The look he's giving her goes from curious to plaintive as she talks. For a couple of seconds when Saga finishes, he teeters on the edge of whether or not to say anything. Then--
"I don't know what my mind place should be. I don't know what it could be. I don't remember anything about what I was before, my brother does, and he doesn't..." Edwin looks down at the coffee. "He doesn't want me to have to remember. The thing that we were was ageless and awful and bored, it didn't think anything of humans or any other creature that didn't serve it. That it didn't have a use for."
Edwin fusses with his cup. "I only know the barge and a tiny tiny piece of earth and the Dark World. I don't know anything. How can I make a place for myself like yours when I don't know anything?"
He's half-way around to the thing he's actually trying to say.
She considers what he's saying, and she can feel something underneath, like sand in a shoe. She looks over at him and reaches over a hand to put it over his on the cup.
"That just means we start somewhere else, then. How about before we get to working on that place for you, we take a few trips in the Enclosure? I can show you my favorite places and just like the coffee, we'll learn what kind of things you like and don't like and adjust from there. Sound good?"
Somehow Saga's hand over his makes him feel small and fractured and reassured, like he's watching someone take bits of an incomplete thing and saying there's a way to put them back together.
He can't think of anything to say that won't have tears interrupt it, so he nods instead.
"Sometimes, we don't," she says gently, because that's hardly an experience unique to people in his situation, "but it's okay that you are. Now, if you don't want me to see it, that's okay too. You can go to the bathroom and sit and wash your face. But it doesn't bother me and I'd rather be there for you."
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"I don't know what my mind place should be. I don't know what it could be. I don't remember anything about what I was before, my brother does, and he doesn't..." Edwin looks down at the coffee. "He doesn't want me to have to remember. The thing that we were was ageless and awful and bored, it didn't think anything of humans or any other creature that didn't serve it. That it didn't have a use for."
Edwin fusses with his cup. "I only know the barge and a tiny tiny piece of earth and the Dark World. I don't know anything. How can I make a place for myself like yours when I don't know anything?"
He's half-way around to the thing he's actually trying to say.
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"That just means we start somewhere else, then. How about before we get to working on that place for you, we take a few trips in the Enclosure? I can show you my favorite places and just like the coffee, we'll learn what kind of things you like and don't like and adjust from there. Sound good?"
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He can't think of anything to say that won't have tears interrupt it, so he nods instead.
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"Can I-" and if she isn't given a 'no', he's going to get a good, firm hug and a squeeze to hold him together a little.
"Let's do that then."
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Mumbled into her shirt: "I don't know why I'm crying."
He's so much better at emotions, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's good at them.
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