[ Spirits, has she ever heard anything worse? Something so utterly, utterly heartbreaking? That the simple hope to meet those you love is too much? ]
... I have much, too much, I am told often enough.
[ She wets her lips, the little idea and plan with it. ]
... If... if you wish... you may tell me their names, the ones you lost...
... One of our duties is ferrying the lost at sea. So I know the rites and...
... I can make sacrifices to my Holy-Father and Time on your behalf, so that... that even if your hope is not real, mine is - and then... then you can be certain, they can find them, and they can know well how you love them, and ease their passing from the black to the next realm.
[ Packing up her sewing in a basket, she takes herself off to outside the tavern to sit there and sew the rest of his shift away.
She waits.
And waits.
And waits.
For whatever time it is, that he is leaving the tavern for the day.
Then letting him see her first - so that he won't be surprised by her presence as to startle - she just simply comes close to one side and wraps both her arms around his shoulders. Doesn't cling, just firmly, and sure, hugs him tightly with her forehead to his.
Then lets go. ]
Forgive me. I did not mean to pry into wounds that were not my matter to attend too.
[After shutting himself in the pantry for as long as it took to stop crying, there's enough of his shift and work to do that it - that specific pain - can settle back down to where it always lays, deep at the bottom of his mind. Ever present, ever potent, but rarely disturbed quite as strongly as Gilia had managed to.
Not that it was her fault, and he doesn't flinch or turn from her when he sees her. He leans into it, for that moment, the contact. Then shrugs when she steps back.]
It's fine, you didn't know. [More concerning:] How long have you been out here?
[ She would not turn it down, her fingers curling between his, as she looks up at the sky, briefly, then back down to him - but it's with a rueful smile. ]
This might as well be spring, to me. I promise, I am not that cold.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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If? You are not sure?
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Getting to see people again after they're dead always seemed like too much to hope for, for me. I'm not even great at a regular amount of hope.
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... I have much, too much, I am told often enough.
[ She wets her lips, the little idea and plan with it. ]
... If... if you wish... you may tell me their names, the ones you lost...
... One of our duties is ferrying the lost at sea. So I know the rites and...
... I can make sacrifices to my Holy-Father and Time on your behalf, so that... that even if your hope is not real, mine is - and then... then you can be certain, they can find them, and they can know well how you love them, and ease their passing from the black to the next realm.
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[He is not good.]
I've got to work. Talk to you later.
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[ ?????? ]
ambush hug time
She waits.
And waits.
And waits.
For whatever time it is, that he is leaving the tavern for the day.
Then letting him see her first - so that he won't be surprised by her presence as to startle - she just simply comes close to one side and wraps both her arms around his shoulders. Doesn't cling, just firmly, and sure, hugs him tightly with her forehead to his.
Then lets go. ]
Forgive me. I did not mean to pry into wounds that were not my matter to attend too.
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Not that it was her fault, and he doesn't flinch or turn from her when he sees her. He leans into it, for that moment, the contact. Then shrugs when she steps back.]
It's fine, you didn't know. [More concerning:] How long have you been out here?
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Stepping back, she lingers in it, letting her hand slip to his, squeezing it tightly, and then finally drops it at last to step back. ]
As long as I needed. I have my embroidery to do, and I can do that just about anywhere.
[ Nuhhuh, don't you turn this back on her, it's his turn to be taken care of. ]
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This might as well be spring, to me. I promise, I am not that cold.