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 chews, swallows, makes a face. “Of course I do.” That moment with Darcy sits like a star in his memory, something to revolve the rest of his world around. “That doesn’t stop the rest of everything happening.”
But. Anyway.
“Well. There’s still the whole. Widower thing. Then I’m pretty sure basically all of my closest loved ones despise someone else who is a friend of mine, like, one of them shot them and another murdered them on an excursion. Another two of them hate each other. Which is, I mean, pretty normal if occasionally frustrating, but it’s so much more of a migraine in close quarters like this.”
He does some kind of waving-off gesture and sighs. “Then my eye is permanent? For some reason? And I kind of messed up talking to one of my kids a few months ago and I’m still thinking about it. And then Jade's gone, and then those flowers, and there are these evil doors that seriously set me off, and then Demona…”
But. Anyway.
“Well. There’s still the whole. Widower thing. Then I’m pretty sure basically all of my closest loved ones despise someone else who is a friend of mine, like, one of them shot them and another murdered them on an excursion. Another two of them hate each other. Which is, I mean, pretty normal if occasionally frustrating, but it’s so much more of a migraine in close quarters like this.”
He does some kind of waving-off gesture and sighs. “Then my eye is permanent? For some reason? And I kind of messed up talking to one of my kids a few months ago and I’m still thinking about it. And then Jade's gone, and then those flowers, and there are these evil doors that seriously set me off, and then Demona…”
Edited 2023-10-13 00:27 (UTC)
Ossie beams in the doorway, opens his mouth to speak, takes one look at him, then a second.
"Arthur, my dear fellow, when was the last time you ate?"
"Arthur, my dear fellow, when was the last time you ate?"
At some point Ossie stops chewing.
"You've... spoken to people prior to me about all of these too, I hope?"
Not because he can't handle the weight of discussing this, of course not, that little tin brooch burns a hole in his bloody pocket at all times. But...
"Anyone would buckle under the weight of just one of these. I mean it, it isn't unreasonable to be struggling under the circs."
... Ruddy little thing. He'll never be rid of it. Ossie removes the brooch from his inside jacket pocket and fastens it to his lapel, folding freshly entaloned hands in front of himself.
"Where should we start?"
"You've... spoken to people prior to me about all of these too, I hope?"
Not because he can't handle the weight of discussing this, of course not, that little tin brooch burns a hole in his bloody pocket at all times. But...
"Anyone would buckle under the weight of just one of these. I mean it, it isn't unreasonable to be struggling under the circs."
... Ruddy little thing. He'll never be rid of it. Ossie removes the brooch from his inside jacket pocket and fastens it to his lapel, folding freshly entaloned hands in front of himself.
"Where should we start?"
Ossie's answer takes a second too long to come, and Arthur has the sinking feeling that-- yep, there is is. His smile gets forced, and then he lowers his face to rub it tiredly with one hand.
"Oh, not you as well."
"Oh, not you as well."
“Yes. Darcy knows more or less all of it.” Some he’s spoken about more than… others. “Security knows most of the older stuff. Erin’s heard of a few from me.”
He sighs, shuts his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
… And then Ossie pins something to his jacket, and his hands have talons.
“… Those weren’t there before,” he mutters as if to convince himself. (As though he needs convincing.) He blinks himself out of that brief stun, shakes his head, sighs a little too forcefully. “I’m sorry, what are we doing?”
He sighs, shuts his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
… And then Ossie pins something to his jacket, and his hands have talons.
“… Those weren’t there before,” he mutters as if to convince himself. (As though he needs convincing.) He blinks himself out of that brief stun, shakes his head, sighs a little too forcefully. “I’m sorry, what are we doing?”
"Bloody well yes me as well- what happened? You look- well-" 'awful' will sound overly harsh so he just kinds of makes a noncommittal noise that he hopes conveys his concern.
"Come in- I shall not be advising on so much as a pocket square before you eat something."
"Come in- I shall not be advising on so much as a pocket square before you eat something."
"No, these weren't," he tap-taps the talons on his cup to demonstrate.
"I am offering my services in my capacity as a Blackbird Bishop. Which is to say, someone who is here to listen. You must talk to someone about these things aside from your children and... Erin. Charming as her company is."
He tilts his head, "no pressure to accept, of course. I understand we aren't as close as you undoubtedly are with them. But perhaps a little professional distance may be of use too, wot? I would like to be here for you in any case."
"I am offering my services in my capacity as a Blackbird Bishop. Which is to say, someone who is here to listen. You must talk to someone about these things aside from your children and... Erin. Charming as her company is."
