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"I'll drink to that."

He tips the cup towards Edgard briefly in a little toast, then drinks some as well.

"That the only occasion?"

Edited (icon?????) 2020-11-14 17:22 (UTC)

Is this man a mind reader? Edgard shrugs, closing in on himself a little, and shakes his head. He takes a long pull on the bottle, tapping his fingers on them. Finally:

"'S also my birthday." He winces a little.

Ah.

The thing about the Canterbury is that she was the absolute bottom of the barrel, as far as shipping work went. She was also, with her long voyages and infrequent docking, a great place to disappear. That was a big part of why he'd stayed aboard for five years, and he was just one of many.

What this also means is that he knows a thing or two about spotting when a person has a past. He doesn't question why Edgard wouldn't want to celebrate, why he'd rather drink himself into a stupor.

Instead, he makes another little toast, and says, "To your health."

Edited 2020-11-14 23:43 (UTC)

His health? This far into the drink it feels like an insult and Edgard has an urge to snap at Holden. But, he nods, raising the bottle a little, and then drinks deep mastering the impulse. He knows Holden means well and after all, he has been through a fair amount recently.

"And yours." He returns once he's come up for air. "Still here at Riftwatch, I see."

"'s good." He says meaning the drink.

"It is," he agrees, before holding up his hand. The green shard of Fade glimmers; he wiggles his fingers before letting his hand drop.

"I couldn't leave if I wanted to." Though after another sip he adds, "Which, for the record, I don't."

Edgard head bobs unsteadily at Holden's hand.

"No?" He's surprised at that answer, considering the welcome Holden received. He takes another drink.

The part of that he chooses to answer is —

"No. The anchor doesn't let you stay too far from other shard-bearers."

Edgard scrunches his face for a moment. That wasn't what he was asking, but he also doesn't know much about rifters.

"Does it...hurt you or some such like that?" Edgard tries to steady his vision to look up at Holden. No such luck. He closes his eyes briefly.

"So I hear," he says, eyebrows raising. "I'm not planning on testing it out."

He's quiet a moment, then,

"Let me get you some water."

That is some hangover you're gonna have, buddy.

"No, I still have this." He raises the bottle. "Don't need two drinks."

He takes another long drink.

"Seems unfair that you have to stay. 's good that you want to, but think everyone should have a choice."

"Mixing your drinks isn't always a bad idea," he deadpans.

Holden's tempted to get up and bring back some water anyway, but he doesn't really want to leave Edgard alone like this. So he stays put, for the moment.

"We should," he agrees. "But fairness and reality don't overlap as much as I wish they did."

At that statement, Edgard sighs. "I wish that weren't the truth."

He takes another long swig.

"Did you want to leave--where ever you were before?"

Honestly?

"Never."

Good thing Edgard gave him some wine before starting this conversation, so he can have a drink now.

"Did you?"

Since Edgard presumably had a choice, and opted to join Riftwatch.

"No, never." Edgard drinks again.

"Came here because I had to go somewhere and...it seemed like the least worst choice."

He shrugs helplessly.

"Still a choice though."

"What happened?"

But his voice is gentle; he'll take buzz off as a valid answer.

Edgard has had a lot to drink by now and because of this, things come tumbling out his mouth quickly. He's slurring a lot.

"With a group. Died,killed, all of them, and more. I saw. I s-I got away."

He sees Alexandre's face, although not his face, and the bodies. Something hitches and grabs at the bottle greedily. Drink it away. Shove it down.

Much as he doesn't want Edgard to drink himself to death, he can't begrudge the man another drink at retelling that story. Can he say he'd coped so much better?

(We're going after them. They just dusted 50 of our friends.

How far are we gonna take this, Jim?)

"I'm so sorry. I know how hard that is."

He sets his cup down, empty, sympathy flitting across his expression.

Edgard finishes the bottle and lets it drop clattering. He then recoils from Holden's answer.

"Do you?" Edgard's face darkens and he feels a rising tide inside him and he breaths heavily. He's not sure why he's angry, why this sympathy hurts him, but he doesn't see how Holden, how anyone, can possibly know the weight of the burden he carries.

He shuts his eyes to it all and breathes in deep. He picks up the bottle again, less angry.

"It's empty." He says sadly.

In response to Edgard's anger, he just raises his eyebrows. Unoffended, calmly, he says,

"I used to work in goods transport back home. Not anymore, but I used to. I worked on the same ship for five years, with more than fifty other people onboard. I knew all of them personally; transfers weren't too common. Now? There are only four of us left."

He leans back a little, breathes out. This is an older ache than the rest, edges softened slightly over time.

"We all watched it happen. There was nothing we could do." And it'd been his fault. The passage of years doesn't mean he's forgotten that. But the point of this isn't sympathy, just an offer of commiseration. "So I won't say I know exactly how you feel, but I think it's fair to say I have an idea."

Edgard stares at him. There is a long moment of stunned silence. And maybe its the drink, maybe its the similarity of their situations, but for once he doesn't shove it down. He lets it rise and tears prick at his eyes.

He wouldn't wish this on anyone. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, but less Holden who's been nothing but kind to him. He reaches over and stumbles a little, knocking over the bottle again and the cup as he does so, and touches Holden's hand.

"I'm sorry." He says with feeling. "I'm so sorry."

"Whoa, easy there," he says, instinctively reaching out his free hand to help brace Edgard.

He probably should've expected a reaction like this, considering how deeply the other man's feeling this pain, and (frankly) how deep in his cups he is. It isn't hard to summon the warmth for a smile; because Edgard's sympathy is so genuine, and kindly meant, and he appreciates that.

(The four survivors of the Cant; the only ones who made it off the Donnager; the last ship off Eros; the sole witness to the destruction of the Ring builders. In the dark and the deep on Ilus, alone in a strange immunity to an alien disease.)

"I didn't tell you so you'd be sorry," he says. "I'm alright. But I want you to know that you aren't alone in this. It gets better, or it can get better, if you let it. You survived; don't waste that."

Edited 2020-12-05 16:47 (UTC)

Edgard sways a little after being braced and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He is able to feel such compassion towards this man that he doesn't allow for himself.

You aren't alone. That is a phrase he hasn't heard in awhile and he hasn't felt for longer. He didn't know and he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"How?" He asks, sitting back hard on his seat. "How do you let it get better?"

He drops his hand as Edgard sits back and breathes out, wry.

Isn't that the fucking question? Tempting to say, I'm more of a negative example, but that's not going to be helpful.

"For a start? You let people help you. I couldn't have done it on my own, but I had friends to remind me of what's important."

Edited 2020-12-07 22:34 (UTC)

"Friends." Edgard repeats and snorts out a bitter laugh. He's not exactly had a warm welcome into Riftwatch. He grabs the empty bottle, putting it in one hand and then the other and then points the end at Holden. It wobbles.

"Well, I have you. That's a start."

That — actually makes him smile, even if it's small. From the way that response that started, he'd been concerned Edgard would say he doesn't have anyone.

"That is a start," he agrees readily. "And there'll be others. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to help."

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muckspout - 2020-12-11 01:45 (UTC) - Expand