If a thing loves, it is infinite

[very_sharpe]

Thomas steps back a bit, taking a look around his apartment. The windows are open to let in the fresh air and the light. After months of living here, he's realized he could... decorate the place. He found some art to hang, perhaps stock art but it's all he can afford just now. It's nothing like Allerdale, soothing and bright. He has a more comfortable sectional, and a few bookcases now, with books on them.

On his coffee table sits his agenda book - he has two interviews this week - and an application for the local university. Though he's a little unsure that he's qualified, given his last education was completed in the late 19th century. Still, he'll hope, and he'll apply and see where it gets him.

There are two gallon-sized fish tanks: one on the kitchen color, another on a small table in the living room. Each housed a colorful betta fish. Thomas found himself a bit lonely, so used to having at least someone around all the time, that he thought something living might be nice. There are small plants sitting on the window sill: a pot of violets and a basil plant. He's never... grown anything before. And to be fair, he didn't grow these, but they haven't died on his watch, either. Surely that counts for something.

He's completely embraced modern fashion, utterly delighted by the sheer variety of ready-made clothes available. Today finds him in a pair of dark jeans and a sort of oatmeal colored sweater.

He picks up his mug of tea and the university application again, reading it over when he's a bit startled by a knock at his door. He's not expecting anyone. Thomas sticks the papers under his arm and answers it, tea still in one hand.

Comments

[puckandpie]

Somehow, after only having known Thomas for a few months, I have no doubt that he'll excel at whatever it is he decides to study. And, as he's said, it'll at least give him something to do. That can be a struggle for some people here, I know even I feel like I have too much to do some days.

It's better to keep busy, though. Otherwise I just start thinking and that's never good.

I'm not too surprised when he mentions Edith, but I perk up a little when he does, eyes widening as I smile at him and nod encouragingly. And then stop abruptly. "You have a title? What do you mean? Are you a duke or something? Oh, goodness, are you a knight?"

[very_sharpe]

He laughs at Eric's sudden enthusiasm over his title. "No, not quite so high as a duke. A baronet. I would be addressed as Sir Thomas Sharpe, the same as a knighted person. The only difference being my title is inherited." It sounds pretentious when he says it, and he looks a bit sheepish as he retrieves the steaming kettle.

"It's really not all that impressive as it sounds. Our family wasn't part of the peerage, the actual nobility, you see. We were aristocrats, certainly, but just on the outside of that circle."

[puckandpie]

"I'll be honest, a baronet sounds like a musical instrument," I tell him with mock disappointment. In truth, it still sounds fascinating and, despite what he claims, absolutely impressive. Logically I know it's only a matter of his culture and the period of time he comes from, but it's still amazing to me.

"We don't have anything like that at all where I come from. I mean, we have people who'd sure like to think they're some member of the aristocracy and that they're better than the rest of us," I explain, thinking immediately of some members of my extended family as well as a fair handful of mama's church friends. "But it's not actually true."

[very_sharpe]

"It does, doesn't it? Or something a bit higher than a baritone but not quite a tenor," he says with a laugh.

"Really the thing that makes it is land, and I know there was that sort of class in America, even if they didn't call themselves barons or marquis. All the aristocracy, nobility or not, has land attached to their names. Our home was in Cumberland, and I haven't the slightest idea how long the Sharpes have owned it. Long enough to have a hereditary title, anyway." He shrugs. "My family was actually destitute, though. My father ran us into the ground."

As he talks, he pours hot water into Eric's mug. "He spent his money on anything but improving our position. He was a very cruel man. Thoroughly disappointed in having a son like me. Too soft, by his measure."

[puckandpie]

"Oh," I breathe, my smile slipping a little as he explains further, carefully pouring hot water into a mug for me. When he slides it over, I dip my tea bag into the steaming water, but my eyes don't leave him. "That sounds... awful. I mean, it's bad enough that he didn't try to make things better for you and your family, but that he actually made it worse? I'm so sorry."

Coach and I haven't had the easiest relationship, I know, but he's never been actively mean to me. "I don't think I'm quite what my dad wanted either," I tell him, though I'm really not sure it'll make him feel any better. "He's a football coach so he was always tryin' to get me into that and it never worked. I was just too small and interested in other things. He finally gave up after awhile. He was pretty happy when I decided to take up hockey, but I could always tell that he still felt like I was just missin' something, you know?"

[very_sharpe]

"Then we had very similar childhoods, in that respect," he says with another smile. "Too small, interested in other things."

Thomas turns to set the kettle back on the stove, on a cool burner, and retrieves his own mug. "Oh, cream and sugar."

He gets the cream from the refrigerator and nudges a bowl of sugar closer to Eric after setting it on the counter.

"Regardless of what our fathers wanted, we're our own men now. And I'm very pleased to know you," he says with a kind look. "And I'm happy you stopped by, I have been meaning to get in touch with you. About. About Edith."

