(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]

[ By grins unrepentantly and presses the bottle into his hand. ]

And there's more left. Go on.

[flashystyle]

[He tries to look affronted, but he just winds up raising a hand in defeat. He sits up to avoid an awkward angle, taking a long, sizable gulp from it before as he lowers it.]

Are you satisfied, my dear Byerly?

[vorrutyer]

Oh, I'm a man who's never fully satisfied. But that's a good start.

[ He lifts a wicked, unrepentant brow, then says: ]

Now. I'm owed a story.

[ "Owed" is a little bit of a stretch - they certainly never came to that agreement - but hopefully Dorian won't notice. ]

[flashystyle]

[As much as Dorian would normally argue the stretch, he wasn't lying when he said he'd drank too much to. He overlooks it, moving so he can lean shoulder to shoulder.]

You'll allow me a moment to think of a good one, yes? I hardly know where to start. Tales of travelling through time, entering the world in which we dream, a palace ball where the empress was nearly assassinated without us... Then there's always the dragon encounters. Awful creatures.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, go for dreams.

[flashystyle]

Well, I hope I won't speak too quickly for you.

[He takes another long sip before he pushes the bottle back into By's hands, leaning his head on his shoulder.]

Our world is comprised of the physical realm and the spiritual realm, which is where we dream and draw upon our magic. When mages reach a certain point in their training, they take a test by consciously entering that realm and overcoming temptation or aggression of demons at the risk of possession. For example, when I first entered, I encountered a desire demon who fed me grapes and fine wines... It had to end in rejection, of course. It was a pity...

[And he just... keeps talking. He talks with his hands, emphasizing the scale of the world and the creatures born of desire, pride, and fear that reside in it. It goes from the example of his youth to what was the most current state of things: demons broke through tears between realms, and his party had accidentally fallen through to the other side. His tone is far from grave, though- it's excited, like being able to tell someone something so grim is a wonder.]

We aren't supposed to enter it physically, you see. Hundreds upon hundreds of years and no one had in some time. So we traversed, encountered gravestones labelled with our worst fears, spirits manifesting around us to take their shape. And the thing keeping us there had the audacity to simply call itself the Nightmare. No creativity whatsoever.

[vorrutyer]

How droll.

[ By has sat and listened to the whole story, adding encouraging noises or small questions as necessary. And remembering. He lifts the bottle occasionally to his lips, but doesn't drink - saves the wine for Dorian, rather, to lubricate his speech. ]

I have to ask - what form did your spirit take?

[flashystyle]

[It works, for his speech is exuberant, leaving less room for any hesitations as the time passed. Half a bottle ago he wouldn't have answered, but it's only with a bitter laugh that he does now.]

Would you believe me if I said it was simply an overwhelming fear of heights? No? Well, alright. They took the figures of people I'd remembered, but not quite them. They were transparent, calling out, reaching, pulling when they got too close. They whispered all that I was, all I could be if I'd just let go. A manifestation of temptation, I suppose. The others had it easier- theirs were simply giant spiders.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, heavens, are you afraid of heights? I am too.

[ By taps the back of Dorian's hand affectionately. His voice remains light. ]

Temptation, though. Ooh. What were you tempted towards? Being made even handsomer?

[flashystyle]

More than I already am? Impossible. I don't know if you know this, but I'm probably the most handsome in the world.

[He hums, moving the hand to idly trace shapes over By's leg.]

Giving up. Becoming everything they needed me to be, making compromise for who I am because it was easier. Being alone, it's... it's a dreadful thing.

[vorrutyer]

Everything they needed?

[flashystyle]

My family, my mentor... everyone at home expected I be the perfect hero, and everyone elsewhere wouldn't believe I wasn't a villain. My father spat when I left, strangers spat when I arrived. I hated it. I just didn't want to take the easy way out- matter of pride.

[He takes the bottle to take another long sip.]

Afraid of heights, are you? I can't imagine you spent too much time off the ground.

[vorrutyer]

[ Easily: ]

Not since I got too big for my charming cousin Richars to dangle me out the window, no. But I must ask - who could you have become that would have satisfied them?

[flashystyle]

A magister, a slave owner, a practitioner of the blood magic my father intended to use on me... I knew men who openly were all of them, still revered to the end. The popular one when I left was spy, which I can let by on the account I'm so very charming. It's too bad I'm bad at lying.

[vorrutyer]

You do seem to be quite an honest man. That much is true. So your deepest fear is being compromised, eh? Not being true to yourself.

[flashystyle]

Yes, yes, all... that. Don't tell anyone, will you? [He lowers the bottle again, pressing a finger to his own lips.] I'm ruining all my mystery.

[vorrutyer]

[ He puts his chin in his hand. ]

It's charming.

[flashystyle]

You're charming.

[He leans to gently tap him on the nose.]

I can do better than that. You're... captivating? Yes, that's a better word.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a grin - ]

Ooh, I like that. So does that make you my captive?

[flashystyle]

Oh, naturally. You have been keeping me here...

[vorrutyer]

Against your will? How wicked I am.

[flashystyle]

But so very attractive. Quite the predicament you've put me in. Very unfair.

[vorrutyer]

Well, if it weren't unfair, I'd hardly be truly wicked, eh? You must despise me for my cruelty.

[flashystyle]

Oh, I positively loathe you. I don't know how I can go on in the company of such a bad man.

[vorrutyer]

Hm. You clearly need to be rescued. A virtuous knight in pearly armor.