nysalogs | (closed) the show must go on

[Dorian, despite his complaints up until they got down to business, doesn't actually hate Wyver. He's been pleasant company to Ocelot as they formulate their plan, and is more than delighted to be shopping for their disguises. The colors, the dragon motifs, and everything else in addition to the fact he can get Ocelot out of that god awful outfit is a blessing. It's the only time anything around here has made him homesick, but in a way that isn't heart-wrenching.

He's in the process of overseeing Ocelot's outfit now, fitting a shawl over his own shoulders as he looks on at his partner dressing.]

Now, we just ignore the fact we don't look so... draconic, and we'll be good to go. Turn around when you're ready.

Edited 2018-02-23 03:55 (UTC)

[ in that, Ocelot would be in agreement. despite having a deep dislike for the weather, he enjoys the fact that Wyver isn't quite as stuck up as his home city. (still.. that weather was a big point against it).

he's so tempted to choose something even more over the top than he normally wears, but instead settles on something similar enough to wyver fashion, finally turning around. ]

You'd think with their climate they'd prefer lighter clothes.

[ but... no such luck, apparently. ]

[Dorian doesn't even bother containing his delight. He grins widely, approaching to adjust his collar.]

Oh, but it's so much better than what you usually try to call an outfit. I'd pay you to wear this more often—with the mystery solved, I just might with our earnings. Now come, no time to waste.

[This is a blessed day, despite what brought them there. He hums, dragging him along by the arm and onto the street. He's just a very enthusiastic partner playing the part of a very enthusiastic life partner. This is believable enough.] They all seem very familiar with each other, here, why not the housing?

[ a rather unimpressed expression just might flash across his face, a hint of the haughty young man that he used to be. but, it fades all too quickly, replaced once again by a more carefree look, and a warm smile as they head out.

~~well, they certainly have the bickering couple routine down pat~~. ]

Seems like the best place to start. Something tells me that our culprits aren't exactly criminal masterminds.

[ he continues to walk, looking as casual as he possibly can in the whole "evil overlord" attire. ]

We can both do the talking. It'll seem more natural that way.

Are you afraid I wouldn't let you? [Dorian chuckles, looking over his shoulder at him.] You're right about that. But I will talk over you if it seems appropriate.

[Narrator voice: he'll always find it appropriate. He hums, taking the extra measure to lean against Ocelot's arm as they start for the apartments. They aren't terribly out of place, but it isn't exactly pouring with nobility. Dorian's lips thin at the prospect of trying to start conversation with the locals around.]

... Which is why you should start.

I'd like to see you try.

[ there is definitely something he likes about Dorian, despite their many many differences. after all, there's nothing he appreciates more than someone who challenges him.

...so, he's not going to be thrown off by having to improvise on the cuff so to speak. when the first door opens, and they're greeted by a rather large man without a shirt on. from the looks of things, he's a blacksmith.

possible suspect. though he'll need more information. so... ]

--Yvgeny? Is that you? It's been far too long! I'd wondered what became of you and here you are! [ he glances back to Dorian. ] --This is the man I told you about. Come, don't stand in the door. Show me yourself.

[ the purpose, of course, is to get the man to open the door just a little bit more. so long as they get a good look inside, they can determine whether he's the bird murderer or not. ]

[God, he hates embracing strangers. It's something people far South would do, if they far too trusting common folk that don't expect a knife in their back. Dorian hates hugging, and trust, and this plan.

But Dorian still offers a warm smile and makes a beeline for the man, pulling him from the threshold to give the tightest hug he can possibly manage. The purpose is to peak over his shoulder and into the room, but, well, he's too short for it.

It leaves Ocelot to look, while he's rambling about how he didn't tell him Yvgeny was so handsome.]

[ always expect a knife in your back. it's something that Ocelot has learned well enough. he can't help but be impressed at Dorian's acting ability, more than content to take full advantage of his friend's (frenemy?) carefully-timed distraction.

nothing. or, at least nothing obvious.

well, it wasn't like they were going to get lucky on their first go, after all. Ocelot carefully slips back, a slight smile still playing on his lips as Dorian keeps up the hug, before giving a slight shake of the head.

time to move on.

for his part "Yvgeny" looks incredibly confused, as Ocelot shoots him a somewhat sympathetic look. ]

--You'll have to forgive us. You look just like him.

