[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.]
[ he doesn't know how he gets there. doesn't know why he's opening a door instead of — something else, except what else could it be, doors are meant to be opened, after all. and octavian is there; of course he's there, where else should he be? he came here knowing he'd be here, didn't he —
except, no, it's all wrong, like there are vines wrapped around his limbs, squeezing him, trying to drag him down into something dark and unpleasant; he opens his mouth to say no, except the scene around him blurs, there's a weight in his hand and he's feeling nothing but cold, a passenger in this dream... at leas unless octavian's voice speaks close to his ear and the whole scene blurs once more.
only, it's not a better scene that unfolds in front of him, now: he looks from octavian on the stool to the body on the floor and feels utterly sick. ]
Not your fault, [ he manages eventually, voice hoarse. ]
[So in an objective sense this is his fault, he thinks. He feels bad about it in his unique way, that is, only because Charles is the one who'd been forced to experience it. Charles is soft, and Octavian likes him very much, and Charles knows the most details of Octavian's death out of everyone in this world— so to have it be Charles specifically who is forced to see this, to embody Hiram in this moment?
Cruel, actually. The thing running this place trying to learn about humanity or whatever it's doing should take note: this is callous at best. Octavian shakes his head, gestures for Charles to come over here, away from the body.]
Come see what I was working on. Looking at my body will only upset you.
Yeah, and you didn't force me to come here, did you?
[ he may not know much of how these things work, here, but he knows that much — octavian would never hurt him, would never have shown him this if it had been up to him. which means it isn't, which means charles has stumbled on this all on his own, which means, ]
Sorry, [ he says quietly, despondently, with a breath that catches in his chest like he's not forgotten how it feels to breathe. he takes one step, then another, glances down at the body once more; entirely of his own will, this time, as if committing it to memory, regardless of how much it hurts. ] It should.
[ it should upset him — of course it should upset him. but someone needs to remember. it's an injustice, and it's wrong, and unfair, and if no one else aside from octavian is going to know that in this place, then he will.
with a soft sigh, he closes his eyes and turns to the ghostly octavian, walks over to him. ] So, what is it, then?
[And that's that, really. No, he would not have done this to Charles on purpose; no, he would especially not have put Charles in that particular point of view— but he is still here, and Octavian could have been more vigilant. Now Charles is making his forlorn face at the body on the floor, and Octavian wishes he wouldn't for how much it visibly stings him, but he doesn't drag him away from the sight.
It is and odd feeling, to be in this space right now, at this "time," with another person here as witness. Of course it would be Charles; that only makes sense, now that they've both appeared in here.
He still spins back to the workbench with a little pep, to motion for Charles to look at a half-finished contraption lying there next to some miscellaneous tools. Right now it's a lot of gears and copper wires bent into vague shapes, a thing that's intended to move one day but for now will sit here on this desk.]
A music box. [He leans down to peer more closely at it, squinting, then taps a finger against one of the bent-wire pieces.] This part was going to spin.
[ semantics — yes, maybe. still, charles won't relinquish the sense of responsibility over this, and will just quietly keep holding onto it on his own, just as he will hold onto his knowledge of what happened. because octavian may not be the same as him and edwin, his nephew and those with him may be looking into his death now, and perhaps one day hiram will face justice, the way neither charles nor edwin ever will... but he was still left here, the same as he was on the attic; he was killed, just like that, and no one was there to solve what happened to him.
there's that familiar spike of anger, on cue, but he walks right over it as he makes his way to octavian, peering down at the... thing. ]
Huh. Looks pretty intricate. [ he definitely can't visualise what it's supposed to look like, finished, nor does he know the mechanics of it all... but he can imagine it'd be great ]
[It would have been a music box, and exceedingly complex in design for, well, that; Octavian can remember it better than most things from back then, considering it was here in this room with him for so long. He knows every inch of this half-finished device, but in reality it has sat on a workbench for years and years, and only now does he actually reach for it. Haltingly, like if he touches it then Hiram will come back, he will be hurt again— but no, he picks it up, turning it over and over to look at its yet unmoving parts.
He holds it up... upright? It's hard to tell, but he's holding it up for Charles to look more closely.]
See. Here. The base. It would have rested here to spin. Did it have a light...