He tilts his head, "no pressure to accept, of course. I understand we aren't as close as you undoubtedly are with them. But perhaps a little professional distance may be of use too, wot? I would like to be here for you in any case."
He thinks about protesting that he has spoken to more than just them, he's been working on building a support network since the day he got here, but when his mind goes to drum up examples, it... well, better he look stupid than open his mouth and prove it.
He gives a dry, single laugh. "It'll be nice to complain to someone who isn't so tangled up in the circles I usually run in. Mm. Where do we start?"
God, it's a fucking laundry list. Well, the widower thing surely doesn't need saying; that's just the sort of thing he needs to quietly cradle close to his heart until he can grow around it. The disaster that is the relationships between his company? That feels like gossip, and he still needs to talk with Helena anyway.
"I. Guess we could talk about my eye."
He gives a dry, single laugh. "It'll be nice to complain to someone who isn't so tangled up in the circles I usually run in. Mm. Where do we start?"
God, it's a fucking laundry list. Well, the widower thing surely doesn't need saying; that's just the sort of thing he needs to quietly cradle close to his heart until he can grow around it. The disaster that is the relationships between his company? That feels like gossip, and he still needs to talk with Helena anyway.
"I. Guess we could talk about my eye."
If Phil had told someone more responsible, he would've likely lead with that. Instead of the world's most irritable French teenager, someone still getting its head around being a person, and Erin.
"That was from... the Daisy incident, yes?" he remembers it, even if only vaguely, from Dimitri's recounting of it.
"I'm all ears, Mr Connors," he indicates with a tilt of his head. Has Phil noticed that Ossie has elf-like ears? He does. The Gentry aren't terribly inventive.
"That was from... the Daisy incident, yes?" he remembers it, even if only vaguely, from Dimitri's recounting of it.
"I'm all ears, Mr Connors," he indicates with a tilt of his head. Has Phil noticed that Ossie has elf-like ears? He does. The Gentry aren't terribly inventive.
Of course he has. There’s little he doesn’t notice, especially physically.
“… Okay. Well.”
He takes a breath, poking at his food while he tries to think of how to even begin on that one.
“Yeah, it was the Daisy thing. Honestly, it’s. We both expected it to go away. Everyone did. That’s what happens, right? So I didn’t really pursue her on it specifically. I didn’t have to. I sort of caught her and talked with her about the, uh, rest of… what she did, but the eye, even though it got in the way every day it was supposed to disappear the next time I died. And then it just. Didn’t.
He hasn’t looked up from his plate. “I don’t know. I thought maybe it was because it was there for so long, but people have had tattoos disappear. I guess it’s just some kind of… whoops in the process that time. I got Daisy to apologize. That was… complicated. She’s complicated. And she’s really trying, and I appreciate that so much from her. But I still. Have this.”
Gestures at his face.
“… Okay. Well.”
He takes a breath, poking at his food while he tries to think of how to even begin on that one.
“Yeah, it was the Daisy thing. Honestly, it’s. We both expected it to go away. Everyone did. That’s what happens, right? So I didn’t really pursue her on it specifically. I didn’t have to. I sort of caught her and talked with her about the, uh, rest of… what she did, but the eye, even though it got in the way every day it was supposed to disappear the next time I died. And then it just. Didn’t.
He hasn’t looked up from his plate. “I don’t know. I thought maybe it was because it was there for so long, but people have had tattoos disappear. I guess it’s just some kind of… whoops in the process that time. I got Daisy to apologize. That was… complicated. She’s complicated. And she’s really trying, and I appreciate that so much from her. But I still. Have this.”
Gestures at his face.
Ossie nods along. And maybe it's the same warp and weft of story that runs through him, the places in which he feels the rhyme, or maybe it's just ego and the assumption that he knows how Phil feels, but as if pulled from him on a cord he continues-
"A disfigurement. A change in your ability, to boot. The man you see in the mirror is not the same man you got used to seeing. And I cannot imagine knowing that the condition is permanent when other things aren't would help, wot? You poor thing."
He hopes it comes across as sympathy for his position, and not condescension.
"A disfigurement. A change in your ability, to boot. The man you see in the mirror is not the same man you got used to seeing. And I cannot imagine knowing that the condition is permanent when other things aren't would help, wot? You poor thing."
He hopes it comes across as sympathy for his position, and not condescension.
Phil is not only a man with the most powerful good faith on the planet, he is also desperately grasping for anything that makes him feel validated in being angry and bitter. He forks a piece of omelette and is off from center by one prong too many.
“Yeah. And…” I haven’t had a scar in— “… I know life is unfair, but geez. I worried for a while about being able to broadcast again, but I could probably just wear a contact. Which, that’s the other thing, I—I should probably have a patch because it gives me headaches sometimes, but I would honestly rather drown than draw more attention to it than I already have.
