dorian did many things wrong (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flashystyle) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2017-10-05 01:01 am
flashystyle) wrote in nysalogs2017-10-05 01:01 am
(open + closed in tags)
Who: Dorian Pavus (flashystyle) & you!
When: The week post-attack
Where: The Institute & Olympian Streets
Warning(s): Very tired would-be scientist doing his best
I. The Institute
[The Institute's most prestigious scholars working tirelessly to produce a cure sounds very inspiring on paper. One might imagine careful, clean environments with all neatly organized ingredients across their work stations. They may even go on to say that their researchers must have the most capable, cleanest, well-manicured hands for the job.
This is not the case for Dorian, nor his work station. The laboratory may have started clean, but it's long since deteriorated into the space of a man who has been taking advantage of the 8am to 4am hours since all this bombing business began. Unlabeled bottles are littered across the counters with no indicators as to what they are any longer, books are left open on dog eared pages far too close to the former, and stray notes have been made ineligible by stains of Orbiters know what. There's ever a hole eaten through the counter that might indicate if one had drank whatever potion came before what's currently simmering, the wouldn't have just been silenced by a sore throat.
Whether it be depositing findings, coming for updates, or passing through as an employee or visitor, you've come through the open door to this mess of a station. The one responsible for it has a hand through his hair with the other nursing a bottle that he hasn't quite noticed it isn't his water yet. He doesn't look up from the brew when you enter, but he does raise his voice the second you step through the door.]
There must be hundreds of different species out in the wilds. Hundreds! And yet all of them are either poisonous, just aesthetically pleasing, or only serve to make people talk to one another! I don't mind the talk, truly, but what is the point if no one has the solution to this sickness? Words of encouragement that only make the pang of failure hit harder? I'm close to just combining all the sleeping agents and putting the patients down for a long rest, because that might be less excruciating than trying all of these. What do you think?
II. Streets
[For research purposes, Dorian has tasked himself with picking up an overabundance of Liln from a flowershop outside the Market District. With the bomb being an airborne flu, they seemed to have fled to the point of becoming pests in places free of the sick. One might notice they're carefully contained in a glass jar as Dorian makes his way through crowds of citizens gathered to gossip... up until he runs into someone.
That someone might be you, or it might be another unfortunate soul who simply wasn't looking where they were going. Regardless, the jar of the creatures slips through his fingers, shattering into pieces once it hits the pavement. The Liln scatter in fear of being trapped again, consequently latching onto any hosts in the the vicinity of the broken glass. Needless to say, due to the suddenness spread of a brightly colored creature, Olympians around also scatter lest it be another stage of sickness. Those that stick around will find that the Liln harmlessly slipped onto their skin, forming a tattoo potentially revealing of their mood in their panic. They will also find that they're now in the company of a very tired man.]
Those were to be our test subjects for a cure, you know. [He says, lines of a bright red snake curling around his neck.] Best hope those don't make an M.
III. Wildcard
[Dorian will be around the Institute, Sanctuary, and the Red Light District at night looking to hear the information of others who are out capturing/gathering intelligence. If you've an idea for their interaction outside of the prompts, feel free to tag with it! Or hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
meganerd for a closed prompt idea.]
flashystyle) & you!When: The week post-attack
Where: The Institute & Olympian Streets
Warning(s): Very tired would-be scientist doing his best
I. The Institute
[The Institute's most prestigious scholars working tirelessly to produce a cure sounds very inspiring on paper. One might imagine careful, clean environments with all neatly organized ingredients across their work stations. They may even go on to say that their researchers must have the most capable, cleanest, well-manicured hands for the job.
This is not the case for Dorian, nor his work station. The laboratory may have started clean, but it's long since deteriorated into the space of a man who has been taking advantage of the 8am to 4am hours since all this bombing business began. Unlabeled bottles are littered across the counters with no indicators as to what they are any longer, books are left open on dog eared pages far too close to the former, and stray notes have been made ineligible by stains of Orbiters know what. There's ever a hole eaten through the counter that might indicate if one had drank whatever potion came before what's currently simmering, the wouldn't have just been silenced by a sore throat.
Whether it be depositing findings, coming for updates, or passing through as an employee or visitor, you've come through the open door to this mess of a station. The one responsible for it has a hand through his hair with the other nursing a bottle that he hasn't quite noticed it isn't his water yet. He doesn't look up from the brew when you enter, but he does raise his voice the second you step through the door.]
There must be hundreds of different species out in the wilds. Hundreds! And yet all of them are either poisonous, just aesthetically pleasing, or only serve to make people talk to one another! I don't mind the talk, truly, but what is the point if no one has the solution to this sickness? Words of encouragement that only make the pang of failure hit harder? I'm close to just combining all the sleeping agents and putting the patients down for a long rest, because that might be less excruciating than trying all of these. What do you think?
II. Streets
[For research purposes, Dorian has tasked himself with picking up an overabundance of Liln from a flowershop outside the Market District. With the bomb being an airborne flu, they seemed to have fled to the point of becoming pests in places free of the sick. One might notice they're carefully contained in a glass jar as Dorian makes his way through crowds of citizens gathered to gossip... up until he runs into someone.
