"I know," he grumbles, and as though he's reciting it, "A dad doesn't have to be perfect. He just has to be there."
He'd made that vow already. That if Darcy can't leave, then he has to make staying worth it. It doesn't get any easier. They've run this topic in a circle, but maybe it's done something to hear it outside of his own head.
...
"Sorry about the, uh. Memory stuff with you and him."
"That's my line," he demures, "and in any case, if I must spend my days petrified of cocking up the whole bloody thing, don't think I'm letting you get away any easier."
A small dip of the head, "I can't say it's anything I was inviting, but having the worst thing you could possibly imagine actually occur is... well, it certainly has a way of putting things into perspective, wot? Rather like surviving a train wreck, I should imagine."
Eventually, that is. After he spent a month as goop. And had to be forced out of it by being literally teleported into a death labyrinth. You know how it is.
He lapses into a bit of silence then. God. Parenting. He never thought he’d end up doing it, much less alone. … Well. Skulduggery is co-parenting. But it’s still not the same; still not what he had in mind, not what the plan was. He misses her so much.
This time, having been appropriately chastised, he gives Phil a moment. As many as he needs, before he speaks again. Even if he feels longing shivering off him, a kind of desire for what cannot be attained.
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?"
"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’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.”
"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?"
"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."
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?"
"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?"
"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."
"... 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.
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?"
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."
"Mmmm, well. Grief's a little funny. Even when you sort of figure it out after the first time, it all seems to go out of the window when it swings around again."
He swirls a spoon in his tea. "I don't know, it's just... there all the time? Some days are worse than others. You just gotta live. Y'know, Rita and I talked about what to do if something happened to either of us that left the other one behind, but I didn't think it'd be like this." He gestures vaguely. "All that stuff about hospice, wills, life support... I guess I don't have to worry about that now. There really isn't anything I can do. Except remarry, but."
He shrugs with one shoulder, looking not all that excited about the idea.
"This is perhaps an obvious question, but... Do you want to?"
Ossie tilts his head a little, as if to stress it.
"There are plenty of widows and er's who choose not to remarry, you know, even if it is allowed and all that. You needn't be alone, of course, but you understand that it isn't a requirement, yes?"
A soft laugh. "Of course I do. I know it's my choice if I do or not, but whatever the case, I also know I have Rita's permission."
A beat. "Do I want to remarry? Not really. At least not right now. It's... I think I still think about her too much for it to be fair to anyone else, and my life isn't exactly, well--stable enough at the moment for me to imagine it, especially given that I haven't been interested in anyone in that way. Of course there are some of us who went ahead with marrying here anyway, but at the moment? I don't know. I don't think so."
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ossie_oswald) wrote2022-06-14 07:18 pm
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He'd made that vow already. That if Darcy can't leave, then he has to make staying worth it. It doesn't get any easier. They've run this topic in a circle, but maybe it's done something to hear it outside of his own head.
...
"Sorry about the, uh. Memory stuff with you and him."
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A small dip of the head, "I can't say it's anything I was inviting, but having the worst thing you could possibly imagine actually occur is... well, it certainly has a way of putting things into perspective, wot? Rather like surviving a train wreck, I should imagine."
Eventually, that is. After he spent a month as goop. And had to be forced out of it by being literally teleported into a death labyrinth. You know how it is.
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He lapses into a bit of silence then. God. Parenting. He never thought he’d end up doing it, much less alone. … Well. Skulduggery is co-parenting. But it’s still not the same; still not what he had in mind, not what the plan was. He misses her so much.
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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?"
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Another sip of his tea. Surely the cup should be finished by now, but somehow there's still liquid in it.
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"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."
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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.
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"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?"
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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."
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"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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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?"
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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."
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"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.
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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.
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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?"
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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.
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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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He swirls a spoon in his tea. "I don't know, it's just... there all the time? Some days are worse than others. You just gotta live. Y'know, Rita and I talked about what to do if something happened to either of us that left the other one behind, but I didn't think it'd be like this." He gestures vaguely. "All that stuff about hospice, wills, life support... I guess I don't have to worry about that now. There really isn't anything I can do. Except remarry, but."
He shrugs with one shoulder, looking not all that excited about the idea.
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Ossie tilts his head a little, as if to stress it.
"There are plenty of widows and er's who choose not to remarry, you know, even if it is allowed and all that. You needn't be alone, of course, but you understand that it isn't a requirement, yes?"
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A beat. "Do I want to remarry? Not really. At least not right now. It's... I think I still think about her too much for it to be fair to anyone else, and my life isn't exactly, well--stable enough at the moment for me to imagine it, especially given that I haven't been interested in anyone in that way. Of course there are some of us who went ahead with marrying here anyway, but at the moment? I don't know. I don't think so."
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wrap