Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

That Oliver would choose a servant's finger over an heirloom ring was endearing. Edmund would have appreciated that sentiment more if the situation that had prompted it wasn't persisting and beginning to shift the mood into something palpably awkward. It was concerning. Part of him worried that Oliver wasn't going to let this drop, even if they couldn't find a reasonable means to solve it. "We can tend to this later, after a few more rounds, no?" Edmund suggested weakly as Oliver left for the private lavatory. Upon seeing what he returned with, Edmund hid his hand behind his back.

"Fuck no!" He quickly dissented. "Yes, it will eventually get the ring from my finger." he conceded, "But there isn't anything for me to wash it off with. All the water on board is for drinking or food preparation, and the chef that runs the galley is an absolute atavistic tyrant. I told you as much last time." The thought of having a greasy finger, or potentially entire hand, for the rest of the afternoon and evening was reason enough to argue

"Just-" Edmund's mind raced for an alternative. Tea, blood, sweat, spit- "Just look away for a second." The last thing he needed was for Oliver to watch him suck his finger off, and it was a long-shot on top of being lewd and revolting. There wasn't guarantee that spit could slick between the ring and skin, but there was a chance condensation could build there and act similarly. Fate could be so cruel.
 
Oliver was not able to grasp why Edmund was so persistent on simply either fixing this entire issue by himself or just letting it happen for now and having it be fixed later. He just didn't want Edmund to get hurt in some way by prolonging its wear on his finger, even if it wasn't that poor of a fit, and he wanted to help as well. Too often did it feel like things were imbalanced, and right as Oliver wished to tiped the scales into something of equality, Edmund doesn't accept it. It felt fruitless trying so hard when Edmund was clearly in need. Wasn't aiding your loved one or significant other or whatever they were at this point a sign of intimacy? Oliver frowned and set the soap aside for the moment.

"Edmund, let me help you. You're acting like a stubborn child." Oliver huffed, taking his seat back onto the bed. He grabbed his hand again and got the soap as well. Before he did anything, he thought things over. It'd be ridiculous to use the soap sans water; the residue would stay upon Edmund's skin until he could wash it off at all. Oliver's mind kept going back to the stupid tea. It was a goddamn better option that Edmund planning to chop his finger off or whatever he was planning to do.

"...We could use the tea to wash off the soap," Oliver offered, a little unconfident as it just sounded stupid. At this point, they were simply two blumbering idiots anyways.
 
For a servant, Edmund would agree that he could be rather intransigent, but puerile? Sure, he could be selfish like a child and irresponsible when drinking. But wanting to maintain a tactile sense of cleanliness seemed opposite of puerile.

"I'm not trying to keep you from helping me." He confessed, at least half-honest. Edmund wouldn't have asked for help or even agreed to it if he hadn't been caught, unable to solve it himself. Silent suffering was more easily endured than a blow to the ego. But, with Oliver aware of the situation, it was moot to deny him intervention.

Edmund sighed in capitulation. "Do what you will. Feels like a waste to use tea, tea I specifically found for your nausea, to rinse soap off. But what else-" And suddenly he had an idea, something he recalled his mother trying when her arthritis began to flare. And it was something he'd likely need Oliver's assistance in pulling off. No pun intended.

"Hold on." He took his hand from Oliver's and grabbed the twine. It was too thick for what he intended, so he began unraveling it into thinner strands. "If you can, I want you to thread this through the ring. You might need to use my knife to slip it between the skin and metal, but after that, wrap the remainder tightly above the ring, along my finger." Edmund offered him one of the strands of twine. "Have you ever done this?"
 
Oliver was certainly impressed with Edmund's idea. It seemed much smarter and required a great deal less mess than what Oliver had planned. He placed the bottle of soap aside, forgotten like the deck of cards now splayed about the bed, and looked down at the twine and the ring. It made sense, simply threading it through, but how exactly it would aim to help, Oliver wasn't quite sure. He could figure it out later.

"Sounds easy enough," he mumbled, though mostly to himself. Taking the twine offered to him he gingerly took Edmund's hand once more and started his attempts at threading it under the ring, inbetween the small crevice of Edmund's finger and the inner circle of the accessory. It was more difficult than he imaged it being, and he certainly would need the knife.

"Can I have your knife?" Oliver asked, pausing his minstrations to look at Edmund expectantly.
 
Watching Oliver try to thread the ring, holding Edmund's hand, pressing his skin this way and that, it was endearing, and alleviated what reluctance Edmund had originally felt upon Oliver helping get the ring unstuck. That it was Edmund's plan they were using made him feel a touch more in control of the situation and not as helpless or burdensome. He was even a little glad to have blundered. How else would he have seen Oliver so focused, so attentive? Edmund thought of brushing Oliver's cheek, but it evaporated upon being asked.