“And I… know it’s still bad and no one’s running a damn competition, and any one of them would cut my head off for thinking this, but there are… I mean, with all the crazy dramatic histories of people here, it. Some part of me feels like it just doesn’t matter. Not here.”
“Yeah. And…” I haven’t had a scar in— “… I know life is unfair, but geez. I worried for a while about being able to broadcast again, but I could probably just wear a contact. Which, that’s the other thing, I—I should probably have a patch because it gives me headaches sometimes, but I would honestly rather drown than draw more attention to it than I already have.
“And I… know it’s still bad and no one’s running a damn competition, and any one of them would cut my head off for thinking this, but there are… I mean, with all the crazy dramatic histories of people here, it. Some part of me feels like it just doesn’t matter. Not here.”
"It isn't a competition, no. But... there's others ahead of you in the soup queue, so to speak. Aren't there? Even if it's a constant inconvenience, one you are still adapting to, one that impacts your every waking moment, one you are unsure of how to manage, how to even complain about the ruddy thing in the right way. Rather like moving into a new apartment and struggling to sort the annoyances from the issues."
Funny, isn't it. He used to talk to so many entirely average people back in London, and how many of them shimmered with the same colours as he weaves here. Not just Changelings- they don't have a monopoly on pain- but people working out how to welcome in arthritis for the first time, accepting the change in their dreams that comes from injury.
"I used to be a gambling man, Phil, and I don't think I ever placed a surer bet than that the very people who would decapitate you for thinking so... are feeling precisely the same thing, at times."
Funny, isn't it. He used to talk to so many entirely average people back in London, and how many of them shimmered with the same colours as he weaves here. Not just Changelings- they don't have a monopoly on pain- but people working out how to welcome in arthritis for the first time, accepting the change in their dreams that comes from injury.
"I used to be a gambling man, Phil, and I don't think I ever placed a surer bet than that the very people who would decapitate you for thinking so... are feeling precisely the same thing, at times."
"I've, I've, um..."
Behold: the sound of Arthur realising he can't honestly say he ate yet today, because he was already forgetful about it and that was before his metabolism and appetite got twelve kinds of fucked up.
He says, non-committally, "A-are you sure you want to watch me eat," which translates to 'I don't want you to watch me eat'.
Behold: the sound of Arthur realising he can't honestly say he ate yet today, because he was already forgetful about it and that was before his metabolism and appetite got twelve kinds of fucked up.
He says, non-committally, "A-are you sure you want to watch me eat," which translates to 'I don't want you to watch me eat'.
It's like magic. Well, it probably is magic, but he just marvels at the way Ossie so deftly untangles the briar of his thoughts, this frayed snarl of frustration and stress and split ends. Because yeah. Yeah.
There is really something about it, when you realize you are just never going to be someone going through life with ease now. And he doesn't even know how to complain about it. Which sucks, because complaining is how he copes. Frankly he also doesn't even know if he has forty years left of this or two hundred.
"Yeah... yeah," he nods, sighing. And then puts his face in his hands and just, breathes a very long-suffering groan.
There is really something about it, when you realize you are just never going to be someone going through life with ease now. And he doesn't even know how to complain about it. Which sucks, because complaining is how he copes. Frankly he also doesn't even know if he has forty years left of this or two hundred.
"Yeah... yeah," he nods, sighing. And then puts his face in his hands and just, breathes a very long-suffering groan.
Ossie wipes his hand and rests it gently on his shoulder. If the table has shrunk a little to accommodate that it's fine, Phil isn't looking at it.
"Glad I wasn't overreaching. Are you alright? Do you need a moment?"
"Glad I wasn't overreaching. Are you alright? Do you need a moment?"
"I've no particular desire to watch you eat," not specifically watch in any case, that's usually far more of an affair, and he discusses it with the relevant parties first.
"If you want privacy, I can certainly oblige it," there was a cat fellow who used to hate being in the company of people while he was eating back in London after all.
"But please. Just something small. It would make me feel better."
"If you want privacy, I can certainly oblige it," there was a cat fellow who used to hate being in the company of people while he was eating back in London after all.
"But please. Just something small. It would make me feel better."
Phil just kind of waves a hand at him without looking up. “I’m fine, I just need to be dramatic for sec.”
He luxuriates in the abject misery of being a guy in a chair with his face in his hands for a little bit, then sits up again with a sigh, straightening out his shirt.
“Sorry about that. It’s just… relieving to hear that, someone who’s getting where I’m coming from. Putting stuff to words that I couldn’t figure out myself. And that I’m not just being, I don’t know, prissy or something.” It’s always been tricky to sift his petty and unsympathetic grievances from the justified ones, even if the success rate is higher these days.
