Chapter Text
Florescent lighting beamed through the arched windows. Windows.. since when did his tent have windows? And such pristine architecture? Or his cot have nice sheets?
An itch among his neck startled him. It felt like scratchy alike the ends of rough hair. But not his own. No, his own was far more rough around the ends - or even the whole of it overall. And for now, that mess stood up against the test of gravity, sticking up in every which way like a mangled tumbleweed.
The surroundings were far too elegant for anything within the west. But where else could he have been? Hardly anywhere else across the whole museum was a similar scale to his home.
A movement set him off.
Someone was there. Someone he was planning not to awaken. No matter how curious his mind felt, it was overpowered with a strong ache fading back into reality. God, that saloon. Damn his ‘one whisky’ plans. He prayed they dimmed the lights for the night. Just that night, that’s all he asked.
His leg slung over the side, trying his best to place the location. It looked ancient almost..
His dusty vest took its place over his slobbishly buttoned shirt in his best attempt to leave and act as if whatever happened didn’t. It was nerve-wrecking not making a sound. One wrong move and it would be fresh meat to coyotes.
If the awake hadn’t startled him, the groan of a voice in the background calling him most definitely did.
“Mm, come back.” The sound croaked, words slurring into one. But that voice, it wasn’t high-pitched. Neither was it unknown to him.
It clicked.
The windows, the sheets, the architecture.
It all made sense.
He couldn’t mutter a word. He could barely look. But when he turned, he was met with a person’s eyes slowly opening and shutting groggily. He knew exactly whose they were.
Don’t say anything.
Don’t even do anything.
You’ll wake up from this soon.
Pinching himself did nothing. This was reality. A fleeting bottle of wine lay atop the windowsill that set his mind. Damn his stupid one drink rule.
“Carrisime..” The man continued, still unsure of who stood before him.
He pinched his nose bridge; better speaking late than before the man realized for himself. “Open your eyes you damn fool.” He paced the floor.
The tone of his voice must’ve waken him enough for his eyes to jolt open. “Diah! Oh Jupiter, what are you doing here? Oh my..”
His tongue clicked. “I’d ask you but this seems to be your home, don’t it?”
“Well yes, it is. Why have you- Oh gods, what happened yesterday?” Octavius rises his back to sit.
“Look. Nothing happened, ya hear me?” Jedediah stated, trying to convince himself in the process. “No one saw so what do they know?”
“Precisely. If no one was to observe any action then it hasn’t happened. And of course, it did not.” He nodded along in an attempt to collect himself.
“Righty then. I see we have an agreement.” God, he was never going to live this down. Hell take him down, the spot’s already prepared. Maybe this was it already - a confusing state of agony.
His collar was covered via the scarlet bandana he flung around with him. Hopefully it meant that he looked more put together than he imagined. Even as he tripped over his own boot.
The door handle was gripped by his palm as he finally met Octavius’ eyes for the first time in a while. Honest and delicate as ever but just as regretful as he was beyond that astounding look.
“I should uhm.. go check up on my men.” He paused, at a loss for words for once. His confident demeanor fell quicker than a pile of rubble to explosives. “See if they ain’t managed to destroy the place yet.”
While he joked, it didn’t fully come off as one. His tone was uncertain and uncommon to him. Octavius didn’t question him though, he just nodded. He understood exactly how it felt, being in the exact same predicament in that moment.
The rim of his hat shilled over his eyes; partially in shame, partially to shelter from the ceiling lamps that hung far too brightly for his liking. Every inch of him fleeted across from the Romans, finding his way to the end of the diorama to get to his own. No awkward looks. No questions. No close-call interactions.
Lowering himself to the flooring of the museum was difficult enough when he wasn’t hungover. This was most definitely Hell, wasn’t it?
The tiles should’ve been a dead giveaway. The elegance that he could never meet. He was just a shabby old cowboy with the boldness of a thousand suns and whisky on his tongue. Nothing more, nothing less.
Nothing like Octavius. Not an army general. Not courteous and ordered. Jedediah was no matter of man but a wreckage of force to be reckoned with.
That was hardly even the problem. It wasn’t it just being Octavius. It was it being him. God knows he didn’t mean it, right?
Right?!
They were both beyond themselves intoxicated and he was definite that neither of them would ever do that in actuality. It was nothing. Nothing that anyone could prove besides the omniscient.
The cold flooring of the museums cleared his mind though as none of the exhibits were yet to reach their area just yet. It was grounding in a way - no noise and no hassle. All he had to prove now was getting back to his space without notice. That wasn’t too challenging after the past night since he declared it a night off from work. Nearly all the figures were still woozy from the saloon where he declared it on the house as sherif. Horrible horrible idea in retrospect. Not so bad now though in a certain aspect.
Their minds seemed out of it, too focused on discussing plans during a quick break to spot him clambering onto the dusty ground. Even so, they most likely paid no mind as it didn’t come to any matter.
Maybe it was all just getting to his head but he could have swore as he passed by the odd few people that there was looks thrown about. Did he really not put himself together that well? He was rushing after all. Perhaps it was just his nerves but each step felt like a hurricane as the attention rose to him. They could tell, couldn’t they? They just somehow could. He was overthinking surely. He was all in over his head.