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~"
"Right- of course, please allow me to try and do a better job of explaining this time around, wot?"
Ossie clears his throat, placing his hands neatly in his lap.
"Earth, generally, broadly, has... some hangups about men and women, shall we say. There's some rather narrow views of what a man or a woman... is. How one acts, how one dresses. Now- an awful lot of people don't especially adhere to those narrow categories very well, and there's a robust culture of saying 'er, beg pardon, but I've brought my own from home and I shouldn't like to partake in yours'. Some people do this by pointing out how silly the whole institution is, but others... well, they listen to their hearts and their desires, and they act how they want to. In whatever way makes them happy. Some of us, that means living as a gender that's different to the one they were born as. Others pick and choose what parts they'd like to keep and toss out the rest, or pick up some parts that please them. This could be wearing dresses, for instance, or make-up, or... well, to be frank, fashion is the easiest part of it for me to understand, I never felt I'd really grasped the rest of the issue, wot? My eyes sort of glazed over whenever people back home explained the rest of it."
He moves his hands to lace loosely on his chest.
"I myself have often felt more like... do you have flowers that imitate insects in your world? We've a species of orchid that resembles a bee back home. I often feel that way about myself and other men. Love them, adore them, I drink in their masculinity, but I only barely resemble them myself."
Ossie clears his throat, placing his hands neatly in his lap.
"Earth, generally, broadly, has... some hangups about men and women, shall we say. There's some rather narrow views of what a man or a woman... is. How one acts, how one dresses. Now- an awful lot of people don't especially adhere to those narrow categories very well, and there's a robust culture of saying 'er, beg pardon, but I've brought my own from home and I shouldn't like to partake in yours'. Some people do this by pointing out how silly the whole institution is, but others... well, they listen to their hearts and their desires, and they act how they want to. In whatever way makes them happy. Some of us, that means living as a gender that's different to the one they were born as. Others pick and choose what parts they'd like to keep and toss out the rest, or pick up some parts that please them. This could be wearing dresses, for instance, or make-up, or... well, to be frank, fashion is the easiest part of it for me to understand, I never felt I'd really grasped the rest of the issue, wot? My eyes sort of glazed over whenever people back home explained the rest of it."
He moves his hands to lace loosely on his chest.
"I myself have often felt more like... do you have flowers that imitate insects in your world? We've a species of orchid that resembles a bee back home. I often feel that way about myself and other men. Love them, adore them, I drink in their masculinity, but I only barely resemble them myself."
Dimitri can relate to the 'eyes glazing over' part. He thinks he's beginning to understand, though.
"Fascinating -- if Fódlan has any flowers like that, I'm not aware of them. The greenhouse at the monastery includes an orchid collection, though, so it's possible those are among them." Because this is definitely the most important part of the conversation.
"I think I understand you, though. Fódlan is much the same. Especially if you're born into status, there's ... an image one's expected to uphold. A future laid out by your parents and your parents' parents. Diverging from that path ... it isn't easy."
"Fascinating -- if Fódlan has any flowers like that, I'm not aware of them. The greenhouse at the monastery includes an orchid collection, though, so it's possible those are among them." Because this is definitely the most important part of the conversation.
"I think I understand you, though. Fódlan is much the same. Especially if you're born into status, there's ... an image one's expected to uphold. A future laid out by your parents and your parents' parents. Diverging from that path ... it isn't easy."
Ossie chortles, "oh yes, the expectations of sprogs and inheritance and all such. Marrying well. Much the same in my world as it is in yours. My older sister was fortunate enough to have male children- my father's estate was going directly to them when I died and they were old enough- but I saw firsthand what marrying well did to her. Brilliant, brilliant woman. A scientific wit to contend with any of them, crushed into social occasions and village faires."
A small sigh.
"I was just never much good at the whole... game of it, wot. Stoicism, grit, whatnot. Couldn't dance the steps, so to speak. I suppose I was just lucky that my father was tolerant of it. Didn't try and toughen me up. Then again, he always was a sensible man, and he didn't often embark on doomed endeavours."
A small sigh.
"I was just never much good at the whole... game of it, wot. Stoicism, grit, whatnot. Couldn't dance the steps, so to speak. I suppose I was just lucky that my father was tolerant of it. Didn't try and toughen me up. Then again, he always was a sensible man, and he didn't often embark on doomed endeavours."
Hehe. 'Sprog.'
Dimitri's brief moment of humor subsides. "I'm sorry for your sister. A dear friend of mine wants nothing more than to be a knight -- but she bears her family's Crest, and the house is poor, and so ... thus far she's refused any marriage proposals, but I don't know how long she'll be able."