[Hold this, please, while he looks for a very small lightbulb in his many drawers. The dream has filled these drawers with other nonsense, more photographs like the one Charles has seen in his house, keys, a glass for cognac, a pocketwatch, a tiny model starship painted in an unsteady child's hand...
All of these Octavian lines up on the workbench without really looking at them; he has a tiny lightbulb to find.]
[ there is some hesitation in the way octavian touches the device — perhaps he is unsure if he can interact with things in this dream? or perhaps it simply reminds him of his death, like everything else here.
still, he crouches down to look at the music box in the making, genuine interest sparking in his eyes; he may not be an engineer of any kind, but he loves all kinds of interesting things, and this one is definitely one that he just knows he would hone in on in a magic shop full of knick-knacks. ]
Seems like it would've been real pretty, [ he says and means it, taking the device as octavian starts rummaging around the drawer.
charles, meanwhile, with his attention span, can't stand still for long without starting to look at the items lining up the workbench; with his free hand, he reaches for the pocketwatch. ] Was this yours?
[ sorry for interrupting the lightbulb search, he can't help it... ]
[Odd; that watch doesn't belong in that drawer, but it figures that this experience isn't going to make any sense. He shakes his head and resumes rummaging.]
My father's. We bought it for him for his birthday. Check the engraving.
[It's on the inside, if he pops it open, Love from Sterling & Octavian, Happy Birthday! The engraving itself is a little shaky, which Octavian explains easily as,]
We engraved it ourselves. We were thirteen.
[Ah, and he's finally found the bulb, so next it's time to find an appropriately tiny set of tweezers to bend the little wires.]
Oh, [ says charles, and shoves his complicated feelings about family at the back of his mind, because this is about octavian and his family — and so he does turn the watch, and then figures out he should open it instead. the engraving isn't as neat as he'd expect, which then makes sense, and it's almost painfully sweet. ]
Did he like it? [ he better have —
anyway, with the light bulb found and the search for tweezers started, charles shifts his weight from foot to foot. ]
So... where does the bulb go? Was this supposed to... depict something? [ that's fancy music boxes, right? ]
He wore it for years. Until the gears broke. We bought him a new one.
[They could have repaired it, but they were young men with income of their own and they felt like they had something to say by spending their own money on their father. The second time around the engraving was much neater.
He finds the tweezers and pulls the unfinished piece over, to start bending and connecting different parts.]
Only shapes and shadows. It was not one of those... story-telling types.
[He's not that interested in making those, but even so, this was a fun thing to fiddle with in his idle moments, not a real project.]
Oh, [ he repeats, much warmer this time — it's always a nice thing to hear when people have actually good families, the way it should be. back home, none of the four of them had had that luxury, and niko, the one with the best chance of patching things up, well. she was gone, now.
still, ] Was it similar to this one, or totally different?
[ does that matter? not really, but the framework does — when they bought it, why they chose whichever watch they ended up choosing... all of that matters. perhaps even more so, here, in this room. ]
... huh. Well, I'm sure it would look real cool, once done. [ he may not understand the process, but he can offer his unwavering support... ]
Similar enough. My father did not appreciate those overly busy watches. The ones with faces within faces.
[Those crazy waterproof space watches that can tell the time in 50 countries at once and whatever, not that kind. Just one simple face, that's enough. And it doesn't particularly matter, but Charles showing interest in his family is always appreciated.
He bends a few more wires, humming. Considering.]
It would. [Hmm.] I do not know if it is still there.
[ call him old-fashioned, but isn't a watch supposed to just... show the time? what's with the rest?
anyway — the remark reminds him again that they are, still, in that same very room where octavian died and then spent so long after, and charles frowns once more. ]
... Right. You know, maybe we should try to leave. I mean, we could, yeah?
[ sure, octavian could continue to fiddle with the music box... but they could also, hm, not be here. surely he's spent long enough here. so don't mind him as he's turning around to look for the door, ]
Oh. [Oh, yes that is a point, isn't it. Octavian pauses and looks up from his work, looking over the rest of the workspace and then turning back towards the door.
It didn't occur to him, is the thing. Of course it occurred to him to prevent Charles from having to be present for the very worst of it, and of course it occurred to him to tinker with this music box contraption, but to simply turn around and leave the room?
Bad habits, he supposes. After a moment he gets up from the bench.]
Some part of me will never leave. But yes. We can.
