(open + closed in tags)

[flashystyle]

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 meganerd for a closed prompt idea.]

Comments

[flashystyle]

Oh no, no. Could you imagine me in an outfit like that? I joined the fight voluntarily, journeying with an Inquisitor.

["I'm a bad man," he says.]

It just so happened it occurred shortly after I had to leave my homeland, and my fellow countrymen were a quarter of the chaos were trying to tarnish its name. I thought it the right thing to do; ever back home thought it best to sit back and watch the south burn. My father even made the journey himself to try and convince me to come back— all very dramatic stuff.

[vorrutyer]

[ Inquisitor gets a slight flicker from his face, because - that's a slightly loaded term. But he doesn't pursue it at the moment. Instead: ]

And did he convince you? It seems not.

[flashystyle]

[Little did he know that Inquisitor informed Dorian that Byerly some flattering swimwear.]

No. He assumed the things he'd done drove to it, rather than the fact I really liked setting worse people than I ablaze. Returning to my homeland was planned after it was all said and done, but it was to prove them all to be cowards.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, well done. I do like a spiteful fellow.

[ He flashes a grin at Dorian, then asks with a tone of unconcern: ]

The things he'd done?

[flashystyle]

Ah.

[Dorian still manages a smirk, if a bit faint.]

That isn't something we should get into, lest we ruin the mood.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly looks at him, the set of his mouth...sympathetic. Sympathetic but not pitying. ]

Will you tell me sometime?

[flashystyle]

[After all the little gestures By's made since his first admittance, there's little hesitation in the way Dorian responds.]

I think you're one of the only people I would tell, here. Another time.

[vorrutyer]

Mm.

[ By takes his hand, and presses it to his lips. Then he moves on, saying: ]

But heavens - the Inquisitor. What on earth was he inquisiting after?

[flashystyle]

Oh, you don't know? He's caught sight of you before. Elven fellow, elaborate markings on his face.

Everyone tasked him with gaining diplomatic support on crushing an army of cultists with an army of people already in another war, claim fortresses for the Inquisition, spread the good word that going insane is a bad idea... collect horses, fight demons, fight bears. Anora's country is much more of a disaster than she might admit, but don't tell her I said that.

[vorrutyer]

Oh - him? He's a grouchy fellow. A friend of yours, truly?

[ Hm. Byerly blinks, then shrugs. ]

In any case - I wouldn't even dream of passing along your judgment of her country. But good heavens - horses, demons and bears. Quite the menagerie.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian laughs, raising his hand to nudge Byerly's arm.]

That isn't even the beginning of it. You must have had it easy. Tell me, what's the worst thing you've done?

[vorrutyer]

[ Cheerfully: ]

Piotr Vorplinsky. Dreadful fellow.

[flashystyle]

Really? Are we talking physically, socially, or just all around?

[vorrutyer]

In every way. And yet there he was, in my bed. Ah, well. We all make mistakes, I suppose.

[flashystyle]

Still, I doubt it's hardly an excuse for whatever he's done. Do tell me if anyone like him comes around, will you?

[vorrutyer]

What - an unpleasant but sexually willing fellow? Are you on the lookout?

[flashystyle]

Not on the lookout for bringing them to bed, rest assured. I mean to set fire to their coattails. Someone has to be your impulse control.

[vorrutyer]

Oooh, are you protective or jealous? Both are charming possibilities.

[flashystyle]

If I had to be jealous of everyone who had your time, I don't think I'd be able to move forward in life.

Perhaps a little of both.

[vorrutyer]

[ By grins over at Dorian, genuinely pleased by his care. ]

Well. Given my profession here, that protectiveness might be a bit bad for my business. Perhaps just a careful word in my ear.

[flashystyle]

A seductive whisper, leaving them wanting while your business is better suited elsewhere.

[Dorian returns the grin with his own.]

Should I start giving coin for these little distractions?

[vorrutyer]

Most certainly not. You're not business. You are strictly my pleasure.

[flashystyle]

You'll make me feel special, Byerly. Dangerous thing.

[vorrutyer]

You are special.

[ He squeezes his hand very gently. They're about at his home, now; By tugs him through the door. Blessedly, none of the fair maidens he lives with are in the kitchen at the moment, so he doesn't need to waste his time with introductions or half-hearted apologies. He just pulls Dorian through and upstairs. ]

[flashystyle]

[It's fortunate for the fair maidens, because Dorian had no interest in apologizing for all the things that might have driven them mad. Stray garments discarded before they're through the door, no attempt at lowering his voice during his complaints of how ridiculously cramped the refugee housing is, nor in what followed.

It's a striking contrast from their last encounter. It isn't just the location change, he knows, but there's little need to boost By's ego by crediting him with the openness beyond "you are special". There was bound to be enough praising bodily, anyhow.]