come_sailaway | You've got to give until you get (open)

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You've got to give until you get (open)

CHARACTERS: Ossie and YOU!
DATE: Post-excursion
LOCATION: Various
SITUATION: Ossie concocts some bright ideas
WARNINGS: Aftermath of excessive drinking

You've got to prime the pump, you must have faith and believe

Ossie hasn’t felt the full brunt of a hangover in something like sixty-ish years. It’s a rough guess; one day he woke up for another morning of torment in Arcadia without a pounding headache. Or perhaps just not feeling it anymore. Like an evolutionary adaption on a much smaller scale. Or maybe his liver is magic now. Who knows? Not him.
The point is that he swans out of bed as put-together as he always is, rising early with Giles. He has a plan thought of last night and he’s intending on following through. Write drunk and edit sober, as they say.
At around midday, there’s a knock at your door. A small care package of painkillers and bottled water has been left for you, along with a small wrapped sweet from Scoops. Ossie can be seen dropping off a similar package at the doors neighbouring yours.

You've got to give of yourself 'fore you're worthy to receive

You might be wanting a nice quiet breakfast/brunch/’whenever you wake up’ meal to deal with the worst of the Never Have I Ever game. TOO BAD, HERE’S OSWALD. He’s just going to sit himself down across from you with something to snack on for himself, asking something to the effect of “how have you pulled up?” “are you feeling alright?” “do you want me to get you some water?”
He might be mother hen-ing a bit.

Drink all the water you can hold, wash your face, cool your feet

Ossie’s on a tear. He can’t help it. Once he gets going with the gift-giving he’s a veritable little Saint Nick. Even if you aren’t hungover, or really doing much of anything, you’re not safe from Ossie.
Catch him leaving a little packet of trail mix in amongst your belongings if you leave them unattended, or dropping it near you while you’re doing something else.

Leave the bottle full for others, thank you kindly, desert Pete

Wildcard!

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"I think I'm dying. Again. For the third time." He groans, not opening his eyes. "Mind shooting me and getting this over with?"

He hasn't even registered who this is because the dim lighting in the hallway is hurting his eyes.

"I think I've something better, in fact."

Ossie takes the little individually packaged cookie and unwraps it, sacrificing a shard of glamour to the Wyrd as he infuses it with the gift of warm breath. The cookie straight up looks like it's out of a ghibli film, as delicious looking as anything Pratt has ever seen.

"Get some sugar into you and see if this helps."

If he does, he'll find the worst of his hangover symptoms relieved through Ossie's magic.

Really the last thing he wants to do is eat, but Ossie is probably right. He rolls over to the side, pulling himself up to something that might resemble sitting if you squint. It's a shame that he's in not state to appreciate the deliciousness of this cookie, the way it looks like the most amazing cookie of all time with the perfect proportion of chocolate chips to cookie dough.

But like a good boy, he will force himself to take it, and take a bite. Then another. Each bite does seem to make his headache dull a little bit, and the wincing he's doing in the harsh lighting of the single lightbulb in the hallway seems to ease.

"Thanks. That's decent of you, considering we're all regretting all our life choices right now." He's pretty sure most everyone is in the same state as he is. Well, the rest of them probably aren't wearing their shirts inside out like he is, but the hangover, that is universal.

"There's a good fellow," Ossie soothes as Pratt eats.

"Think nothing of it- just a little goodwill distributed freely, wot. Er- although you'll forgive me, I didn't get the memo that wearing ones clothing inside out was the order of business for today."

It's an attempt at a delicate indication towards Pratt's current state of dress.

"Am I... " He looks down at himself when he finishes that cookie and brushes the crumbs off himself. Huh, well he sure is.

Getting into an actual sitting position in the hallway, he has a faint smile on his face as he closes his eyes and rests his head back against the wall. "Yeah I uh... Didn't realize that. Had a good time yesterday."

It'll be a few minutes before he puts together who he's talking to, and who one of the people he had a good time with was.

Wordlessly, Ossie turns his jacket inside-out, replaces it, and absolutely does not acknowledge he's done so. If two people do it, it's a fashion statement.

"It certainly was a riot. Although- er, and I'm not certain that there's a way to phrase this delicately, but... I do hope no buyers remorse about last night? I often get carried away with the flirting when I've had a bit to drink, and I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable with it."

"Hm?" He opens one eye, and then the other to look at Ossie, his now fellow inside out clothing bro. "Oh good, that wasn't me imagining shit. I thought I was just you know.. super drunk."

Which he was, he was being flirted with and super drunk. He reaches up to rub his eyes, "Did I promise you handcuffs or the uniform? I only remember part of last night."

"Handcuffs. The uniform, I believe, you promised to Giles."

Ossie doesn't look anything but pleased about that, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ~~Which is funny, because Giles is the cat-man from Cheshire.~~

"Although I believe the lack of uniform didn't stop either of you."

"Riiiight. Yeah. I told him...." Pratt trails off, going absolutely pale. Or well, as white as he can get considering the past two excursions have had him laying in the sun for hours on end.

Right now, in his fuzzy hungover state where Ossie is slightly out of focus and Pratt himself is operating at a slower frame rate than the rest of the world, he can't tell if Ossie is smiling because he's trapped him and is now going to kill him, or if he's just his normal smiling self.

