They'll abide by it, because they'll sign a binding contract at the door, or they won't come in.
[He won't be having any of that.]
Yes. Attendees can wear predator or prey masks. If they wish to take on both roles, they can pick the mask most suited to their inclinations and wear additional cuffs.
Contractual non-consent? [He laughs lightly. It's ingenious, but still absurd to say out loud.] Or more like a waiver, I suppose: The first three rows will get wet.
[Duly noted on the attire. Dorian knows what he won't be doing, at least.]
All right. And any special benefits to being part of the host's VIP circle?
[That's amusing, but ALSO UNSETTLING, yes. Grayson has felt a little different to him at certain points in this conversation, and after the Born Again Positivity at the start of all of this, another moment's happening now. He's not sure what to make of it.
But as usual, he'll slap some bravado on it.]
You know how I know you're telling the truth? No witnessing of someone in extremis when they're dead.
Very true. Besides, you've said you've been there, done that, so what good would come of it for you? It's not a new experience, not a door I could open for you.
[His smile comes through his voice.]
Is it really that you can't die? Rather, can't stay dead?
The deaths don’t stick, [he confirms.] I’ve been immolated a handful of times myself, and popped up like a daisy as fresh as you’ve ever seen me within a half hour or less after.
I’ve never been able to pinpoint the recovery time. Melted watches and all.
[Dorian hums thoughtfully.]
Which brings up a salient point: If I’m injured at your party, it’ll give away my healing. I can avoid some amount of that myself by not putting myself in obvious harm, but I don’t suppose you’d be able to help me there somehow?
[There's a drollness to it, the idea of a melted watch being more trouble than the burning to death.]
I can shield you from the magic that heals you for a time. Take that to heart. Things you'd normally be able to shrug off you won't. Blood loss will make you light headed. Deep wounds will send you into shock.
Inconvenience is only the beginning, Grayson. Try taking anyone religious seriously ever again once you've confirmed, more times than you can count, that there's nothing on the other side.
[As Grayson describes how the magic works, Dorian hesitates. If the portrait's grip is kept off of him, does that mean his body would revert to the way it should be? Horrifically disfigured, and a creature beyond recognition? If that's even a remote possibility, it's unacceptable.]
No. A shield may not be the right way to go about it.
Think about it this way: the wounds that happen to me still exist after I've healed from them. They're being held in waiting for me by the magic. If that healing is taken away, the dam could break all at once and release everything that's happened to me, upon me. [He can't suppress his shudder at the idea.]
[He adores playing Devil's advocate, even if he hates faith and the faithful.]
If you're bound in some way, perhaps your soul simply never makes it to where it could be destined.
[There's an undercurrent of amusement in his supposition. True faith's effect on him is no proof of God, as far as he's concerned, no more than the existence of demons is a proof of Hell.
That is more of a challenge, but not insurmountable.]
A draught to slow it. It won't cut you off. It will simply delay the effects. Like putting a kink in a hose.
Touché, but my soul is housed in my body. [Since 2015. Not that he's sure how much ownership he really has of it, as the portrait's gifts of youth and beauty still hold.] The magic that touches me would have to be powerful enough to outstrip whatever governs the forces of the universe.
[It's possible that Lucifer's that powerful, but Dorian's skeptical.]
How would it work? Would it only touch the magic, or would it affect me in other ways, too? [Now he's curious, not skeptical.]
My 'aura'. [He doesn't doubt that it's something to Grayson, but the word's too tied up in New Age flimflammery on his Earth for his eyebrows to not rise.]
The nature of my soul, or something along those lines?
Not precisely. Everyone produces an energetic field. Part of it is electromagnetism, part of it psychic energy...the product of their minds. Different types of beings have different qualities. Shifters and fae, for example, fluctuate and have odd colors. Emotion plays a part. Magic plays a part.
[He's prepared for him by the time he hears the knock on the door. The apartment has few personal touches, a bookshelf full of occult books and those on astronomy, a few on genetics. A capuchin sized gargoyle squats atop the bookshelf, staring out with gray eyes with what look like pinpoint black pupils.
Grayson's shoes are by the door. He's in a dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, trousers with a belt, and dark clad sock feet. There's a strong scent of incense in the air, something resinous with an undertone of dryness like bone, and a fecundity like graveyard dirt.]
Do come in.