[The door is somehow swimmy and not entirely tangible, at least to him. He gestures.]
[ charles aims for an encouraging smile — he thinks he can guess why octavian would have fallen right back into simply being here, after so long of that being his very existence... which is also very much why charles thinks they should leave.
this room has taken enough of octavian's time, stolen far too many years from him, for it to deserve any more time of this dream.
and while the door seems strange, to say the least, one second entirely normal and there and then dreamlike and misty the next, he's not going to let that stop him.
he reaches for the handle, twists it, pulls it open.
and then turns to octavian, smiling, holding out one hand to him. ]
[The door never becomes more clear to him as he comes to stand by Charles, watches him reach for it. Dimly he recalls that he hadn't opened it himself the last time he left this room either, and perhaps that should make him feel some kind of stuck and pathetic.
Stuck, perhaps. It remains true that he will always be in this room, at least in the cosmic sense. But Charles is here to open it for him, and his nephew and friends had done it the first time, and that feels—better. Warmer.
He considers the room for another few seconds before reaching out to take Charles' hand.]
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expiationlogs2025-01-13 12:39 pm
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.
slides here
except, no, it's all wrong, like there are vines wrapped around his limbs, squeezing him, trying to drag him down into something dark and unpleasant; he opens his mouth to say no, except the scene around him blurs, there's a weight in his hand and he's feeling nothing but cold, a passenger in this dream... at leas unless octavian's voice speaks close to his ear and the whole scene blurs once more.
only, it's not a better scene that unfolds in front of him, now: he looks from octavian on the stool to the body on the floor and feels utterly sick. ]
Not your fault, [ he manages eventually, voice hoarse. ]
no subject
[So in an objective sense this is his fault, he thinks. He feels bad about it in his unique way, that is, only because Charles is the one who'd been forced to experience it. Charles is soft, and Octavian likes him very much, and Charles knows the most details of Octavian's death out of everyone in this world— so to have it be Charles specifically who is forced to see this, to embody Hiram in this moment?
Cruel, actually. The thing running this place trying to learn about humanity or whatever it's doing should take note: this is callous at best. Octavian shakes his head, gestures for Charles to come over here, away from the body.]
Come see what I was working on. Looking at my body will only upset you.
[Well, uh, more. Point being, come here.]
no subject
[ he may not know much of how these things work, here, but he knows that much — octavian would never hurt him, would never have shown him this if it had been up to him. which means it isn't, which means charles has stumbled on this all on his own, which means, ]
Sorry, [ he says quietly, despondently, with a breath that catches in his chest like he's not forgotten how it feels to breathe. he takes one step, then another, glances down at the body once more; entirely of his own will, this time, as if committing it to memory, regardless of how much it hurts. ] It should.
[ it should upset him — of course it should upset him. but someone needs to remember. it's an injustice, and it's wrong, and unfair, and if no one else aside from octavian is going to know that in this place, then he will.
with a soft sigh, he closes his eyes and turns to the ghostly octavian, walks over to him. ] So, what is it, then?
no subject
[And that's that, really. No, he would not have done this to Charles on purpose; no, he would especially not have put Charles in that particular point of view— but he is still here, and Octavian could have been more vigilant. Now Charles is making his forlorn face at the body on the floor, and Octavian wishes he wouldn't for how much it visibly stings him, but he doesn't drag him away from the sight.
It is and odd feeling, to be in this space right now, at this "time," with another person here as witness. Of course it would be Charles; that only makes sense, now that they've both appeared in here.
He still spins back to the workbench with a little pep, to motion for Charles to look at a half-finished contraption lying there next to some miscellaneous tools. Right now it's a lot of gears and copper wires bent into vague shapes, a thing that's intended to move one day but for now will sit here on this desk.]
A music box. [He leans down to peer more closely at it, squinting, then taps a finger against one of the bent-wire pieces.] This part was going to spin.
no subject
there's that familiar spike of anger, on cue, but he walks right over it as he makes his way to octavian, peering down at the... thing. ]
Huh. Looks pretty intricate. [ he definitely can't visualise what it's supposed to look like, finished, nor does he know the mechanics of it all... but he can imagine it'd be great ]
no subject
He holds it up... upright? It's hard to tell, but he's holding it up for Charles to look more closely.]
See. Here. The base. It would have rested here to spin. Did it have a light...
