Oswald Wuthridge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ossie_oswald) wrote2022-06-14 07:18 pm
ossie_oswald) wrote2022-06-14 07:18 pm
Entry tags:
Come Sail Away Inbox
"Send me a kiss by wire~"
He'll be waiting a bit of a while. Phil simmers in it, is suffused with it, bleeding his longing from the chest until saturates the rest of his whole self, the way watercolor fills a soaked page or smoke fills a room.
He picks himself back up, straightening his posture and his shirt, looking calmer now to all the world. The longing hasn't gone anywhere.
"Okay. Well. What next, if we're going down the list?"
He picks himself back up, straightening his posture and his shirt, looking calmer now to all the world. The longing hasn't gone anywhere.
"Okay. Well. What next, if we're going down the list?"
There are altogether too many capital letters in that sentence for Ossie's taste. A few other thing there too that give him pause- the deflection, then the distressed backpedalling. One thing at a time.
"Arthur," he says gently, never feeling the weight of these feathers more than this moment, "wherever you think you still are... you're here. In my cottage. And I promise you, it is as safe as anywhere can be. Anything you need to prove to yourself that you're not there, I will provide it. It's alright."
"Arthur," he says gently, never feeling the weight of these feathers more than this moment, "wherever you think you still are... you're here. In my cottage. And I promise you, it is as safe as anywhere can be. Anything you need to prove to yourself that you're not there, I will provide it. It's alright."
Ossie could have reacted to this shit in so many ways. He could have been annoyed, he could have been impatient, he could have stepped back from the interaction and rejoined it whenever Arthur was ready to be fun as promised. Instead he's helping, acting like Arthur is worth his time and attention and energy even when Arthur has little to offer in return.
And he's seen that in people, he believes in it, he's done his own poor imitation of it. But it's always a little overwhelming to have it pointed at him.
This is probably how religious people feel whenever they see Jesus in a piece of toast.
Arthur lifts his right hand towards Ossie, fingers open, a clear gesture to take it. But he can't stop and focus on it. He can't stop telling this story for long, or else he won't start again. He goes on rapidly, muttering.
"A god who was trying to enter my world. He- it's a very long story, but he ended up dragging me into his instead. Couldn't bring me to heel, so he decided I would be softer i-if I was hungry. So he made-- he made sure I was hungry. Thirsty. Scattered. And every so often I think that I am once again healthy, before I remember that I was never so tired, and that my face never got such reactions."
And that's the shallow end of it. That's only what's immediately relevant.
"You understand." He's not begging, mind. But it's a faintly desperate question.
And he's seen that in people, he believes in it, he's done his own poor imitation of it. But it's always a little overwhelming to have it pointed at him.
This is probably how religious people feel whenever they see Jesus in a piece of toast.
Arthur lifts his right hand towards Ossie, fingers open, a clear gesture to take it. But he can't stop and focus on it. He can't stop telling this story for long, or else he won't start again. He goes on rapidly, muttering.
"A god who was trying to enter my world. He- it's a very long story, but he ended up dragging me into his instead. Couldn't bring me to heel, so he decided I would be softer i-if I was hungry. So he made-- he made sure I was hungry. Thirsty. Scattered. And every so often I think that I am once again healthy, before I remember that I was never so tired, and that my face never got such reactions."
And that's the shallow end of it. That's only what's immediately relevant.
"You understand." He's not begging, mind. But it's a faintly desperate question.
"I should imagine it's your turn to pick. I did last time, after all."
Another sip of his tea. Surely the cup should be finished by now, but somehow there's still liquid in it.
Another sip of his tea. Surely the cup should be finished by now, but somehow there's still liquid in it.
...
"There are evil doors on the ship now that change location that sing to you until you walk in and then you get stuck in a freaky sub-dimension that preys on your fears specifically until it spits you back out and they suck."
"There are evil doors on the ship now that change location that sing to you until you walk in and then you get stuck in a freaky sub-dimension that preys on your fears specifically until it spits you back out and they suck."
"I have never been so glad that I barely leave the house!"
Evil doors, what will they think of next.
"Goodness gracious. Absolutely awful. I'd ask if you're alright, but," he just sort of gestures.
Evil doors, what will they think of next.
"Goodness gracious. Absolutely awful. I'd ask if you're alright, but," he just sort of gestures.
Ossie takes his hand, carefully avoiding touching the hand with his talons. A look of dawning horror crosses his face the more that Arthur speaks.
"I do," he confirms, "I understand, Arthur- that's-" he finds himself at a loss for words.
"I'm so sorry."
"I do," he confirms, "I understand, Arthur- that's-" he finds himself at a loss for words.
"I'm so sorry."
A moment's confusion passes across Arthur's eyes as Ossie takes his hand. He just can't place the fabric -- it must be fabric, if only because it's not skin. But that's not important right now. Arthur clings to that hand like a boat clings to an anchor in a storm.
If only he could take Ossie's sympathy as if it's deserved. But he realises, now, that he can't leave the story only half-told, not when it makes him look in some way innocent. It curdles in him, the same way it curdled whenever anyone -- with the mistaken impression that he had no hand in his own suffering, or hers -- said they were sorry about what happened to Faroe.
