knees. ]
I'd be much obliged if you'd see to it.
[ she appreciates it, because she still doesn't feel that she's ready to get her feet under her. she glances towards his face again, her expression not quite troubled, but thoughtful. ]
Also.
[ she hesitates, then sighs softly. ]
I apologize if I overstepped my bounds asking that of you - to touch me, I mean.
[ it had helped, certainly, but she'd seen the look on his face, knew that the reminder of what he is was not a pleasant one. ]
[ He nods as he stands. Stoking the fire is easy enough, by now, and takes much less concentration than it did before. Practice makes perfect, he supposes, and with the colder weather setting in, he's had a decent amount of practice. Might as well make himself useful, after all, when he offers little with his presence.
He feels the expectant weight of her gaze on him, though, and he pauses, waits for her to say whatever is still on her mind. An apology hadn't been what he was expecting, and for a second, he pauses, looks down at the wooden floor to collect his thoughts. ]
'S fine.
[ is what he decides on. Assuming one uses a very loose definition for the word "fine." There was a lot wrong with his situation, but— he makes do. As he always has. As he always does.
He shrugs, tipping his head slightly to one side, as if to say, What can you do? ]
Let's not go makin' somethin' out of nothin', alright?
[ emma isn't sure she feels right continuing to push faraday for more of an acknowledgement than that. it's not fine, she can see that much from his posture, his tone, and the general fact of this existence. ]
Fair enough.
[ talking much about these sorts of situations isn't her forte, and she's far likelier to let it lie than continue prodding him — partially to avoid her own line of thoughts about the matter. it's still so surreal to have him effectively living with her ("living"), but ghost that he is, he's still more of a person than she'd otherwise have around her so often.
it's nice, she realizes, to not feel so alone (not that she'll admit that aloud to him). ]
Faraday.
[ she shifts forward, some of the blankets falling from around her shoulders as the room starts to warm. ]
Since I'm now fairly awake—
[incredibly awake. ]
—might I take you up on that offer to show me those trick shuffles of yours?
[ not so she can actually play poker or indulge of any of his other vices, but it's admittedly fascinating to watch his hands move with the cards.
(and it's also something to keep her busy while it's still the dead of night.) ]
[ He offers a puzzled sort of smile at the request, as he stokes the fire with the poker; he glances over long enough to ask, ]
Thought you said I wasn't havin' an influence on you?
[ But he offers no further argument as he sets the iron aside. His cards were left haphazardly on the table – more of a messy pile, considering the way they fell through his hands earlier – and he collects the cards, stacking them neatly. In a blink, he returns to her side, sitting on the edge of her bed again with the cards in his hands. Idly, he cuts the deck – nothing particularly fancy; just something to do with his hands. ]
You mean to go into the fine business of hustlin', Miss Emma?
[ emma has started to adjust to his quick reappearances, barely jolting when he popped back up at the side of her bed. her lips twitch into a bit of amusement, and she straightens, folding her knees underneath her and making sure her shift is properly adjusted before she refocuses on what faraday does with his hands. ]
Mister Faraday, you know all too well I've no need for that sort of business — and I would hardly measure card shufflin' as an influence.
[ she tacks the "mister" on as a means of teasing him, these days, less so out of propriety. ]
But I've always been awful fascinated by the way you move the cards.
[ it's impressive, no matter what he uses it for, and what better way to while away the dark evening hours than practicing a skill? she certainly can't go out to shoot, after all, so this is something, and it's something that includes faraday. ]
[ It's easier to stomach the title when she knows she's just trying to get a rise out of him, and he answers it with a smirk. ]
Never know till you try. You might find you have a knack for it.
[ It takes a little more focus now than it did before. Simple actions – lifting, pushing, pulling – come easier now with time and practice. Acts of dexterity, though, of fine little movements and adjustments, have been a little more difficult.
But he's been practicing that, too, when the world is asleep and he has time to himself. He holds the deck in his hand, lifts the top card to reveal the suicide king, the King of Hearts, whose sword runs straight through his head. Faraday flips it back over atop the deck, hiding it among the rest, then cuts it in half and riffles the halves together. The cards bridge into a single deck after that, the paper snapping softly as the cards move back into place. Another cut in half, then he cuts the deck into three parts, moves them around in his hands until he arranges them neatly into a stack. He flicks the top card over onto the bed.
Perhaps. But I think I'd much rather find myself a less dangerous line of work.
