Kratzer pushed himself to a sitting position and took Wilson's hand. "Ja...floor isn't ze best place, really. Danke, Vilson."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Wilson pulled Kratzer up with ease - surprising for her height and lean, petite stature. She steadied him and pulled up a chair. "Maybe sitting will do you some good," she said.
"I fell off ze last chair," he slurs with a chuckle, but sits.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Schadel hesitated after being asked the question. She would have said Edward, since he was one of her best friends, but the wording of the question meant that she had to talk about someone else there. She looked around the group assembled. She had barely talked to James and Boris, and her first conversation with Kratzer/Engel had left a sore note on her perception. Wilson was there, too, and while she seemed nice, Schadel hadn't even had a proper conversation with her.
"I-I think you're my favorite person that I've met tonight," she finally said.
Taking that as a yes, Wilson conjured an airplane-style seatbelt out of nowhere and wrapped it around the back of the chair before clicking it around his waist, and then scooted his chair back into the circle with him on it.
"Perfect! Wonderful! Feel free to unbuckle yourself whenever you need to go to the bathroom or whatever," she said as she pat him on the shoulder and smiled at Schadel. "That's a lovely answer. Damascus is a very swell guy. I think we can all agree on that."
At Schadel'a answer and Wilson's comment, Damascus started tearing up again. He swiped at his eyes aggressively. In all his years of visiting, he had never been directly involved in human affairs or fulfilled the role of anything other then a stranger. Up until this point, he hadn't even realized how lonely that had made him feel.
"T- thank y- yew guiseee." He stammered out, his voice wavering. He wanted to say so much more, but was worried that he would break down into sobs if he tried.
"It'sh funny, how we're all, all of ush here," I said, barely feeling connected to the words that escaped my lips, "But we never did find out what happened to John Watshon."
I was only able to ponder over that mystery for about a minute before I got distracted again.
"Oh. And correct me if I'm drunk, but Edward doeshn't seem to be very, ah, corpa- corporal? Physhical, tonight."
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
Edward and Schadel looked at each other, and each simultaneously took a deep breath. "I'm John Watson," Schadel said, raising a hand up and gesturing at herself. "John Watson was just an alias. I think I said it back when we were kids, but my real name is Schadel. Schadel H. Kueper is the name I've been using around humans, but Schadel's the name that was given to me."
That had been surprisingly easier to say than expected. Unfortunately, she knew that wouldn't the hardest one of Boris' questions to answer - it was the question that he had asked Edward that would prove the most difficult. But since they already knew the truth about her, there was no need to hide the truth about Edward. She was sure her friend had already come to that conclusion himself.
"I'm dead, Boris," Edward said, words slurring together. "I died in the second world war - I'm a ghost now."
Wilson simply nodded as Schadel and Edward explained their identities and answered questions, but out of the corner of her eye she kept and eye on James, who'd finished his glass of water and was starting to stumble over. She grinned when he stopped at a table, trying to walk through for a moment before finally making it back and pulling up a chair, plopping in it, finally re-entering the circle again. He didn't look fully there. But at least he was awake.
Damascus scrubbed his eyes once more and fixed them on Schadel and Edward. Right! Edward the little boy was the same one who was a specter now. The same one who he had insulted.
"'M shorry Edwerd! Y- Yer the fihnesht spectah I kno. Shorry I wash afred of yew!" He called, voice wavering, but finally able to stop breaking into sobs. "An- and now I remember, Schadel! Johhn-Whatshon! Youh wer the beaootiful smokeh figyer! Reapehrsh 're real- realeh cool. 'M shorry I wash thinkin' otherwise." He frowned and this and tapped his forehead, pausing. "Wai'- nope, I alwaysh thought yew wer cool."
He pointed a finger over, gesturing somewhere a foot or so above Schadel's head. "Reshpect. I reshpect yew."
Schadel blushed in embarrassment and ducked her head down, her friend silent beside her as he tried to figure out how to possibly respond to what Damascus had said.
Wilson laughed airily, and walked over to Schadel, giving the woman a pat on the back. The order of the game had gotten switched around, but she was determined to get it back on track.
"Lots of love for all of you. Yes. Okay. So uh... Edward? How would you like to go next? So you can get your hands out of your pants."
You must never give into despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road, and you surrender to your lowest instincts. In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength. — Uncle Iroh