Of course there's the fear that Ossie will repeat this. But there's also the recklessness of self-destruction, of the feeling that Arthur would deserve that anyway.
"That's not all," he says. The words stick in his throat, and pull out heavy tears with them.
If only he could take Ossie's sympathy as if it's deserved. But he realises, now, that he can't leave the story only half-told, not when it makes him look in some way innocent. It curdles in him, the same way it curdled whenever anyone -- with the mistaken impression that he had no hand in his own suffering, or hers -- said they were sorry about what happened to Faroe.
Of course there's the fear that Ossie will repeat this. But there's also the recklessness of self-destruction, of the feeling that Arthur would deserve that anyway.
"That's not all," he says. The words stick in his throat, and pull out heavy tears with them.
"Arthur," Ossie soothes, "it's alright. You don't have to tell me any more than you feel capable of. It's alright. Here-"
And the house miraculously produces a box of tissues that he offers Arthur, pressing a couple into his hand.
And the house miraculously produces a box of tissues that he offers Arthur, pressing a couple into his hand.
Arthur's hand trembles around the tissues, and he jabs them roughly at his face as he shakes his head. The rest of him is trembling too.
"Please, I-I have to." His voice rasps. "Ossie, I hurt people there."
Faust, most obviously. John, most unforgivably.
"For a month we survived on odd bits, a leg of something or a hoof of something else, or- or whatever they saw fit to throw us. I was-- I-I had a friend there, but not... physically there, and... and not always friendly." God this needs so much context. "For a month we were on our own. Then one day they threw in another man. A-an older man, with nothing except the clothes on his back and a braided cord that was always in his hand. He said they'd caught him trying to escape. And I thought- I-I wanted to believe that the world ran on some sort of rules. Maybe they had to dig him a deeper pit and we would be cell-mates till then, o-or something. Until a few days later, when I realised they had stopped feeding us."
He has to stop momentarily, remembering at last to breathe.
"Please, I-I have to." His voice rasps. "Ossie, I hurt people there."
Faust, most obviously. John, most unforgivably.
"For a month we survived on odd bits, a leg of something or a hoof of something else, or- or whatever they saw fit to throw us. I was-- I-I had a friend there, but not... physically there, and... and not always friendly." God this needs so much context. "For a month we were on our own. Then one day they threw in another man. A-an older man, with nothing except the clothes on his back and a braided cord that was always in his hand. He said they'd caught him trying to escape. And I thought- I-I wanted to believe that the world ran on some sort of rules. Maybe they had to dig him a deeper pit and we would be cell-mates till then, o-or something. Until a few days later, when I realised they had stopped feeding us."
He has to stop momentarily, remembering at last to breathe.
Edited (in->on) 2023-11-02 14:26 (UTC)
“I’ve got renewals on my ‘hate getting pursued down long corridors’ and ‘hate repetition’ licenses, but I'm alive.” He also can’t actually remember most of it at the moment, which is probably a Bad Thing, but oh well. “I’m just glad that the evil doors are clearly labeled, unlike some of the other things we’ve had.”
Ossie's mouth goes very very very dry.
"Arthur," he says, carefully.
"You recall me mentioning my darling little Rip Van Winkle moment?"
Ossie takes his own deep breath.
"I experienced similar. In broad strokes. Not- not quite the same. But I did- me as well, Arthur. I know. It's alright."
"Arthur," he says, carefully.
"You recall me mentioning my darling little Rip Van Winkle moment?"
Ossie takes his own deep breath.
"I experienced similar. In broad strokes. Not- not quite the same. But I did- me as well, Arthur. I know. It's alright."
"Does anyone like those things?" he asks in good humour.
"Good to know, though. Not like those dreadful memory cracks. I was certainly glad to see the backside of those, I'll tell you that. What do the evil doors look like?"
"Good to know, though. Not like those dreadful memory cracks. I was certainly glad to see the backside of those, I'll tell you that. What do the evil doors look like?"
November, probably. Also just gonna upfront warn for NSFW Discussions so we dont have to worry lol
ring_for_giles
2023-11-05 07:55 am (UTC)(link)
One evening a box appears on the bed. The sort that one might receive from Sundries. It's just slightly open, as if to invite any curious party to peek at its contents.
Inside is very definitely a maid outfit (of the modern costume variety, not a real uniformto Giles's mild annoyance) which, if Ossie cares to investigate, appears to be sized to fit him perfectly.
Inside is very definitely a maid outfit (of the modern costume variety, not a real uniform
There's more and worse to tell, but Ossie's own confession effectively derails Arthur's. He remembers, yes. But he didn't suspect it meant that.
One of the worst things about the pit is knowing that John went through it too, albeit in different ways. You can do a lot to Arthur, and he'll be mad about it at the time, but at the end of the day, he probably deserves it. Other people are different. Ossie is different. That he's gone through something like this too is horrible.
And Arthur didn't suspect at all. Either he's managed to recover, something that seems an impossible chance, or he's very good at hiding it.