[ people tended to get awful steamed when they realize they've been cheated, and on top of emma's genuine nature, she's not sure it would ever sit right with her to purposefully trick others out of their money.
it's just not in her.
she watches faraday shuffle the cards, over and over, until he produces the king of hearts, yet again. her eyebrows raise, and though she's seen him do it multiple times, it still impresses her (even more so now when she finds herself struck by the reality of what he is and that he can still interact with the cards like this). odd, she decides, but she can't find an explanation for his existence on its own, let alone why he can pick up the cards like he's just as corporeal as she is. ]
Now, how did you do that?
[ because this? for hustling or not, this catches her attention. ]
[ He smiles a little, catching the interest in her eyes. Truth is, that wasn't even one of his best shuffles, but the more difficult ones are just beyond his capabilities, given what he is. He can move packets around easily, but the tricks that take palming cards or hiding them behind his fingers is a level of dexterity he hasn't quite remastered. ]
Once again, I feel the need to inform you that this is the only time I've ever acquiesced to answerin' a question like that. A magician never reveals his secrets, on pain of death.
But seein' as how I'm already colder than a wagon wheel...
[ He puts the King of Hearts back on top of the deck, face up so it's easier for Emma to track. He does the same shuffle – slower this time. Two halves riffled together, then bridged, only he pauses this time, turns his hands slightly to reveal the two halves haven't quite settled together, their long edges not quite flush. A clever cut partially concealed by his hands separates the unsettled halves, putting the packet with the King of Hearts back on top once again. The cards haven't been shuffled at all.
The three cuts he makes after that are little more than smoke and mirrors; a fancy sort of rearrangement in his hands, moving and twisting and spinning the packets of cards from one side to the other – but sure enough, the King of Hearts ends right back on top.
He flicks the suicide king onto the bed again, making a flourish with his free hand and dipping his head in a truncated bow. ]
[ with the second shuffle, she watches without taking her eyes off of the motion of the cards. it's far easier to track when he slows it for her, and she realizes where the card is going this time. she's trying to memorize how he moves the halves of the deck, how he's mindful of the selected card, keeping it effective separated until he produces it all over again.
an amused smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and she picks up the king, brushing her thumb across the face of the card, before looking back up at faraday. ]
Still mightily impressive, Faraday. How did you learn this yourself?
[ she holds the card back out to him, figuring she could do with another demonstration before she tries to do it herself (which will inevitably be a bit embarrassing, trying to adjust to it). ]
[ He takes the proffered card, mindful of his distance to keep from brushing against her fingers. That particular performance was one that didn't bear repeating, in his eyes. ]
Tried hustlin' the wrong man, one night.
[ He performs the shuffle again at the same speed – the false riffle, the false cuts, but he speaks as he does it. Something close to his usual magician's patter, speaking as a distraction, weaving words to redirect the eyes. ]
When I was young, didn't know too well how to swindle folks. Thought keepin' a face card or two in my pocket was clever, and it worked— see how I keep the cards separate here? You gotta twist 'em a little while you make the bridge.
Anyway. Played a game one night, won a couple hands 'fore another man stepped in, took the place'a' some poor bastards who'd called it quits. Swept us all clean, had this grin on his face the whole time.
[ He starts the shuffle again from the top, the movements slow and smooth. ]
Turns out, he'd been swindlin' folks longer'n I'd been alive. Guess he thought it was funny, the way I was ploddin' my way through the games and still comin' out on top, so he took me under his wing. Showed me a few things.
[ With a final flourish, the suicide king arrives back on top of the deck, and Faraday flips the card face down back on top of the deck. He places the entire deck on the bed between them – less risk of accidental contact, that way – and gestures to the cards. He smiles a little in challenge. ]
You ever shuffle cards before? Can't imagine a fine, upstandin' lady like you ever comin' in touch with such sinful things.
[ emma's gaze flickers from between the cards to faraday's face as he talks, but on the last repetition, her eyes are entirely on the deck. each cut and bridge, she tries to commit to memory, even as she realizes it's going to take a good deal of practice for her to even get the motions down pat.
a good thing they have hours until sunrise, then.
he sets down the cards, and emma finally glances up again, catching the challenge in his smile — something she's all too familiar with coming from him. she doesn't say a single thing as she reaches out for the cards, runs her finger along the sides. she makes a bit of a show at first of carefully splitting the deck, thumbing the corners like she's trying to adjust her hold properly...
...and then she neatly riffles the cards together, pushes them into a high arch, and lets them quickly cascade back into a stack in the flat of her fingers. ]
I'm sure it goes somethin' like that.