[puckandpie]

It's honestly not the sort of thing I'd have ever guessed I'd have in common with Sharpie, but it feels strangely comforting somehow, to know there's someone here who kinda knows how it feels. Even if his dad wasn't all about sports, the same idea is there, the same failed expectations.

My lips twitch into a small, sympathetic smile and I take the cream he hands me and pour a little of it into my chai.

"I'm pleased to know you too, Sharpie," I tell him, unable to help the way my smile grows then, especially when he mentions Edith again. I set the creamer down and tilt my head. "Oh? What about Edith? Is this about the pie delivery idea?"

[very_sharpe]

The nickname makes him smile. It's strange, but he likes it. He likes that Eric cares enough to have given him one.

"I.. have no idea what to do for her," he admits with a sort of forlorn sigh. "It was one thing to woo her back... when we're from. I felt I had a bit more to work with." A title, mysterious charm. He has none of that now - she knows him rather well.

[puckandpie]

"Hmm, okay," I reply, pulling out a chair and getting comfortable as I curl my hands around my mug of tea. I'm not real sure what he means by having less to work with here, but my guess is winning someone's heart back is maybe a little trickier than winning it in the first place.

"Well, what sorta things does she like?" I try, pulling my phone out to so I can start taking some notes. "Hobbies, activities. Foods. And where are you in the wooing stage? She's showing definite interest, right?"

[very_sharpe]

"She's a writer," he says fondly, a smile appearing. "A rather good one, actually. She was forever trying to get published before I met her, and when I met her. That's how we got close, we met and I asked if she would let me read her manuscript."

Thomas blushes a bit, absently turning his mug on the counter. "I-- I can't tell, to be honest. She's been very kind to me, we spend time together. But it seems mostly in friendship."

[puckandpie]

I type 'writer' into the notepad on my phone and then just below it,'notebooks? typewriter? computer?' before glancing up at him again with a nod. "Does she read a lot then, too? Does she keep writing?"

I'm not sure what to make of the friendship comment, how best to approach so I finally just put it out there, "Now I'm not sayin' it'll happen at all because I like to believe in love as silly as it might seem, but do you think you'll be alright if all she wants is friendship? Or will that hurt too much?"

[very_sharpe]

"I remember her library being quite impressive, when I visited her at her home." Forever reading, forever writing. She hadn't been able to do either of those in Allerdale, from what he could tell. He regrets that.

"I would be happy for her continued friendship. We were married. After what we've been through, that she speaks to me at all is a small miracle."

Thomas takes a drink from his mug.

"I think both of us are walking a fine, uncertain line." He laughs a moment after he says it. "I'm making this sound terribly clandestine, aren't I?"

[puckandpie]

With another nod, I type in 'books' and 'bookshelf' and 'reading light' in my phone. It's not much so far, but I think it's at least a good start.

Taking a sip of my tea, I glance up at him again as he continues and, not for the first time, I find myself wondering exactly what it is that went wrong between them. It's impossible to tell given what little he's told me. I can't imagine it was anything too unforgivable if she's still even willing to call him a friend, but it's not like I have much experience with that sorta thing at all. I mean, I've only been seeing Jack for a few weeks; I'm far from an expert.

"Is it... I mean, I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you'd rather not, but do you think what happened between you can be mended? Is it reasonable?"

[very_sharpe]

"What happened between us is... complicated." He's not sure he can tell part of it without telling all of it. Thomas leans against the counter, holding his tea and considering.

"My sister, Lucille, refused to give up our family home. We had no money, just our title. She... had this scheme. That I should marry for money. In our time, a husband is entitled to any money his wife brings to the marriage. A wife is not entitled to the same - it wouldn't work if it were Lucille."

[puckandpie]

It's easy to see the topic is making him a little uncomfortable and I stay quiet, hands wrapped around my mug as I sip quietly. My eyebrows lift when he explains, though it's nothing all that surprising. I may not understand much about his time, but I've seen enough movies and paid close enough attention in history class to know a little bit about how different things were back then.

"So you married Edith for her money?" I ask, wincing a little when I realize how horrible that sounds. "And she found out? Is that why she's upset?"

[very_sharpe]

"I married Edith because I wanted to marry her," he says softly. "And for her money, but she isn't the wife Lucille had in mind for me. I chose someone different, it-- it upset Lucille very much."

He's not sure he can tell Eric the full story - he would like to have some friends here.

"Lucille wanted her dead, for her money and because I cared for her. She tried to kill Edith. At first I didn't try to stop her, thinking it was what had to be done. When I did put a stop to it, Lucille killed me."

Thomas can't quite bring himself to look up, to face Eric's judgment.

"I did love her, very much. I still do. I didn't come to my senses quickly enough to prevent harm. Edith is the only person that ever made me think I could have a real life."

[puckandpie]

Now that... that isn't at all what I'm expecting to hear. A marriage of convenience, marriage in the name of money and fortune, that I can understand even. But not... not murder.

It's obvious by the way Sharpie's standing now, a little hunched and watching me with a wary eye, that he isn't proud of this story and I can understand now why he's never really gone into detail. For a long moment, I don't even know what to say.

