Somehow, Stan always seems to know - without having to even think about it - how to make him feel better when he's down. Ford envies that, envies how easy he makes it look to be a good brother. He wishes that sort of thing came half as easy to him.
When Stan moves closer, makes that little offhanded joke, Ford can't help but smile a little despite himself. He still feels like shit, he can't not considering the circumstances, but it's nice to have someone in close proximity like this, telling him bad jokes to lighten his mood a little.
He leans a bit to the side for no real reason, just because he can, really, and hopes Stan doesn't read too much into how their shoulder's touch. It's just - it's a tired, thing, not a comfort thing. Yeah. A tired thing.
"He came to me in a dream." He begins, knowing full well how crazy that sounds out loud. "He told me he was a muse, and like a fool I believed him."
If he sounds bitter about that, bitter and ashamed and more than a little hurt, it's because he is.
"Not that I'm the first idiot to be tricked by Bill. He's been doing this for centuries, maybe for as long as humankind has existed. He's been in this game for a long time, Stan. A long time."
Somehow, that thought doesn't make him feel much better. Sure, it's somewhat comforting to know he's not the only person who bought the lies Bill sold them, but even so. He feels he should have known better, feels there were signs that he missed, things he ignored because he didn't want to believe that Bill was anything other than a friend.
"...I wanted to do something great. I wanted to change the world and make it a better place. Bill said he could help, and I believed him. I believed every word."
He pauses, teeth scraping along his bottom lip as he bites back a sardonic smile.
"And why wouldn't I? He was my friend. I trusted him. God, I trusted him so much, and the whole time he was just, he used me and he-"
Ford stops abruptly, cutting himself off with a rough sigh. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to drag in a steadying breath as he rubs tiredly at his bruised-looking eyes.
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When Stan moves closer, makes that little offhanded joke, Ford can't help but smile a little despite himself. He still feels like shit, he can't not considering the circumstances, but it's nice to have someone in close proximity like this, telling him bad jokes to lighten his mood a little.
He leans a bit to the side for no real reason, just because he can, really, and hopes Stan doesn't read too much into how their shoulder's touch. It's just - it's a tired, thing, not a comfort thing. Yeah. A tired thing.
"He came to me in a dream." He begins, knowing full well how crazy that sounds out loud. "He told me he was a muse, and like a fool I believed him."
If he sounds bitter about that, bitter and ashamed and more than a little hurt, it's because he is.
"Not that I'm the first idiot to be tricked by Bill. He's been doing this for centuries, maybe for as long as humankind has existed. He's been in this game for a long time, Stan. A long time."
Somehow, that thought doesn't make him feel much better. Sure, it's somewhat comforting to know he's not the only person who bought the lies Bill sold them, but even so. He feels he should have known better, feels there were signs that he missed, things he ignored because he didn't want to believe that Bill was anything other than a friend.
"...I wanted to do something great. I wanted to change the world and make it a better place. Bill said he could help, and I believed him. I believed every word."
He pauses, teeth scraping along his bottom lip as he bites back a sardonic smile.
"And why wouldn't I? He was my friend. I trusted him. God, I trusted him so much, and the whole time he was just, he used me and he-"
Ford stops abruptly, cutting himself off with a rough sigh. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to drag in a steadying breath as he rubs tiredly at his bruised-looking eyes.