(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

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly is quiet a moment, but - after Dorian's confession, there's no way he'll keep mum about himself. Even trade, that. Positively Jacksonian in the equity of the deal. ]

I was made the object of a truly vile slander, and my father believed it. Believed it wholeheartedly. Better to live penniless than with that dishonor. [ He hesitates a moment, then shakes his head. ] It's not quite on the level of what yours attempted. I'd have wanted to kill him if I saw him again. [ Dorian's father, that is; not Byerly's own. ]

[flashystyle]

[Dorian stills his fingers, expression shifting from concern to something angrier. It isn't directed towards Byerly—it couldn't possibly be at Byerly—but whatever chance of holding his tongue was gone.]

It's one thing to oppose what is true about your son, but to make no effort to know what is not? He isn't worthy to call you his own. You are a good man, Byerly. If anyone who's known you even longer than I isn't willing to recognize you as such, they must have the simple mind of someone clubbed over their own fucking cudgels. Ridiculous.

[vorrutyer]

[ Not even asking what the slander is. Not even expressing the least doubt in him. By knows he doesn't deserve that faith and trust and belief - after all, isn't he asking the questions he asks to know about Dorian? Isn't he trying to ferret out Dorian's secrets with purpose? And so that trust should be repugnant to him. He knows he ought to think less of Dorian for trusting him so automatically. That would be the ImpSec thing to do - coolly note down the gullibility of the target even while smiling genuinely.

Yet Byerly, for all that he is the only ImpSec agent left on any world, now, apparently isn't ImpSec enough. Because that ferocious defense raises from him a little shudder of pained gratitude, an agonizing gladness. There isn't even a moment of glancing at him dubiously, wondering - what did you do, really? Not even a split second of wariness. Just trust. Thank you. And damn you. Don't you know how mixed up that sympathy makes me feel? How am I supposed to treat you dispassionately when you're like this...

He summons up some dryness to quip: ]

Well, it was very logical. I'd been caught kissing boys at school, you see. If you kiss boys, you're enough of a pervert to do anything. Everyone knows that.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian liked to think he'd braced himself enough for whatever it was that made Byerly seem to terrible in the eyes of his own blood. He thought that it might be something calculated to ruin his relationship with his father, thought-out, devastating. He was prepared for something complex.

He wasn't prepared for it to be something so simple, and so very familiar. There's a fire in his eyes as he lies there staring at Byerly, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn a lighter shade. He's furious- he doesn't remember being so furious for someone besides himself. Not for something like this.]

Because kissing boys is such a vile thing, so unforgivably treacherous and shameful that is warrants casting aside a life that he put into the world. Everyone knows that! Everyone fucking-- fucking knows that, how could anyone think that your father is selfish and stupid and unworthy of his son? I must mad to think that it's a wonderful thing to kiss you, that I'd like to again and again, that your company is a goddamn blessing.

Your father can choke. Anyone who brought it forward as a perverted thing that only leads to more perverted things can choke on the shit they blather. All the advancements of your world, and they think like slack-jawed yokels.

[vorrutyer]

[ The anger is so strange. So altogether strange. He hasn't told this story to many people - a dozen or so, right after when he was disinherited, and fewer and fewer as the years go by - and not many of them have taken his father's side. True. But no one has ever reacted with this rawness, this fury. No one has cursed dear old Leon Vorrutyer, no one has spat with rage over him...Just vague sympathy, a disgruntlement over how quick to judge he was. Or frustration with Byerly for being so quick to make bad choices. Fury, though, and a passionate declamation of how wonderful Byerly is -

He finds himself growing oddly...flustered. Now, By is smooth, cool, suave, quick-witted, so truly, being flustered is out of the ordinary for him. But here he is, a hint of a flush coming into his face, rather at a loss for words. Awkwardly: ]

Now, now, dear fellow, that's...Don't get so worked up. I certainly wasn't some perfect angel aside from my sexuality. I made trouble. Quite a lot of it. [ And - ] I'm not a blessing. [ Anyway. ]

[flashystyle]

[Dorian could go on until he's out of breath and exhausted every insult from his vocabulary. He would have, too, if he hadn't gotten so caught up in Byerly's expression. He simply watches him for the moment, lips parted with no words to utter. He forgot his protest in favor of committing how nice that hint of red looks on him to memory, so he has no choice but to yield. He unclenches his fists, leaning forward so he can run his fingers through By's hair.]

Perhaps not an angel, but not a devil either. So long as you weren't malicious in what you did, I doubt it was anything unforgivable. Besides, some people like trouble.

