He pretends to be busy with adjusting the candles so Edgar won't see how the news of his age affects Max. Only eighteen. He was only eighteen when he died. It's too young, too unfair, and a little shocking. Edgar acts so much older. Guess he had to grow up fast in a place like that.
"I think you get to keep counting. Unless you don't want to?"
He shrugs. "I dunno. Still wouldn't be my right age, nobody knows that."
A beat, and then in an explanatory tone: "I was too little to know how old I was when we got on the train, and my ... my mother died early on, and never really got the chance to tell anyone else how old her baby was. Wasn't old enough to walk yet, I don't think. Must've been older than like ... just born, though. Probably."
Okay... so, not eighteen. But, if he couldn't walk yet? Then he couldn't have been older than one, maybe one and a half. That would put him around nineteen then? Still too fucking young. Max is still mad about it.
"I'm sorry, Edgar. My mother didn't die, but I didn't exactly get the chance to know her either. It's not fair." This only makes him more determined to make every part of Edgar's life in this place as good as it can possibly be. There's so much to make up for.
Max can tell. He's had too many talks with Edgar now, like this. He can read the man well enough to tell this is a really big deal. So, Max puts an arm gently around Edgar and leads him to the bed.
Edgar stops, biting his lip, trying to get the words right.
"You know what the Tail was like, yeah? Least a little. There wasn't really anybody officially in charge, but ... well, there was Gilliam. He was the leader. Kind of man people look to, you know? But he was old. And missing an arm and a leg. Smart, and, and wise, but ... not a fighter."
He's sitting on the bed by this time, one knee drawn up, elbow resting on it.
"Curtis was our other leader. Gilliam was the one planning the uprising, but Curtis was the one leading it. And I was his second."
Max feels slightly guilty about bringing up a hard topic on what should be a happy occasion, but birthdays are a celebration of a life lived, in their way, and Edgar's life was hard. And that needs to be acknowledged too.
"Yeah, I have a decent idea," Max wraps his arms around Edgar's back. "He sounds, I don't know, a little like a commander leading a charge. And you were his right-hand man. That's really impressive. I can't believe I didn't know that about you."
Edgar nods at that description of Curtis, and then looks dubious at the word impressive as applied to himself.
"I just did what he said, mostly. Got things done. 'S not like anyone else couldn't have done it, just ... I was someone he could count on, is all. And I guess that's cause he mostly raised me."
"Yeah," Max starts in firmly. Oh, he can see that dubious look and he'd like to smooth it right off Edgar's sweet face. Edgar died for this cause. He deserves to be proud of his contributions.
"You got things done. He could rely on you. He could trust you. You had a bond that he could count on. Don't you see that's what you had that others didn't? I'm sure he asked you because he knew he could count on you. Right? That is special. And you should be proud of it."
Edgar smiles, small and only a little painful, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. "Yeah. I guess. I mean, also cause right at first he couldn't get rid of me and I only shut up when he gave me something to do, but ... yeah. I earned my place."
There's some pride in that by the time he finishes talking, despite the self-deprecation.
"And so did he, for real. People listened to him. Looked to him. I don't think he ever got how much."
"Course he knew I did. And he -- I mean he din't look up to me, that'd be stupid, but he ..." Edgar's fingers twist together in his lap, as he tries to find the right words for it.
"He looked out for me. Tried to keep me safe, always, until --"
His throat closes up; his hands pull apart from each other and close into tense fists on his knees.
"He loved you." Max supplies. A man raises a person, brings them up and looks after them. That's love. That's family.
Max reaches to take Edgar's hands, and ends up putting one over each fist, to hold them. And while he does, he considers the question he wants to ask. He's held off, until now. But, maybe it's time. If Edgar wants to talk about it, that is.
Max's fingers lace with his. "...I would do that for you, if I could."
Max doesn't care if it would be worse for himself, but making Edgar relive the moment again might be asking too much. And asking Lucas to do it too? Even though he knows the Medium would probably agree in a heartbeat, Max doesn't know if that's right.
But maybe even talking about it is too much. Maybe it's too big of an ask at all. And today... of all days. It had to be this one. Why must the turn of the year be full of such tragedy?
"You know...actually, today is an anniversary for me too. Not as bad as yours. But, what happened to me happened on new years eve. I've been trying not to... not to think about it too much myself."
Max hums with wry amusement. "Guess we are. But, we aren't alone. So, that's something. And... if it's hard for you to share alone then maybe I can go first?"
If he's going to ask Edgar to relive the possible worst moment of his life, then he needs to be willing to do the same, right?
"I don't think I ever told you what my name was? Before it was Max."
And somehow, in this moment, Edgar can't even find rage in him at yet one more casual violation on the vampire's part. There's a kind of weary, wondering disgust, and that's all; and oh, he knows that feeling too well.
"Jonah," he echoes softly. "Is that ... should I call you that?"
Another shake of the head, faster this time. "No. I'm not really... that guy anymore.
"For better or for worse, Max is who I am now. Everything from before... sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else. I don't think I can ever really go back."
In a symbolic kind of way, Max really does feel like Jonah died that night. At least in spirit.
"Edgar, I want you to know that even thought my master may have picked this name I've... since I've been here, I've made it my own. So, I'm proud to have you call me by it."
Christ, he's heard so many people say things like that over the course of his childhood and adolescence in the Tail: everything from before feels like it happened to someone else. It brings home, in a way, what really happened to Max -- to Jonah: he lost his whole world.