"I uh..." Shit. Shit fuck. Fuck fuck. All of that is probably audible as his brain tangles itself in a knot trying to come up with an explanation other than: I let your husband slam me balls deep up against a tree and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. "Uhm. So... that wasn't Giles' fault and uh.. I was probably a bad influence."

Oh god did he just ruin a centuries long pining romance because he couldn't keep it in his pants.

"Please don't be mad at him..."

"What?" Ossie asks, the brilliant smile fading into utter confusion.

"Why would- no, heaven's no, you've got it all wrong. We're not exclusive, dear boy. Either of us are free to consort with whoever we choose so long as it's not kept a secret and it isn't a romantic entanglement. You and he both have done nothing wrong."

Ossie laughs, short and barking, "and I was bloody well there, wasn't I? Could've said something when I saw you two going off together?"

He slumps very slowly to the side, "You guys are going to give me ulcers. I'm 26 and going to have a heart attack from this shit. Never drinking again."

Groaning, "Wait you saw us? Fuuuuuuck."

Vaguely he remembers Ossie being right there so obviously he was aware of what was going on when he and Giles stumbled off into the woods. Pratt was just so drunk and horny he forgot that everyone else wasn't in the same state. Some people have self control and moderation. Those people are not Pratt.

"I don't wanna fuck up your super adorable relationship. You guys are too cute for that."

"I did. Not everything, of course, I'm a gentleman- I ask before voyeuring. But I was perfectly aware of and fine with the two of you going off together."

Ossie offers a hand on Pratt's shoulder.

"You're terribly sweet. But we don't own each other. He knows very well what I am, my tastes and my proclivities, and I know the same of him. If we weren't fine and dandy with each other getting up to mischief, we wouldn't be entangled."

Ossie chuckles, "in any case, if someone fucks up our relationship, it will undoubtedly be me in an unforced error, old thing. So, by all means; dally with Giles if you both care to. Invite me, don't, whatever your tastes. I daresay we've been waiting for each other a very long while, I doubt any of this," gestures to Pratt, "will be the thing to separate us."

He laughs helplessly, almost no sound at all, "A gentleman who asks before he voyeurs. You're something else man."

He doesn't even doubt that's true either. For being someone who's sexual escapades were well known through the whole county, he's now met his match in two fancy men hundreds of years older than him.

"I think I'm way too hungover to imagine a threesome. Or like.. anything else." And then there's the whole... Sharky situation. And further, "I don't think Giles even likes me. This is a nightmare scenario back home, you know?"

No he probably doesn't.

"Like... I think I slept with the dude who my best friend is the side piece of. Who might be magically married or something?" And then a groan, "I think I'm one degree of having fucked Sharky now."

"Giles and I certainly are not married," Ossie corrects mildly before addressing anything else, "by magic or mundane means."

"It's possible to be gentlemanly in one's bearing if not in actions. And by all means, don't think you had to give any answer on any future endeavours right this very moment, of course. Giles hadn't mentioned any negative opinion of you to me in the past. But evidently he doesn't hate you so much that a dalliance was out of the question. If he'd truly regretted his decisions enough to take up a vow of chastity and become a bloody nun I would've been the first to know about it."

Ossie reaches into his pocket for a cigarette and then remembers the firm no-smoking rules in most parts of the ship and goes for one of his barley sweets instead.

"And your objection to that is... on the basis of not wanting to damage your friendship with Sharky?" he asks, carefully, fully cognizant of the fact that if Sharky and Pratt are pining for each other that he will be insufferable for the rest of forever.

They may not be married in any fashion, but they have the most old married couple energy of anyone Pratt has ever met.

"He.. didn't? Huh. Guess that's good." Their first (and, to Pratt, only) prior meeting had been awful, and Pratt isn't fully convinced by the whole magical lying thing. So he's a little surprised the man had even talked to him in the first place, let alone where the evening went after that.

"Yeah, Sharky is kinda my only friend, and uh... I don't wanna fuck that up. I can't fuck that up like everything else I've screwed up in my life." He digs his fingers into his head, hoping it will dull the headache behind his eyes. "Nevermind. It's fine. I'm just not good at like..... processing shit."

"I'm sure you won't. Sharky is a terribly sweet fellow, and I can't imagine him being so jealous as to take offense with any of this."

Ossie gives Pratt a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

"It'll all work out how it ought to, I'm sure of it. Is there... anything in particular that you want to talk about? I'm not much help in the old advice department, but I'm a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on, wot."

"It's not jealousy it's uh.. the bro code. You know. Can't break it." He blinks trying to clear his head and think rationally about all this.

"I'll be fine. I think. Probably." He tenses a bit at the shoulder squeeze, but lets it happen without pulling away. "Try again when I'm not hungover as shit. I'll probably be a lot better then. And way more charming."

The grin he manages is something alright, but charming may not be it.

"I happen to think you're plenty charming as you are," Ossie offers back a dazzling smile of his own, "but of course. I do hope your headache eases soon, old thing."

And with that Ossie gives him one last squeeze on the shoulder and stands himself back up again to distribute the rest of the care packages.

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You've got to give until you get (open)

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