[Is it what it’s about? Now that Larus is grabbing him and he’s being made to deal with him physically, vampiric influence sloughs away, slowly reducing down to a simmering footnote. He’s drawn to the visceral, attuned to his senses, and a man gripping him with strength that’s only a fraction of what he knows a vampire is capable of is something that sharpens his focus down to a pinpoint.
So yes, that is what this is about now. This is about them, and his own feelings.
Something like what's been happening in slow (and sometimes much too fast) motion between them isn't real, can't be, and he doesn't want it. He's done with emotions approaching connection, real connection, and affection ever since having his world ripped from him, the Earth from beneath his feet, for a second time. Everything good, everything alive in any sense, gets taken away. He knew that before, has known it for over a century, but now it's carved in stone. There's no reason there should be any upset to that balance, regardless of where he is or who he's with. Dorian’s eyes narrow.]
You're just so unaffected. [It curls out his mouth in an unpleasant and sardonic purr. The unwillingness to rise to the emotional bait he's dropping into the water only annoys Dorian more.
He’s not a fighter, more drawn to using the blades of his wit and cunning to do damage. There isn't much of that available to him now, with the vitae pushing through his veins.]
Why should I care, then? Tell me that, when it's clear that you don't. [Dorian pulls back on one of the grips on his wrist, gritting his teeth.] Or perhaps it's like I said, and you can't help but throw yourself at the scent of blood. [The next words he winds up deliberately, seeking to find some chink in that familiar stoicism, to cause pain, if he can.] You're just a monster, and little else can be expected from you.
[He'll come back to the suite every so often to wash the crimson out of his clothes, or call Dorian to come scrape him off the ground. Things will happen where he'll end up needing to save Larus from himself. He would, he will, and part of him is bitterly angry about that right now.
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So yes, that is what this is about now. This is about them, and his own feelings.
Something like what's been happening in slow (and sometimes much too fast) motion between them isn't real, can't be, and he doesn't want it. He's done with emotions approaching connection, real connection, and affection ever since having his world ripped from him, the Earth from beneath his feet, for a second time. Everything good, everything alive in any sense, gets taken away. He knew that before, has known it for over a century, but now it's carved in stone. There's no reason there should be any upset to that balance, regardless of where he is or who he's with. Dorian’s eyes narrow.]
You're just so unaffected. [It curls out his mouth in an unpleasant and sardonic purr. The unwillingness to rise to the emotional bait he's dropping into the water only annoys Dorian more.
He’s not a fighter, more drawn to using the blades of his wit and cunning to do damage. There isn't much of that available to him now, with the vitae pushing through his veins.]
Why should I care, then? Tell me that, when it's clear that you don't. [Dorian pulls back on one of the grips on his wrist, gritting his teeth.] Or perhaps it's like I said, and you can't help but throw yourself at the scent of blood. [The next words he winds up deliberately, seeking to find some chink in that familiar stoicism, to cause pain, if he can.] You're just a monster, and little else can be expected from you.
[He'll come back to the suite every so often to wash the crimson out of his clothes, or call Dorian to come scrape him off the ground. Things will happen where he'll end up needing to save Larus from himself. He would, he will, and part of him is bitterly angry about that right now.
It's Larus' fault, of course, that he cares.]