Just like him. I'll drop by for some work for you, hm? We must keep in touch, I want to know everything there is to know about you.

[Dorian, keeping up his obnoxious southern persona, pulls the poor man's cheek before he untangles himself from his muscles. He's quick to reattach himself to Ocelot's arm and urge him to have to drag him away from the man. If he knew about the Oscars, he'd ask for one.]

Vishante kaffas, I am not doing that again. [He says, once they're out of earshot. They're coming up on an older woman now, which he slows his walk to examine.] ... Surely not.

[ Ocelot can't help but laugh, really. there's just something that he finds enjoyable about seeing the discomfort of others on occasion.

(it was probably a byproduct of being raised by the worst kind of man. but, never mind that for now.)

at Dorian's comment, Ocelot merely shrugs. ]

It might be someone who you least expect.

[ have you met Ana Amari? more than likely however... ]

I don't know if it's the same where you come from, but in an apartment complex like this, she's likely someone who has the most information on everyone who lives here. If you're willing to listen to a ten minute conversation about the weather, we might actually get something useful out of her.

[ Dorian is, of course, excellent at laying on the charm. together, he's sure that they'll be able to do a good job. ]

[Dorian is, in fact, on time for once in his life. He's waited outside the wide steps up to the temple early to get away from the acolytes, idly scrolling through his phone to pass the time until Prior arrives. He's left many waiting, but, well. Prior sets an entirely different standard.

As soon as he seems him coming, he pockets it and offers is arm for a warm smile. Either to take, or to hand off the food.]

It is on the second floor. I hope that's not too much trouble.

Edited 2018-02-24 05:37 (UTC)

[If different standard is taken to mean that Prior's a demanding creature and lateness simply isn't worth the fuss, then absolutely. Though asking to be met was a practical concern, one that means he'll take Dorian's offered arm and hand the food across to be similarly cossetted by the other.

He's had two decently functional legs for two months, now. Long enough to get comfortable. No more. He's back to masking the limp with some style, but nontheless, it's taking a little time to properly adjust back to the way things were.]

I'll manage.

[He tuts softly, looking Dorian over.]

You're really too attractive for a library. Books are supposed to give themselves over to the meek and demure: it's their one compensation.

[It's strange, seeing Prior like this—he isn't any less confident than he normally is, Dorian thinks, but the limp isn't something he's really expecting to see. He's spent a fair amount of time with him when the leg's healed, to the point he nearly forgot it at all. It's like missing a step that should be there, etching misplaced concern across his face by straining his smile. He doesn't know how to broach it, if he should at all.

Thankfully, he doesn't miss any literal steps, even if he's been looking at him more than where he's going. He starts across the grand marble floors after clearing his throat, passing the trinkets and the temple acolytes have on display in favor for the staircase.]

My dear Prior, that is such a narrow-minded point of view, and I'm very disappointed in you! Books imbue those already blindingly handsome with the confidence of knowing things. Not only will I stand about and look pretty for you, but I will be a source of information. A paragon. I can't just be a trophy.

Well no. [Prior tilts his head, examining the arm he's holding, Dorian's usual demure style of dress.] You'd make a terrible trophy, too many little fiddly bits to polish. But the books, dear, the books. I came to give myself nightmares, after all.

That's true. I'll opt for a bust. Give the sculptures more time to have some finesse with my face.

[Not because his style is a problem. He hums thoughtfully, moving into the library at the end of the stairs. The librarians give him a bit of look, as if questioning he has the audacity to come back after he couldn't quiet last time, but do nothing more as he pulls out a chair for Prior.]

You know, I'd rather not have nightmares more than I already will over that harvesting nonsense. Can we not hope for the stuff of dreams?

I suppose that depends what you dream about.

[Prior already devotes more time to nightmares than he should. These things happen when you've witnessed every possible version of the apocalypse, while an Angel fucks up the grouting behind your refrigerator.

But - well:]

Or who. Though for that we might need a library of more modern prose.

