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~"
Giles hides a smile by kissing Ossie's chest after every button he undoes.
"Not today," another button, another kiss, "but you may have mentioned it."
"Not today," another button, another kiss, "but you may have mentioned it."
"Then please, take pity on my rudeness. You are irresistibly, remarkably, unequalled in your delicacy. You could extract softness from a rose with your touch. And nothing makes me feel more precious than the care you take with me."
Another happy sigh.
"Your mouth is also remarkable, but one thing at a time."
Another happy sigh.
"Your mouth is also remarkable, but one thing at a time."
Worse? Maybe, maybe not. Arthur hasn't shared his own worst, yet. But the fire of Catholic confession has burnt down to embers, and he's left...
...Conflicted. He's in his friend's corner here, because nobody has ever accused him of being unbiased. Other options available could mean anything: hell, dying is technically another option available, but that doesn't make it a realistic one.
He's having trouble with the lack of shame, but then, isn't his own shame bound up less in what he did to Faust than in everything surrounding it? The vicious thrill of finally having a little control over his own fate, however false that control really was, and of hurting somebody who deserved it. The lie he told John, that John then had to pay for.
"What could you have possibly done that was worse." His voice is hoarse and choked. "I broke. After only a month. I broke. I lost."
...Conflicted. He's in his friend's corner here, because nobody has ever accused him of being unbiased. Other options available could mean anything: hell, dying is technically another option available, but that doesn't make it a realistic one.
He's having trouble with the lack of shame, but then, isn't his own shame bound up less in what he did to Faust than in everything surrounding it? The vicious thrill of finally having a little control over his own fate, however false that control really was, and of hurting somebody who deserved it. The lie he told John, that John then had to pay for.
"What could you have possibly done that was worse." His voice is hoarse and choked. "I broke. After only a month. I broke. I lost."
"I didn't break," Ossie says softly, matter of factly.
"I was the wheel that broke others. The House I was taken to offered me a bargain, that I would have to hurt others to keep myself safe. I didn't just take that bargain, Arthur, I exceeded it. I enjoyed it. Had all of these party tricks to make people break composure, so they wouldn't be a threat to me any longer. I didn't just eat people, Arthur, I complimented the chef on his cooking and asked for seconds. I am... tired, of hiding all I have done."
If he hasn't pulled that hand away yet, Ossie will squeeze a little tighter.
"We do the best we can. Us, now, I mean. We can make that choice, to not repeat our mistakes."
"I was the wheel that broke others. The House I was taken to offered me a bargain, that I would have to hurt others to keep myself safe. I didn't just take that bargain, Arthur, I exceeded it. I enjoyed it. Had all of these party tricks to make people break composure, so they wouldn't be a threat to me any longer. I didn't just eat people, Arthur, I complimented the chef on his cooking and asked for seconds. I am... tired, of hiding all I have done."
If he hasn't pulled that hand away yet, Ossie will squeeze a little tighter.
"We do the best we can. Us, now, I mean. We can make that choice, to not repeat our mistakes."
"Jesus," Arthur mutters, shaken, as he tries to take that in. He doesn't pull his hand away, but it is loose in Ossie's grip.
He wants to say how dare you, with the fury of the person on the wheel. But it's never been as simple as that. He has been on the wheel, and he has been the wheel, and the net effect of his life has always been harm, no matter what world he's in. Those were some of the only true words that the King ever spoke.
John has been the wheel as well, for the joy of it, far longer and far worse than either of them. And while forgiveness is the wrong word for how Arthur feels about that, he still misses him horribly. He wouldn't have grown close enough to miss him like this if John didn't regret, and if he didn't constantly demonstrate his effort to change.
God. Here Arthur thought his own and Ossie's similarities were only superficial. Ossie has done a good job of hiding this.
He's silent for a while. Then he asks, quietly: "How many people?"
He wants, badly, to know that they weren't faceless and forgettable to Ossie.
He wants to say how dare you, with the fury of the person on the wheel. But it's never been as simple as that. He has been on the wheel, and he has been the wheel, and the net effect of his life has always been harm, no matter what world he's in. Those were some of the only true words that the King ever spoke.
