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

[Casual conversation is already better than being left to stew, so Prior's company was already coming to be appreciated. The bud surprises him, making a tentative impression go from good to great in a matter of seconds. Dorian laughs, leaning to accept the bud with great delicacy.]

I'm surprised no one's come to carve a safe path for you already, being as generous as you are good-looking. [He tucks it safely under the tight fabric of his shirt, then makes a beckoning motion for the leg he'd been tending.] They'll leave terrible grass stains for someone wanting to look so sane and civilized, so come. Let's get them off. I won't bite.

No? Quel dommage. [On the not biting front, that is.] I can't think I'd object.

[The egregious flattery is, while not precisely new (spending time in Byerly's company is much like standing in a force ten gale comprised of hyperbolic compliments so constant that Prior's come to believe not a single one and should be fully inured...) at least unexpected enough to catch Prior grinning back. There was a time he'd attract lines like this from casual pickups, and toss them back for as long as it took for them to run out of superlatives and suggest bed, and it's nice to pretend for a little while that he's still what he was then.

He considers the offer only a moment before lifting one shoulder in a light shrug and stretching his leg across Dorian's lap.]

I take it you meant the plants and not - [A light gesture down at himself - dark hued dress pants under a forest green button down that may have been designed for a woman, from the fit and the placement of said buttons. the corners of his eyes are lined with a slight flash of the same greeen.] Though I did only see warnings about wearing shirts and shoes above the bar.

[Everything about Prior is increasingly curious, the longer Dorian pays attention. The flirting isn't so unfamiliar, especially after encounters with their mutual friend, but the unrestrained manner the young man presents himself in is something to be marveled. He wouldn't dare draw attention on himself like this if their positions were changed. And yet... the young man does with such ease.

Still, wondering aside, it's... refreshing. It keeps his smile genuine and his gaze meeting Prior's.]

What an interesting thought! I've never practiced such voyeurism before. [He says, as if he doesn't know very well that he'd never truly entertain the idea. He plucks another stem, careful that he doesn't pull any thread.] But I wouldn't want to ruin such an ensemble- it brings out your eyes well. I also haven't caught your name, even if that isn't truly necessary for such activities.

No inclination to voyeurism? Really? And I thought you came in to see a show.

[It's all teasing, of course. If Prior's been pantsless in a bar before, then it's only because he's been wearing a skirt. Far more appropriate. Though, his lack of restraint is so pronounced only because like has recognised like. The survival skill of people who have to keep careful in select company is a heightened sense of who might be kin.

That and no straight man goes right in with a compliment on his eyes.

He carefully picks at little green bits that Dorian hasn't reached yet. These plants really did a number on him.] I have performed, before. You have a good eye. Not dancing exactly but - entertainment. Alas, no more. No one here knows the right show tunes, it's a tragedy.

[A little flick of stray greenery onto the floor, for emphasis.]

And it's Prior. [With as little irony as possible:] Like the monks.

[Dorian has responses on the tongue- inclinations to go where he hadn't before, inquiries on just how appropriate these show tunes were. But hearing Prior's name all but wipes them from his mind, leaving his hands sitting still over another shoot of green. All this time stewing, thinking happy accidents aren't just going to happen, and here they are.

Then he laughs again, harder than before, shaking his head all the while.] You know, I got swept up in a number of people when I tried to meet you. And here you are! [Ah, but that might sound off-putting. Quickly:] Byerly was rather insistent that I meet you, though I doubt he's spoke of me. Dorian Pavus, like the... well, no one is quite like me.

[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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

[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.

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?

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

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