"Of course." He assented. With his free hand, Edmund awkwardly leaned aside to pull the knife free of his pocket. For a second, the thought of Oliver accidentally cutting him came to mind, but it wasn't worth any stress. Edmund had asked worse of him the night before. What was a little blood spilled between friends? The ring would still come off.

Edmund handed Oliver the knife willingly. "I'll try not to make any sudden movement." He jested.
 
Oliver took the knife from Edmund, and was reminded of the night previous when Edmund willingly asked to be cut by him. Oliver simply hoped that he didn't nick Edmund. He didn't want to cause him any harm then, and now that it was a different day, that thought didn't change any either. He slid the blade out from its sheath and then examined the twine and his finger, trying to figure out how exactly he'd be using the knife as a means to get the twine through and under. It was obvious he'd need the pointed tip of the thing.

After some experimental poking and prodding he finally guessed that he'd need to use the tip of the knife to snag onto the end of the twine and drag the rest of it through that way. There was the strong possibility that he'd accidentally nick Edmund, but he had hope it wouldn't be too deep. Now it was just to implement his plan. He began threading the twine through as best he could without the knife first, before picking it up, shifting around a bit in the bed for a better angle, and poked it under the ring on the opposite side of the twine and gingerly pressed down on where he believed the twine end was. Then he dragged back, pulling away from the ring, and luckily he had snagged right onto the twine in the first try. Once enough of the twine was threaded through, he sighed softly and placed the knife down, done with his work.

"There we go. All done," Oliver finally said, looking up at Edmund.
 
"Nothing difficult, no?" Edmund asked rhetorically. "Thank you." He meant it. "I might be able to get the rest of this myself. Give me a second."

Taking the longer end of the twine, Edmund began wrapping it tightly around his finger near the top of the ring, spiraling upwards. His thumb held the small piece Oliver had threaded. Gradually, the tip of his finger began to turn a dark, purplish-red, the soft color of a bruise. Feeling he'd covered enough skin with twine, Edmund began to unravel it all from the base by the piece Oliver had threaded through with the knife. Lead by the twine, the ring slowly, then suddenly, moved along the length of his finger and came free.

"There." Edmund exclaimed, removing what twine remained and gathering the shed ring. "No worse for wear. Myself and and your fancy envelope sealer included." He waggled his fingers in emphasis before donning the ring again, this time on his ring finger. It fit well, as though meant to be there. Edmund moved it a few times up and down in test before trusting it not to catch as it had on his middle finger.

"Now, how about another round?" he suggested. "And you better take this one, lest I make another debacle of a victory."
 
Watching Edmund gradually get the ring off was certainly interesting. Perhaps one of the biggest reasons he enjoyed Edmund so much were the things that were casual, natural, normal and a part of life to Edmund but were entirely foreign to him. He had never seen the twine trick before in his life, neither had he seen a lock pick before. It was fascinating to peek into the normalcy of Edmund's life and past.

"If you're going to steal any more of my jewelery, try not to get it stuck with you forever." Oliver chided playfully. At the mention of another game, he collected all the cards shuffled about around them and got them into a neat stack.

"Don't make yourself lose again just for my benefit," Oliver huffed before fumbling around in a rather shitty show of him shuffling. It was a lot of just.... sticking cards in other places, really. He didn't know how to do that card.. flipping or whatever Edmund had done before to show off. To be honest, this was probably the first time he ever shuffled cards in his life. Well, at least they were getting shuffled.
 
"I don't know if it would be to your benefit." Edmund bantered. "If last round tells us anything, it's that winning isn't always a boon and that its spoils aren't guaranteed to be beneficent." As though echoing that memory, his finger was still warm from the flush of blood previously trapped there. He should have asked Oliver a question instead. 'What's your favorite color?' or maybe just a kiss. It wasn't all a loss though. Glancing down at his hand, Edmund had a new appreciation for the signet ring. It was also, perhaps, the closest he'd ever get to a wedding ring. He envied Geneva in that sense.

Watching Oliver shuffle, if it could be called such, was also something of a treat. Edmund's lips twisted into a tight smile to keep from chuckling. There was something sweet about Oliver's inexperience with cards. Maybe it was cruel of him to enjoy watching this so much, but Edmund made no attempt to intervene or teach. Were he in Oliver's place, Edmund would have been intransigent, even contentious because of his own ineptitude. But Oliver seemed to take it in stride. Maybe he was just comfortable around Edmund. And that thought made Edmund a little guilty, knowing his pride was still somewhat between them.

"You going to deal?" He goaded playfully.
 
"You wanted me to before you made a show of nearly ripping your finger to shreds," Oliver retorted, looking up at him. He finally stopped his pathetic excuse of shuffling, guessing that it was good enough and adequetly shuffled. It was totally not because he began to get self concious under Edmund's gaze. Absolutely not.

