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.
"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."
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."
"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."
"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.
"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.
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.
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."
"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 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."
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."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-11-05 09:32 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-10 07:54 am (UTC)"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."
no subject
Date: 2023-11-10 11:15 am (UTC)...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."
no subject
Date: 2023-11-10 12:43 pm (UTC)"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."
no subject
Date: 2023-11-10 02:24 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-12 08:32 am (UTC)...
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.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-12 09:16 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-12 10:50 pm (UTC)"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."
no subject
Date: 2023-11-12 11:32 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-12 11:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-13 12:09 am (UTC)"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."
no subject
Date: 2023-11-13 04:38 am (UTC)"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.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-13 05:47 pm (UTC)"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 subject
Date: 2023-11-15 11:22 pm (UTC)"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.