Carefully, I set down my mug of tea. "So, you're... you're dead then," I say, quietly. "Well, I mean. You're not. Obviously. Unless you're a ghost like Noah, though you don't seem to work the same way he does if that's the case. Are you. Do you remember it? How it happened?"

I'm suddenly beginning to realize that this mission might be a whole lot more complicated.

[very_sharpe]

"Yes. I died, and then I woke up on the train as it pulled into the station." He reaches up to touch a small scar, just under his left eye. That isn't the wound that killed him, but it's the only one that's visible at the moment. "No, I'm not a ghost. I seem to be alive again."

Thomas takes some heart in the fact that Eric hasn't fled the room in horror. He fidgets with his mug. "I went to tell Lucille that it's over. That we could just leave the house, leave the damn thing to rot. That we could go somewhere and have new lives. That it didn't have to be this way. She flew into a rage when she realized I was in love with Edith. She stabbed me several times, once here," he gestures under his eye, "then in the chest. I believe it was a stiletto knife. Then she went after Edith."

He understands the part that he says next may be the strangest of the entire story, but he tells it anyway. "I don't really understand how the next part happened... I don't remember dying, but I remember hearing Edith's voice. She needed help, so I went to her. I suppose I was a ghost then, for a moment. I helped her escape Lucille. Then I don't remember anything until the train."

It is, honestly, still a sanitized version of the story. But it's as much as Thomas can bring himself to tell.

[puckandpie]

Thomas touches his face, the little mark right under his eye that I've noticed before, but always assumed to be a scar from a childhood accident or something. I never would've guessed that it came from a knife, especially not one wielded by his sister.

Again, for a long time, all I can do is stare. And try to process.

None of it sounds real is the thing. It sounds like some kind of horror movie or a Stephen King novel, the kind that Coach likes. But if there's one thing I've learned about Darrow and the people stuck here, it's that everything is possible, everything is real. Especially the stuff that sounds completely impossible.

"That's, uhm... that's a lot," I finally manage. "Why was Lucille-- Why..." I trail off if only because I don't know exactly how to finish the question. "Did... Does Edith know you tried to help her?"

[very_sharpe]

As much as Eric cannot quite ask the question, Thomas isn't sure he could answer it.

"Yes," he says. "I told her everything, before the end. I tried to save her, and the man that came to rescue her. I think, as far as I can tell, anyway, that it's why she still speaks to me."

He sighs, contemplating his tea.

"I haven't told anyone else that, before now. I hope you'll keep it in confidence. I hadn't wanted anyone to know, for Edith's sake more than mine."

[puckandpie]

"No, I'll... I won't tell anyone," I reply, though I can't deny that I feel a little more wary suddenly. Thomas has always seemed quiet and gentle and unassuming. Silly, I know, to presume so much based on only a few pleasant conversations.

To think he's actually died and, by the sound of it, really horrifically. I think it says a lot about him that he still tried to save the woman he loves, even after death. I have the feeling he doesn't see it that way, though.

"She's probably at least a little grateful, isn't she?" I ask instead, still watching him carefully. "I mean, I think I would be."

[very_sharpe]

"Yes, she is. More than a little, really. And she seems... relatively open to giving me a second chance. To be the man I ought have been before it was too late."

Thomas sighs quietly. "I hope this won't affect your opinion of me too terribly. It's been very nice having a friend so kind as you. I really can't remember the last time anyone's given me a fond nickname."

[puckandpie]

If I'm honest, I still have so many questions. But he's already shared so much and I can tell it hasn't been easy for him. And part of me isn't sure how much more I want to know. I've never liked horror movies all that much and, by the sounds of it, he lived one.

His words make me smile though, even if it's a little shaky. "Back home, a lot of my closest friends had hockey nicknames. I know you don't play, obviously, but I have another friend here named Thomas. He doesn't have a last name at all, or at least he doesn't remember it, so that makes a nickname a lot harder. Yours makes it easy."

It seems such a trivial thing in light of everything we've been talking about though and I let out a quiet, apologetic laugh as I wave that away. "Anyway, I'm glad you're okay with it. And I'm glad, uhm. I'm glad you felt you could be honest with me. Even if the story is really pretty terrifying. And if Edith is open to things after all that, well. I'd say that's a really good sign."

[very_sharpe]

"You think so?" Thomas feels guilty for bringing Eric even remotely close to the darkness he comes from, but it feels so good to have... a friend. Someone he can trust, and talk to. "You remind me of her, in some ways," he admits with a small smile. "A bright little light for someone that is very accustomed to darkness."

[puckandpie]

That comment surprises me a little, my eyebrows lifting even as I relax just a little further and let out a quiet laugh.

"Are you makin' a short joke callin' me little?" I ask, head cocked and voice teasing. I know he isn't, or at least not intentionally, and I can only hope he knows that. "But honestly, I'll take that as a compliment. I mean, it's obvious you adore Edith so that can only be a good thing. It's probably pretty obvious to her, too. Or at least I'd hope so."