[This dream episode begins with opening a door, heavy and wooden and carved with delicate patterns, into a workshop room full of different alchemical instruments and tables and shelves and tools and half-finished projects— a hobby space, it feels like, for its relative cramped size and overall disorganization. This is a workshop hobby room in a home, not a professional workspace.
Octavian is there, perched on a stool, back to the door, tinkering with something on one of the work counters. He pauses when he hears the door open but doesn't turn, saying,] Come to argue about it again? I am not changing my mind, you know.
[He's faintly amused when he says it, which feels weird and sick and heavy with dread. Then the view seems to skip and puts Charles standing closer to Octavian, a hefty weight in hand, lifting it higher—
Then the proper Octavian leans in from the side to press a fingertip to Charles' temple, mutters,] No, I would prefer not to, [and the view skips again, and now the Octavian on the stool is the ghost Charles knows, and the body on the floor is already dead; head cracked and misshapen on one side, hair matted, the pool of blood already sticky and dark and still. Octavian on the stool swings his foot, idly, considering Charles.]
special adventure for charles
Octavian is there, perched on a stool, back to the door, tinkering with something on one of the work counters. He pauses when he hears the door open but doesn't turn, saying,] Come to argue about it again? I am not changing my mind, you know.
[He's faintly amused when he says it, which feels weird and sick and heavy with dread. Then the view seems to skip and puts Charles standing closer to Octavian, a hefty weight in hand, lifting it higher—
Then the proper Octavian leans in from the side to press a fingertip to Charles' temple, mutters,] No, I would prefer not to, [and the view skips again, and now the Octavian on the stool is the ghost Charles knows, and the body on the floor is already dead; head cracked and misshapen on one side, hair matted, the pool of blood already sticky and dark and still. Octavian on the stool swings his foot, idly, considering Charles.]
Hello. Sorry about that.