John has been the wheel as well, for the joy of it, far longer and far worse than either of them. And while forgiveness is the wrong word for how Arthur feels about that, he still misses him horribly. He wouldn't have grown close enough to miss him like this if John didn't regret, and if he didn't constantly demonstrate his effort to change.
God. Here Arthur thought his own and Ossie's similarities were only superficial. Ossie has done a good job of hiding this.
He's silent for a while. Then he asks, quietly: "How many people?"
He wants, badly, to know that they weren't faceless and forgettable to Ossie.
“Yeah. Even since before February. Actually, I was—on patrol when Daisy got me too. Why?”
"I can't know. I was there for a hundred years at least, and probably more."
...
This was a mistake. This was a very, very large mistake and it is only that now he has blackmail in reverse that he doesn't just. Well. He doesn't even really know. It's not like he can trap Arthur in the cottage after what he just admitted. Can't involve anyone else in it.
At least Giles still loves him.
"I can't- I can't know. I lost count," maybe if he tried harder, kept a tally, "I don't... I don't know."
He could've picked a number. Fudged one. Maybe that would've been better, soothed Arthur that he cared right, that he was a good victim of his circumstances, that he still cared the right amount.
...
This was a mistake. This was a very, very large mistake and it is only that now he has blackmail in reverse that he doesn't just. Well. He doesn't even really know. It's not like he can trap Arthur in the cottage after what he just admitted. Can't involve anyone else in it.
At least Giles still loves him.
"I can't- I can't know. I lost count," maybe if he tried harder, kept a tally, "I don't... I don't know."
He could've picked a number. Fudged one. Maybe that would've been better, soothed Arthur that he cared right, that he was a good victim of his circumstances, that he still cared the right amount.
A hundred years. Yes, Ossie's said that he was gone for a number of decades before, too, hasn't he? Arthur dreads to think how little would've been left of him after one year; he can't imagine how Ossie kept even the outline of himself together for over a hundred.
It hits him that maybe Ossie didn't. He doesn't know the man that went in, only the one that came out. Perhaps they bear no resemblance to one another at all.
John, too, didn't know how many people he'd... killed, tortured, whatever metric you want to put on it. Arthur knows, but he's-- he doesn't have the number immediately, but he knows it's there if asked for. Now. After a hundred and more years, though?
God, he remembers Ossie's reaction to Arthur's muttered comments about Erin's sins, months and months ago. He'd thought that was about manners.
"Jesus," he says again, without inflection, into his hands. He has, he realises, put his face in his hands, which means he's slipped his hand out of Ossie's, which is not what he meant to do, but--
"Let-- let me take that in."
The pit is still fresh in his mind, along with the unseen guards who dropped a man in to his death. Along with the lock of hair placed - like a gun in Arthur's hand - as if to incite him. Along with the whispers and hallucinations of his daughter before it. Countless people. Placing Ossie as part of the wheel is a nasty thing to digest.
It hits him that maybe Ossie didn't. He doesn't know the man that went in, only the one that came out. Perhaps they bear no resemblance to one another at all.
John, too, didn't know how many people he'd... killed, tortured, whatever metric you want to put on it. Arthur knows, but he's-- he doesn't have the number immediately, but he knows it's there if asked for. Now. After a hundred and more years, though?
God, he remembers Ossie's reaction to Arthur's muttered comments about Erin's sins, months and months ago. He'd thought that was about manners.
"Jesus," he says again, without inflection, into his hands. He has, he realises, put his face in his hands, which means he's slipped his hand out of Ossie's, which is not what he meant to do, but--
"Let-- let me take that in."
The pit is still fresh in his mind, along with the unseen guards who dropped a man in to his death. Along with the lock of hair placed - like a gun in Arthur's hand - as if to incite him. Along with the whispers and hallucinations of his daughter before it. Countless people. Placing Ossie as part of the wheel is a nasty thing to digest.
"Do you ever take a break? I'm feeling exhausted just listening to all you gad about doing."
If Arthur had slipped into the right memory crack, he could've met the little scamp. Sweet, charming in an uncharismatic way, funny. A different person entirely.
"I'm sorry," Ossie's voice has a veneer on it not dissimilar to a well-polished piece of furniture, "I meant only to sympathize. To- to express my solidarity, that you aren't... alone."
...
"I should go get some tea."