Well, when it comes to who, I happen to only dream about me, myself, I—though the occasional demon pops by, wonders if it can possess you, perhaps that is here...

[He settles alongside him, dragging their designated book across the table. He has his own journal filled with runes that were translated before, but there's hardly enough similarities to get them anywhere.]

I must warn you, this is rather tedious work. We might spend more time eating than doing the lot of it.

Not always alone, I hope. Or is that a holy trinity?

[They're almost certainly going to do more eating than translation, and that's from someone with barely an appetite. The books are - at a glance - clearly indecipherable.]

Wait, this is what you've been looking at? Do they come with a decoder ring?

[Dorian takes one glance at his expression, sighs dramatically, and already starts pulling out their food. It's going to be a long evening.]

Absolutely not. The old sods took the concept of leisure reading and said to themselves, how could we make this harder? We're to decipher them with my knowledge of enchantments, mental fortitude, and a prayer or two.

Another skill of yours I was unaware of? Communion with enchanted books?

[Because hi you're breaking bread with one right now. Perhaps that makes the question sound less throwaway than intended: perhaps all he needs is translation. Take the words written in his blood and he might be free of prophecy, too.

For now, he dips his head over the text, hand hovering above.]

They don't fall apart if you touch them, right? I don't want one of the silent order back there hauling me in for criminal damage.

[Dorian pauses in his bread breaking to raise his brows at him, looking between Prior and the book. No, Prior is a normal person with radios and pop culture and other things he doesn't know, he thinks. This won't be weird, he thinks.]

I might haul you out myself before they can. We'll live a life on the run. No—you can touch them all you like, just be careful.

Too bad, that was starting to sound romantic.

[Prior reaches to turn a page and - nothing happens. Except for the rustle of stiff paper folding back on itself, all is calm. Except.]

Well, they wrote some of it in English, at least.

[No, no they did not. The page has the same runic gibberish on it as all the rest.]

[Any chance of Dorian getting into romanticism comes to a rather abrupt halt.]

Such certainty. And how do you know that?

Because I speak english too. Or whatever passes for it here. I suppose you could hear a different word entirely when I'm

[And, without warning, Prior's one voice becomes two. Though he keeps speaking as though there's been no interruption in subject or tone, while he reads the words of the book aloud a second voice speaks from the same set of lips, words in a tongue that might be Olympian as the natives hear it:]

settling in well to my new quarters. Sava keeps moving the furniture around in our room no matter how many times I ask him to stop, but he'll surely tire himself out sooner rather than later! Sometimes, when I speak to him, he acts like he doesn't even hear me...

As for my studies, I am taking great care to memorize the Voice of the Goddess, although there is a passage that still confounds me. And besides that, when I tried to seek the lower floors to find a scroll explaining it, I was denied entry. Whatever they do down there, it... it... it...

[And while this whole voice throwing act might have been enough on its own, new words take over, words that look like they're fighting against everything Prior has to rip out of his throat. A new voice, or a thousand voices at once, each set on the edge of a snarl or a scream. It's an unholy sound.

Ironically.]

IT IS NOT GIVEN TO YOU TO SPEAK OF FALSE DEITIES, TRUE PROPHET. THE BOOK THE BOOK THE BOOK SHALL BE HELD ABOVE ALL OTHERS, SPEAK ITS WORD OR FALL TO SILENCE.

[And then it's done, it's over, and Prior's kicked over his chair and thrown himself back into an alcove between bookcases, his hand over his mouth. Approach him and it's probably possible to hear - in his own, suddenly very small sounding voice-]

- Holy shit.

[That's, well—it scares the ever loving shit out of Dorian, to witness that. It isn't quite enough for him to react as he might would if he were back home—where if a person suddenly speaks with two voices it's because they're about to announce themselves as a demon and murder you—but he does rise out of his seat, blanching.

The first words are lost on him, at first. In fact, most of them are. He scrambles for his journal to start writing the words as Prior utters them, but the escalation of voices that are probably not an ancient acolyte prompts him to curse and drop his pen and, well, he wasn't wrong about the praying. He does, for once, that it'll stop shouting.

