come_sailaway | My better self was always born tomorrow (open)

Entry tags:

My better self was always born tomorrow (open)

Who: Giles & you!
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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

'When the dining hall operated normally.' 'When I first arrived'
How long has Dimitri been here, and how long has Oswald been here with him? How long has he been absent from his duties?

Ossie will notice the slight narrowing of his eyes, the growing suspicion. Dimitri likely will too, the main thing that kept others from noticing before was simply the lack of care they had for what a servant might think.

Still, he pushes that from the forefront of his mind, he'll deal with it later. Far more important is picking up his own slack. He steps forward, righting the lay of Ossie's collar, removing a few fragments of stray lint. Oswald's hair will need trimming again soon too, it's becoming untameable again. Hopefully he either has or can find suitable tools to see to that with.

"I apologize for my tardiness, sir." Christ, he's just remembered he's not wearing his uniform. And his casual suits are far more expensive than he should be able to afford. If he's lucky Oswald won't notice, or simply won't know what should and shouldn't be beyond his means, "I can assure you it won't happen again."

He has and hasn't missed this.

"Oh, not at all," Ossie intones, a little more muted than he usually is, "not to worry, I've been keeping myself well enough out of trouble."

A calculated, restricted smile.

"He really is a wonder, though, isn't he? Just as I said?" Ossie aims at Dimitri, flashing the smallest hint of apology in his expression.

By Cethleann, was this how they felt looking at him and Dedue? It's different when they all know, when the show of intimacy is conscious and deliberate, but without that Dimitri feels like he should leave the room, or at least look away.

He clears his throat, prays he hasn't actually gone pink, and answers Ossie. "Indeed." ... which is terse, but it splits the difference between too-direct, which he suspects will unsettle Giles, and that formal way of talking about a servant like a talented pet or piece of equipment, which makes Dimitri's skin crawl more than ever. "Time here doesn't exactly line up with wherever we arrived from," he explains. "It isn't something you could help."

Does this count as 'gentle'? Dimitri restrains the urge to glance at Ossie for confirmation. See previous statements about deception; for now he's defaulting to treating Giles as a new passenger.

He gives Ossie a questioning look, not as practiced as the subtle silent language they'd develop over a century in Arcadia, but the foundation it was built on. Does Oswald believe this story of magic as well, or is it a complete fabrication?

Not trusting himself not to say something out of turn, he simply nods to Dimitri. Distant, polite, he's not necessarily expected to speak anyway.

He certainly hasn't missed that part. The quiet acquiescence- the silence.

Ossie answers the look without thinking, a sort of 'it sounds silly but hear him out' that he's had to use a number of times when his friends launched into some ridiculous scheme or tale of heartache.

"Er, it's a rather peculiar ship," he says, "I myself still don't think I've quite got the hang of it. Have you had the tour, yet?" please Dimitri for the love of the Wyrd do Not leave him alone with Giles.

He's still entirely disbelieving, but if that's the story everyone's going with, then he may as well play along too.

"No, sir, not formally. Though I have spent some time familiarising myself with the layout of the ship."

And found very little that didn't make him at least mildly disconcerted in a way that was hard to place, in a way that he's questioning even more with the added context he's been given.

Another wrench of discomfort, another twinge of something so close to familiar and all the more deeply wrong for it. There's the nonverbal conversation Dimitri's used to seeing, but it's so much blunter than the razor-polished subtlety he knows -- like a pair of trained dancers in lead shoes; like a master poet reduced to grunts and pointing.

Meanwhile Dimitri feels even more like a lost bear than he usually does. He will back them into a logical corner if they continue blurring the truth; he'll just have to rely on Ossie to fill in the gaps, because Dimitri is not built for this. So they're going with the story that they've been on the ship for a fraction of the time they actually have? Is Ossie not going to back him up about the nature of things? It's not the easiest thing to believe, but he's always hated that little 'let's just humor him' look, and he hates it even more coming from Ossie, especially when he's telling the truth and Ossie knows very well that he's telling the truth.

He's half-tempted to point out the way the library doesn't fit the bounds of the ship, and the tendency of the shelves to rearrange themselves. That would be petty and also rude, so he won't. But he thinks about it.

"We can show you around, then," is all he says, tone and diction fully disconnected from the internal panic. "That is, if you don't mind me accompanying you?"

For the first time, he makes direct eye contact with Giles. Under the library's bright artificial lights, his pupils are narrow slits against the blue iris.

"Please, by all means," Do Not He Repeats Do Not Leave Him Alone With Giles He Will Get Eaten Alive.

Ossie pats Dimitri on the shoulder as he takes point, shooting him another more pointedly apologetic look. He Knows that the lad hates lying, but the whole mess is too tangled not to snip a few threads with a lie here and there.