[Hold this, please, while he looks for a very small lightbulb in his many drawers. The dream has filled these drawers with other nonsense, more photographs like the one Charles has seen in his house, keys, a glass for cognac, a pocketwatch, a tiny model starship painted in an unsteady child's hand...
All of these Octavian lines up on the workbench without really looking at them; he has a tiny lightbulb to find.]
no subject
still, he crouches down to look at the music box in the making, genuine interest sparking in his eyes; he may not be an engineer of any kind, but he loves all kinds of interesting things, and this one is definitely one that he just knows he would hone in on in a magic shop full of knick-knacks. ]
Seems like it would've been real pretty, [ he says and means it, taking the device as octavian starts rummaging around the drawer.
charles, meanwhile, with his attention span, can't stand still for long without starting to look at the items lining up the workbench; with his free hand, he reaches for the pocketwatch. ] Was this yours?
[ sorry for interrupting the lightbulb search, he can't help it... ]
no subject
What, [he says, with a glance back,] The watch?
[Odd; that watch doesn't belong in that drawer, but it figures that this experience isn't going to make any sense. He shakes his head and resumes rummaging.]
My father's. We bought it for him for his birthday. Check the engraving.
[It's on the inside, if he pops it open, Love from Sterling & Octavian, Happy Birthday! The engraving itself is a little shaky, which Octavian explains easily as,]
We engraved it ourselves. We were thirteen.
[Ah, and he's finally found the bulb, so next it's time to find an appropriately tiny set of tweezers to bend the little wires.]
no subject
Did he like it? [ he better have —
anyway, with the light bulb found and the search for tweezers started, charles shifts his weight from foot to foot. ]
So... where does the bulb go? Was this supposed to... depict something? [ that's fancy music boxes, right? ]
no subject
[They could have repaired it, but they were young men with income of their own and they felt like they had something to say by spending their own money on their father. The second time around the engraving was much neater.
He finds the tweezers and pulls the unfinished piece over, to start bending and connecting different parts.]
Only shapes and shadows. It was not one of those... story-telling types.
[He's not that interested in making those, but even so, this was a fun thing to fiddle with in his idle moments, not a real project.]
no subject
still, ] Was it similar to this one, or totally different?
[ does that matter? not really, but the framework does — when they bought it, why they chose whichever watch they ended up choosing... all of that matters. perhaps even more so, here, in this room. ]
... huh. Well, I'm sure it would look real cool, once done. [ he may not understand the process, but he can offer his unwavering support... ]
no subject
[Those crazy waterproof space watches that can tell the time in 50 countries at once and whatever, not that kind. Just one simple face, that's enough. And it doesn't particularly matter, but Charles showing interest in his family is always appreciated.
He bends a few more wires, humming. Considering.]
It would. [Hmm.] I do not know if it is still there.
no subject
[ call him old-fashioned, but isn't a watch supposed to just... show the time? what's with the rest?
anyway — the remark reminds him again that they are, still, in that same very room where octavian died and then spent so long after, and charles frowns once more. ]
... Right. You know, maybe we should try to leave. I mean, we could, yeah?
[ sure, octavian could continue to fiddle with the music box... but they could also, hm, not be here. surely he's spent long enough here. so don't mind him as he's turning around to look for the door, ]
no subject
It didn't occur to him, is the thing. Of course it occurred to him to prevent Charles from having to be present for the very worst of it, and of course it occurred to him to tinker with this music box contraption, but to simply turn around and leave the room?
Bad habits, he supposes. After a moment he gets up from the bench.]
Some part of me will never leave. But yes. We can.
[The door is somehow swimmy and not entirely tangible, at least to him. He gestures.]
You will have to do it.
no subject
this room has taken enough of octavian's time, stolen far too many years from him, for it to deserve any more time of this dream.
and while the door seems strange, to say the least, one second entirely normal and there and then dreamlike and misty the next, he's not going to let that stop him.
he reaches for the handle, twists it, pulls it open.
and then turns to octavian, smiling, holding out one hand to him. ]
Come on. Let's get you out of here.
giving this one a 🎀
Stuck, perhaps. It remains true that he will always be in this room, at least in the cosmic sense. But Charles is here to open it for him, and his nephew and friends had done it the first time, and that feels—better. Warmer.
He considers the room for another few seconds before reaching out to take Charles' hand.]
Yes. We can go.