Colin shuts the door and sits, brow furrowed as he tries to think how to talk to this man, how to relate to him instead of simply sitting together silently. After a second, he shakes his head and takes a breath.
"I'm not ill. I'm just not very good with people. When I was a boy, our house was set on fire. You might have heard, it was great gossip for years and sometimes gets brought up still. It's...it was winter? My sister, she was caught blooming flowers with the Vice. That night, someone set our house on fire and blocked our doors and windows. Da managed to get one window open, but we could only go out one at a time, so..."
He stops for a second, mentally reaching out to see if Faro is getting bored with the story, or frightened, or judgmental.
He shakes his head as Colin suggests Faro might have heard this story, his brow wrinkling in confusion; it seems an awkward thing to bring up suddenly. Although being the subject of gossip is a damn good reason to be awkward with people. As he goes on though... poor Colin. Poor Colin's family.
Definitely no boredom, judgement or fear. It's deep sympathy and grief that Colin might feel from Faro. He nudges aside his work so he can turn towards his friend, fingers clasped awkwardly on his lap. "I'm... that's terrible. I'm so sorry for your loss."
"No, it's, that's not why I brought it up." Maybe it's important to suss out how Faro might feel about Detlef being Profane, but Colin still doesn't like being pitied. "It was a long time ago. What I'm saying is, you're one of two or three real friends I have, and I don't want you to think I'm taking that lightly. I was in a shit mood the other night, is all. And I really don't do well with crowds, so maybe we could spend time together somewhere besides the tavern?"
None of it is a lie, despite an unmentioned additional motive. It's good to know Faro doesn't judge him. Many people did. They wondered what sort of family would spawn such a deranged young woman. Marina Keane is not a name even mentioned anymore. But more importantly, maybe further discussion could prove Faro trustworthy with something else.
Oh. It takes Faro a moment to shove down his grief and thoughts of Nelda and switch into friendly planning mode. He's still a bit pale and blinking away the tears that were creeping into his eyes as he answers, "Yes, of course! We could- go fishing or, rope Detlef in to come here for dice. There's plenty of- activities, bbesides the tavern."
He assumes there is, at least. Faro's also a bit new at this friends thing and, well, hanging out together at the tavern was pretty much his ideal way of bonding. But if that's not good for Colin, they'll just have to figure out what is!
Good gods this boy is pure. Now that Colin knows what he himself is capable of, his suspicion seems increasingly unwarranted. It makes him feel even more like shit that he's having to read him like this, even to protect another friend. Though if Faro turns out to actually be this good, he will understand in the end. Which will somehow make Colin feel even worse.
His gaze falls away. "I'd like that. I want to stay friends. It's been sort of a bitch, trying to get them in the first place."
He chuckles good-naturedly at that. "It is. I don't have many either."
Faro inhales to speak, then pauses, worries his lip a moment, mulling his words over. This time it's not because he's afraid of stuttering, it's more that he's not sure how much to say. If anyone can understand it though, it'd be Colin, given what he revealed a few moments ago.
"The friend I spoke of the other night, was... Nelda." There's a softness to the way he says her name that suggests he's rarely said it of late. It's more precious to him than a name should be. "We were going to marry. I made that for her, for our wedding."
He turns his head and points back over his shoulder at the white cloak pinned up to the wall. White and regal, lined with fur, with delicately embroidered ivory vines and goldwork leaves about the hood. Nelda would've looked beautiful in it.
"You loved her," Colin says, and it doesn't take weird water-powers to see that. It's written on Faro's face, and stitched into every part of this beautiful cloak. He stands up to get a closer look, fingers drawing close to it, but not quite touching. "It's stunning. What happened to her?"
It takes him a few long moments to answer. He's minding his breathing, keeping it slow and steady as he looks over his in-progress ribbons like he's not doing his best to keep his feelings good and quashed down. Grief foremost, loneliness, but bitterness, too, and anger, with just a dash of guilt.
"She... she was accused of being Profane and..."
That sentence finishes itself really. Faro swallows roughly, fidgets with his needle and thread. "A year ago, in two weeks."
Colin tries to analyze the feelings he's getting from Faro, but ultimately, nothing can replace a straight question.
"I'm sorry. It's...it's impossible, when that happens. When you're supposed to stop loving someone and can't. Do you...think she did it? Maybe she was falsely accused?"
It's a straight question, but it's not an easy answer. She might have been accused based on nothing besides wanting to get her away from him, a finger pointing blindly in the right direction. Or she might have been noticed using her vice, or someone she trusted could have turned her in. Probably all three, if his speculating is correct. Anger's bubbling up through his grief now, a simmering kind of frustration that can't be easily soothed.
Colin seems to get it though. He's supposed to have stopped loving her, but he still does. "No one deserves to die that way."
He goes back to work on his little embroidered volcanoes, shoving the needle through more aggressively than needed. A broid rage, if u will
Colin sits back down, tears stinging his eyes. He leans forward to wipe his eyes with his hands. The only person he's ever been able to be truthful with is Detlef, and now this young man is being truthful with him. He shakes his head.
"No one," he agrees. "I could never talk about what happened to my family, except with my sister. I had to pretend I believed Marina brought it all on us. I still have to pretend that. But I could talk about it with Camilla, for the most part. And you can talk about it with me. And you'll know I would never, in a thousand years, get you in trouble for not feeling how they say you ought."