That someone might be you, or it might be another unfortunate soul who simply wasn't looking where they were going. Regardless, the jar of the creatures slips through his fingers, shattering into pieces once it hits the pavement. The Liln scatter in fear of being trapped again, consequently latching onto any hosts in the the vicinity of the broken glass. Needless to say, due to the suddenness spread of a brightly colored creature, Olympians around also scatter lest it be another stage of sickness. Those that stick around will find that the Liln harmlessly slipped onto their skin, forming a tattoo potentially revealing of their mood in their panic. They will also find that they're now in the company of a very tired man.]
Those were to be our test subjects for a cure, you know. [He says, lines of a bright red snake curling around his neck.] Best hope those don't make an M.
III. Wildcard
[Dorian will be around the Institute, Sanctuary, and the Red Light District at night looking to hear the information of others who are out capturing/gathering intelligence. If you've an idea for their interaction outside of the prompts, feel free to tag with it! Or hit me up at
waltzes in late with starbucks
It makes collecting information difficult, but he does have one sample to share. And he will share it -- eventually. When his legs stop feeling like jello, and his head clears itself of the heavy fog still trying to force its way in.
He has been in and out of the Institute only out of brief interest, with no desire to hover while others were making more energized efforts than he to find a cure. Stubborn as he may be, he also has enough awareness to understand that he would just be getting in the way in an attempt to assist.
But that means he recognizes the back of Dorian's head when he crosses over into the Red Light District, and after sniffing back some snot, he manages a sleepy little smirk (it appears more manic than he means for it to) and a quick call in a hoarse voice.]
I don't suppose you lot have discovered anything useful as of yet?
waltzes in even later with starbucks
I don't suppose you've done anything to relieve your symptoms on your own? Lied down for more than a short rest? Stopped straining your throat on such assumptions? A wild concept, I know.
hell yeah, late starbucks is best bucks
[He launches into a momentary coughing fit, which he forces down with a clearing of his throat that leaves his voice even more hoarse.]
-- fact.
[He pushes himself to a standing position, making a spectacle of fixing his trappings while he addresses Dorian.]
There are no functional remedies. My time is better served assisting in the search. The sooner something is discovered, the better off all of us will be.
[He then reaches inside of his jacket, but seems to be struggling in finding what he is looking for. To distract from it, he looks to Dorian again, waiting for a better answer to his initial question.]
So? Anything?
no subject
We're on the verge of some things, but the key ingredients for a cure very well may not be here. It doesn't make any sense that we don't have the means, unless the natives are just so stubborn that they've never collected samples from the other cities. Ridiculous for scholars.
And- what are you doing?
no subject
[Rude??? Wrathion allows approximately three seconds of this physical redirection before trying to duck Dorian's hand. He makes himself dizzy in the process and has to catch his headdress in his hands when the other man's arm inevitably knocks it off his head in the process.
When he stands straight again, he has horrible hat hair, and looks suitably annoyed.]
Do not patronize me, I am not a child. Just a moment--
[Eventually, he manages to produce a vial between his claws, purple gas swirling ominously inside. He forces down a cough that makes his chest jump, but manages to keep it down for the sake of not dropping the sample.]
If I cannot be permitted to assist directly, than at least do something with this, won't you?
no subject
That's up for debate. I think--
[Fortunately, his smugness turns to shock in a matter of seconds. Hands that might have tousled hair reach to take the vial instead, touch far more delicate than it had been dragging him around.]
You could have made yourself even sicker lingering about! If I'd known you were this reckless, I'd have you locked up assisting safely.
no subject
[Not that he was ever expecting thanks. He hadn't been doing any of this for accolades, if that had notbeen obvious enough -- but Dorian would hardly be the first to threaten to take him out of the wild and keep him from further extensive private investigation.]
I am a dragon. Don't be so fretful. It would take more than a magical flu to do any significant damage to me.
[On cue, he turns to cough into his sleeve, fighting to breathe between the fit. And, for the sake of having the last word:]
I am perfectly fine.
no subject
[He's annoyed, certainly, but there's still concern under all that talk. Once the vial is secured in one of his pouches, he places a hand on Wrathion's shoulder. He's less intent on moving him so much as just... being reassuring, in his own way.]
You aren't fine. I'd be much more at ease if you came to work with me and sampled some of the potions we're trying. Then I might thank you.
no subject
[He is, of course, just being contrary because Dorian is not actually wrong -- but like hell if he will admit it outright.
He waves one hand stubbornly while sighing out of his nose in frustration. In truth, he quite literally feels as if he is about to collapse, so when the other man offers alternative assistance, he pauses to consider.
Experimentation was still uncomfortable to think about--but Dorian was offering, and not forcing which made all the difference.]
On the condition that I will be free to come and go as I please, I suppose I can play that role for you.
no subject
[He lifts his hand to pat him on the back, but thankfully thinks against it. He doesn't want it to cause him to puke, and he especially doesn't want him to puke on him. So he just awkwardly retracts it and turns towards the direction of the Institute.]
Come, I'll even give you one of my chairs. It has cushions and everything.
no subject
[Its slightly dry, but in good taste at least — perhaps in reward from sparing him the pat on the back. He takes that time to place his headdress back on his head, rearranging some of his hair out of his eyes. The idea of sitting still alone makes him ill, so he allows himself to be lead.]
I do trust you have other willing parties besides myself.