[vorrutyer]

[ He seizes onto that last part. Flirting is safer than this...sincerity. Much safer. Don't be a fool, Byerly. You're here to manipulate his emotions, remember? To get this man, who is clever and fierce and rather dangerous, on your side. To cement him to your own cause. He tells himself that the vague fluttering feeling in his stomach is simply an illusion - something he's forcing himself to feel, so that he'll more convincingly play the romantic lead upon this stage. Nothing more than that. Right. He's absolutely in control. Absolutely...

He tries to tilt his head at a jaunty angle, looks at Dorian from under his eyelashes. The gesture is just a little bit unnatural. ]

And are you one of them, dear Dorian?

[flashystyle]

[It'd be so easy to return the look with one of his own, devolve into talk of attractiveness and superficial qualities. But the vulnerability of all this is so rare, accompanied by the same fluttering feeling Byerly convinces himself is an illusion. Dorian knows it's quite real on his end, but it's something he feels he won't be allowed to experience again. He'll just have to hold onto it for a few more seconds before he allows it to slip away, lest he want to be caught up in its grip. That's just how things have to go - how they've always been.]

I like you. [He smooths his hair back with a tentative smile, willing himself to hold his gaze. It's sincere, fond.] So if you make trouble, I think I could bear it.

[And then he turns his head, withdrawing his hand so he can sit up.] Try not to do so soon, though. I'm rather exhausted.

[vorrutyer]

Ah, my strategy for keeping you out of trouble. Exhaustion.

[ His smile isn't unconvincing. He keeps it as light as he can, as ironic and wry. One would hardly know that on the inside, he's still rather reeling.

He presses a hand to Dorian's chest to still him. ]

What would you like? Wine? Coffee? Something to eat?

[flashystyle]

[He furrows his brows, looking between By and the door with uncertainty.]

I'd assumed this was the point I'd need to be getting on, lest I overstay... But I won't deny I'm rather starved, and I can't say no to wine.

[vorrutyer]

I'll get it for you.

[ He rises from bed, bending over to fish his trousers out of the mess of clothing on the floor. ]

Lay back. Relax. You're my guest, no?

[flashystyle]

[Dorian blinks, appreciating the view before he concedes and lies back.]

Such a gracious host for such a wicked man. I appreciate it.

[vorrutyer]

Well, I need to entice you to come back.

[ By winks just briefly before disappearing out the door, leaving Dorian to his own devices for about five minutes. He returns with wine (just a bottle, no glasses), cheese, and a healthy chunk of bread. ]

[flashystyle]

[Dorian has since gotten up, realized he wasn't truly going to make an effort to collect his over-complicated outfit, and gotten back into bed wearing By's shirt rather than his own. It isn't the best fit, and certainly not the most fashionable, but he's comfortable. And delighted by the choice of food, judging by his smirk.]

For a man of refined tastes with all that, I can't help but wonder why your closet is in such a... tragic state.

[vorrutyer]

A tragic state, dear fellow?

[ By cocks his eyebrow at Dorian. He settles cross-legged into bed, setting out his ill-gotten goods for Dorian's delectation. ]

Do touch the cloth of the shirt you just slipped into. Surely you can feel how fine it is, and how well-made.

[flashystyle]

Being fine doesn't mean it's always flattering, By.

[He sits up, taking up the bottle like he needs it to carry on this conversation.]

I think I'll have to drink this every time I encounter you in that awful suit over this. There's a reason I've gotten you out of your clothes twice now.

[vorrutyer]

[ He leans his back against the bedpost at the foot of the bed. ]

I caught your eye, didn't I?

[flashystyle]

[Dorian rolls his eyes, but he couldn't resist smiling at that if he tried.]

That is... beside the point. You just happened to be handsome behind that atrocity.

[vorrutyer]

It's quite thoroughly the point.

[ He grasps at a piece of cheese and lifts it to his lips to nibble daintily upon it. ]

The clothes must draw attention to the man. If the man draws attention to the clothes, everything is all out of balance.

[flashystyle]

That isn't any excuse for such an unsightly color, and I won't have it.

[He sets down the bottle, waving a piece of bread at Byerly scoldingly before he takes a bite.]

You'd draw just as much attention if you wore more earthy colors. Would you at least consider it to spare my eyesight, or will I have to take more drastic measures?

[vorrutyer]

[ By lifts both eyebrows at Dorian, now. ]

This is rich coming from the fellow with cocks on his knees.

[flashystyle]

[He chokes on the bread.]

I'm-- I'm sorry?! I almost thought you said I have cocks on my boots.

[vorrutyer]

[ Hah. ]

Not meaning rooster, of course. Just in case there was ambiguity. Cocks meaning dicks.

[flashystyle]

I'm quite familiar with what we're referring to, but thank you for the clarification. I'd be lost without it.

They are very clearly serpents. I can't help that your mind is constantly on a cock clock.

[vorrutyer]

Ah hah. Are they? I believe I have some insight, now, into why you feel a connection to the serpent that forms your sigil.