nysalogs | (open + closed in tags)

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(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

meganerd for a closed prompt idea.]

Threaded | Flat

[Despite Dorian's best efforts, trying to find a be-all end-all cure for this attack is more like withering than blooming in a harsh environment. Potions don't pan out because he doesn't know enough, he gets too frustrated to think straight, not thinking straight creates even worse results, cycle repeats. It's a lot easier to drink than make the drink itself.

So when someone at the Institute calls for security to escort what little they've managed to produce, Dorian takes up the offer immediately. Bottles for singular symptoms like congestion, headaches, nausea are secured in small crates to be shipped out by foot, and it wasn't long after the both of them were assigned that Dorian was standing around outside awaiting a guard. A guard, he'll come to find, he so generously bought a drink despite being a man he probably shouldn't text.]

Well, you aren't as shiny of a knight I'd thought you'd be, but it'll do.

Edited 2017-10-06 00:56 (UTC)

[Dorian, who has taken the time to review all the symptoms of the illness, knows how a flu works by now. He knows that he doesn't have it, and he knows if Richard didn't inhale the air from the bombing, there is no way he could have it either. Is it possible that he could go into a state of denial if it were actually the case of someone sharing body fluids with his roommate? Yes. But really, what are the odds of that? None. The answer is none.

However, since the news broke, he's hardly been back from work. When he is home, he only talks to Tad briefly before promptly passing out. He purposely hasn't spoken to Richard at all about this in his haste to leave to avoid their daily arguments. Little did he know that would just lead to him showing up at his work to say something... something? He wasn't paying attention.]

... I'm sorry, what are you saying?

Edited 2017-10-06 06:23 (UTC)

[Was the first meeting Byverly a good one? Absolutely. A great one, even. He made quite the impression on Dorian for days to come, and if it weren't for all the business of a bomb going off, he may have set aside some of his pride to suggest something of the like happen again.

Alas, a bomb has gone off, and somehow the idea of being surrounded by potentially ill drunks isn't all that appealing for an evening out. Dorian is leaving the Institute when he gives into the temptation of messaging By, finding himself standing outside a cafe looking to his phone on whether or not they can meet. It's ridiculous. He should be going home, getting some rest, not nosing into business. And yet.]

I am outside the Market, if you're available for a chat.

Edited 2017-10-06 06:24 (UTC)

[It's difficult to keep track of everyone that goes through the Institute, now that people clambering to find something that affected people on so large a scale. Interactions have all blurred into one another, conversations with a person about a failure becoming a vicious cycle of proposals and dead ends. If Dorian keeps this up, he very well might go stir crazy before he comes up with something useful.

After a well-deserved trip to the break room, he's opted to try and distinguish workers from one another by trying to judge their goals without asking them. Their friend or family has gotten sick, or they're trying to lessen the circumstances for a fugitive. Or they're just taking the opportunity to make what they can, regardless of the crisis. One takes entertainment where they can get it.

He hasn't figured out Rosalind since he saw her minutes ago, though. So after disappearing back into the kitchen, he's approaching her with a cup of tea to match his own.] I thought you might need a brew that doesn't run the risk of poisoning you-- well, hopefully. If I used the right leaf.

So you're telling me that you have the ability to simply... charm a person. No potion, no enchantment, no... just like that!

[Dorian didn't really intend to run to Taako in his hunt for hunters, but once he has, he can't find it in himself to leave. The guard-- no offense to Magnus-- seem to be comprised of mostly sword and gun wielding hooligans that he doesn't truly know can use them. Magic users have more of his confidence because he easily put himself in their shoes if they had to explain their decisions.

But this? This is bullshit. It sounds like Taako has Gucci shoes while Dorian's been wandering in Goodwill hand-me-downs.]

You can't be serious.

[Due to the lack of patrons because of the scare, Venom decides to call it an early day/night. He mulls over some bits of information he's gathered as he suddenly bumps into a familiar face. Literally.

A glass jar shatters, releasing these odd, colorful creatures. The former assassin can barely react when one of them decides to latch onto his left forearm. It's painless, but the creature's taken the form of a bright bird. For a few moments, he's at a loss for words, wondering how and why this happened.

And the way Dorian addresses him... it sounds tired, enough for Venom to cut him some slack for this incident.]

What... ARE they, if I may ask? And are they permanent?

Make people...talk?

[ Cass is confused by this sudden outburst, to put it lightly, but she takes what the man says seriously. There are creatures or plants or both beyond the city on this planet, and some of them make people talk to one another. ]

Why? [ How is that evolutionarily useful? While Dorian explains or ponders that question, Cass crosses the room and plucks the thing out of his hand that makes her nose wrinkle ]. Not for drinking.

[ Have your water, Dorian. ]

[ Eggsy ducks and weaves through the crowd. His boss has only just let him off shift, and Eggsy's rather keen to get home to check on his friends — and follow up on today's leads. For the most part, he navigates without error, light on his feet and all. However, he rounds the bend too quickly and crashes into poor Dorian. On instinct, Eggsy grasps the man's arm (fingers firm but not tight) to ensure they both remain steady, going after the jar second and, subsequently, too late to rescue it. As the Olympians scatter, he regards Dorian with wide eyes and a slack jaw. ]

Shit. [ The collision has knocked his glasses askew on his face. Otherwise, his pressed suit and coiffed hair remain in top notch condition. At least nothing in the jar seemed to splash and stain. Doesn't make up for the shattered glass and startled crowd, of course. ] Sorry. Shit.

[ His sharpened reflexes mean he notices the flutter of a Liln on his arm, and he releases Dorian to catch it right before it latches onto him, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. Naturally, the creature then melts onto his hand, spreading colour across his palm to form a golden K. His eyes flicker to the red snake on Dorian's neck and back to his face. A crease forms between his brows. Why would it make an M — oh, for fuck's sake. ]

What the actual fuck is this, bruv?

[Hawke manages to stumble around Dorian and keep standing. The Lilin swarm around her and she cheerfully reaches out to let one land on her arm like it's a sort of butterfly.] M? For mage? Magister? Honestly, those might be more subtle. The snake practically screams "I'm Tevinter and very audacious, thank you very much".

[The creature on her arm forms a dragon that slowly fades into the abstract image of a dragon that is Kirkwall's sigil.]

[Against his (and other's) better judgement, Wrathion is still out and about in the wild in spite of his symptoms. Few people have context, but someone would have to strap him to a bed to keep him still regardless of the risk he might pose others. Thankfully, it also means he's been given a wide berth for most of the day.

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?

[ Morrigan has never disliked Pavus, but if anyone had told her that she would, feeling a bit at a loss, seek him at the Institute... well, she would have doubted it.

There are those who argue that solitude is a but a heartbeat from loneliness and there are times in the past when she has felt the line between the two blur a bit, but she has never had a problem working on her own and there is no one from Thedas she cannot do without. Of those familiar faces she knows are here, however, Dorian somehow seems the most sensible.

During his little rant, she leans against the door frame with a small leather-bound journal in one hand. As she surveys the room, a hint of a smile tugs at a corner of her mouth. ]

Letting those affected sleep through it would be a favor to us all.

Threaded | Flat

🦆 Magnus

☠️ Richard

😘 Byverly