"After this, I think I might go for lunch- er- the schedule here is rather lackadaisical, so you're free to take your break then too, if you'd like. No separate dining room for the staff I've found, but, er, well, it hasn't seemed to be an issue," and another look aimed at Dimitri along the lines of 'I know, it was the Times, go with it'.

"This ship is... lacking, in the staff department. Namely in that there aren't... any."

Eye contact has never been something he's wholly comfortable with, and when he's working there's thankfully little need to force it. So his gaze slides off Dimitri quickly, but not before he notices the slit pupils. He frowns for a fraction of a second, eyes narrowing. It's a trick of the light, surely. It doesn't matter either way because he isn't going to check. He needs to focus on Oswald anyway.

He doesn't need a break, he's barely even started. There's almost certainly a lot to catch up on, but he needs the time to collect himself. And find out where his uniform is. Assuming he even has it given everything that is supposedly going on. "Of course, sir, thank you."

There isn't any staff. Does that mean he's the only personal servant aboard, or that there truly isn't any staff? No cooks, wait staff, housekeeping, nothing? Only one of those options makes any sort of sense, so...

"If I may, what... precisely do you mean by that, sir?"

If they were alone he might ask a little more directly (and a lot more incredulously), but it seems they are to be stuck with Dimitri, so Giles is on his best behaviour.

Edited 2023-09-19 03:22 (UTC)

"Er- well- I mean to say-"

Ah Christ.

Well. If there's one saving grace to pretending to be his previous self, is that he still recalls some of the little gestures he used to do in earnest. Ugh, he feels so... slimy for this.

Ossie's bottom lip quivers and his words come out quickly and tense in a way that usually precedes him crying. See if his dear governess can resist this.

"I don't- I don't know why there's no other staff, I haven't understood a bally lick of what's happening since I arrived aboard-"

It is distressingly surreal to see Ossie's composure crack; even more so given Dimitri can tell it's only a perfectly painted facsimile of a crack, as precise and controlled as every other expression Ossie makes, especially given that it's working on him even though he knows better. The experience is something like being put through an emotional corkscrew. It makes Dimitri want to sneeze. (Maybe that's the flowers.)

"I don't know exactly how it functions, either," Dimitri says, half-raising a hand as if to set it on Ossie's shoulder. He doesn't, unsure if that would be allowed, if it's part of the charade, or what, but the intent is there. (Gauntlets with a patterned Tommy Bahama shirt is ... it's a Look, certainly.) "But as I said, our Captain is slapdash and juvenile. Much of the day-to-day maintenance is left to the passengers, and most of us aren't -- retaining staff of our own."

The barest moment of hesitation, and a crushed instinct to glance at Ossie if he's phrased it right. Dimitri really does not like this feeling.

"Oh, sir..." he says quietly, immediately softening. He'd been so focused on his own confusion and suspicion he hadn't spared a thought to how difficult this must be for Oswald. He wants desperately to reach out and offer some comfort, to hold Oswald close and wipe away the tears when they start to fall. But he can't for a multitude of reasons.

It doesn't occur to him for a second that he might be being manipulated.

"It's quite alright, sir, you can't be expected to understand such an unusual situation. I'll figure this out." It can't be any more difficult than un-arranging engagements, surely. Well, it almost certainly is, but he's doing a fine job of selling the idea that he thinks it isn't. "Perhaps, if I may make the suggestion, sir, we should return to your rooms to prepare for lunch. I'm sure I shall manage without a tour."

Which is his way of creating an opening to provide Oswald with some privacy for his distress. (And if it also provides him the opportunity to see what damage has been done to Oswald's wardrobe in his absence, that's neither here nor there. He's very carefully not looking at Dimitri's gauntlets, but in the back of his mind he's certainly thinking about the influence they might have had.)

Giles takes the bait, but of course he takes the bait too well and wants to sequester Ossie away like a damnable mother hen. Of course, they can't go back to his room, because his room is 'Dorian's room and it's completely devoid of any of his actual things even if somehow he could convince Giles that it is completely unrelated to the mysterious handsome stranger he met earlier.

Think, Wuthridge, think-

"I don't have one," he answers, tearfully.

...

Not his best work by any stretch of the imagination.

"What?!" Terror closes like a freezing fist in Dimitri's chest -- no, no, it's fine, it's only his shock at learning his friend doesn't have a damned cabin. Somehow. Damn it, Ossie! -- never mind. It's fine. Nerves smoothed, feathers flattened, courtesy, calm, he doesn't need to make Giles any more determined to shake him off. "You should have said something."

Where has Oswald been sleeping??

