[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[priorly]

Who: Prior Walter (priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

Comments

[priorly]

[Prior's clearly uncertain for a moment, but recovers quickly, fluttering a hand against his chest.]

Insistent, really. Well, for whatever reason that might be, now I have to hope not to disappoint.

[Though it's flattering. Isn't it? He's helplessly touched to hear that he's been thought of.

And he has to appreciate that last comment, while thinking that - on first impressions - if anyone were like Dorian, Byerly would be the easy pick. Not just for that initial vaguely familiar feeling of natural charm papering over at least three different emotions. There's also the victorian picture book mustache.]

You, I'm sure he was keeping as a pleasant surprise, or I'd have made the whole thing far easier for you. He's my - my housemate.

[flashystyle]

Yes, it was on a... visit there that he spoke of you.

[But it'd been after such a sore subject. "A man fancying men in a world not terribly friendly to that sort of thing," he'd said. It wouldn't be in good taste to bring such a thing to the surface, and... well, redundant, given that it's quite obvious now. So he says the half of it, plucking one of the last stems from his pants within his reach.]

He told me that you're sweet, and a good heart. I'm far more scandalized than I'd imagined, but disappointed? Far from it. I've encountered a butterfly expecting a caterpillar.

[priorly]

Ah yes, he imagines I'm good and he's terrible, which makes me wonder somewhat at his judgement of character. Although you seem charming so far. But have I really scandalised you?

[He plays at a pout, upturned edges failing to give it the desired effect. He's curious, now, that someone should have been told about him. If he knows anything of Byerly it's that the man rarely acts without a purpose.

He gestures to his leg, stretched so that one heel nudges Dorian's thigh.]

Is it the ankles? I hear they're quite the risque revelation in some societies.

[flashystyle]

No, no, the sight of your ankles, though something to behold, isn't it. Back home, such things and more were on display wherever you went. It's just that it was all very... look, but don't touch. Like everyone is little trinkets in the window you can't afford.

[For emphasis, he runs his fingers in a circle over the bone of the ankle. He's beginning to understand why By suggested the meeting- there's a weight off his shoulders just by witnessing Prior's demeanor.]

I expect some of my ancestors would be rolling over by this scene alone, but I recognize it's very mild. It's a pleasure to meet you, Prior.

[priorly]

Well, a significant portion of mine would think this wholly beyond the pale. [His accent shifts as he speaks, so the last part is a mockery. The precise, waspish affectation of it wouldn't be recogniseable to anyone outside of his own time and place, but perhaps the pomposity is. Beyond the pale.]

Screw ancestors. If they'd rather their progeny turned out different, perhaps they should have screwed different people, themselves.

[With a quick movement, he lifts the other leg, both now stretched across Dorian's, as he leans forward to offer an outstretched hand.]

Likewise. I'd offer to buy you a drink if there weren't a perfectly good vintage going to waste on the floor.

[flashystyle]

Oh, what spiritual turmoil we must be causing. [Dorian gains a wicked grin, picking up a mocking tone of his own. It's deeper, more ceremonious as he raises his hand with great flourish.] Scions of our houses, so openly ridiculing their practice careful breeding. The shame of the family name!

[He can't keep it up, though, lest he lose himself in another fit of laughter. Instead he takes Prior's hand, shaking it formally as if their position weren't the opposite already.]

Would you drink with me? It'd be a shame to succumb to inebriation if there isn't someone joining me in it.

[priorly]

The family name. [If Prior had a glass in his hand he'd clink it.] How gnarled those old roots do grow. And I had in fact been eyeing up a fruity little number, now that you ask.

[He looks away only to smile a waiter into turning their way and taking an order. He'll share the bottle, if that's offered, but there's no harm in having something pretty and sweet on the table, too.]

So, tell me everything Byerly should have warned me about.

[flashystyle]

[He leans over to pull the bottle from the floor as Prior takes the order, situating himself to sit back more comfortably. He's at ease now, so his motions are without hesitation. Like offering the bottle when he looks his way again.]

Should I wear a warning label? Can burn after prolonged exposure? No, you should know some things... I likely don't know what show tunes you're referring to, and if your home is anything like his, I'll need some elaboration. I come from a world of magic and demons, and some of the people there consider me very wicked for the former.

[priorly]

As I said, no one knows the show tunes I refer to. [Prior bites his lip, holds up a hand - playing at needing a moment - then takes the bottle to drown his sorrows.] Never was a story of more woe. But Byerly's world - well. I'm his great great, give or take a few dozen more greats grandfather's token homosexual friend. Probably. His world is where mine emigrated to, many years into our future.

[And yet both their worlds ended due to the storm so-]

I remain uncertain how that works. No magic I'm aware of, though I do keep running into it here. What makes yours so wicked?