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My better self was always born tomorrow (open)
When: Early - mid September
Where: Various
Warnings: The usual changeling warnings + depression
As nights became obsessed with introspection (redbud, purple hyacinth) [Bobby B's]
What had meant to be a quiet evening to himself with a good book for company has quickly become something far more melancholy. He's ensconced himself in a back corner of Bobby B's, book long since forgotten as he stares out into space. Pen in one hand as if he might write in his notebook at any moment, though he hasn't found any words to write beyond the first line, put to by rote more than by thought. His other hand rests on the side of his neck, holding something hidden beneath his collar.
Should anyone approach, he hurriedly returns the notebook to his pocket. But a brief glimpse of the words 'My dearest Dot, might well be spotted before he does so.
The days a contravention of reflection (protea, ivy) [Library]
Mr Ainsel, the little black and white cat that haunts the library, is a little more insistent than usual. Meowing loudly at anyone that crosses its path, and slamming full-bodied into anyone it has more than a passing familiarity with. Demanding pats. And snuggles. And treats. And anything else it could possibly get.
Within the id a stranger I did form [Around]
He doesn't know where he is, well, having explored the place rather thoroughly he knows he's a ship. But he still doesn't know its destination, or how he got here. There's two logical explanations, either Oswald decided on a last minute trip to America or the like, or he let Dot talk him into something inadvisable again.
His money's on the latter.
Now if he could just find either of them, or anyone else he knows, everything might start to feel a little less... uncanny.
To any onlookers, it's almost as if there's a new passenger aboard. One that may look passingly familiar if not quite right. Like Giles, if he were entirely human, if he had dark brown eyes rather than piercing green, and if he were more than a foot shorter.
During the day, he moves between standing out on the deck, watching the ocean and trying not to think too hard about what exactly is going on, and searching the library for a single non-fiction book.
In the evening, he gravitates towards Stan the Man. Where he sits with a fancy cocktail he isn't really drinking, and pretends that he's perfectly fine. He'd much rather retire early, but he doesn't know what his sleeping arrangements are any more than how he got here, and if, as he suspects, he's not here for work, then it's where he'll be expected to be.
A lily on the waters of a storm (Wildcard)
Come find me in the discord if you want to plot something else out!
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He takes a sip of the drink he'd largely forgotten about to cover the gap while he works out how to massage the truth into something believable. Or he could just... actually tell the truth.
"Not long, no. It's the strangest thing, I don't really remember boarding"
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Some long-dormant subroutine sparks into life, and Ossie's smile is nothing short of charming.
"I can't say I do either- of all the hare-brained schemes I've been roped into by those gents, this one really does take the ruddy biscuit. I've some hazy recollection of hearing some mention of something about booking cruises with someone's father's money or some such- some little prank, I should expect- but I can't help but feel the joke is on me, I've not seen that red-haired mongrel anywhere, nor any of his compatriots. I fear we may have stumbled aboard the wrong ship."
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Well that... doesn't sound quite right. But it does make sense. He doesn't normally have more than one drink, and never enough that he'd lose that much time. But if anyone was going to convince him to by sheer force of will, it would be Ginger. With backing from Nancy and Dot no doubt.
"I-" -have somewhere I should be. -will be missed. -can't just leave like that. -have work to do. -can't abandon Mr Wuthridge without notice. "wouldn't put it past Ginger to have sent you to the wrong one on purpose. He can be rather petty, and he wasn't best pleased that you stole my attention away from him last time."
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At least Giles knows he's a friendly face. That's... something. A good place to start, in any case. He cocks his head, something flirtatious playing on his lips.
"But please, do tell me more about my timeless beauty. I actually believe it, coming from you."
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He takes another sip of his drink, before continuing in a tone a little more playfully disaffected, "If you'll excuse the poetics"
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"Ah, well, I suppose for you I can excuse it. But I'm rather unsure who should be pinching whom to ascertain the veracity of my existence. Perhaps we could find a more pleasant manner to confirm it?"
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He looks around quickly, to make sure nobody's watching, and kisses Ossie. Totally unaware that he's said anything wrong.
