[ it's not difficult to find octavian's place, thanks to the handy map ping that he's sent vash - and not minding the general state of ... well, not quite being in A Neighbourhood, per se. he is used to it - in fact, his own cottage is also more on the outskirt side too, not smack bang in the middle of all the hustling cityside ... so!
if he is listening out for it, vash approaching the house is enough a knock on its own, all clattering footfalls as he cheerily makes his way up the pathway and up to the door, giving a smart little rapping with his knuckles while calling the other's name. if there's a doorbell, he'd have pressed it twenty times by now. i'm really sorry.
all in all, he seems much too cheery for someone who's about to donate a whole lotta (unspecified) blood ... ]
[Octavian's place is out of the way on purpose, and a little run down as a result of the first thing; the front of the house seems to sag just a bit, and veins of vines trail all over it except for the windows, the only place he's put in the effort to keep weeded. There is a light on inside, and Octavian answers the door not long after Vash's actual knock.
With some effort, of course. But he prefers to keep small "living" habits in his day to day, like answering the door instead of just leaving it unlocked. It's small, but he needs that. Anyway,]
Where else would I be, [he says, like, silly man, he barely leaves this tired old building. He steps back, pulling the door open wider.] Come in. You should sit.
[The room within is most of the house, a sitting room with some mismatched armchairs and a low table divided from the workspace on the other side mostly by which direction the chairs are facing. It's tired in here, too, but not as rough as the outside of the house; it was, but he's been here long enough for it to bother him, so he's made it look tidier. More livable.
The workspace contains a desk and a stool, a smattering of equally mismatched lab equipment, a... mini fridge... and much of its surfaces (desk, wall, even actual pieces of paper) are scribbled all over with notes and diagrams and runes. In chalk, which there is plenty of.
[ vash steps in before looking around at the sitting room, being quite undisguised in his curiosity at just how octavian keeps his place; sure, it's a bit run down - could do with a really good dusting, maybe, but it's cosy and lived in - his various lab equipment laid out haphazard over the desk (and everywhere else, lets be real) in a way that makes it seem a lot nicer than his own place. ]
This is nice. Do you do all your work in here?
[ he carefully picks his way through the chalk marks towards the chairs, and sits down on one of them. ]
[Vash... Octavian shuts the door after him and then just watches him look around for a moment before following him over to the chairs. He does not sit, but drifts over to the equipment to prepare the necessary materials.
And oh, they're doing smalltalk, alright. Give him a moment. Um.
Well, it isn't nice, don't lie, anyway,]
I do. It is adequate for the time being. I will be upgrading when I am able.
[Not that he has any money, so he'll figure that out, but.]
[ vash is full of idle small talk and innocent white lies, so really this conversation is going very well already ...
and the good thing is that he can chatter along and run his mouth off regardless of what octavian is doing with all the equipment for the ... procedure. the blood taking. whatever. it's all fine!!!!! totally!!! ]
You mean like a proper clinic? Or is it a laboratory, actually? That'd be cool!
What else will you study apart from this? I mean, when you get a body, of course!
[This is a question, technically, while he pauses over his supplies. Why would-- oh, ha, because he's taking blood. Very logical, unfortunately he's just a weirdo.]
I am not a doctor. But I have drawn blood before.
[So don't... worry?? Hmm. He turns back to Vash with a cotton swab, already dampened with sterile alcohol.]
I will study whatever I feel like. Roll up your sleeve.
[......,] When I was alive I was an inventor. Perhaps one day I will be again.
somehow, even with this being pretty much the only reason he'd been invited, vash has completely forgotten about that in order for blood to be drawn, octavian probably needs direct access to skin.
there's only a moment of hesitation, only a second of a break interrupting the flowing chatter that streams from his mouth, before vash takes in a quick inhale of breath, gives octavian a half-nervous, half-self conscious smile, and obligingly rolls up the sleeve of his right arm, bunching the black fabric up past his elbow. ]
.... Sorry.
[ he's probably apologising more for the fact that there doesn't seem to be an inch of skin that isn't covered in some kind of scars or burns or metal plates for him to stick the needle into. ]
[Octavian hums and takes hold of Vash's wrist, seemingly unconcerned with the appearance of his arm. He has a not-entirely-there touch, like being handled by something thin and hollow, cool in the places where the contact is strongest. He's dead and out of practice, but he can find a vein somewhere in all this, just watch him.
After a moment,] My skull was crushed. I was left there to bleed to death. If I felt shame for my past ills I would get nothing done today.
[So, like........ chill. This is the best he can do at empathy, unfortunately.]
[ the touch feels .... well, is it weird if he says ghostly? probably, but there's no other apt way to put the almost intangible pressure of the fingers. it's odd, but not weird.
even if vash says he isn't human (or in as roundabout way as he can admit it, as earlier), octavian will find that he still has fairly human-like vein structure if he does look to find one. at least, he bleeds the same? ]
Oh, [ it sounds a little like surprise, a little shocked, at such a blunt admission - and vash doesn't quite know how to set his expression; concerned? commiserating? it's hard to do when the other man is so matter of fact about it. ]
[Love to bleed the same, very convenient. Octavian pauses over a vein, though, glancing up with slightly raised eyebrows. He just kind of looks at Vash like this for a moment, then looks down again.]