The whole thing's a mess. The librarians are staring, Dorian is staring, the translation's in near illegible scrawling of a very, very confused, but approaching man. Softly, but with feeling:]

Prior, my dear, light of my life, excuse me... but what the ever loving fuck was that?

[There's a sort of squeak, muffled behind Prior's hands. His chest's rising and falling too quick for him to get enough air that way, so he spreads his fingers and speaks between

- in a confidential whisper, because there's a lot of point in maintaining the silence rule now.]

Not... me? That was not my voice.

[He risks a small glance upwards where there is, as ever, nothing to see. Does this affliction honestly have to show him up in public, too?]

[Dorian had made a bad decision in coming here for multiple reasons. Isabela and Cayde had the advantage of fitting in rather easily, having come in later (and in Cayde's case, again) in the game, so to speak. Dorian, in his golden jewelry and golden outfit and practical neon sign screaming he's not supposed to here, is the odd man out.

It's a good thing he's lost most of those clothes by the time the festivities start kicking up outside their door. As it turns out, after Isabela and Dorian taught Cayde the rules of Wicked Grace, he's much worse. He's down to his socks and underwear when he huffs with annoyance, laying his cards down on the table.]

I, for one, think we've played long enough. Don't you think?

Edited 2018-02-26 06:23 (UTC)

[It's not so different from Poker, far as he can tell, and for what he doesn't quite get, well. Turns out Cayde's pretty good at both lying and cheating, so he bluffs his way through pretty well.]

[Also? Dorian has a terrible poker face. Just horrendous.]

[So it's understandable he'd want to quit. Especially looking a fool in his underoos when Cayde's on;y lost his cloak. Understandable or not, Cayde still laughs when Dorian puts his cards down and looks at Isabela with a gesture as if to say, 'this guy, huh?']

Come on, I've seen folks come back from worse than this.

[Isabela had more than jumped on the chance to play Wicked Grace when Dorian offered, the familiar game of cards a sight for sore eyes as everything falls apart in the cities they both lived in. Cayde was a welcome sight as well, and while explaining the rules to him she could tell from his mannerisms alone that he plays like she does. Hardly truthful and always with a sleight of hand to withhold or play the cards she needs to get ahead in the game.

And of course likely to no one's surprise, it had been her idea to raise the stakes. Money was always nice to end up leaving with, but what are friends for if not potentially getting naked in front of? Serves as a pleasant distraction to the noise outside too.

It ends up being a back and forth battle of who can outbluff the other between the two with poor Dorian in the middle. His tells were just too obvious when his hands were good, making it a perfect time to strike between the two rogues.

She just smiles at Cayde's gesture, proud and triumphant in her bra after having only lost her shirt, the rest of her clothing still on. She's a little glad she'd had the foresight to wear more clothes for once, a dress in these types of games just wasn't fair.]

Now now, I suppose we should let the man have some dignity. You picked up the hang of this far faster than I expected though, I'm impressed. [Okay, maybe she feels just a little bad since the hand that made Dorian lose his last actual article of clothing was hers. Her glance shifts over to Dorian then,looking over his near nudity with a chuckle.] But Cayde does have a point too. I'd love to see you try for a comeback, after all you do still have something on. We can count the jewelry too if you wanted a fair shot.

She means, of course, that we've been letting you win this entire time to make you feel better about not knowing the game. I would have utterly destroyed the both of you if I weren't so good of heart. Just a beacon of hope in this hopeless, hopeless world.

[Dorian places a bare hand over his chest, leaning back in his seat with his chin held, high like he's the picture of dignity and grace. He's neither of those things, being naked and quickly having to lean forward again so his chair doesn't fall over. But let him pretend.]

I think... a better idea, to preserve all the mystery I have left, would be us to take a shot every time. [This is a great idea that has nothing to do with him not footing the bill.] That way... if we embarrass ourselves any further, we at least won't remember it! Thoughts? Other than the fact it's magnificent.

[Cayde rolls his eyes at Dorian's 'kindness,' but other than that he doesn't destroy Dorian's illusion of dignity, tilting his head in consideration of Dorian's idea. On the one hand? Less complaining on Dorian's part. On the other, it'll be way less obvious who the winner is after all this. And if there's one thing Cayde loves more than gambling, it's winning at gambling.]