[ she tries not to smile as she looks back up at faraday, quirking her eyebrow just slightly at him.
spending a great deal of time traveling, looking for a place to settle down with others in rose creek, there had been many a night where there was little to nothing to do. she wasn't one for poker, never had a taste for gambling or the habit of betting money, but other games? it was a means to while away the hours, and after watching the men shuffling the cards, it had become something for her to practice, to keep her hands busy.
just by nature of being a woman, she hadn't let that deter her from participation. ]
Nothin' sinful about a deck of cards, Faraday. It's rather what you'd do with them than the nature of their existence.
[ Well, well, Emma Cullen is just full of surprises, isn’t she?
As the cards snap back into a pile in her hands, Faraday blinks, eyebrows lifting a little. That was— surprisingly good. Much better than he had expected, honestly, and for a second, the surprise stands naked on his face. It disappears the second she glances up, though, with that cheeky little not-smile of hers, and he responds with a bit of a flat look – the same kind of look they offer when the other is being particularly irksome. ]
Fine, fine, that’s one less thing I gotta teach you, then.
Start with the trick bridge, then.
[ It’s a little harder to demonstrate without the cards in his own hands, but he does his best, explaining how to twist the cards a little so that when the cards fall back into place, the long edges of the two halves don’t lie flush together. ]
Who taught you how to shuffle, anyhow? Can’t imagine it’s a skill very many women have.
[ emma manages to keep her expression composed enough that she doesn't look entirely smug, but now that it's a bit clearer she's not so far behind, she simply follows his instructions. it takes a few times, and she initially struggles with keeping the cards from falling perfectly back into the same pile before she manages to separate them into halves again.
she looks up to faraday again once she's done it, finally replying, ]
Matthew.
[ she holds the deck carefully for the next step, her expression only slightly more distant. thinking about her now-dead husband would do that, because in reality, she didn't bring him up often, didn't like the reminder. he was on her mind regularly enough that she didn't much feel a need to draw him into her conversations — and it still aches a bit to remember that he's in the town's cemetery, rather than her bed tonight. ]
When we were travelin' to come here, some nights he'd be playing cards with the other men. Hearts and the like. I asked him to show me, and he did. Simple as that.
Edited (how tf can i not spell today) 2016-10-12 17:13 (UTC)
[ The mention of her late husband is enough to make his expression sober, and he glances away when she turns her attentions back to the cards. Faraday wonders, sometimes, what it was that brought him back to Rose Creek, diminished though he may be. He wonders if it was luck, good or bad, or fate, or just someone up there paying a dirty trick on him. And he wonders why it was him, of all people, why it wasn’t Goody or Billy or Jack, or hell, even Bogue. Cold son of a bitch that he was, it would almost seem natural for him to escape the clutches of death to terrorize the town again.
And very rarely, Faraday wonders why it wasn’t Matthew.
The thought never lasts very long, considering how little he knew of the man. Teddy Q had mentioned a thing or two, but never much. The sting of loss was still too fresh, Faraday figured, and he never cared to press. But of all of them, shouldn’t it have been him? The man with actual ties to this town, who had buried his roots so deep he was willing to die to single-handedly face down a tyrant?
The noise of the cards snapping together, of the fire crackling softly, fills in the silence between them as Faraday watches her bridge the cards again. Then, quietly (and oh, so carefully), ]
[ it would be a lie if emma tried to say she hadn't wondered similarly, why it had been faraday and none of the others (thank god it wasn't bogue), and sometimes...she wonders why it hadn't been matthew. of all the people that could be haunting the town, haunting her in particular, why not her husband?
it's not the sort of thought she'd ever voice aloud, certainly not to faraday, but it makes a person wonder why one ghost and not another?
the corner of emma's lips lift slightly at the question and the memories it calls up. ]
Yes. It's been a good long while since I have, but he did teach me.
[ cards had been an excellent way to pass time, a shockingly enjoyable activity (partially because emma was a touch competitive, and the games had been a good outlet for it). ]
He was never one to tell me I oughtn't learn something just because it's not a woman's place.
[ she couldn't have loved a man who would seek to silence her, tell her what she should and shouldn't do just because she was his wife. she'd appreciated that about matthew, rare trait that it was. ]
[ He watches the way her expression softens, turns a little warm as she speaks on her husband, and he feels a strange sort of twist. Something a little bitter, a little sad, and he’s not rightly sure why. Not as though he knew the man personally to have any particular feelings on him, one way or the other. It’s clear that Emma was fond of him, though he’d known that for ages, now. (Why else would she wander away from the relative safety of her home to search for wild men with violence in their blood, if not for vengeance?)