He freezes. Panicked and confused and angry on Oswald's behalf and totally and utterly out of his depth.

What is he supposed to do, how can he help when he doesn't even know how he got here, let alone what one is supposed to do on a ship with no staff where magic is apparently the order of the day? And is he ever going to see-

No.
Focus.

If he could manoeuvre Oswald out of an engagement with the Swedish ambassador's daughter when she didn't even speak English, then he can fix this too.
He just has to think.

Step one... step one is still to get Oswald away from prying eyes, where they can talk a little more freely, and he can provide a little more comfort than he can right now. That much at least shouldn't be too difficult.

He turns to Dimitri, expression schooled into the perfect picture of polite indifference almost all trace of his distress wiped clean, "Mr Blaiddyd, perhaps you would be so kind as to allow Mr Wuthridge to rest in your rooms for a spell whilst I see to this... confusion"

How precisely he will see to it if there is no staff to take it up with, he's not sure. Although he did see someone behind what looked to be a reception desk in his explorations earlier, so that seems the place to start. If that doesn't work, well, Dimitri did mention that the ship has a captain.

That flicker of distress is as glaring and unsettling on Giles as naked panic. Dimitri swallows. "Of course. Anything for a friend." Because they are Lying, which means he doesn't actually have to explain about Fio. It's fine. It's fine --

-- what isn't fine is that, preoccupied, Dimitri has acknowledged Giles's suggestion with a shallow bow, and he is certain that's wrong.

In the grand scheme of this cover story they're concocting, frankly he's willing to take 'not having to go back to 'Dorian's room' as a win. He'll try and soothe that momentary instance of panic just as soon as they're behind closed doors- he still remembers the vague outlines of how he soothed Giles on their first night in Arcadia. Surely he can do this.

"Thank you, Dimitri," Ossie inclines his head, hoping to maybe cover for Dimitri- because if they're both doing it, then maybe it's normal???

"I'm terribly sorry for not telling you- I just didn't want to make a fuss, or- or worse, put you out."

There's something... wrong. But he's not going to spend the time to analyse it now, his focus has to remain on Oswald.

For his own sanity if nothing else.

So he nods in thanks, and falls back into the mask of professionalism. Quiet and reserved. When they leave for Dimitri's cabin he'll be one step behind and to the side of Ossie, where he belongs.

Ossie backs him up, and Dimitri releases a breath he hadn't felt himself holding. Giles is stressed and disoriented; he's looking for explanations he'll understand, and willing to overlook any details he doesn't. The lie doesn't have to be airtight. Not like --

-- anyway, Dimitri spends the short walk to the cabin praying Fio won't be in. Small blessings, she isn't, and Dimitri can let Ossie and Giles in without making things that much more complicated.

"Ah, can I offer you anything? I'm afraid there's not much besides water."

"No no- please, dear boy, you've done more than enough for me," Ossie will repay this assistance if it kills him, "I just need a moment. If I need anything, I'll send Giles for it, thank you," he does so like to feel useful.

He takes some mock steadying breaths on the bed, not looking directly at Giles.

"What a bloody pickle this is. I fear we've graduated past pickling and well into the relish entirely."

Dimitri can't help it. He snorts, then collapses into stifled giggling, one hand clamped over his mouth. When it refuses to subside, he raises his other hand. He's okay, he's fine, he just needs a minute.

Relish, though.

A few deep, rapid breaths bring him back to his senses, albeit slightly dizzy. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "S-sorry, I -- ah, that caught me by surprise."

Edited 2023-09-27 01:16 (UTC)

Giles raises an eyebrow a fraction in a way that could be read as unimpressed or disapproving, but is really amused.

"Quite," he agrees, placing a handkerchief quietly on the bed next to Oswald, in case the tears from earlier are still threatening, "I can assure you, sir, I will sort this out."

If he says it with enough conviction he just might believe it himself.

It's almost a break in character, because Dimitri laughing like that at an objectively bad joke always makes him want to just pinch his cheeks. But he manages to pass his smile off as a momentary lull, and takes the hankie gratefully.

"We'll sort it out," he adds quietly, "together, as always. I'm sure we've gotten out of worse scrapes."

And then, in case the sentiment raises any suspicion, "and I'm doubling your pay. No- tripling it."
A common sentiment when they're in the soup together, from the old days.

"Very good, sir" there's the slightest tinge of smug satisfaction in the otherwise dry delivery. He never actually takes the pay rise, of course, if did he'd have drained Oswald's funds dry long ago, but the sentiment means more to him than the money ever could.

"I believe I recall seeing at least one member of staff at the reception desk, so if you will excuse me for a moment, sir, I will see to securing your quarters presently."

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