"I don't know, it's just an expression," she remarks. "But I think it's a reincarnation thing, like you've done and seen so much in your life that it's enough for multiple lifetimes."
"Oh, they tried all'a that. But my actual father couldn't have made me, and
even Dutch gave up on that quick when I told him where he could stick his
ideas of bein' a father to me."
He raps his knuckles on the table. "Maybe I had different things to act out
against. I was an angry kid."
"Same, but I don't really remember what I was angry about anymore," Tess replies. He might have an old soul, but she's always felt like two: a kid and then an adult. One feels far pettier than the other. "What's the worst you ever got up to?"
"Sometimes dumb shit really is just stupid and impulsive and not something to feel guilty about," she points out. "But I don't know. We can just eat lunch and not talk about horrible shit if you want."
She just nods, eyes on her plate, deciding she’s fine with just dropping the subject. No more crime talk. Less tension that way, when there’s still shit she hasn’t told him.
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“Things change and you’re going to live in the woods forever to avoid it.”
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"You got that right. Build me some nice log cabin. Couple horses, maybe a barn in time. Who knows."
He nods at her plate. "What, you ain't hungry?"
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“And who’s going to mind all that while you’re out bounty hunting, huh?”
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"Barn's gonna come when I'm old and rickety."
Like he believes he'll make it to 'old and rickety'- he gives her a little grin all the same.
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"Now what does that mean, huh? An old soul."
He shakes his head. He feels old. He feels fucking ancient sometimes.
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He snorts and shakes his head, looking into his coffee.
"Yeah. But the Barge is filled with old souls, put it like that."
He isn't really exceptional, he knows that. But the last few months before coming here had felt like a lifetime of their own.
"Maybe- maybe it's the disease. The slow dyin'."
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She can't imagine Dutch was ever really a father, either.
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"Oh, they tried all'a that. But my actual father couldn't have made me, and even Dutch gave up on that quick when I told him where he could stick his ideas of bein' a father to me."
He raps his knuckles on the table. "Maybe I had different things to act out against. I was an angry kid."
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He makes a face at her. "Murder work as worst?"
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God if that isn’t a real story tradition though: the first time you killed.
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"I don't wanna sound maudlin," he grumbles, elbows on the table. "I did plenty of dumb shit, but it ain't the dumb shit I think about at night."
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"Maybe that's for the best," he says, with a tight little smile at her. They are recovering from something of a spat, after all.
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