Maybe part of him wishes he had someone who thought of him that way, though he hardly wants to admit that, even to himself, backs away from that treacherous thought like someone might avoid the unsteady grounds above a mine. He was too rough around the edges, too covered in nettles and barbs; he didn’t need that softness when he was alive, and he needs it even less, now. ]
I bet you were a menace at the table.
[ is what he settles on. He puts on a wry sort of smirk, an eyebrow quirking upwards. ]
I can just picture you gettin’ all red in the face when you end up with the Black Lady.
[ there's near wistfulness in emma's eyes when she talks about matthew, warm memories stirring her in a way she hasn't felt in a while; it's different to think on the good times, rather than the same event replayed in her nightmares.
matthew's life was far more deserving than the death he suffered. the kind of man he was, he shouldn't have been near put down in the middle of the street.
she turns her gaze back up to faraday, the nostalgia flickering away from her expression in favor of a little twist in her lips, an edge of competition flaring to life. it's not something faraday is wont to see often, but oh, it's certainly there. ]
I was decent in my own right.
[ or rather: good. she had the kind of face that would lull others easily into thinking she'd go down easy, that she'd just swallow every trick, but emma was a queen of sluffing unwanted cards. ]
And I will have you know I was a far sight more composed than that.
[ she bridges the cards in her hands again, holding them apart so they didn't quite finish falling together, before she looks back up at faraday. ]
[ He laughs a little at the mental image; he doesn’t doubt for a second that Emma could have held her own, imagines her at the card tables in the types of rundown saloons he used to frequent. She probably wouldn’t need any of his tricks – her fiery stare was probably unnerving enough to cow any man into folding.
The challenge in her eyes isn’t new, but the context is – talks of winning and losing. That little smile of hers is familiar, in a way. He’s seen it before countless times, but not on her face. Somehow, it’s not surprising, and it makes him smile all the more. ]
‘Course. Foolish of me to underestimate you.
[ Foolish of anyone to do that, really, but especially of Faraday, considering the types of things he’s seen her do; it’s a habit he needs to break himself of.
When she bridges the cards again, the two packets intermingled but not quite flush, he mimes out the cut he had used before, fingers covering the short edge from the front, his non-dominant hand pulling the two halves apart from the back. He describes the steps as best as he can – but by now, it’s more intuitive than anything he can put into words. It’s a bit of a clumsy explanation, all things considered. ]
The idea is to make it look like an under cut, like you’re takin’ the bottom half and ploppin’ it on top, but really, you’re just putting the cards back in the same order from before you cut ‘em.
You still gotta sell it, though. Make it look natural.
[ any man foolish enough to underestimate emma cullen is a fool indeed. emma never has and never will be the type of woman to back down when she knows she's right, when she knows she can win, or when she's determined to see something through. she's good and kind, certainly, but she also has an unbendable will that's seen her through more than a few dark times.
the ordeal with bogue included.
she watches what faraday mimes with his hands, looking down at the deck as she considers the way she's holding the cards, and then tries to mimic it for herself.
...only to have them spill out of her fingers, a few flipping up into the air as they break from the arch of the bridge, and spread onto the bed between them.
the look of surprise on emma's face is near comical, all startlement and big eyes, because she obviously wasn't expecting the cards to break out of her hands quite like that.]
[ For a second, he looks surprised, as well, a few of the cards actually drifting through him as they fall from her fingers.
Then, he laughs. ]
Maybe— maybe don't do it like that. Minor suggestion.
[ He turns, casting around for some of the fallen cards, and finds that a few had made their way behind him in the mess. After that, he starts trying to arrange the cards nearest him into a neat stack. ]
Had me worried there, for a bit. Was wonderin' if I was actually gonna have anythin' to teach you, expert as you already were.
[ emma's not laughing, but she's at least smiling as she gathers up the cards, reaching out to put them together with the other stack faraday's managed to find from the way they'd spilled across the bed. ]
I never claimed to be an expert of any kind.
[ she glances around for any stray cards, picking up the deck again. ]
You just never happened to ask before about any of my card playin' experience.