He catches the way Colin wipes at his face. It makes it harder to contain his own.
"Nor I you," he answers, quietly but firmly. "I ddon't know how much I can- about her, but I can listen and... I appreciate, a ggreat deal that..."
Faro dabs at his eyes, too, then exhales quickly, like he's trying to blow out all the anxiety and tears and feelings. With forced cheeriness, he suggests, "Perhaps we should plan a picnic."
Colin flashes a forced smile of his own. "A picnic. Possibly with Detlef. That would be so lovely. I could bake something special for it, and we could go outside the city walls. Though speaking of Detlef..."
This smile isn't forced, but it is definitely cheeky.
A picnic with his two buddies, sounds good. Farogil's smile is sincere now, his embroidering much more relaxed and mindful.
"Good. Why do you-" Glancing away from his work to Colin's face lets him notice the cheekiness of his smile. Faro gives a bashful chuckle, "Oh, I, take it he told you we're..."
A shrug. They're not specifically anything just yet.
"You're interested," Colin finishes playfully. "Yes. And I think you both deserve to be happy. And you're both my friends, so I just...wanted to ask. What are you thinking?"
It's a gentle question, with no hint of accusation to it.
Faro's a little wide-eyed and red-cheeked at that. He's never been even close to having this sort of conversation before, and if Colin hadn't said it so gently, he'd probably be picking up annoyance from him instead of just discomfort.
"I think... that I don't know what I'm ready for, or when I'll be ready. But I'm figuring that out. I've told him as much."
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"I'm not ill. I'm just not very good with people. When I was a boy, our house was set on fire. You might have heard, it was great gossip for years and sometimes gets brought up still. It's...it was winter? My sister, she was caught blooming flowers with the Vice. That night, someone set our house on fire and blocked our doors and windows. Da managed to get one window open, but we could only go out one at a time, so..."
He stops for a second, mentally reaching out to see if Faro is getting bored with the story, or frightened, or judgmental.
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Definitely no boredom, judgement or fear. It's deep sympathy and grief that Colin might feel from Faro. He nudges aside his work so he can turn towards his friend, fingers clasped awkwardly on his lap. "I'm... that's terrible. I'm so sorry for your loss."
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None of it is a lie, despite an unmentioned additional motive. It's good to know Faro doesn't judge him. Many people did. They wondered what sort of family would spawn such a deranged young woman. Marina Keane is not a name even mentioned anymore. But more importantly, maybe further discussion could prove Faro trustworthy with something else.
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He assumes there is, at least. Faro's also a bit new at this friends thing and, well, hanging out together at the tavern was pretty much his ideal way of bonding. But if that's not good for Colin, they'll just have to figure out what is!
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His gaze falls away. "I'd like that. I want to stay friends. It's been sort of a bitch, trying to get them in the first place."
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Faro inhales to speak, then pauses, worries his lip a moment, mulling his words over. This time it's not because he's afraid of stuttering, it's more that he's not sure how much to say. If anyone can understand it though, it'd be Colin, given what he revealed a few moments ago.
"The friend I spoke of the other night, was... Nelda." There's a softness to the way he says her name that suggests he's rarely said it of late. It's more precious to him than a name should be. "We were going to marry. I made that for her, for our wedding."
He turns his head and points back over his shoulder at the white cloak pinned up to the wall. White and regal, lined with fur, with delicately embroidered ivory vines and goldwork leaves about the hood. Nelda would've looked beautiful in it.
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"She... she was accused of being Profane and..."
That sentence finishes itself really. Faro swallows roughly, fidgets with his needle and thread. "A year ago, in two weeks."
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Colin tries to analyze the feelings he's getting from Faro, but ultimately, nothing can replace a straight question.
"I'm sorry. It's...it's impossible, when that happens. When you're supposed to stop loving someone and can't. Do you...think she did it? Maybe she was falsely accused?"
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Colin seems to get it though. He's supposed to have stopped loving her, but he still does. "No one deserves to die that way."
He goes back to work on his little embroidered volcanoes, shoving the needle through more aggressively than needed.
A broid rage, if u willno subject
Colin sits back down, tears stinging his eyes. He leans forward to wipe his eyes with his hands. The only person he's ever been able to be truthful with is Detlef, and now this young man is being truthful with him. He shakes his head.
"No one," he agrees. "I could never talk about what happened to my family, except with my sister. I had to pretend I believed Marina brought it all on us. I still have to pretend that. But I could talk about it with Camilla, for the most part. And you can talk about it with me. And you'll know I would never, in a thousand years, get you in trouble for not feeling how they say you ought."
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"Nor I you," he answers, quietly but firmly. "I ddon't know how much I can- about her, but I can listen and... I appreciate, a ggreat deal that..."
Faro dabs at his eyes, too, then exhales quickly, like he's trying to blow out all the anxiety and tears and feelings. With forced cheeriness, he suggests, "Perhaps we should plan a picnic."
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This smile isn't forced, but it is definitely cheeky.
"How are things between you two?"
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"Good. Why do you-" Glancing away from his work to Colin's face lets him notice the cheekiness of his smile. Faro gives a bashful chuckle, "Oh, I, take it he told you we're..."
A shrug. They're not specifically anything just yet.
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It's a gentle question, with no hint of accusation to it.
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"I think... that I don't know what I'm ready for, or when I'll be ready. But I'm figuring that out. I've told him as much."
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