If only Glenn had lived. So many things would be better if Glenn had lived.
"I tried, okay? Hard when you've got a sword through your guts."
Dimitri's head dips. " ... I have no siblings. My father -- he did his best with me, but -- " He halts, wrenches himself away from what he might have said. "I've been told I take after my mother," he says instead, "in speech and demeanor. I don't know if I can believe it, but ... I'd like to think there's truth to it."
Dimitri's brief moment of humor subsides. "I'm sorry for your sister. A dear friend of mine wants nothing more than to be a knight -- but she bears her family's Crest, and the house is poor, and so ... thus far she's refused any marriage proposals, but I don't know how long she'll be able."
If only Glenn had lived. So many things would be better if Glenn had lived.
"I tried, okay? Hard when you've got a sword through your guts."
Dimitri's head dips. " ... I have no siblings. My father -- he did his best with me, but -- " He halts, wrenches himself away from what he might have said. "I've been told I take after my mother," he says instead, "in speech and demeanor. I don't know if I can believe it, but ... I'd like to think there's truth to it."
Edited (not saying that bit just yet) 2023-03-04 22:45 (UTC)
"Your mother must have been a remarkable woman, then," Ossie offers mildly, "and I'm sure you do her proud. It's not a bad thing to take after ones mother- I do myself, so I'm told. I have-"
A pause, like running your tongue over a gap where a tooth used to be.
"-been told that a lot. More tea?"
A pause, like running your tongue over a gap where a tooth used to be.
"-been told that a lot. More tea?"
"She was. I've met few people like her." Ossie's one of them. So unlike Patricia's quiet melancholy in so many ways, yet somehow he evokes a similar feeling in Dimitri.
Oh, but Dimitri knows that pause all too well. And that repetition, less smooth than Ossie usually is, the trace of words thought better of at the last moment. Dimitri's not about to pry, though, and Ossie spares him a fumbling apology.
"More tea would be nice, thank you," he answers. He cradles the freshly-warmed cup delicately, watching the deep amber shimmer of light onto the ceramic. Formless thoughts circle without settling.
Oh, but Dimitri knows that pause all too well. And that repetition, less smooth than Ossie usually is, the trace of words thought better of at the last moment. Dimitri's not about to pry, though, and Ossie spares him a fumbling apology.
"More tea would be nice, thank you," he answers. He cradles the freshly-warmed cup delicately, watching the deep amber shimmer of light onto the ceramic. Formless thoughts circle without settling.
That's what he appreciates about the lad. Dimitri knows when to leave well enough alone. Ossie pours himself a fresh cup and settles back in on the couch, grateful for the chance to reset his composure.
"I expect your Faerghus didn't have any such traditions or practices of gender defiance, wot? From what you've said, at least, it all sounds so very... er, macho. Martial, wot."
"I expect your Faerghus didn't have any such traditions or practices of gender defiance, wot? From what you've said, at least, it all sounds so very... er, macho. Martial, wot."
'Macho', that's going on Dimitri's vocabulary list.
"If we do, I don't know about it. Though I wouldn't. My upbringing was ... sheltered." Even his childhood friends weren't exactly his peers, and after his father died he lost what few chances at privacy or freedom he'd had. "We have a storied tradition of lady knights -- one the friend I mentioned aspires to -- but for men ... "
He's reluctant to bring this part of his life here. He doesn't like to join the two, when this is one of the only places he feels free of it. When Ossie is one of the few people Dimitri can truly believe doesn't see him as a killer.
" ... A man aspires to be knightly," he says slowly, spooling out thoughts that grate against the bars in his mind. "A knight is honorable. Loyal. Dutiful. A woman who aspires to knighthood pursues something noble. But a man who refuses it is ... " He trails off, uncertain how the sentence should end, then looks up at Ossie for understanding.
"If we do, I don't know about it. Though I wouldn't. My upbringing was ... sheltered." Even his childhood friends weren't exactly his peers, and after his father died he lost what few chances at privacy or freedom he'd had. "We have a storied tradition of lady knights -- one the friend I mentioned aspires to -- but for men ... "
He's reluctant to bring this part of his life here. He doesn't like to join the two, when this is one of the only places he feels free of it. When Ossie is one of the few people Dimitri can truly believe doesn't see him as a killer.
" ... A man aspires to be knightly," he says slowly, spooling out thoughts that grate against the bars in his mind. "A knight is honorable. Loyal. Dutiful. A woman who aspires to knighthood pursues something noble. But a man who refuses it is ... " He trails off, uncertain how the sentence should end, then looks up at Ossie for understanding.
