"Not that weird," she says, gathering the last of the books on the coffee table and adding it to the stack. "When I saw Oswald, and spoke with him..." she hesitates, frowning at the memory, then lifts her head to give the Balladeer a level look. "There wasn't even a crumb of you in him. He was a complete stranger to us - and us to him. Maybe it's not so surprising that you don't remember his life at all."
Frankly, it's a relief that the divide between the two of them is still so absolute. She's not sure how she would have felt if Oswald's life and memories had started bleeding their way into the Balladeer's mind. It's better that he doesn't remember, she thinks - better that this all be something he read in a book or watched on television and not something he lived.
She arches an eyebrow at his request, then pointedly slides the stack down to the far side of the coffee table, out of easy reach. "Drink your water," she orders. "You'll have to sober up a bit before you're ready for more reading." She gathers up the empty bottles, then straightens and gives the Balladeer an assessing look. "When was the last time you ate anything?"
no subject
Frankly, it's a relief that the divide between the two of them is still so absolute. She's not sure how she would have felt if Oswald's life and memories had started bleeding their way into the Balladeer's mind. It's better that he doesn't remember, she thinks - better that this all be something he read in a book or watched on television and not something he lived.
She arches an eyebrow at his request, then pointedly slides the stack down to the far side of the coffee table, out of easy reach. "Drink your water," she orders. "You'll have to sober up a bit before you're ready for more reading." She gathers up the empty bottles, then straightens and gives the Balladeer an assessing look. "When was the last time you ate anything?"