[ He's listening, giving a soft exhale at the words. He remembers Wynonna mentioning a younger sister — 'my baby sister' — but this is something new, and he's taking in the information somberly, eyes softening. An older sister.
It's not difficult to imagine that someone could mistake that twin for another person. If his hadn't been wearing the outline of his clothing, he might've thought it was one of the other men, and it could have been any of them — but Thomas Jopson is the ghost that haunts him the most, and it would be too suiting that this place would conjure up some phantom version of the other man.
He's stunned by the knowledge that the experience wasn't isolated to himself, standing there absorbing the information, and everything Wynonna says is too familiar. Doors open and fires gone out. 'Didn’t care if I ate, if I slept, if I lived or died.'
It's an ache to hear someone else voice the worse parts of it aloud, but it's a connection too (someone else knows what it was like, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised, considering the ways this place has affected people in the past.) He hadn't questioned it, though. Hadn't even considered the thought anyone else was experiencing it. He knew he deserved it, whatever that silent double of himself truly was, and he'd... accepted it, more easily than most might have.
He stares, and then he's blinking, nodding, stepping forth to the modest kitchen area of the cabin, opening a cupboard and pulling down a glass. One, to begin with, and then after a brief hesitation, another. (Even Edward Little can enjoy a glass of alcohol, though it's been a long time since he has, and having a glass with a woman is..... an entirely new concept, but— he's becoming more used to that, these days.)
He brings them both over to her, setting them down on the table, looking at Wynonna with something wounded, a deep wet empathy that glosses his eyes. ]
Was yours... still there, when you came to me? She was with you?
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It's not difficult to imagine that someone could mistake that twin for another person. If his hadn't been wearing the outline of his clothing, he might've thought it was one of the other men, and it could have been any of them — but Thomas Jopson is the ghost that haunts him the most, and it would be too suiting that this place would conjure up some phantom version of the other man.
He's stunned by the knowledge that the experience wasn't isolated to himself, standing there absorbing the information, and everything Wynonna says is too familiar. Doors open and fires gone out. 'Didn’t care if I ate, if I slept, if I lived or died.'
It's an ache to hear someone else voice the worse parts of it aloud, but it's a connection too (someone else knows what it was like, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised, considering the ways this place has affected people in the past.) He hadn't questioned it, though. Hadn't even considered the thought anyone else was experiencing it. He knew he deserved it, whatever that silent double of himself truly was, and he'd... accepted it, more easily than most might have.
He stares, and then he's blinking, nodding, stepping forth to the modest kitchen area of the cabin, opening a cupboard and pulling down a glass. One, to begin with, and then after a brief hesitation, another. (Even Edward Little can enjoy a glass of alcohol, though it's been a long time since he has, and having a glass with a woman is..... an entirely new concept, but— he's becoming more used to that, these days.)
He brings them both over to her, setting them down on the table, looking at Wynonna with something wounded, a deep wet empathy that glosses his eyes. ]
Was yours... still there, when you came to me? She was with you?