"I'm sorry," Ossie's voice has a veneer on it not dissimilar to a well-polished piece of furniture, "I meant only to sympathize. To- to express my solidarity, that you aren't... alone."
...
"I should go get some tea."
"Yes, thank you, I feel wonderfully related-to," says Arthur ungently. It's really something to have a guy tell you about his century spent breaking people's backs, in order to make you feel less alone. It's really something to know that, yep, that's basically the comparison you deserve.
He shouldn't have said it. But Arthur feels overwhelmed: he dragged his crimes and torments in the Dreamlands to the surface, and now he stands with one foot in that sucking mire, and another in the revelation of Ossie as a tormentor, and another in not fucking up what's suddenly a delicate conversation where Ossie has made himself vulnerable, and he doesn't have enough feet for this.
He shouldn't have said it. But Arthur feels overwhelmed: he dragged his crimes and torments in the Dreamlands to the surface, and now he stands with one foot in that sucking mire, and another in the revelation of Ossie as a tormentor, and another in not fucking up what's suddenly a delicate conversation where Ossie has made himself vulnerable, and he doesn't have enough feet for this.
Ossie makes no reply, because he is simply no longer in the room.
...
"Fuck."
He looks with his hands; Ossie isn't where he was. He has, as promised, gone, whether to get tea or just to be far away from this shitshow. Feeling suddenly very alone in the cottage, Arthur stands and gropes for his cane beside the couch.
Ossie listened to him, opened up himself about his regrets, and in return... Arthur did basically what he's always afraid other people will do. Yeah, he doesn't feel great about what he's been told, but Ossie sure didn't seem to feel great telling it, either.
"Ossie," he calls woodenly, "come back. I-I'm an unbelievable prick."
"Fuck."
He looks with his hands; Ossie isn't where he was. He has, as promised, gone, whether to get tea or just to be far away from this shitshow. Feeling suddenly very alone in the cottage, Arthur stands and gropes for his cane beside the couch.
Ossie listened to him, opened up himself about his regrets, and in return... Arthur did basically what he's always afraid other people will do. Yeah, he doesn't feel great about what he's been told, but Ossie sure didn't seem to feel great telling it, either.
"Ossie," he calls woodenly, "come back. I-I'm an unbelievable prick."
"Ever since I stopped having to cook, call insurance companies, answer emails, go to work, call relatives, go grocery shopping, and pay bills, I had a lot of free time on my hands."
...
Wow, Ossie doesn't usually feel rich since there's no currency here, but there's a brief moment where he feels like such a rich asshole for. The fact that Giles handled literally all of that back home, except for some brief stints early on where he had to work. To be perfectly honest he'd forgotten those were things people had to do.
"Still. You take breaks from the patrols and such, right?"
Wow, Ossie doesn't usually feel rich since there's no currency here, but there's a brief moment where he feels like such a rich asshole for. The fact that Giles handled literally all of that back home, except for some brief stints early on where he had to work. To be perfectly honest he'd forgotten those were things people had to do.
"Still. You take breaks from the patrols and such, right?"
"Oh, sure, yeah. I have a lot of hobbies to fill out my time. I whittle with Erin, paint with Security, lie around watching whatever shows Darcy has on their laptop. Catch up with my other friends, whenever I see them. I read a lot in the library. Draw on my own time. Practice piano. Do a little ice sculpting. Take weather measurements. Make fun new chemistry experiments in the kitchen. Stare out to the sea."
His talon taps against his teacup. "Trust me, I've had a lot of practice in killing time. I'm an expert in being bored."
His talon taps against his teacup. "Trust me, I've had a lot of practice in killing time. I'm an expert in being bored."
The only sound heralding Ossie's return is a small clink of fine china on a tea tray, which gets set down neatly on the coffee table.
"It's quite alright. You have my apologies, I said far too much. There's a few jam biscuits just a bit to the left of your cup on the tray."
And now they are not talking because they are Having Tea.
"It's quite alright. You have my apologies, I said far too much. There's a few jam biscuits just a bit to the left of your cup on the tray."
And now they are not talking because they are Having Tea.
Wrong, motherfucker! They're having tea and talking!
"No, you didn't," he snaps. God damn it. He hates the neat little veil that's been drawn over Ossie's tone. He hates the silence with which he's suddenly moving, like a child afraid of its parents.