[ looking back at faraday, she's still smiling, small but genuinely warm as she neatens up the cards, casually riffling them again and trying to repeat what he'd shown her. she has a bit more success this time, not sending the cards flying, but she still has to do it awful slow to make sure she doesn't slip up. ]
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no subject
there is it: that flash of desperate cold that she swears near freezes the blood in her veins, like her whole body has been dunked under a wintery lake, and despite the fact that it only lasts the briefest of moments, she's left wide-eyed and shivering.
well. she's sure awake now.
she pulls her hand back, gently gripping her arm and near hugging herself to ward off that flash of death her nerves seem to instinctively realize they've encountered. death and something not of this world: she supposes that's what faraday is, but it's only when she feels something like this that she remembers it.
she leans against the wall behind her bed, eyes far more alert as she looks at faraday now, some of those ghosts banished with her exhaustion. instead of a "thank you," she says instead: ]
You've– never been asked to hold a woman's hand before?
[ she feels a flicker of regret, then, that this is the manner in which he's held hers (if it could even be called that), and she's caught off guard by the odd ache in her chest that wishes she could have foregone the ghostly contact for something more substantial, like actually feeling faraday's hand on hers again.
(in better circumstances, maybe, than on the hill as he lay dying. she'd held his hand then, but that had been far different.)
...what an odd impulse that sure is. ]
no subject
(Because he knows what he'll see on her face, that look of wide-eyed fear, that reminder of how wrong he is.)
He keeps his silence, waits for the coldness of death's touch – or whatever the hell he ought to call what he did – to pass. When she speaks, his gaze doesn't move, remains fixed on the shadowy little corner, and—
He barks out a laugh. Of all the things to ask, he thinks, that's the first that came to mind? What an odd woman, Emma Cullen. ]
It might surprise you to know, but I ain't exactly the courtin' type. Nor was most'a' the women I went with.
[ Probably an improper topic of conversation to have with a lady, but he merely shrugs. ]
Holdin' hands weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind.
no subject
she has the good grace to turn a little pink when he explains himself, but she shrugs it off dismissively. ]
I suppose that's a fair point.
[ from what she'd known of faraday before he'd died, she certainly wouldn't have expected him to be the kind of man to attempt courting a woman (not like matthew had been), so she supposes she understands, but...she'd greatly enjoyed that sort of simple contact from her husband; it's such a basic way to show affection, and there was something soothing about it. ]
But I wouldn't say that's the only time you'd held my hand — though by that count, neither circumstance has been especially ideal.
[ while he was dying or while he fades right through her: what strange moments, she decides, shaking the thought away.
reaching for her blankets, she gathers them up to wrap around her shoulders, bundle up a tad. the house itself is cold, on account of the fire burning far lower, and the leftover chills she feels from faraday's touch warrant the extra layers. tucking it all around herself, she watches him from her makeshift nest of bedclothes; she looks awake now, something she's grateful for, and she doesn't feel near as close to drifting off out of sheer exhaustion again. ]
no subject
They held hands then, yes, but not out of affection. It was desperation. It was fear. It was one final link to the living, a last-ditch attempt to anchor himself. ]
No, I wouldn't rightly say either instance has been what a person might call intimate.
[ Because that's what it is, really. Intimate. Something sweethearts do, something families do. People with softness in them. Faraday doesn't consider himself one of those people, covered in cactus needles and barbs as he is, all rough edges and sharp words.
He never felt he lacked for it, that intimacy. That familiarity. He also felt himself incapable of it.
He still thinks those things, even in death.
Thinks that, but when he glances up to see her bundling herself in her blankets, he frowns, half rises from where he sits. ]
You want me to build up the fire for you?
no subject
emma scoffs slightly at the word, as if possibly defining either moment in such a way is absurd to her.
by no stretch of the imagination would she call either instance "intimate," but she finds a strange sense of similarity in seeking an anchor out of the contact. he'd clung to her hand like it was the only rock in an ortherwise brutal, unrepentant storm, and emma had sought means by which to ground herself, even if that had been in faraday's touch (or lack thereof). unpleasant as the sensation may have been, it had given her an anchor of her own, forcefully rooting her in the reality of the moment because now? she didn't feel the same tug of her nightmares; the forceful drag of sleep is momentarily gone, and she knows it's her body's way of responding to something that it can't understand.
but that's rightfully better than drifting off without meaning to and spending hours more in bright and hellish dreams. it may not be death that she seeks to tether herself from, but faraday had provided a much needed anchor to the waking world, and she's beyond grateful for it.
as he starts to rise, she nods, resting her chin on her knees. ]
I'd be much obliged if you'd see to it.
[ she appreciates it, because she still doesn't feel that she's ready to get her feet under her. she glances towards his face again, her expression not quite troubled, but thoughtful. ]
Also.
[ she hesitates, then sighs softly. ]
I apologize if I overstepped my bounds asking that of you - to touch me, I mean.
