[that's a lot to take in, and he's quiet for a moment, genuinely listening to what she has to say. what sticks in his head more than anything is "fire". he understood her words, for the most part, but the thing that makes him take so long to respond are the memories. like the smell of smoke, the memory of fire clings to everything, too, even though he was never there. it's as though Beatrice is still lingering in the folds of his clothing, hanging somewhere in the air, every time the word is mentioned, and she stings his eyes. he can't help but fish out his handkerchief and clutch it, even if he's not moved entirely to tears, not yet. but he's almost there, and holding on to the tiny bit of cloth is somewhat like standing on a perfectly safe boat holding a life preserver: he feels as though he won't sink if he keeps holding on, even if the iceberg IS right there and he could simply walk over and turn the wheel. sometimes, in the face of pain, you don't think of the thing that makes sense.
what if she had seen that fire? could his Beatrice have been saved? would it be her, here, in this place, instead of him? would Violet have her mother, instead of a guardian who came too late in a long line of ineffectual ones, one who's not even really needed because she's already learned to care for herself? people don't always need guardians, but they always need parents. it's part of why he came out here on this trip - to make the gap he's felt between them a little more physical. to make returning seem like a way of closing the distance. maybe she'll have missed him, by the time he gets back, and this will all be ... what? real? he's not sure.]
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what if she had seen that fire? could his Beatrice have been saved? would it be her, here, in this place, instead of him? would Violet have her mother, instead of a guardian who came too late in a long line of ineffectual ones, one who's not even really needed because she's already learned to care for herself? people don't always need guardians, but they always need parents. it's part of why he came out here on this trip - to make the gap he's felt between them a little more physical. to make returning seem like a way of closing the distance. maybe she'll have missed him, by the time he gets back, and this will all be ... what? real? he's not sure.]
It's alright.
[he wrings the cloth a little in his hands]
Please, do let me know if you see any icebergs.