Do not be. You see. This is what I mean. I make no progress under the bombardment of your concern either. Specifically all of you.
[He doesn't need the sympathy and he doesn't particularly care to tiptoe around the sensitivities of other people about what's happened to him or what he is, actually. It's tedious, but then again, he's been dead for a lot longer than some people here have even been alive, so...
Well, still. Sensitive living people problems. He presses down on the vein.]
You avoid the point. Sympathy in smaller doses. And you apologize too much for everything else.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood donation........ this is a great idea surely
if he is listening out for it, vash approaching the house is enough a knock on its own, all clattering footfalls as he cheerily makes his way up the pathway and up to the door, giving a smart little rapping with his knuckles while calling the other's name. if there's a doorbell, he'd have pressed it twenty times by now. i'm really sorry.
all in all, he seems much too cheery for someone who's about to donate a whole lotta (unspecified) blood ... ]
Hello, Octavian!! It's Vash! You in there??
What Could Go Wrong
With some effort, of course. But he prefers to keep small "living" habits in his day to day, like answering the door instead of just leaving it unlocked. It's small, but he needs that. Anyway,]
Where else would I be, [he says, like, silly man, he barely leaves this tired old building. He steps back, pulling the door open wider.] Come in. You should sit.
[The room within is most of the house, a sitting room with some mismatched armchairs and a low table divided from the workspace on the other side mostly by which direction the chairs are facing. It's tired in here, too, but not as rough as the outside of the house; it was, but he's been here long enough for it to bother him, so he's made it look tidier. More livable.
The workspace contains a desk and a stool, a smattering of equally mismatched lab equipment, a... mini fridge... and much of its surfaces (desk, wall, even actual pieces of paper) are scribbled all over with notes and diagrams and runes. In chalk, which there is plenty of.
Welcome. Hi. Sit.]
no subject
[ vash steps in before looking around at the sitting room, being quite undisguised in his curiosity at just how octavian keeps his place; sure, it's a bit run down - could do with a really good dusting, maybe, but it's cosy and lived in - his various lab equipment laid out haphazard over the desk (and everywhere else, lets be real) in a way that makes it seem a lot nicer than his own place. ]
This is nice. Do you do all your work in here?
[ he carefully picks his way through the chalk marks towards the chairs, and sits down on one of them. ]
no subject
[Vash... Octavian shuts the door after him and then just watches him look around for a moment before following him over to the chairs. He does not sit, but drifts over to the equipment to prepare the necessary materials.
And oh, they're doing smalltalk, alright. Give him a moment. Um.
Well, it isn't nice, don't lie, anyway,]
I do. It is adequate for the time being. I will be upgrading when I am able.
[Not that he has any money, so he'll figure that out, but.]
no subject
and the good thing is that he can chatter along and run his mouth off regardless of what octavian is doing with all the equipment for the ... procedure. the blood taking. whatever. it's all fine!!!!! totally!!! ]
You mean like a proper clinic? Or is it a laboratory, actually? That'd be cool!
What else will you study apart from this? I mean, when you get a body, of course!
no subject
[This is a question, technically, while he pauses over his supplies. Why would-- oh, ha, because he's taking blood. Very logical, unfortunately he's just a weirdo.]
I am not a doctor. But I have drawn blood before.
[So don't... worry?? Hmm. He turns back to Vash with a cotton swab, already dampened with sterile alcohol.]
I will study whatever I feel like. Roll up your sleeve.
[......,] When I was alive I was an inventor. Perhaps one day I will be again.
no subject
somehow, even with this being pretty much the only reason he'd been invited, vash has completely forgotten about that in order for blood to be drawn, octavian probably needs direct access to skin.
there's only a moment of hesitation, only a second of a break interrupting the flowing chatter that streams from his mouth, before vash takes in a quick inhale of breath, gives octavian a half-nervous, half-self conscious smile, and obligingly rolls up the sleeve of his right arm, bunching the black fabric up past his elbow. ]
.... Sorry.
[ he's probably apologising more for the fact that there doesn't seem to be an inch of skin that isn't covered in some kind of scars or burns or metal plates for him to stick the needle into. ]
no subject
After a moment,] My skull was crushed. I was left there to bleed to death. If I felt shame for my past ills I would get nothing done today.
[So, like........ chill. This is the best he can do at empathy, unfortunately.]
no subject
even if vash says he isn't human (or in as roundabout way as he can admit it, as earlier), octavian will find that he still has fairly human-like vein structure if he does look to find one. at least, he bleeds the same? ]
Oh, [ it sounds a little like surprise, a little shocked, at such a blunt admission - and vash doesn't quite know how to set his expression; concerned? commiserating? it's hard to do when the other man is so matter of fact about it. ]
... Sorry, um, that it happened.
no subject
Do not be. You see. This is what I mean. I make no progress under the bombardment of your concern either. Specifically all of you.
[He doesn't need the sympathy and he doesn't particularly care to tiptoe around the sensitivities of other people about what's happened to him or what he is, actually. It's tedious, but then again, he's been dead for a lot longer than some people here have even been alive, so...
Well, still. Sensitive living people problems. He presses down on the vein.]
You avoid the point. Sympathy in smaller doses. And you apologize too much for everything else.