“It’s also nice to have someone telling me this is something I can be upset about without also sliding in the message that I need to learn to be more mad more often in general.”
He luxuriates in the abject misery of being a guy in a chair with his face in his hands for a little bit, then sits up again with a sigh, straightening out his shirt.
“Sorry about that. It’s just… relieving to hear that, someone who’s getting where I’m coming from. Putting stuff to words that I couldn’t figure out myself. And that I’m not just being, I don’t know, prissy or something.” It’s always been tricky to sift his petty and unsympathetic grievances from the justified ones, even if the success rate is higher these days.
“It’s also nice to have someone telling me this is something I can be upset about without also sliding in the message that I need to learn to be more mad more often in general.”
"Take your time," he offers, being someone who knows the virtue of being a bit dramatic from time to time.
"Please, no need. Just as long as I'm wearing this brooch, you can say what you like. If I need a break, I can always take it off again, wot? Nothing wrong with a little prissiness from time to time, especially when you need it."
He leans back over to his side of the table.
"To be perfectly blunt, who on earth am I to be telling you what to feel? Just as irksome as telling someone they ought to be happier more often. One can't force these things."
"Please, no need. Just as long as I'm wearing this brooch, you can say what you like. If I need a break, I can always take it off again, wot? Nothing wrong with a little prissiness from time to time, especially when you need it."
He leans back over to his side of the table.
"To be perfectly blunt, who on earth am I to be telling you what to feel? Just as irksome as telling someone they ought to be happier more often. One can't force these things."
Ossie, Arthur reflects, is being not only sensible but kind, and Arthur is being not only a dick but an asshole.
"Yes," he says, embarrassed, "all right, I-I..." An exhale. "Sorry, I, I was caught by surprise." Because he keeps making the mistake of thinking that he must no longer look like death warmed up, and people's reactions keep proving him wrong.
"Thank you. You're-- very kind."
"Yes," he says, embarrassed, "all right, I-I..." An exhale. "Sorry, I, I was caught by surprise." Because he keeps making the mistake of thinking that he must no longer look like death warmed up, and people's reactions keep proving him wrong.
"Thank you. You're-- very kind."
"Thank me after you've eaten," and Ossie ushers him into the house.
"Preferences? Cuisine or dish? Giles really is a marvel in the kitchen, anything you can imagine he'll give a good shake at."
"Preferences? Cuisine or dish? Giles really is a marvel in the kitchen, anything you can imagine he'll give a good shake at."
Arthur is ushered successfully, preoccupied. Oh no this is going to be a from-scratch thing, lovingly toiled at over a hot stove, oh he is going to feel like a real prick if he doesn't finish it now--
"Something easy," he says automatically, since that's what people kept saying to him. And it did turn out to be true. "That is, er... I don't want to impose too much-- per-perhaps fruit, or something..."
Something very terrible has happened to Arthur, king of the don't-mind-if-I-do, when he's offered any free food he could name and all he can think of is uhh fruit maybe.
"Something easy," he says automatically, since that's what people kept saying to him. And it did turn out to be true. "That is, er... I don't want to impose too much-- per-perhaps fruit, or something..."
Something very terrible has happened to Arthur, king of the don't-mind-if-I-do, when he's offered any free food he could name and all he can think of is uhh fruit maybe.
Edited 2023-10-23 12:07 (UTC)
He glances at that brooch. He wonders, vaguely, what it really does beside give the man talons and a title, but… Ossie is responsible enough to handle himself, surely. He shouldn’t worry.
“No, but it was more like… allowing myself to be upset with people when stuff happens even if it’s understandable why they might not have… ugh, nevermind.” He’s doing it again.
“No, but it was more like… allowing myself to be upset with people when stuff happens even if it’s understandable why they might not have… ugh, nevermind.” He’s doing it again.
"Forgive me for being the man with the hammer for one moment, but... how do you want to be acting in those situations?"
He leans his cheek on his hand, eyeing him with warmth and some mild amusement.
"Do you want to be upset?"
He leans his cheek on his hand, eyeing him with warmth and some mild amusement.
"Do you want to be upset?"
"Are you sure? Of course, we can do fruit, but something more substantial? A grazing plate, perhaps? No imposition at all, you understand, I was going to have something when I got back from assisting you," he's being as gentle and firm in his shepherding as a dowager aunt.
"What about drinks? Tea? Coffee? I was just about to ask for a pot of tea for myself."
"What about drinks? Tea? Coffee? I was just about to ask for a pot of tea for myself."
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