Open

[muckspout]

WHO: Edgard and YOU
WHAT: I'm doing the catch-all thing too
WHEN: Now-ish, post-Murderhaus and Satinalia
WHERE: Various places
NOTES: Open to all unless otherwise specified. Post-murderhaus stuff might have murdery discussions

All prompts in comments! Feel three to throw wildcards in here if you so desire. I love you.

Comments

[muckspout]

"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."

[acreage]

"What happened?"

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

[muckspout]

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.

[acreage]

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.

[muckspout]

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.

[acreage]

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."

[muckspout]

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."

[acreage]

"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."

[muckspout]

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?"

[acreage]

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."

[muckspout]

"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."

[acreage]

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."

[muckspout]

Edgard smiles back and hits Holden on the shoulder. (It's friendly) He then wobbles a little and blinks a few times. Finally, he leans his head down onto one hand.

"Thank you." He says quietly.