He then dealt four cards to Edmund, and then four for his own cards before setting the rest of the deck down in between the both of them. He picked up his cards, and looked at them. So far, he had a total score of 21. A good start once more, he guessed. He looked at Edmund.

"How about you have your first three draws before me, as well?" Oliver asked, a small smile on his face. He was getting used to the ins and outs of the game now.
 
Had to remind Edmund of his own failings, a teasing jab in the ribs that stung just a little. It was tolerable, if not welcome. He liked Oliver a little mean, mean in an impertinent, flippant sort of way. It was playful, and things had been so serious as of late. A moment out from under the oppressive weight of obligation and expectation was refreshing. A chance to breathe.

Edmund checked his cards, ambivalent of their value, which was fuck all. Part of him was glad that he wasn't likely to win and have a repeat floundering of last round. But the other half still wanted a shot at redemption, a chance to make better use of his win and do something that would make Oliver forget all about his signet ring.

Following what was asked of him, Edmund slipped the first three cards from the top of the deck and composed the best hand he could. None of his cards were particularly good. They amounted to 16, pathetic. But Oliver could still make a hand full of swords. Edmund discarded his three extra.

"All right. My hand's as good as it's getting." He said. "How about yours? Gonna draw or settle for what you've got?"
 
"Draw." He replied simply. Just as he was now getting accustom to, he drew three cards and did quick math of the figures in his head, choosing to keep 2 of the cards he had drawn and discarding the others, making his hand go up by a few points. Whether or not Edmund was purposefully going to try and lose again was up for debate, and Oliver stayed skeptical. However, if he did win, it'd be interesting to see what he could come up with for Edmund to do or for Oliver to have.

"I've got a grand total of 26." He declared, flaring out his cards onto the bed sheets. "You do any better?"
 
"Not with your shuffling and dealing, no." Edmund laughed, laying out his cards. "And before you accuse me of throwing the round," he fanned out the discard pile in explanation. "That's what you gave me to work with." He hadn't the misfortune of drawing any swords, but each was a low card, mostly of the cup or wand suit. Edmund had genuinely lost. Though it could be argued that it was due to Oliver's dealing.

Leaning back casually, his hands placed behind himself to support his weight, Edmund looked to Oliver expectantly. He felt equal parts anxious and eager, wanting to know, but dreading what it could be. Even a man like Edmund, of flexible integrity and deed, had a few things he was reluctant to perform or say. But he trusted Oliver. Mostly.

"So," He smiled crookedly, "What's your request?"
 
Edmund did have a point. It'd be hard to feign a loss when Oliver's poor shuffling ability could do that on its own, and have it be an entirely real loss. Now that each had one win, and it was Oliver's first, he was left to decide on a request. He didn't actually have anything in mind; he mostly enjoyed the fun and amusement the game gave them, especially with the ridiculous ring situation that insued not even a half hour prior to this. Oliver collected all the cards into one deck as a ploy to get more time on his hands to think something up.

"... Hm. I request that you go use those thief skills of yours and steal a bottle of wine," Oliver finally requested, smiling cheekily at Edmund. The point of a request for one's own benefit, was it not?
 
"I wouldn't go so far as to call them skills." Edmund said quietly, a bit hesitant. Legerdemain. Prestidigitation. Whatever one chose to call it, he didn't have dexterous hands. That he got his finger stuck in a ring only moments before substantiated as much. "I just exploit an opening and haven't any compunction for stealing. A willingness makes it easier." he explained. And the galley cook didn't leave much room for lifting. The bastard had a ubiquitous eye, ever watchful of his subordinates and stock, likely out of parsimony. Ingredients were limited at sea, and any bruising, butchering, burning, or stealing of them was likely to be met with violence. Edmund's face had already taken enough damage for one day. But he had an idea.

"With what ability I have, however, I'll see you satisfied." He left the bed and straightened his clothes some. "I won't be gone long. Try not to miss me." A teasing smile in parting, then the cabin door shut soundlessly behind him.

* * *

The galley was relatively dead. There were a few prepping for dinner already, but most had retired for a nap or gone on deck to share cigarettes over gossip and cavil. The head chef stood near the center, huffing over some parsnips he was cutting. Armed, how fortunate. Though Oliver had told him to steal wine, Edmund was going to try something a bit different. Diplomacy.

"Could I bother you to part with a bottle of wine?" He asked in approach, overtly pointing to the signet ring on his finger. "His royal majesty is in need of a libation." Edmund stretched the title out in exaggeration, feigning irritation.

The chef stopped and set him with a hard, suspicious stare. "You married to him or somethin'?" He gestured to the finger the signet ring was on.

"I wait on the king hand and foot. I'm arguably his bitch, so I may as well be married to him, no?"

A solid, palpable silence as the chef thought to cow Edmund with intimidation. It didn't work, and he clicked his tongue irritably. "He have a kind in mind?"

