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[mayfairmonster]

"If you don’t know who this is, hang up now. If you do [A long-suffering sigh] why not leave a message?"


(text, video, voice & action accessible)

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forward dated about a week-ish.

[mislay]

[ larus is in the down.

of course he is. it's easier to navigate when the sun's up over the city, and his room in the provided housing has gotten strangely comfortable. but so has his on-going relationship (and travels) with a certain dominant. larus' mind is on dorian more often than it should be, he's come to realize. more often than almost anything else aside from the fact he's labeled a submissive and therefore can't get around as easily as he wants unless he's with a dom. it's been good, barring that discussion they'd had after the first time they slept together. he still checks in with him, talks to him and sends interesting bits of information his way if he hears anything. and this sort of cycle has gone on for about a week before he decides he's just going to head over to dorian's place as soon as it's dark and stay there.

he pulls out his phone to send him a message, noticing a shadow out of the corner of his eye as he does. there's no one close by – he can hear the individual heartbeats of those wandering around near him – so he isn't too concerned. a glance down, and he begins to type. ]

if you have time

[ the message goes unsent as pain erupts through his back and part of his chest. like he'd been stabbed, like —

larus glances down and watches blood slowly seep through the front of his shirt, an odd sensation traveling down the length of the arm holding his phone as he forces his fingers around it and shoves it into his coat pocket. he senses it then, a raucous rush of heartbeats and the nervous-excited breathing of several people. he begins to count and loses the number at seven because someone steps in close to take a swing at him. a duck and a miss, and then, another is grabbing him from behind, a fist digging into the spot where he'd been... what, stabbed? run through? he loses focus and throws one of his attackers overhead, rips a different person's throat out with his teeth and ends up choking on his own blood when he gets slammed in the face by something heavy because of it.

fingers tear at his hair, the pressure of another injury somewhere lower – abdomen? thigh? – nearly causing his legs to buckle. it's overwhelming, and at some point, larus is certain he loses consciousness from the overload. his body tries to heal but can't very well, not with the way he's been handling his appetite—which is not at all. the sour smell of blood and the general aversion of the down wake him, mid-drag through some darker area he has no idea if he's familiar with or not.

there's laughter, cursing. a heel stomping into his gut where he knows, without a doubt, he'd been gouged open. larus tries to speak and only receives a crack across the head from something heavier than a hand. his vision blurs, and he remembers nothing else.

consciousness finds him again eventually, an indeterminate amount of time later. he's alone too, hurting and covered in his own blood. some of it isn't his though, and self-preservation says to suck it off his fingertips, to try to kickstart any sort of regeneration so he can function. but he can't bring himself to do it, trembling as he drags himself forward and squints through the haze of shadows. there are vague shapes and a few bodies trickling in and out of something. he's near the elevators to the up? larus bites into his tongue in an attempt to keep himself focused. if no one had paid any attention to him before and still wasn't, he'd be left to rot where he lay.

who does he call? who can he...

it's almost too much to even hit the buttons on his phone, desperately wanting to close his eyes. ]

Dorian – [ is it a message? did he actually answer? larus feels delirious, his voice much too thick to be normal. ] Please. The elevators —

[ but his body wins out before he can explain further, unaware of anything that might be said as he slumps over. ]

perma-action

[mayfairmonster]

[Dorian is doing something mundane like preparing a cup of tea when his phone suddenly chirps at him from atop the island in the center of his kitchen. He puts down the teacup in his hands and reaches for it, casually accepting Larus' call. It's become normal for them to exchange calls and little messages every so often, so when Dorian picks up he's expecting a new tidbit of information, or something interesting the vampire saw during his travels throughout the Down.

Dorian's brow twitches into a confused knot as soon as the other man's voice filters through. A few seconds spent listening are enough for him to tell that something's strange. Larus sounds different-- wrong.]

Larus? [No answer.] Hello? [Anything he might have been doing before is set aside, as a frown tugs hard at Dorian's features, darkening them.]

Hello? [The only response on the other side is the slightly far off sound of conversations and the bustling of the underground city that is the Down.

Dorian has no idea what's going on, but this is suspicious and he doesn't trust anything about this city. Even if Larus doesn't answer him again, 'elevators' can only mean one thing. He waits a moment longer for a reply, before turning off his phone and pushing it into a pocket. If the vampire is asking for his help, he's going to get it, regardless of the stakes and even without all of the necessary information being offered upfront.