"Weak. Womanly, cowardly, suspect. Am I close?" Ossie asks, his voice even and quiet, not accusatory in any capacity.
Dimitri nods, silent. For a moment his melancholy breaks lighter, and he huffs. "As if being womanly is anything to be ashamed of. I'd be honored to be compared to any of the women in my life."
He sobers; takes another sip of his tea, and rests one hand on his knee so his anxiously-tapping fingers won't damage the cup. He doesn't want Ossie to think that he thinks --
"It isn't even -- " He's passed 'grating'; this is yanking twine through gear-teeth -- "A knight's honor is in battle. His duty to his lord is to kill and die without thought or question. That -- chivalry," the word curdles in his mouth, "has seen innocents slaughtered by the thousands, and a nation swear that killing was right and just. It's taken people I love, and the ones I have left aspire to emulate their deaths -- would claim that grief and horror disparage their sacrifice. It's not ... it isn't ... "
His shoulders sink. He sets the teacup down; his hands tangle together, warped knuckles interlocked, thumb pressed into a scar across his palm.
" ... I told you once the world could use more cowards. That's what I meant."
He sobers; takes another sip of his tea, and rests one hand on his knee so his anxiously-tapping fingers won't damage the cup. He doesn't want Ossie to think that he thinks --
"It isn't even -- " He's passed 'grating'; this is yanking twine through gear-teeth -- "A knight's honor is in battle. His duty to his lord is to kill and die without thought or question. That -- chivalry," the word curdles in his mouth, "has seen innocents slaughtered by the thousands, and a nation swear that killing was right and just. It's taken people I love, and the ones I have left aspire to emulate their deaths -- would claim that grief and horror disparage their sacrifice. It's not ... it isn't ... "
His shoulders sink. He sets the teacup down; his hands tangle together, warped knuckles interlocked, thumb pressed into a scar across his palm.
" ... I told you once the world could use more cowards. That's what I meant."
Ossie stands, rounding the coffee table unhurriedly. He rests a warm hand on the back of Dimitri's neck, right at the nape.
"It's... difficult. To look upon the fruits of your life and see the seeds of wickedness they grew from. To know your place in that great monstrous mechanism. But it is all you know, all anyone around you knows, and to struggle against it would be to refute something as base to life as the sun rising and setting."
He doesn't move, won't move until Dimitri does, unless Dimitri wants him to.
"I'm glad that you're encouraging Dedue to participate in this. And I hope you can extend that to yourself, as well, if that's what you want. I would certainly like you to do something nice for yourself."
"It's... difficult. To look upon the fruits of your life and see the seeds of wickedness they grew from. To know your place in that great monstrous mechanism. But it is all you know, all anyone around you knows, and to struggle against it would be to refute something as base to life as the sun rising and setting."
He doesn't move, won't move until Dimitri does, unless Dimitri wants him to.
"I'm glad that you're encouraging Dedue to participate in this. And I hope you can extend that to yourself, as well, if that's what you want. I would certainly like you to do something nice for yourself."
[ At the foot of his cabin door, there’s a rubber duck that bears a stunning resemblance to Ossie. ]
Dimitri nods, sniffs, dabs at his eyes.
Here's how Ossie reminds him of Patricia:
Dimitri loved his father. He admired his strength, and wanted to emulate it. He wanted his father's praise, his approval. It's not that he didn't want Patricia's approval -- or Ossie's -- but it's so much less conditional. He could be weak, and afraid, and lost with his stepmother in a way he never could with his father. He can be weak, and afraid, and lost with Ossie.
Still, he hesitates again, afraid of stepping out of line. He's being ridiculous. Compared to Ossie he's a paragon of manhood. He's a killer, obvious when he tangles his battered fingers on his lap. A knight, a prince, a future king.
... but he's more of a monster than any of those things.
"My father was -- exemplary, in many ways. Everyone tells me I how much I resemble him. They -- I must live up to his example. But I ... I'm not. They have no idea how much I can't. I'll never ... " His voice strangles itself to a whisper. "I don't know if I want to."
Here's how Ossie reminds him of Patricia:
Dimitri loved his father. He admired his strength, and wanted to emulate it. He wanted his father's praise, his approval. It's not that he didn't want Patricia's approval -- or Ossie's -- but it's so much less conditional. He could be weak, and afraid, and lost with his stepmother in a way he never could with his father. He can be weak, and afraid, and lost with Ossie.