Choice! How novel. "Do you have zinfandel?"

"Might. Lemme check." He searched through a cupboard of bottles and returned to Edmund with one in hand. "This do y'?"

It was zinfandel, a kind he liked. But the vintage and vineyard meant nothing to him, too philistine for nuances. Edmund was no epicure. "Looks good to me." He accepted, and made to leave when the chef barked.

"You want a tray and glass with that?"

Oh. Edmund chuckled hollowly. "Certainly. I must be loosing my mind to have forgotten."

* * *

"I got your wine, don't cavil about the details." He immediately said upon reentering Oliver's cabin. With a tray and glass, it was rather obvious Edmund hadn't stole the wine as he had last time. Oliver's signet ring carried enough weight to curb any of the chef's dissent. To not use that to his advantage seemed foolish.

Edmund set the tray on the opposite bedside table, the tea already occupying the other. At least the wine would be more palatable than any he'd pilfered. Though, it was red again, a compromise he was willing to make. Edmund took seat on the bed, facing Oliver. "I don't suppose you'd like a drink before next round?"
 
While it certainly didn't take Edmund an eternity to return with or without the wine, he didn't think he had so much time to add a tray and a glass to go with it. It then hit Oliver that Edmund totally didn't steal the wine like he had requested; he was a bit disappointed at that realization, but he at least amped up the presentation of the wine, and he was back afterall. Oliver briefly wondered how Edmund had done it if he didn't obviously swipe the wine.

"I asked for the wine for a reason, Edmund." He said with a smile. He reached for the wine, simply to look at what kind it was. Red once more. Wine was wine, though, so Oliver didn't care to complain that much. He handed it back so Edmund could open it.

"Would you like me to shuffle for the next round?" He asked, entirely in jest.
 
"Well, I don't know." Edmund thought aloud, putting on an exaggerated air of affected vacillation. "I can't decide if I'd like to win or lose." Though it was arguable he'd lose either way. And it wasn't genuinely an affectation, because in truth Edmund didn't know which he'd rather have. Oliver rarely had the opportunity to order Edmund around without the weight of his title behind the askance, making completion of the task obligatory. But Edmund wanted another shot at a better, or at least redeeming, request.

Rather roughly, he prized the cork out with a lock pick. That the chef thought not to include a corkscrew must have been a cruel joke, but penury gave birth to ingenuity. Edmund knew more than one way into a bottle of wine. Or any other spirit for that matter. A will and way, and all that rot. He took the first drink and passed it to Oliver.

"I'll shuffle, spare you the effort." He grinned slyly before taking up the deck and folding the cards neatly together. It was a crisp, nostalgic sound. It had been one of the few means of passing time with the other staffers back when Edmund was younger, and his behavior more excusable. He dealt himself and Oliver four cards a piece before returning the deck between them. He hadn't bothered to knowingly thumb the swords into either hand.
 
Oliver was glad that he didn't have to shuffle in his pisspoor fashion a second time. As Edmund picked up the cards and began to shuffle them, Oliver couldn't help but watch as his hands flexed and moved, his hands clearly worn with the work of a servant at such a high estate but Oliver still found them so elegant and beautiful. They moved quickly, efficiently, with purpose and with meaning. It was fascinating to him to watch, and he didn't care to hide his staring.

He took another drink of the wine before picking up his cards. A quick look told him things wouldn't be looking so great. He then did the quick math and he was certainly correct. He had the sad, sad total of 13.

"Would you like to draw first again?" he asked.
 
Totaling 18, Edmund's hand wasn't stellar, but it was nothing that a few draws couldn't improve. He set his cards face down on the bed and made to draw, absently thumbing the side of the deck before doing so. The third card down was a sword. He could feel it. That knowledge gave him more control during the game than it did during shuffling. Letting Oliver draw it almost guaranteed Edmund would win. He tapped the top of the deck, checking his hand again as though giving it a second thought. In actuality, Edmund was deciding what he wanted upon winning and if it was worth it.

It was. It was very much worth it.

Edmund drew two cards, and discarded. His hand totaled 24 now, solid, but not unbeatable. However, he was confident enough about it to reveal his hand before Oliver drew. "I've got 24. Can you best that without drawing?" he asked.
 
Oliver was once more transfixed upon Edmund in the silence between them as he drew and discarded and thought things through in his mind. He briefly wondered if this is how hif father felt, gazing at his mother as she did something simple. Or maybe his mother did too, watching his father with an interest fueled only and entirely on the adoration and love one shared for another, everything they did becoming interesting or noteworthy.

Edmund's words snapped him out of his revere. He raised an eyebrow at the wording, but didn't question it. "Seems you're in luck this round," He displayed his cards, still the sad whopping total of 13. "You win." He added, a soft smile on his face.

"Now, what is your request?"
 
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