Without even thinking, the immortal starts to leave-- and then stops. He pulls open a drawer as an afterthought and reaches for whatever looks like it could serve as a defensive weapon in a pinch: a bread knife, freshly-sharpened and with serrated teeth crawling down along the edge of it. It's ridiculous, but he still doesn't know the dangers of the Down well, and a pathetic weapon is better than nothing. Dorian pushes it up the sleeve of his sweater as he shoves his way out the front door of his suite.

Thankfully, his travel to the Down is unimpeded. It's figuring out what to do once he's reached the ground floor of the elevators that's harder. A woman nearby provides the needed inspiration as she reaches for her phone to answer a call. Without thinking on it further, Dorian grabs for his own in turn and dials up Larus' number.

The familiar chirping of a LIER device sounds, strangely, from the depths of a nearby alleyway. Dorian follows the sound to the crumpled and bloody heap of a man curled up in the middle of it. His stomach clenches at the sight and he's immediately nauseated, as he hurries over to drop to Larus' side.]

Larus! [There's no comfortable way of turning someone as beaten and bloody as the vampire is over, so Dorian does it quickly, tugging the man up and into his arms as he searches Larus' face for signs of consciousness.] Christ, you're bleeding all over-- [His heart begins to knock harder in his chest as he searches the other man's body, trying to decide what to do. He's such a mess that it isn't clear whether all of the blood on him is actually his. Dorian grips at the other man's jaw, his own clenching hard.] If you don't say anything, I'm not going to have any choice but to slap you.

forward dated to 5/9-ish ( text )

[mislay]

[ He thinks it's a mistake to even consider messaging him, but Dorian is the only one he really trusts in this stupid city. More than that, Larus feels like he's spiraling a little after what's happened. His head isn't on completely straight. ]

i can't come back tonight, but i really want to see you.

audio .... with the right font this time

[mayfairmonster]

[Larus isn't the only one whose head hasn't been on entirely straight the past some-odd days. But in Dorian's case there hasn't been much anguish, mostly distraction. A tinge of pent-up frustration. Obsessiveness. Someone else wouldn't earn him answering the phone right now while he's marinating in his own preoccupation, but when he notices the name, it occurs to him in a distant sort of way that he cares about this person.

He taps to put his phone on speaker, and then sets it aside to give himself his hands for smoking as he continues listening letting the music filtering through the stereo in the background continue to hold some portion of his attention.]

Find me later when whatever you're doing is through, then. [Because he's probably getting into trouble, right? That seems to be the trend, anyway. Right now, Dorian's sure it'll pass.] I'm hardly going anywhere.

text;

[aspirers]

[In lieu of absolutely nothing and on a random Tuesday evening:]

What is edging?

[mayfairmonster]

[Well hello, Eloise.

This is an entertaining text for Dorian to receive out of nowhere, and the sender attached to it immediately makes him interested in who she's met, or what she's managed to get into since the last time we spoke. Something fun, by the sounds of it. Although it's as likely in her case, he assumes, that she's stumbled upon it in Duplicity's overwhelming amount of erotic literature that seems to be everywhere and anywhere.

On that same note, given where they are he doesn't have to ask what the context for the question is.]

Edging is a milder, and pleasurable form of sexual torture. Depending on your partner's sex or genitals, you stimulate them right to the edge of orgasm as many times pleases you both, only for the final, resulting climax to be more overpowering.

For women it's usually done through clitoral and nipple stimulation, and for men, either by touching the penis, prostate, or both.

[mislay]

[ It's nearing on four in the morning when Larus stumbles into the suite.

As quiet as he could be, that isn't exactly the case now as he fumbles with slipping out of his jacket and pulling off his shoes. He manages it after two attempts, catching himself on the edge of the sofa surprisingly gently, and he glances around the main room for a moment – when in reality, it's at least several minutes – until his gaze settles on the hallway. There's plenty to be distracted by—the decor, the pointless little things Dorian's keen on collecting. He even stops to admire a few of them before making his way towards the singular and most important thing on his mind: the man of the hour.

Dorian. As equally wonderful as he could be overbearing at times. So warm and safe.

His. Maybe. In some ways.

There are too many conflicting emotions in the span of the seconds it takes him to ease the door open and wander inside.

Larus only focuses on the positives for that reason anyhow, far more hungry for physical affection than he can ever remember. It's intense, bleeding over and making everything he does clumsy and slow. The darkness doesn't hinder him much at least; if he hadn't been able to see, he would have just followed the sound of his heartbeat right to the bed. His knee hits the mattress, and he crawls.

—nearly misplaces his hand and faceplants against Dorian's shoulder.

