(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]

Vishanta kaffas, you look awful in it! You are awful.

[He laughs, shoving Byerly's free arm as he sits back.]

I'll see that something of yours burns if you don't wear something normal for once. Then what will you do?

[vorrutyer]

[ He huffs out a mild sigh, then decides: ]

Well - I suppose then I'll strut around naked, and receive admiration and thanks from all who see me.

[flashystyle]

[He shakes his head, leaning back on his hands.]

I think not. I'll be receiving thanks for sparing everyone's eyesight. They'll tell you how charming and well-dressed I am, and that you should follow my example.

[vorrutyer]

Really? You think that if I go out, my enormous cock waggling around like an elephant's trunk, perfect ass bouncing in the morning sunlight, people will be commenting on how well-dressed you are?

[flashystyle]

Elephant's trunk? Really? I'll give you your ass, but hardly that. It isn't anything they haven't seen before, so of course they'd rather be looking at me.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, so would you be naked, too, then?

[flashystyle]

My clothes are still in tact in this situation, you scoundrel. If I were, though... I wonder how much more business I would get.

[vorrutyer]

You'd certainly get more attention. Certainly, your clothes now are - hm - interesting, and no doubt attract attention. But your bare chest and thighs...?

[flashystyle]

You'll make me blush, Byerly. My chest and thighs, your ass and... mmm... sizable cock? I'm not so certain the world could handle all of it at once.

[vorrutyer]

No? Hm. Then perhaps you ought to let my suits be. Just so the world stays safe.

[flashystyle]

You-- Ugh, very well.

[He places the back of his hand to his forehead, lying back onto the sheets in a dramatically sprawled out pose.] I'll leave your wardrobe in tact for the sake of this world's security... No one will know my sacrifices. Such a selfless, handsome hero, wasted.

[vorrutyer]

The bards shall sing of your goodness, dear fellow.

[ By taps his fingers on Dorian's taut stomach. Yes, that really is some nice musculature... ]

But you know that I am simply wearing the uniform of my class of people. Town clowns like myself as supposed to dress like this. Tell me, do your peers dress like you do...?

[flashystyle]

[He bites back a laugh, moving to swat his fingers away and make a grab for the wine.]

The little hints of skin here and there under layers upon layers? Yes. It plays into the idea that everyone is appealing, but too hard to get. You become less revealing and... spikier, the important you are. Going from a rose with thorns to only thorns.

If the "town clowns" dress like that, I would hope your higher classes take it down a notch. Don't tell me it's up.

[vorrutyer]

The town clowns are the higher classes. There are few high Vor more elevated than my fine self, dearest Dorian.

[ By settles back again, cross-legged. ]

So if I see you covering up completely, will that mean you're in an uncommonly elevated mood?

[flashystyle]

[He furrows his brows at that, but takes the moment to drink the bottle down to half full before he responds. He hiccups.]

If you see me covering up completely, I must have gone mad, or it's freezing. I never wanted a higher status if it meant becoming less desirable. Something you didn't seem to keep in mind.

[vorrutyer]

[ Mildly: ]

What a cruel man you are. My balls must be covered with lacerations from that dagger you keep in your mouth. So you're not an ambitious man, hm?

[flashystyle]

I'm lucky you're a masochist, then.

I wouldn't say that I'm not ambitious, just... fickle, I suppose. I won't take on responsibility if I can't use it. Judging by my impulse control with you, I probably shouldn't anyway.

[vorrutyer]

[ With an innocent blink - ] I hope you don't have any regrets over your impulsiveness.

[ Then he leans forward to grab at the bottle, taking a deep glug from it. He's glad Dorian wasn't finicky about drinking from glasses. It feels wrong to do so. On Barrayar, the tradition has always been to share bottles; after all, a fellow could get poisoned from a glass, but not from one bottle. It's only recently that Galactic influence has moved them towards more elegant service. ]

So - what's that mean, you have to be able to use it? It has to further your personal causes?

[flashystyle]

[Dorian glances up at the loss of the bottle, but he can't bring himself to mind. He's more relaxed here than he's been in some time. He sits up enough to move the plate of bread and cheeses so he can lay back with his head resting back on one of Byerly's legs.]

Well, yes. I have more causes than just lying about kissing pretty men and avoiding getting murdered, you know. [All this gives him the opportunity to talk with his hands, so he makes gestures indicating ranks as he goes on.] In my homeland, there are strict social classes. There are the common folk, then there are altuses, which is where I stand because of my bloodline. The step above that is the political position of magister, which is what my father is. If I were to take his place, I'd be expectant to dull the sharp tongue of mine lest I want a dagger in my back. And I don't do well muzzled.

[vorrutyer]

Ah. Hm.

[ Familiar sort of structure, that. By toys with Dorian's hair as the fellow talks, mussing and then smoothing down the nicely long strands at his crown. ]

So you're not entitled to a magistership just by dint of your birth? You'll not automatically take over when he dies?

[flashystyle]

[His smile falters, but it isn't gone entirely thanks to his ministrations.]

Ah, no. If he still kept my as his heir, I'd have no choice but to assume his seat on the Magisterium. But he never told me about if that changed, so I ignore it. So, tell me, what are the responsibilities of a town clown?

[vorrutyer]

The duties of a town clown? To make all right-thinking Vor blush, naturally. To serve as a cautionary tale to the youth. Be good, or you'll end up like these stinking fools.

[ His voice is light and wry. ]

You're welcome to join me, if you'd like. Sounds like you have the proper birth-status for it. We could terrorize Nysan society together.

[flashystyle]

A tempting proposal, my dear Byerly. If your clothes are the uniform, though, I'll have to decline.

[He chuckles, reaching to pull the hand from his hair so he can kiss the back of it.]

No, I'll join you in this. Black sheep do have all the fun.

[vorrutyer]

Ah, so they do. Do you have money, though? A proper town clown has at least some, to support those of us who are fantastically disinherited and penniless.

[flashystyle]

Do you think I went and turned plebeian? I do work. I have a good amount left over when I haven't spent them on drinks.