[ it had helped, certainly, but she'd seen the look on his face, knew that the reminder of what he is was not a pleasant one. ]
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He feels the expectant weight of her gaze on him, though, and he pauses, waits for her to say whatever is still on her mind. An apology hadn't been what he was expecting, and for a second, he pauses, looks down at the wooden floor to collect his thoughts. ]
'S fine.
[ is what he decides on. Assuming one uses a very loose definition for the word "fine." There was a lot wrong with his situation, but— he makes do. As he always has. As he always does.
He shrugs, tipping his head slightly to one side, as if to say, What can you do? ]
Let's not go makin' somethin' out of nothin', alright?
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Fair enough.
[ talking much about these sorts of situations isn't her forte, and she's far likelier to let it lie than continue prodding him — partially to avoid her own line of thoughts about the matter. it's still so surreal to have him effectively living with her ("living"), but ghost that he is, he's still more of a person than she'd otherwise have around her so often.
it's nice, she realizes, to not feel so alone (not that she'll admit that aloud to him). ]
Faraday.
[ she shifts forward, some of the blankets falling from around her shoulders as the room starts to warm. ]
Since I'm now fairly awake—
[ incredibly awake. ]
—might I take you up on that offer to show me those trick shuffles of yours?
[ not so she can actually play poker or indulge of any of his other vices, but it's admittedly fascinating to watch his hands move with the cards.
(and it's also something to keep her busy while it's still the dead of night.) ]
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Thought you said I wasn't havin' an influence on you?
[ But he offers no further argument as he sets the iron aside. His cards were left haphazardly on the table – more of a messy pile, considering the way they fell through his hands earlier – and he collects the cards, stacking them neatly. In a blink, he returns to her side, sitting on the edge of her bed again with the cards in his hands. Idly, he cuts the deck – nothing particularly fancy; just something to do with his hands. ]
You mean to go into the fine business of hustlin', Miss Emma?
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Mister Faraday, you know all too well I've no need for that sort of business — and I would hardly measure card shufflin' as an influence.
[ she tacks the "mister" on as a means of teasing him, these days, less so out of propriety. ]
But I've always been awful fascinated by the way you move the cards.
[ it's impressive, no matter what he uses it for, and what better way to while away the dark evening hours than practicing a skill? she certainly can't go out to shoot, after all, so this is something, and it's something that includes faraday. ]
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Never know till you try. You might find you have a knack for it.
[ It takes a little more focus now than it did before. Simple actions – lifting, pushing, pulling – come easier now with time and practice. Acts of dexterity, though, of fine little movements and adjustments, have been a little more difficult.
But he's been practicing that, too, when the world is asleep and he has time to himself. He holds the deck in his hand, lifts the top card to reveal the suicide king, the King of Hearts, whose sword runs straight through his head. Faraday flips it back over atop the deck, hiding it among the rest, then cuts it in half and riffles the halves together. The cards bridge into a single deck after that, the paper snapping softly as the cards move back into place. Another cut in half, then he cuts the deck into three parts, moves them around in his hands until he arranges them neatly into a stack. He flicks the top card over onto the bed.
The suicide king, once again. ]
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[ people tended to get awful steamed when they realize they've been cheated, and on top of emma's genuine nature, she's not sure it would ever sit right with her to purposefully trick others out of their money.
it's just not in her.
she watches faraday shuffle the cards, over and over, until he produces the king of hearts, yet again. her eyebrows raise, and though she's seen him do it multiple times, it still impresses her (even more so now when she finds herself struck by the reality of what he is and that he can still interact with the cards like this). odd, she decides, but she can't find an explanation for his existence on its own, let alone why he can pick up the cards like he's just as corporeal as she is. ]
Now, how did you do that?
[ because this? for hustling or not, this catches her attention. ]
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Once again, I feel the need to inform you that this is the only time I've ever acquiesced to answerin' a question like that. A magician never reveals his secrets, on pain of death.
But seein' as how I'm already colder than a wagon wheel...
[ He puts the King of Hearts back on top of the deck, face up so it's easier for Emma to track. He does the same shuffle – slower this time. Two halves riffled together, then bridged, only he pauses this time, turns his hands slightly to reveal the two halves haven't quite settled together, their long edges not quite flush. A clever cut partially concealed by his hands separates the unsettled halves, putting the packet with the King of Hearts back on top once again. The cards haven't been shuffled at all.
The three cuts he makes after that are little more than smoke and mirrors; a fancy sort of rearrangement in his hands, moving and twisting and spinning the packets of cards from one side to the other – but sure enough, the King of Hearts ends right back on top.