"God," Arthur says with miserable horror. Then: "Fuck," with the kind of thank-god-someone-gets-it feeling that makes you immediately guilty for wishing this shit on another person. Then: "I'm so sorry," as his hand tightens round Ossie's and his stomach folds in on itself.
One of the worst things about the pit is knowing that John went through it too, albeit in different ways. You can do a lot to Arthur, and he'll be mad about it at the time, but at the end of the day, he probably deserves it. Other people are different. Ossie is different. That he's gone through something like this too is horrible.
And Arthur didn't suspect at all. Either he's managed to recover, something that seems an impossible chance, or he's very good at hiding it.
"God," Arthur says with miserable horror. Then: "Fuck," with the kind of thank-god-someone-gets-it feeling that makes you immediately guilty for wishing this shit on another person. Then: "I'm so sorry," as his hand tightens round Ossie's and his stomach folds in on itself.
"My heart of hearts?" he calls back to the rest of the house, "is this your package on the bed?"
Sorry Giles he respects your privacy.
Sorry Giles he respects your privacy.
Less than a moment later Giles is standing in the doorway. He hadn't been waiting for Ossie to react so he didn't have to bring it up. Absolutely not.
"Unfortunately." He answers with same tone he'd give to one Ossie's more daring garments, "I received it about a month ago. I can only assume it was intended to be a gift for you."
"Unfortunately." He answers with same tone he'd give to one Ossie's more daring garments, "I received it about a month ago. I can only assume it was intended to be a gift for you."
Ossie pulls the dress half out, looking at the ruffles and such.
"This is in poor taste," he says carefully, eyeing Giles.
"Am I to suppose you have a reason for not burning it?"
"This is in poor taste," he says carefully, eyeing Giles.
"Am I to suppose you have a reason for not burning it?"
Giles doesn't shift uncomfortably, but if he were anyone else he might. As it is there's a rather long pause before he answers.
"I will admit to some..." He clears his throat, "Interest. In seeing you wear it." Then hastily tacked on, lest Ossie get any ideas, "Once."
"I will admit to some..." He clears his throat, "Interest. In seeing you wear it." Then hastily tacked on, lest Ossie get any ideas, "Once."
Ossie beams wide as a crescent moon, laying himself back in bed.
"Well go on, then. If you want to see me in it, you shall have to undress me."
"Well go on, then. If you want to see me in it, you shall have to undress me."
There's the slightest twitch of a smile before Giles is across the room, his lips meeting Ossie's, and hands already at buttons.
He's slow and methodical, as he often is in these moments. Taking his time to enjoy the process of removing each layer of Ossie's clothes, rather than being as efficient as they both know he could.
He's slow and methodical, as he often is in these moments. Taking his time to enjoy the process of removing each layer of Ossie's clothes, rather than being as efficient as they both know he could.
Ossie sighs, happily. He missed this while Giles wasn't himself. And he might be half-hard already. Whoops.
"Have I mentioned that I just love how careful you are yet today?"
"Have I mentioned that I just love how careful you are yet today?"
"Nobody likes them, but I've got a VIP deluxe pass on hating it."
He drums his fingers on the table in thought. "Just... doors, mostly? Wooden, has a little handle, might have those four rectangles engraved on it, but I wouldn't be surprised if it looked like any other kind of door. The thing about them is that they sing to you. Beckoning you closer. They try to appeal to your curiosity. I probably could've waited them out, but I was..." sigh, "on patrol at the time, and I didn't want to just leave it there."
He drums his fingers on the table in thought. "Just... doors, mostly? Wooden, has a little handle, might have those four rectangles engraved on it, but I wouldn't be surprised if it looked like any other kind of door. The thing about them is that they sing to you. Beckoning you closer. They try to appeal to your curiosity. I probably could've waited them out, but I was..." sigh, "on patrol at the time, and I didn't want to just leave it there."
Ossie takes a steadying breath, squeezing back.
"Whatever you have done, I can assure you, I did the same and worse. On purpose. Deliberately, with other options available to me. Perhaps this taints your respect of me. I can't say that it wouldn't bother me if that was the case, but... I'm not ashamed of what I have done. I am here because I made those choices, much the same as I expect you are. It's alright. I'm sorry, too."
"Whatever you have done, I can assure you, I did the same and worse. On purpose. Deliberately, with other options available to me. Perhaps this taints your respect of me. I can't say that it wouldn't bother me if that was the case, but... I'm not ashamed of what I have done. I am here because I made those choices, much the same as I expect you are. It's alright. I'm sorry, too."
There's a small squint of curiosity to Ossie's demeanour, but he doesn't pursue that. If Phil wants to tell him what he means by that, he will.
"Thank you, I'll make a note of it. And definitely stay indoors. Potentially keep Mr Ainsel in, too. You know what they say about cats and curiosity. Sorry- did you also say you've been doing patrols?"
"Thank you, I'll make a note of it. And definitely stay indoors. Potentially keep Mr Ainsel in, too. You know what they say about cats and curiosity. Sorry- did you also say you've been doing patrols?"
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