But he catches himself and completely ignores slipping under the blankets in favor of plastering his entire body to Dorian's form as he sleeps on his back. It's a good position to cling to him, fingers already in his dark hair and nose nudging at his cheek before his lips follow. In the back of his mind, as he nuzzles him, Larus really hopes that he doesn't reek too much like the blood he's had and glad there just isn't any on his clothes this time. ]

[mayfairmonster]

[Dorian's a difficult man to wake under all circumstances, even the ones where he's being accosted by a homicidal Father Christmas in his own bed, but there's no way something as conspicuous as a whole man wrapping around him isn't going to do the job. He stirs at the feeling of hands in his hair, and then utters a sleep-drunk murmur at the pressing of soft lips against his cheek.

He's confused, and pressed down beneath the blankets. What he's able to do in this position is blearily blink his eyes open. Consciousness is coming back at a confusing, creaking pace, but even before he opens his eyes he can place the hands on him and the soft hair touching his face. Larus.]

Larus?

[This is nice, his sleep-heavy body knows that before he can really wrap his mind around it, but it's not like Larus.]

What--

Now in the right GD place!! voice; un: frost forward dated 7/10

[winstre]

Would you believe it was someone doing me a favor?

[He's referencing the unanswered question to the post of his immolation, although that might not be immediately clear as out of the blue as the message seems to be.]

voice; @Gray

[mayfairmonster]

[Dorian meant to send a message to check in on one formerly crispy vampire, but certain events and another (much more) formerly crispy vampire have been all-encompassing distractions over the past two weeks.]

Grayson? Where on Earth have you been? I mean-- I know where you've been [dead] but are you just getting back now?

...What do you mean 'a favor'?

voice; un: frost

[winstre]

I'm starting to think this whole honesty thing is just another word for bullshit. How do you stand people? Do you really?

voice → video; @Gray

[mayfairmonster]

Stand them in what way? You'll have to give me more than that if you're interested in a real answer.

[Dorian flicks on his video reflexively because this already feels like a conversation suited for being face to face. He's curled up on a windowsill of his and Toby's suite, the window beside him pushed open, clove cigarette in hand and smoke curling around his fingers and face.]

Did something happen?

@Adrian | Mistlefoes: red; gold as it goes on?

[mayfairmonster]

[November has been a difficult enough month that by the time Adrian's agreed to an offer of a lighthearted (and likely more) losing of the self in the pleasure of Art, he's ready. He's had his share of arguments and violence lately and it's more than time to shelve it all temporarily with pleasant company.

To his limited credit, he's not unprepared by the time the other man arrives. He's done a once-over of his closet and pulled out pieces that he thinks should compliment the man's flawless form and, most importantly, his ethereal-looking blond hair and golden eyes. It's nothing he's worn before, but things stored away like shiny objects in a magpie's nest. Adrian's impressed him continually with his appreciation for beauty and sensual experience, and he wants them to create something worthy of the man's aesthetic intelligence and pretty face.

When Dorian pulls the door open for Adrian and greets him, he bypasses a kiss upon the cheek to press a light one to the other man's lips instead. He holds it for a moment, warm and inviting, before parting with a knowing smile. It's friendly, but something to set the tone of his intentions, too.]

Come on in. [He lays a touch upon the other man's arm to bring him with him.] I've been waiting with bated breath.

[Romantic hyperbole is fine when Adrian really is breathtaking, right??]

more than happy for both red and gold~

[honourthymother]

[ Hasn't it just? Adrian had been working most of November trying to find a contract for himself and Belmont after Sypha vanished, it had been stressful and time-consuming. So he was more than happy to let his hair down and overindulge in a little artful pleasure with a man he knew could deliver.

Honestly, not only does Adrian have high standards but also high hopes that Dorian will indeed be able to do exactly what he claimed. Dress him up all pretty and then take his time in stripping him out of said attire. The thought has him nervous with anticipation.

A sweet smile was presented as the door is opened for him, Adrian parts his lips about to offer a greeting when he's pleasingly surprised with a kiss right on the mouth. Golden eyes grew wide for a moment before falling closed as he let himself enjoy the kiss for as long as it lasted. Words had fallen short as his tongue refused to form words for a good minute or two. Eventually, as Dorian set a hand to his arm and ushered him inside, Adrian tucked a loose strand of that silken spun hair behind a pointed ear, dipping his head shyly as he entered. ]

Please, breathe freely for now. I had hoped to take your breath away later.

[ A flirtatious thing to say, but Dorian had already set the tone. ]

Delivery ~ Christmas Eve

[winstre]

[Two packages arrive in the post, both wrapped in elegant embossed silver paper with dusk blue bows. The smaller of the two is addressed to Dorian, the writing on the card elegant and looping.]