"You did me a kindness, with- with no small amount of trust involved, and I'm too--" His voice cracks again, and the sentence goes somewhere he didn't intend, somewhere really dismayed with himself, but not somewhere untrue. "--Too much still in, i-in that fucking place, to act with any kind of, of reason or tact in return."
"No, you didn't," he snaps. God damn it. He hates the neat little veil that's been drawn over Ossie's tone. He hates the silence with which he's suddenly moving, like a child afraid of its parents.
"You did me a kindness, with- with no small amount of trust involved, and I'm too--" His voice cracks again, and the sentence goes somewhere he didn't intend, somewhere really dismayed with himself, but not somewhere untrue. "--Too much still in, i-in that fucking place, to act with any kind of, of reason or tact in return."
Literally none of this helps with Ossie feeling exhausted. But,
"Good. At the very least, I don't have to worry about you burning yourself out with stress from all that you get up to."
... at what point did he start feeling less like a confidante and more like a schoolmarm? Odd.
"Good. At the very least, I don't have to worry about you burning yourself out with stress from all that you get up to."
... at what point did he start feeling less like a confidante and more like a schoolmarm? Odd.
"I know," in the same tone.
"It's alright. I'm sorry, I would've reacted largely the same way after I escaped. I'm... sorry."
He doesn't know what else to say, but he certainly doesn't want to blame Arthur.
"It's alright. I'm sorry, I would've reacted largely the same way after I escaped. I'm... sorry."
He doesn't know what else to say, but he certainly doesn't want to blame Arthur.
"You are so very precious, my love, and I could not begin to take as much care with you as I truly wish."
A kiss placed over Ossie's heart this time, before Giles moves away to fold the removed clothes and place them to one side
A kiss placed over Ossie's heart this time, before Giles moves away to fold the removed clothes and place them to one side
"... Well, I still might burn out, but it won't be my fault." A light chuckle.
He picks away at his breakfast then, leaving it there for a bit so that he has a bit more room to eat and think. Breathe in the air and the fragrance of the cottage. Have breakfast with tableware that isn't from the dining hall or the buffet or any of the same handful of joints he's been seeing every day for the past year and a half.
He picks away at his breakfast then, leaving it there for a bit so that he has a bit more room to eat and think. Breathe in the air and the fragrance of the cottage. Have breakfast with tableware that isn't from the dining hall or the buffet or any of the same handful of joints he's been seeing every day for the past year and a half.
Ossie's happy to leave it there for the moment. He somehow miraculously manages to keep Phil's exact pace in eating- little party trick from Arcadia that he can't stop doing- and he very nearly decides to leave it there, but...
Well, the ring is a little hard to miss.
"We, er- we didn't so much as graze your newly-found widowerhood. Rita, was your wife, yes?"
Well, the ring is a little hard to miss.
"We, er- we didn't so much as graze your newly-found widowerhood. Rita, was your wife, yes?"
"Oh, uh... yeah."
He didn't especially want to bring it up, since it's by now a given, a shadow that hangs in every corner of his life and always will, but. If Ossie's going in that direction.
"I mean... what do you want to know? I'm... sad? Lot of grief. Sun keeps turning anyway. Still have to feed myself. The works."
What is it about feelings that can and do swallow you whole and alive that makes you talk like that.
He didn't especially want to bring it up, since it's by now a given, a shadow that hangs in every corner of his life and always will, but. If Ossie's going in that direction.
"I mean... what do you want to know? I'm... sad? Lot of grief. Sun keeps turning anyway. Still have to feed myself. The works."
What is it about feelings that can and do swallow you whole and alive that makes you talk like that.
"Well- it's hardly what I want to know, I just... er, rather, you did mention it as one of the matters at hand."
He does recall Phil talking about her, little bits and pieces here and there.
"The inevitability of the world turning is one of the more frustrating parts of it. In dealing with grief, I mean to say. Terrible business. I myself wish I knew how to deal with it more aptly."
He does recall Phil talking about her, little bits and pieces here and there.
"The inevitability of the world turning is one of the more frustrating parts of it. In dealing with grief, I mean to say. Terrible business. I myself wish I knew how to deal with it more aptly."
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