With stakes like those, you're probably gonna lose what's left of your mystery there anyway.

[He's not necessarily against it, though it takes significantly more to get an exo drunk than a human. Like 'several bloated livers' more. But he'll keep that to himself just in case.]

We can only consider ourselves lucky to receive such benevolence from you, dear.

[Isabela just shakes her head in response. So kind and benevolent, that Dorian Pavus. Deeeefinitely not because he's one loss away from giving a full frontal show to the both of them. Not that she'd mind either way, but for his pride's sake she says little else about his steady losing streak. Instead she weighs the options of turning their little strip card game into a drinking game, and while the victory of embarrassment in seeing the losers naked is tempting the potential of drunken shenanigans is so much better.]

That said, I've no objections to switching from clothing to shots. It's been dry far too long as it is. But perhaps we ought to raise the stakes further then? Like...first to get absolutely tossed loses, maybe even has to do a dare or completely bare it all no matter what? I think either would make the game all the more exciting.

[It's a win win situation no matter how you slice it, and her smile turns a touch toward devious. It's a dangerous game to suggest bringing alcohol into the mix of a game he's so close to losing, but then Isabela never was the logical voice of reason for anyone ever anyway.]

[Solas could have very well stayed in Wyver to try and sort out that entire mess- but somewhere between the poor stitched together wretches and the blood drinking, the familiar atmosphere of home had become a bit too familiar. He very quickly grew frustrated and wound up simply washing his hands of it for the time being, and travelled to Olympia.

It was apparently also a mess, but proved to be at least somewhat less barbaric. He got to work humbly doing what good he was able to wherever he was able to. Which, for the moment was healing some poor soul that got knocked out in the chaos, not a serious injury, but it would be better to have him off the street lest he get trampled.

At least he was trying to heal the man, but much to the elder mage's surprise, the man suddenly sprung up on his own practically giving Solas a heart attack in the process. It took a moment for him to see that the man was not moving naturally on his own... and another moment to see the reason why. Of all the foolish idiotic things!]

Fenedhis- Dorian!

[As far as Dorian knew, Solas had fucked off to Wyver. No, that wasn't a polite way of saying it—Solas had chosen Wyver for his humble abode where he could continue lying to everyone he encountered, away from anyone who might know him's scrutiny.

Dorian wasn't particularly bitter about the arrangement. He holds his own, even if the unrest has risen to a level not unlike his trip to the South, minus the hole in the sky. He is fine. He'll take manipulated souls to watch his back over his former companion.

Which is why when Solas raises his voice, Dorian nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns away from the streets with wide eyes and fingers crackling with a spell at the ready, then slowly comes to narrow them when he finds the other mage. He lowers his staff.]

Fasta vass— Solas. You've chosen a wonderful time for our next get together!

[Dorian turned around to get a good look of that same old sour scowl that he had once regarded the Tevinter mage with so often in the past. His patience had been stretched far thinner than in those days however, and Dorian's attitude was agitating his already temperamental mood.]

Get over yourself! There are far more pressing matters to deal with than past misgivings! [He got to his feet with the help of his staff, so that he could continue this on eye level- or closer to it.] Now if it would not be too much trouble, would you mind leaving the injured where they are? I hardly have the time to go chasing after them!

Oh, yes, I shall be taking great bounds and leaps to get over myself so my giant ego won't be in the way of all yours, shall I? Shall I also prepare a spot for you to stand dramatically and announce your plans to actually turn around and leave the man for dead after the little charade, or am I really going to have to pretend to believe you're the humble little apostate you made yourself out to be all over again?

[Dorian dulled his tongue for Solas, back home. Their interactions were always dampened by his misguided sense of guilt for the loss of Arlathan, the stolen artifacts, the enslavement of his people. But then the People came into play, and what he heard of Solas' aspirations seemed more catastrophic than the mess he'd just desperately clawed to clean up... Needless to say, the gloves are off, and he isn't even getting started.]

I suppose I'm just surprise you've been sparing the time at all! I didn't see you, so would you kindly remain out of my way if you're not going to announce yourself? Why are you even here?!