Much like you, there's more
to this than meets the eye.
Think carefully whether you
wish to be seen or pass unseen
and you may find it to be so.

Best wishes for a full season,
Grayson

[Within the box, resting on midnight velvet, lies a fairly small aquamarine tie pin.

With some experimentation with others, Dorian will find that just by wishing it, when he wears the pin he can draw others' attention to himself or alternately make it less likely anyone sees him. It's not invisibility, and it's not forced. Those of strong will or magical natures themselves may not be affected at all. It works best in crowds than one-on-one.]

Letter | Backdated to Dec 28

[mayfairmonster]

[Along with the rest of the post that arrives on the morning of the 28th, Grayson will find a gracefully-penned stationary card sealed in an envelope with a pattern of Art Nouveau-style peacock feathers on the back flap.]

Grayson-

It's taking time, but I'm starting to figure the pin out. Thank you.

I'd say 'Best wishes for the new year', but what's one more of many?

- D

[legellely]

A bright red box with a silver ribbon is delivered to Dorian. Inside are pink snowflake sugar cookies and a fun selfie. The back of the picture reads:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Thank you for being amazing! 💗 Elle

P.S. In case Toby doesn't want to share 😋

Letter | Backdated to Dec 28

[mayfairmonster]

[Penned in a graceful hand, a letter arrives for Elle on the morning of the 28th:]

Miss Woods,

Good call on the cookies; Toby threw all of his back shortly after they arrived. If he hasn't thanked you already, know that you're his choice baker in the city. Mine hit my sweet tooth in just the right way, too.

Once we're set up in new our house in the Up, please come join us sometime for dinner and drinks.

Yours,

- Dorian C. Gray

Voice; un: frost

[winstre]

[His voice is crisp and clipped, not at all how he usually addresses Dorian, certainly not in several months at least.]

I am no longer willing to work with Sims. The matter we began with the creature will either be ours to handle, or if you think him more useful, continue with him. I'll hold no ill will for your decision.

voice; @Gray

[mayfairmonster]

[He might appreciate Jon more now, but the choice at hand, as abruptly as it's being put before him, rests with ending the matter of the dream creature the way it began.]

Well that's an easy decision to make; We'll take it on our own, then. Thanks to Jon, I know the general location where the creature hiding for whenever we do decide to make our move.

[He could leave it at that, but the gossip hound in him simply can't resist.]

What happened?

Congratulations!

[winstre]

Dorian is the winner of the Blacklight Party 9PM Door Prize, Eight little wax play pitchers all in a box, seven individual colors of the rainbow and one rainbow pitcher. Light them with your brand new Crucible lighter!

Voicemail; @madonna4ever

[rockandrollvampire]

[Upon Dorian's arrival to Duplicity - his second arrival - a series of voicemails is delivered in rapid succession. All with their original unique dates and timestamps included at the start of each. All of them are from Tobias Matthews.

Over thirty messages are delivered. The majority are as follows:]

May 24, 2023 - 6:14 PM

[rockandrollvampire]

[Toby's voice is tired, his words slurring together. He's been drinking all day since he lost his soulmate, gone through a full pack of smokes, and he's not slept yet. He doesn't know if he can at this point.]

Darling, I know they've said you're gone, but... please let this be a joke. I don't care how shitty this is. I won't even call you a twat for it. Come home. Please.

Don't leave me alone.

May 25, 2023 - 3:31 AM

[rockandrollvampire]

[He still hasn't slept, and now he's beginning to hit the delirious stage of exhaustion and drunkenness.]

Why aren't you in bed? Our bed. It still smells like you. [A hiccup and then a long sigh.] Going to smell like you forever, too. Grayson saw to that.
Decent chap, Grayson. Once you get him out of being a stuffy git.

[A long silence, then another sigh.] Don't leave me here, Dorian. Don't go back to-- to that asshole who isn't me but's wearing my face. Come back.

May 31, 2023 - 7:53 PM

[rockandrollvampire]

[It's been a week. He's slept. He's gone to work. He's drunk his weight and volume in liquor multiple times over. So of course he's drunk (still drunk?) before going out to work tonight.]

This doesn't get easier, does it? Living without you? I never asked much, 'cause... well, I didn't want to know. You've got it worse, out there with Lucifer, but it's still...

[Silence. The click of a lighter and a slow exhale.]

I can't believe I did this to you in the 80s. I can't believe you took me back after it. Glad you did, but this is bad. Worse than I thought possible.

[An audible swallow and a pass of his hand through his hair as he cries.]

Fuck.