01. tucks a blanket gently around the other person's shoulders.
non-verbal actions prompts || accepting
On the very first day the golden lights finally brought Gilbert and Vincent to the Baskerville grounds, they got to see Oswald for a few seconds, purely incidentally, as they were being guided through the estate to be cleaned up. But even though the boys came in with barely two shoes between them, covered in all manner of refuse in the gutter of city streets--he said he was grateful to have them.
Grateful. No one had been grateful for their existences, not even their own parents.
Not only in his infinite generosity did he open the gates of his grand estate to boys worth less than trash, but Gilbert was soon told that he would serve a greater purpose here. He would not only be allowed to serve him, but he would one day inherit the new position as head of the Baskervilles. Him!
Here, he was not only wanted. He was needed. He could finally not be worthless, not just to his brother, but now to Oswald. Gilbert would not betray the expectations from his new master! Even though he didn't smile much, Gil just knew he was kindest man in the world.
The expectations were shoved onto him quickly and immensely. He had to learn how to speak like someone befitting a noble house, dining etiquette, reading, writing, math, etc. But even it meant long days of tutoring and practice, even if he felt stupid on the days he struggled to keep up, it didn't matter, because he wouldn't give up. It wasn't an option.
On one such day, after encouraging Vincent to not wait up for him to eat dinner, young Gilbert sat hunched over a smattering of papers, ink quill clutched definitely too tightly in his fist (a habit his tutor was still trying to break). He learned to copy well enough, but sounding out words in his head and translating them to ink felt like his brain was being plucked and pulled at by a starved crow.
Gilbert was determined to perfect the words he reviewed that morning, by himself, even if he had to keep staring at paper for the rest of the night. He would not give in to sleepiness, he wouldn't! Even as his little head bobbed helplessly up and down and his eyebrows scrunched together in an attempt to keep his eyes opened, he wouldn't give in!
Until his body made the choice for him.
He knocks out, one plump cheek firmly planted against fresh ink and candle wax pooling and nearly overflows from his catcher. The tiny flame melts down its wick in an uneven burn, as the candle begins to slowly tilt to one side.
Until Oswald, who was wandering the halls seemingly like a living ghost (even among a house of those already haunted, which is saying something), blows out the candle and swiftly moves it away from the mess of papers.
As he moves around the table to get closer to Gil, his foot is halted by a soft lump on the floor--a young Vincent curled up partially under the table with two pillows and two blankets scattered on and around him.
With a small sigh and a whisper of a smile, Oswald plucks one of the blankets and wraps it around Gilbert's body; a small bit of warmth while he delicately maneuvers the younger brother into one arm first. Once Vincent is in tow, he carefully bends down to scoop Gil up in the other, tucking the wraps a bit tighter with the opposite hand.
As Oswald walks towards their room, enduring to step with a perfectly even gait, Gilbert mumbles small, incoherent noises before turning his body inward, his face nuzzling closer to his master's chest. He cannot help but relax against the steady rhythm and warmth, even while deep within his own sleep. Even one of his hands quietly seeks him, thin fingers gently grasping the fabric of his shirt.
When the early morning light streams through the cracks of the window curtain, Gilbert can only seem to wake up in confusion while he tries to remember how he got into bed, a quill still in his hand.
(In the same vein, a servant cleaning laundry also finds themselves perplexed on the origins of a mysterious black stain on one of Glen's shirts.)