Oh for- leave what man for dead? [No, really, which one? Felassan? No they wouldn't care about him. He'd accumulated a list of those in these past few years... though he couldn't think of any particularly recently- oh wait.] The inquisitor? I hold no familiarity with your inquisitor Dorian, but if you are referring to what I believe you are then you are neglecting the part where I saved the inquisitor's life! Or would you rather I have simply let the mark kill him?

[Not that he could be certain he hadn't debated it in this other universe, he did not know this other inquisitor- but if they had accomplished a fraction of the feats his own had, then it would likely benefit to keep them alive. Thedas could ill afford their savior falling, and the power vacuum that would cause.

Also more heat on him, if he was pinned as the culprit.]

As for why I am here, I believe I already made that much abundantly clear for you. I am tending to the injured- beyond that is none of your concern!

Oh, no no no. You don't get off that easily, Solas.

[If it were any other time, perhaps Dorian wouldn't be so willing to let his rage overwhelm him. But he has bent over backwards to keep himself in order alone, and just let many other things tonight, he's snapped. He moves his staff into one hand and moves to grab the front of the mage's jacket in the other, fury radiating off of every part of him like he might just set the man on fire if they weren't on the same side.]

You knew what the mark was from the very beginning! You let it fester, you let the world tear itself apart because of your mistake! Because you are a weak, selfish, deluded, insufferable, narrow-minded coward!

There was nothing I could do to stop it at the time! I never intended for Corypheus to unlock the orb.

[That much was all the fuss he could put in his own self defense, while his pride wanted nothing to do with suffering these accusations from a Tevinter mage of all people, he knew many of them were true as well. It was always a battle between his guilt and pride, though his pride tended to win out, here was no exception. He did what had to be done, there was no other option, not after seeing the state the elves were in.]

I gained no joy in the deaths from my folly, but I have done what I had to for my people.

Your people? Your exclusive little club who gets to sit back and watch the those that fought tooth and nail to save their lives perish when you burst the Veil asunder? Vishanta kaffas, don't you dare give me that! You sat, and you watched us fix your folly, and you told us to our faces that they should enjoy the time we have left!

[Dorian grits his teeth, casting his staff aside. By any means, it isn't a smart move. He's seen the power Solas truly has, and there's no reason not to use it when Dorian so aggressively rejects him as an ally. But Dorian thinks of how he's poured his life into reestablishing himself, the loss, the pieces of hope he had to put back together and carry on for his homeland. His now free fingers curl into a fist.]

It doesn't matter what you intended. It matters that we're here with nothing, that we're here with a result not dissimilar than what you would have done to us, and you're still justifying the fact you would have continued to do it anyone but yourself!

[He lets go of Solas, but it's to wind his fist back and sock him right in the jaw.]

Edited (i had to add the ~tevene~ equivalent instead... and fix typos,) 2018-02-27 04:45 (UTC)

[Solas probably should have anticipated the blow, there was some part of him that so easily fell into the old habit of the Inquisition's alliances, but there was no Inquisitor here to keep the peace between them- if the Inquisitor would even care to.

The old mage staggered back, dropping his staff in surprise, a hand raised to his cheek out of reflex. It stirred something in him, an old youthful temper, something he had long thought himself over. The fate of Thedas being rubbed in his face after all he had done, after everything he had sacrificed, was too much. He was tired of it all, and before he could properly think of the consequences he balled his fist and threw a punch back at Dorian.

How it landed, he wouldn't know, the last time he had been foolish enough to get in an outright brawl he still had hair.]

(closed) the show must go on

they're KIDS ocelot

...kids are just miniature ADULTS dorian

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

some prophet bullshit, dorian says, a mage

no subject

feel free to ignore this ancient relic... but i'm here now... wheeze

I was just going to ask if you were still up for it!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

dorian loses his cards and clothes to cayde and isabela + uhhhh wyver is not great

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Mage fite!

somehow without staffs

Staffs are for squares, and everyone knows eggs are round

there are so many things that i hate about what you just said

tell me what part of it is a lie

it's true but i hate it

thats what you get for making me have "don't stop me now" stuck in my head for days

because i'm havin a GOOD TIME HAVIN A GOOD TIME

no subject