Still, he hesitates again, afraid of stepping out of line. He's being ridiculous. Compared to Ossie he's a paragon of manhood. He's a killer, obvious when he tangles his battered fingers on his lap. A knight, a prince, a future king.
... but he's more of a monster than any of those things.
"My father was -- exemplary, in many ways. Everyone tells me I how much I resemble him. They -- I must live up to his example. But I ... I'm not. They have no idea how much I can't. I'll never ... " His voice strangles itself to a whisper. "I don't know if I want to."
[texts, starting from near the end of March when Ossie goes into hiding]
ring_for_giles
2023-04-02 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The first text comes the day the cottage door locks, simple, concerned but not overly worried ]
Oswald,
The Hollow doorway appears to have stopped working for me, I will try again in the morning but if you receive this before then you can find me in the library.
Giles
[ And then the next day, the next one comes ]
Oswald,
I still cannot access the cottage, and I am concerned about what this means, please let me know when you receive this.
Giles
[ The third day there are no texts, for Giles spends the whole day as a cat. Napping in the library, curled up on the chair that Ossie used when he took up the role of Blackbird Bishop.
The fourth day the concern reaches a fever pitch, and the texts come spread mere hours apart and getting more frequent as they go on ]
Oswald,
Have you changed the knock? Is that the reason I cannot enter?
I can come up with only one other plausible explanation for my being locked out, and it does not bare thinking about.
Giles
[......]
Ossie, please, if you receive this and are able, please respond.
[.....]
My love, I need to know that you are safe.
[....]
If you need some time alone I understand, you know I understand that my love, and I would give you all the time in the world if you need it. Just please, please, tell me that you are safe and well.
[...]
Please tell me you're still here
[ The fifth day there are no texts again, for there is only so long he can spend staring at the little screen before his eyes begin to blur and his head begins to hurt.
They start alternating after that, one day of frequent short and frantic messages, one day of near silence, rinse and repeat.
Then, on the first of April, the pattern changes. Only one text, sent at around 8pm every single day without fail. Composed in the little journal he keeps in his pocket — which is starting to fill up, and will need to be replaced soon, especially if this goes on for much longer — and then painstakingly copied over into his phone ]
My beloved Oswald, [ it begins, and what follows is an account of his day. The people he saw, and if any of them asked after Ossie; the current state of the ship, such as the fact that the cracks have disappeared and speculation on what that might mean; what he has tried that day to regain access to the cottage; things that he noted throughout the day that made him think of Ossie; and, very very occasionally, a short poem he has written.
Naturally all interspersed with as many ways as he can find to express his love for Ossie, and, finally, signed off ]
Yours, for now and for always,
E. Giles
Oswald,
The Hollow doorway appears to have stopped working for me, I will try again in the morning but if you receive this before then you can find me in the library.
Giles
[ And then the next day, the next one comes ]
Oswald,
I still cannot access the cottage, and I am concerned about what this means, please let me know when you receive this.
Giles
[ The third day there are no texts, for Giles spends the whole day as a cat. Napping in the library, curled up on the chair that Ossie used when he took up the role of Blackbird Bishop.
The fourth day the concern reaches a fever pitch, and the texts come spread mere hours apart and getting more frequent as they go on ]
Oswald,
Have you changed the knock? Is that the reason I cannot enter?
I can come up with only one other plausible explanation for my being locked out, and it does not bare thinking about.
Giles
[......]
Ossie, please, if you receive this and are able, please respond.
[.....]
My love, I need to know that you are safe.
[....]
If you need some time alone I understand, you know I understand that my love, and I would give you all the time in the world if you need it. Just please, please, tell me that you are safe and well.
[...]
Please tell me you're still here
[ The fifth day there are no texts again, for there is only so long he can spend staring at the little screen before his eyes begin to blur and his head begins to hurt.
They start alternating after that, one day of frequent short and frantic messages, one day of near silence, rinse and repeat.
Then, on the first of April, the pattern changes. Only one text, sent at around 8pm every single day without fail. Composed in the little journal he keeps in his pocket — which is starting to fill up, and will need to be replaced soon, especially if this goes on for much longer — and then painstakingly copied over into his phone ]
My beloved Oswald, [ it begins, and what follows is an account of his day. The people he saw, and if any of them asked after Ossie; the current state of the ship, such as the fact that the cracks have disappeared and speculation on what that might mean; what he has tried that day to regain access to the cottage; things that he noted throughout the day that made him think of Ossie; and, very very occasionally, a short poem he has written.
Naturally all interspersed with as many ways as he can find to express his love for Ossie, and, finally, signed off ]
Yours, for now and for always,
E. Giles
"You are your own person," Ossie soothes, "you needn't be anyone but that, whoever that is. In my home, certainly, at least."