"All right," says Edgar, softly, and squeezes his hand again. "Max."
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"Dunno if it should be eighteen candles for how long I was on the train," he says, "or one for how long I been here."
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He pretends to be busy with adjusting the candles so Edgar won't see how the news of his age affects Max. Only eighteen. He was only eighteen when he died. It's too young, too unfair, and a little shocking. Edgar acts so much older. Guess he had to grow up fast in a place like that.
"I think you get to keep counting. Unless you don't want to?"
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A beat, and then in an explanatory tone: "I was too little to know how old I was when we got on the train, and my ... my mother died early on, and never really got the chance to tell anyone else how old her baby was. Wasn't old enough to walk yet, I don't think. Must've been older than like ... just born, though. Probably."
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"I'm sorry, Edgar. My mother didn't die, but I didn't exactly get the chance to know her either. It's not fair." This only makes him more determined to make every part of Edgar's life in this place as good as it can possibly be. There's so much to make up for.
"Who was it that raised you? Not your father?"
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As light as he tries to make it sound, there's a heavy weight of emotion on that name.
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Max can tell. He's had too many talks with Edgar now, like this. He can read the man well enough to tell this is a really big deal. So, Max puts an arm gently around Edgar and leads him to the bed.
"Can you tell me about him?"
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Edgar stops, biting his lip, trying to get the words right.
"You know what the Tail was like, yeah? Least a little. There wasn't really anybody officially in charge, but ... well, there was Gilliam. He was the leader. Kind of man people look to, you know? But he was old. And missing an arm and a leg. Smart, and, and wise, but ... not a fighter."
He's sitting on the bed by this time, one knee drawn up, elbow resting on it.
"Curtis was our other leader. Gilliam was the one planning the uprising, but Curtis was the one leading it. And I was his second."
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"Yeah, I have a decent idea," Max wraps his arms around Edgar's back. "He sounds, I don't know, a little like a commander leading a charge. And you were his right-hand man. That's really impressive. I can't believe I didn't know that about you."
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"I just did what he said, mostly. Got things done. 'S not like anyone else couldn't have done it, just ... I was someone he could count on, is all. And I guess that's cause he mostly raised me."
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"You got things done. He could rely on you. He could trust you. You had a bond that he could count on. Don't you see that's what you had that others didn't? I'm sure he asked you because he knew he could count on you. Right? That is special. And you should be proud of it."
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Edgar smiles, small and only a little painful, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. "Yeah. I guess. I mean, also cause right at first he couldn't get rid of me and I only shut up when he gave me something to do, but ... yeah. I earned my place."
There's some pride in that by the time he finishes talking, despite the self-deprecation.
"And so did he, for real. People listened to him. Looked to him. I don't think he ever got how much."
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"I have absolutely no doubt about it, for either of you," Max says, picking up on that pride he hears in Edgar's voice and smiling even brighter.
"I'm sure he knew how much you respected him. The way you talk about him... how could he not have known? I'm sure he felt the same."
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"He looked out for me. Tried to keep me safe, always, until --"
His throat closes up; his hands pull apart from each other and close into tense fists on his knees.
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Max reaches to take Edgar's hands, and ends up putting one over each fist, to hold them. And while he does, he considers the question he wants to ask. He's held off, until now. But, maybe it's time. If Edgar wants to talk about it, that is.
"Edgar can you... tell me how it happened?"
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Finally, a touch hoarsely: "How I died, you mean?"
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"I dunno," he says softly. "Be easier to show you, if I could do that thing Lucas does. Might be worse like that though."
A tiny huff of breath, not really a laugh at all. "You know what's funny? It was today. Sort of today. New year's. We'd just crossed the bridge."
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Max doesn't care if it would be worse for himself, but making Edgar relive the moment again might be asking too much. And asking Lucas to do it too? Even though he knows the Medium would probably agree in a heartbeat, Max doesn't know if that's right.
But maybe even talking about it is too much. Maybe it's too big of an ask at all. And today... of all days. It had to be this one. Why must the turn of the year be full of such tragedy?
"You know...actually, today is an anniversary for me too. Not as bad as yours. But, what happened to me happened on new years eve. I've been trying not to... not to think about it too much myself."
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"How about that," he says, and squeezes Max's hand. "Aren't we a pair of sad cases, now."
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If he's going to ask Edgar to relive the possible worst moment of his life, then he needs to be willing to do the same, right?
"I don't think I ever told you what my name was? Before it was Max."
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And the moment he says it, he realizes that no, that's not what happened, and his hand goes very still in Max's.
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"Erik changed it after he took me in. I had to fake my own death so my family wouldn't know where I went."
His grip on Edgar tightens just a little. "Jonah. That was my name before. Jonah Lewis."
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And somehow, in this moment, Edgar can't even find rage in him at yet one more casual violation on the vampire's part. There's a kind of weary, wondering disgust, and that's all; and oh, he knows that feeling too well.
"Jonah," he echoes softly. "Is that ... should I call you that?"
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"For better or for worse, Max is who I am now. Everything from before... sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else. I don't think I can ever really go back."
In a symbolic kind of way, Max really does feel like Jonah died that night. At least in spirit.
"Edgar, I want you to know that even thought my master may have picked this name I've... since I've been here, I've made it my own. So, I'm proud to have you call me by it."
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"All right," says Edgar, softly, and squeezes his hand again. "Max."
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[increasingly detailed spoilers for Snowpiercer follow]
Re: [increasingly detailed spoilers for Snowpiercer follow]
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