He flicks the suicide king onto the bed again, making a flourish with his free hand and dipping his head in a truncated bow. ]
Your card.
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[ with the second shuffle, she watches without taking her eyes off of the motion of the cards. it's far easier to track when he slows it for her, and she realizes where the card is going this time. she's trying to memorize how he moves the halves of the deck, how he's mindful of the selected card, keeping it effective separated until he produces it all over again.
an amused smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and she picks up the king, brushing her thumb across the face of the card, before looking back up at faraday. ]
Still mightily impressive, Faraday. How did you learn this yourself?
[ she holds the card back out to him, figuring she could do with another demonstration before she tries to do it herself (which will inevitably be a bit embarrassing, trying to adjust to it). ]
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Tried hustlin' the wrong man, one night.
[ He performs the shuffle again at the same speed – the false riffle, the false cuts, but he speaks as he does it. Something close to his usual magician's patter, speaking as a distraction, weaving words to redirect the eyes. ]
When I was young, didn't know too well how to swindle folks. Thought keepin' a face card or two in my pocket was clever, and it worked— see how I keep the cards separate here? You gotta twist 'em a little while you make the bridge.
Anyway. Played a game one night, won a couple hands 'fore another man stepped in, took the place'a' some poor bastards who'd called it quits. Swept us all clean, had this grin on his face the whole time.
[ He starts the shuffle again from the top, the movements slow and smooth. ]
Turns out, he'd been swindlin' folks longer'n I'd been alive. Guess he thought it was funny, the way I was ploddin' my way through the games and still comin' out on top, so he took me under his wing. Showed me a few things.
[ With a final flourish, the suicide king arrives back on top of the deck, and Faraday flips the card face down back on top of the deck. He places the entire deck on the bed between them – less risk of accidental contact, that way – and gestures to the cards. He smiles a little in challenge. ]
You ever shuffle cards before? Can't imagine a fine, upstandin' lady like you ever comin' in touch with such sinful things.
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a good thing they have hours until sunrise, then.
he sets down the cards, and emma finally glances up again, catching the challenge in his smile — something she's all too familiar with coming from him. she doesn't say a single thing as she reaches out for the cards, runs her finger along the sides. she makes a bit of a show at first of carefully splitting the deck, thumbing the corners like she's trying to adjust her hold properly...
...and then she neatly riffles the cards together, pushes them into a high arch, and lets them quickly cascade back into a stack in the flat of her fingers. ]
I'm sure it goes somethin' like that.
[ she tries not to smile as she looks back up at faraday, quirking her eyebrow just slightly at him.
spending a great deal of time traveling, looking for a place to settle down with others in rose creek, there had been many a night where there was little to nothing to do. she wasn't one for poker, never had a taste for gambling or the habit of betting money, but other games? it was a means to while away the hours, and after watching the men shuffling the cards, it had become something for her to practice, to keep her hands busy.
just by nature of being a woman, she hadn't let that deter her from participation. ]
Nothin' sinful about a deck of cards, Faraday. It's rather what you'd do with them than the nature of their existence.
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As the cards snap back into a pile in her hands, Faraday blinks, eyebrows lifting a little. That was— surprisingly good. Much better than he had expected, honestly, and for a second, the surprise stands naked on his face. It disappears the second she glances up, though, with that cheeky little not-smile of hers, and he responds with a bit of a flat look – the same kind of look they offer when the other is being particularly irksome. ]
Fine, fine, that’s one less thing I gotta teach you, then.
Start with the trick bridge, then.
[ It’s a little harder to demonstrate without the cards in his own hands, but he does his best, explaining how to twist the cards a little so that when the cards fall back into place, the long edges of the two halves don’t lie flush together. ]
Who taught you how to shuffle, anyhow? Can’t imagine it’s a skill very many women have.
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she looks up to faraday again once she's done it, finally replying, ]
Matthew.
[ she holds the deck carefully for the next step, her expression only slightly more distant. thinking about her now-dead husband would do that, because in reality, she didn't bring him up often, didn't like the reminder. he was on her mind regularly enough that she didn't much feel a need to draw him into her conversations — and it still aches a bit to remember that he's in the town's cemetery, rather than her bed tonight. ]
When we were travelin' to come here, some nights he'd be playing cards with the other men. Hearts and the like. I asked him to show me, and he did. Simple as that.
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And very rarely, Faraday wonders why it wasn’t Matthew.