He rests his hand on Dimitri's shoulder, trying to be a comforting weight and not simply something else he must bear.
"I certainly expect nothing more of you than your manners and excellent company. And you've exceeded my expectations on that. I hold no pretenses about what and who you ought to be."
He rests his hand on Dimitri's shoulder, trying to be a comforting weight and not simply something else he must bear.
"I certainly expect nothing more of you than your manners and excellent company. And you've exceeded my expectations on that. I hold no pretenses about what and who you ought to be."
MY DEAR SHARKY EXCLAMATION POINT
I WOULD BE THRILLED AND RIVETED TO HELP YOU ARRANGE A PRIDE SHINDIG EXCLAMATION POINT
I will insist that we cater from the cottage so that we can indulge a little without worrying about tightening our belts later on stop
Just let me know when and where and I'll be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail stop
Ossie
P.S. please do tell me that you didn't call Giles goth to his face it would cause his heart to give out stopOssie
💗 pratt eats like 2 things so u KNO were gonna stock some garlic bread n taters from the buffet
but if u wanna help stock food then FUCK YA lets do it that way ppl dont bitch @ me 4 stealin from windjammer
watever u wanna bring is perf i trust u 💯
gonna b @ the bar 4merly known as richies
bc like obvi its gotta b @ the place named 🌈
Sharky
ps ps no it was over text LOL 😁
💗 pratt eats like 2 things so u KNO were gonna stock some garlic bread n taters from the buffet
but if u wanna help stock food then FUCK YA lets do it that way ppl dont bitch @ me 4 stealin from windjammer
watever u wanna bring is perf i trust u 💯
gonna b @ the bar 4merly known as richies
bc like obvi its gotta b @ the place named 🌈
Sharky
ps ps no it was over text LOL 😁
Dearest Sharky,
Your faith in me and my catering abilities warms the cockles of my heart stop
By which I of course mean Giles' cooking abilities and my ability to come up with a menu stop
An excellent choice stop
It has been so long since I properly went clubbing stop
Have you any plans for afterwards question mark
Ossie
Ps you brute that's a conversation I hoped never to have with him stop
If he shows up to the party in eyeliner we shall both know whose fault it is stop[he doesn't know how to handle the endearments increasing like this!!!]
Dear Ossie
no time liek the present 2 get back in touch w ur candikid roots
esp after evrythin else happnning
ugh happening
no plans evn @ the party
just drinkin + dancin + roller skaets
bc i 4got i had those
y u wanna fill my dance card
ps 👀💦 ill take the L if it means leather pants + eyeliner r u KIDDING me
Dear Ossie
no time liek the present 2 get back in touch w ur candikid roots
esp after evrythin else happnning
ugh happening
no plans evn @ the party
just drinkin + dancin + roller skaets
bc i 4got i had those
y u wanna fill my dance card
ps 👀💦 ill take the L if it means leather pants + eyeliner r u KIDDING me
Darling Sharky,[ Whoops~ ]
Consider your dance card for after now filled yes stop
😉 stop
Gentlemen must have their secrets so I'm afraid I'll simply have to keep you in suspense stop
But I simply must also dance with you comma it's a travesty that we haven't yet stop
Yours,
Ossie
Ps alas I don't think we'd have much luck getting the bugger into leather pants stop
We'll simply have to imagine it together stop
Or get him while he's sleeping stopTREASURED Ossie,
[YEAH TAKE THAT]
👀
ok ill michal bubble it up
save the last dance style
xcept ur probs gona want in b4 the LAST last dance
cos im gona get p drunk n eventuly the sk8s gotta come off
Sharky
ps 😔😭 wat abt the eyeliner tho
i mean
CAT EYES
feels like it should b p on brand w him??????
[YEAH TAKE THAT]
👀
ok ill michal bubble it up
save the last dance style
xcept ur probs gona want in b4 the LAST last dance
cos im gona get p drunk n eventuly the sk8s gotta come off
Sharky
ps 😔😭 wat abt the eyeliner tho
i mean
CAT EYES
feels like it should b p on brand w him??????
Edited 2023-06-11 23:24 (UTC)
My Dearest Beloved Sharky,[ Don't start what you can't finish, Sharky. ]
That certainly sounds like a plan stop
Although if I could preemptively advise just a little moderation stop
It would certainly be a disappointment if you were too drunk to make it to our bed afterwards stop
P.S.
I'll bring it up with him stop
Don't hold your breath but if you could be your charming self and suggest the same we might stand a chance stop
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