[ Distance and a trick of the light, surely. This is all that he sees in the way Gale looks at him.
Holding to what he knows helps him little. His gaze touches Gale's as he laughs, warm in the dying light, the barest flickering by his eyes, the illusion of movement cast just slightly downward, and he feels his chest swell.
Sir Godfrey busies himself with his glass and a steadying breath. The light plays tricks as it dies, and Godfrey had seated himself distantly enough to fall vulnerable to them. That was all. He needed not cast his own aspersions over the evening, over this evening least of all. Gale's kindness and good will needed none of Godfrey's compounded loneliness to colour it, nor to turn it into anything but what it was.
Another sip likely wouldn't help, tempting though it may be. Sufficiently chastened, Godfrey unbusies himself from the ruby depths of his cup, and he looks again to Gale, with only the hope that the warmth blooming in his chest isn't as visible as it feels.
And truly, he wishes the care Gale shows him now untouched by the years he's spent encased in mourning. It is one deeply admirable; selfless and extended for no gain of his own. To project such hunger to him here - either his own, or to veil him and this evening in it - felt an unkindness, an unnecessary sullying of something wonderful and rare. Godfrey, eyes smiling, cants his head toward it as it is expressed, taking a moment of thought. He takes a breath through his nose. ]
Here... once, perhaps. [ This answer comes softly, unsure. As though this is the first moment's thought he's granted to the question. ] Shortly after we became stranded by the Nautiloid, and we began learning of our affliction.
[ He had allowed himself to think of his daughter. Of taming her wild Wood Elven hair into braids, and of laying out her clothes for the morning before bed. Of her hand in his. Of watching her eat, and listening to her play, and reading to her. Of listening to her outlandish thoughts and seeing the world through her young eyes. Of the way she would, baby-fat cheeks sagging just a little with grim and childish severity, stand up and run to crowd his stomach with her face after every long day of training.
Of what the word ceremorphosis would do to it. He had wept alone. ]
Though not since. Our friends have failed to instill such feelings in me, if that is indeed their goal. I am... I think, good at trying for others. I think not of myself for as long as I do.
[ What might happen now that Gale is asking him to stop doing that? Godfrey hasn't asked himself that quite yet.
Godfrey glances back to his cup now, considers another drink, decides against it. ]
At home... many times, it pains me to say. The church did not always appreciate my leadership, and often did I ask myself if all of the fighting was worthwhile. As well...
[ Did Gale know of his husband? Godfrey can't say. But he'd asked for the walls which kept these old tragedies in to come down, for the silence stretching between them to be filled with all that he's kept in his chest. Godfrey asks himself to oblige. He swallows. ]
I am a widower, and the time after my husband passed was difficult and long.
always and forever my dude
Holding to what he knows helps him little. His gaze touches Gale's as he laughs, warm in the dying light, the barest flickering by his eyes, the illusion of movement cast just slightly downward, and he feels his chest swell.
Sir Godfrey busies himself with his glass and a steadying breath. The light plays tricks as it dies, and Godfrey had seated himself distantly enough to fall vulnerable to them. That was all. He needed not cast his own aspersions over the evening, over this evening least of all. Gale's kindness and good will needed none of Godfrey's compounded loneliness to colour it, nor to turn it into anything but what it was.
Another sip likely wouldn't help, tempting though it may be. Sufficiently chastened, Godfrey unbusies himself from the ruby depths of his cup, and he looks again to Gale, with only the hope that the warmth blooming in his chest isn't as visible as it feels.
And truly, he wishes the care Gale shows him now untouched by the years he's spent encased in mourning. It is one deeply admirable; selfless and extended for no gain of his own. To project such hunger to him here - either his own, or to veil him and this evening in it - felt an unkindness, an unnecessary sullying of something wonderful and rare. Godfrey, eyes smiling, cants his head toward it as it is expressed, taking a moment of thought. He takes a breath through his nose. ]
Here... once, perhaps. [ This answer comes softly, unsure. As though this is the first moment's thought he's granted to the question. ] Shortly after we became stranded by the Nautiloid, and we began learning of our affliction.
[ He had allowed himself to think of his daughter. Of taming her wild Wood Elven hair into braids, and of laying out her clothes for the morning before bed. Of her hand in his. Of watching her eat, and listening to her play, and reading to her. Of listening to her outlandish thoughts and seeing the world through her young eyes. Of the way she would, baby-fat cheeks sagging just a little with grim and childish severity, stand up and run to crowd his stomach with her face after every long day of training.
Of what the word ceremorphosis would do to it. He had wept alone. ]
Though not since. Our friends have failed to instill such feelings in me, if that is indeed their goal. I am... I think, good at trying for others. I think not of myself for as long as I do.
[ What might happen now that Gale is asking him to stop doing that? Godfrey hasn't asked himself that quite yet.
Godfrey glances back to his cup now, considers another drink, decides against it. ]
At home... many times, it pains me to say. The church did not always appreciate my leadership, and often did I ask myself if all of the fighting was worthwhile. As well...
[ Did Gale know of his husband? Godfrey can't say. But he'd asked for the walls which kept these old tragedies in to come down, for the silence stretching between them to be filled with all that he's kept in his chest. Godfrey asks himself to oblige. He swallows. ]
I am a widower, and the time after my husband passed was difficult and long.