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Wait, what?
Giles made the first move???
Out of nowhere???
Giles kissed a handsome charming stranger???
That's his move!
So of course, Ossie kisses back, a hand going to cup the back of Giles' head. He loves his Giles, loves him to pieces, loves every part of him. This is just... an extension of that. He loves this boldness enough to distract him from the rattle of thoughts inside his head.
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A lot earlier.
He lingers in the kiss, enjoying every moment of it, the warmth, the hand at the back of his head, his own hand coming to cup Ossie's cheek in answer, even the worry they might be caught adds to it.
Eventually he has to pull away to breathe, but he stays close a moment longer to murmur "Definitely real" against Ossie's lips first.
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"You might want to check again."
And he squints a little in mirror of a cat squeezing its eyes.
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And stops just short.
Instead raising an eyebrow with a sly grin, "I don't suppose you know where your cabin is? I'm afraid I've misplaced mine."
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"How careless of you. Mm, you will just have to use mine for the moment," and he reaches to take Giles by the hand.
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He hates this part. It's why he keeps putting up with the likes of Ginger, so he doesn't have to risk too many people knowing.
But lord does he want this, and despite the very obvious amount of secrets, he trusts Ossie. Or perhaps trusts him because of the secrets. He's clearly good at keeping them
"There's- there's something I should tell you first."
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He forces himself to keep eye contact and not look away, to maintain some illusion of confidence despite despite how uncertain he feels.
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So he smiles, and squeezes Ossie's hand in return.
"Good." A kiss pressed just next to Ossie's ear, "Lead the way then"
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The cabin is just a quick jaunt, and thank the Wyrd his roommate isn't in. Ossie hesitates at the door, gauging whether or not to throw him into the deep end with the cottage and all. Perhaps later, after the whole 'magic is real' thing is broached.
The moment they're in the door, Ossie kisses him again, running mental calculations for how haphazard he can be with his clothes without tipping Giles off to how much he knows, and also without entirely ruining Giles' time because all he can think about is rumpled wool. Christ.
"I think you ought to undress me," he suggests, to skip over all of the above, "just in case there's some horrible Lyndwurm hiding under my princely visage."
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Standing up on his toes so he can keep kissing Ossie, he makes light work of each layer, jacket, vest, shirt. Practiced, but not so much as he will be. The clothes themselves are discarded with only the bare minimum of care. Tossed aside in a way that should hopefully prevent wrinkles, and certainly not folded or anything more time consuming. He doesn't want to make the job of whoever Ossie's valet is more difficult than it has to be, but equally he doesn't want to delay things for too long. So he can see and touch and taste what he can as soon as he can.
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Oh this is the worst time to work out that Giles handling his clothes with care is one of the things that arouses him. That's going firmly in the back of the Wuthridge Caput until such time as he can actually deal with it.
Ossie counts himself lucky that this body lacks all the features that Giles would know so intimately- even being built different- and his hands drift to Giles' buttons, half-wondering if this Giles would actually let him do this part.
"Ah, just as I thought, no horrible scales lurking beneath the surface. Always have to check with these sorts of things."
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Dragging his mind back to the present, and fighting down the laughter to merely a broad grin, he watches the hand drifting over his buttons "Are you going to return the favour? Or am I to do everything around here?"
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He makes quick work of Giles' suit, laying it out with as much care as Giles has. Where did he get this suit from? Ossie remembers enough about the period of time he's actually from to recognise that yes, this is well and truly above his means. Probably a gift from someone. Hopefully not Ginger. Ugh.
"What's your opinion on me leaving marks?" he asks, nuzzling into Giles' neck.
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After a breath or two (or three) he removes the binder, and tucks it underneath the rest of his clothes, hopefully before Ossie can get a good look at it. He has excuses aplenty for why it's lower quality than everything else, but he'd rather not have to cart them out if he can avoid it.
"Nowhere that'll be visible" he answers, running his fingers through Ossie's hair, other hand tracing slowly over his back
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there probably should have been an nsfw warning before now, but hey here it is anyway
Whoopsie!
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