The thought never lasts very long, considering how little he knew of the man. Teddy Q had mentioned a thing or two, but never much. The sting of loss was still too fresh, Faraday figured, and he never cared to press. But of all of them, shouldn’t it have been him? The man with actual ties to this town, who had buried his roots so deep he was willing to die to single-handedly face down a tyrant?
The noise of the cards snapping together, of the fire crackling softly, fills in the silence between them as Faraday watches her bridge the cards again. Then, quietly (and oh, so carefully), ]
Did he teach you to play, too?
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it's not the sort of thought she'd ever voice aloud, certainly not to faraday, but it makes a person wonder why one ghost and not another?
the corner of emma's lips lift slightly at the question and the memories it calls up. ]
Yes. It's been a good long while since I have, but he did teach me.
[ cards had been an excellent way to pass time, a shockingly enjoyable activity (partially because emma was a touch competitive, and the games had been a good outlet for it). ]
He was never one to tell me I oughtn't learn something just because it's not a woman's place.
[ she couldn't have loved a man who would seek to silence her, tell her what she should and shouldn't do just because she was his wife. she'd appreciated that about matthew, rare trait that it was. ]
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Maybe part of him wishes he had someone who thought of him that way, though he hardly wants to admit that, even to himself, backs away from that treacherous thought like someone might avoid the unsteady grounds above a mine. He was too rough around the edges, too covered in nettles and barbs; he didn’t need that softness when he was alive, and he needs it even less, now. ]
I bet you were a menace at the table.
[ is what he settles on. He puts on a wry sort of smirk, an eyebrow quirking upwards. ]
I can just picture you gettin’ all red in the face when you end up with the Black Lady.
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matthew's life was far more deserving than the death he suffered. the kind of man he was, he shouldn't have been near put down in the middle of the street.
she turns her gaze back up to faraday, the nostalgia flickering away from her expression in favor of a little twist in her lips, an edge of competition flaring to life. it's not something faraday is wont to see often, but oh, it's certainly there. ]
I was decent in my own right.
[ or rather: good. she had the kind of face that would lull others easily into thinking she'd go down easy, that she'd just swallow every trick, but emma was a queen of sluffing unwanted cards. ]
And I will have you know I was a far sight more composed than that.
[ she bridges the cards in her hands again, holding them apart so they didn't quite finish falling together, before she looks back up at faraday. ]
Next?
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The challenge in her eyes isn’t new, but the context is – talks of winning and losing. That little smile of hers is familiar, in a way. He’s seen it before countless times, but not on her face. Somehow, it’s not surprising, and it makes him smile all the more. ]
‘Course. Foolish of me to underestimate you.
[ Foolish of anyone to do that, really, but especially of Faraday, considering the types of things he’s seen her do; it’s a habit he needs to break himself of.
When she bridges the cards again, the two packets intermingled but not quite flush, he mimes out the cut he had used before, fingers covering the short edge from the front, his non-dominant hand pulling the two halves apart from the back. He describes the steps as best as he can – but by now, it’s more intuitive than anything he can put into words. It’s a bit of a clumsy explanation, all things considered. ]
The idea is to make it look like an under cut, like you’re takin’ the bottom half and ploppin’ it on top, but really, you’re just putting the cards back in the same order from before you cut ‘em.
You still gotta sell it, though. Make it look natural.
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the ordeal with bogue included.
she watches what faraday mimes with his hands, looking down at the deck as she considers the way she's holding the cards, and then tries to mimic it for herself.
...only to have them spill out of her fingers, a few flipping up into the air as they break from the arch of the bridge, and spread onto the bed between them.
the look of surprise on emma's face is near comical, all startlement and big eyes, because she obviously wasn't expecting the cards to break out of her hands quite like that.]
...well then.
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Then, he laughs. ]
Maybe— maybe don't do it like that. Minor suggestion.
[ He turns, casting around for some of the fallen cards, and finds that a few had made their way behind him in the mess. After that, he starts trying to arrange the cards nearest him into a neat stack. ]
Had me worried there, for a bit. Was wonderin' if I was actually gonna have anythin' to teach you, expert as you already were.
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I never claimed to be an expert of any kind.
[ she glances around for any stray cards, picking up the deck again. ]
You just never happened to ask before about any of my card playin' experience.
[ looking back at faraday, she's still smiling, small but genuinely warm as she neatens up the cards, casually riffling them again and trying to repeat what he'd shown her. she has a bit more success this time, not sending the cards flying, but she still has to do it awful slow to make sure she doesn't slip up. ]
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