[He sweeps his arm in invitation.]
here's a classic adhd moment for you: had this tag fully written in a tab and forgot to hit submit
[Once he's waved inside, Dorian notes his host's socked feet and pauses to toe his shoes off by the door. He's dressed more simply than usual, having had the need to throw something on in a hurry, in a soft long sleeve shirt in a muted jade color and fitted brown trousers. A small smudge of dried blood on the bend where neck meets shoulder sits as the lone imperfection marring his appearance.
Unusually, the lack of color and personality in the suite feels like a color of its own kind when he knows the occupant is who he is. He figures that all of the ingredients, chalk, and everything else for regular magic use must either be hidden or locked away somewhere.]
Should we go ahead and get right into it? [He rests a hand on a hip as he turns back to Grayson.]
In the interest of a clean reading, I haven't had coffee, or anything else that might alter . . . energy. [Except the one thing, but he isn't seeing colors burning with passionate purity or beauty everywhere anymore, so he's pretty sure it's worn off.]
[The blood is noted immediately but not remarked upon. He's well aware of his proclivities.]
In the interest of sparing you any further deprivation, short of strongly emotion or perception altering drugs, nothing in your system will affect this at all.
[He's faintly amused, a brief flicker of it in his gaze before it grows far more intense. There's...a lot...going on with his aura. He zeroes in on what interests him about it, though, what sort of magic is there and if it's the sort he can slow without cutting off.
He circles him slowly to get a full view, taking close to five minutes before he's satisfied. The fact that Dorian has as much trauma as he does isn't too surprising given his age or the sorts of things he gravitates toward.]
I believe I can do this. The complicated part will be sourcing the ingredients. I'll need powdered silver and some rarer herbs. I believe they can likely be found at Venia.
[Somewhat anticlimactic, he has to admit, but in the end it seems like the reading is a psychic skill. One thing Dorian's sure of is that whatever Grayson's seeing, it's complicated. There's no way it wouldn't be.
He's interested. Also unsurprised that there isn't much reaction from the vampire besides the intensity of focus. He's stabbed this man and drank his blood.]
I'll pick them up the next time I'm out on the town. [But to the more important point here:]
So, am I a hundred shades of Gray? [Does his aura look anything like his deformed soul? Or does it show any of the nuance of the brighter spots that, on the portrait, were slathered over with blood and pestilence long ago?
There's a marked feeling of nostalgia in holding out the smallest hope for that, when the portrait's message has been clear for over a century.]
[He nods. That's satisfactory. If he can supply him the materials, he'll have the draught by the time of the party.]
I can show you.
[It's like a snapshot in his mind, the sudden flare of vision, Dorian's solid form surrounded by swirls of darkness showing rends and tears, many gray and muddied, muted colors as he asked, but also brighter streaks throughout, rose and sunlight, tiny sparks winking from within the darkness, and on the outer edges, a limning of sullen, Hellish flame with a streak shooting out in the direction of Dorian's apartment.]
I can tell you what it means, but I suspect you could say more on the subject than I.
[In this specific instance, he's glad for his perfect memory. Dorian commits the image of his aura to mind as soon as it arrives.
The picture is disturbing, fascinating and beautiful all at once. It's also confirmation of what he already knew: the portrait captures the worst parts of his history, but not his living and breathing persona.
Perhaps he'll paint it and hang it next to his picture. The modern truth set against his legacy. It would be fitting.
But that's for later.]
I could identify all the tears by names and dates if I cared to. [Still, getting this image is satisfying, and he's left feeling contemplative.]
How much time do you need to pull everything together in time for the party?
[If he isn't seeking leverage, he has little reason to dig into someone who has his regard. Tears that deep don't come from insignificant sources.]
If you get the ingredients to me by the end of the week, I'll have the draught ready within one week of that. Obviously, don't drink it until the day of the party. Its effects will wear off within a week given your specific...I hesitate to use the word enchantment. It doesn't read like that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[He won't be having any of that.]
Yes. Attendees can wear predator or prey masks. If they wish to take on both roles, they can pick the mask most suited to their inclinations and wear additional cuffs.
no subject
[Duly noted on the attire. Dorian knows what he won't be doing, at least.]
All right. And any special benefits to being part of the host's VIP circle?
no subject
[A binding one.]
Oh, most definitely. I won't kill you.
[The laughter is likely not encouraging.]
no subject
But as usual, he'll slap some bravado on it.]
You know how I know you're telling the truth? No witnessing of someone in extremis when they're dead.
no subject
[His smile comes through his voice.]
Is it really that you can't die? Rather, can't stay dead?
no subject
I’ve never been able to pinpoint the recovery time. Melted watches and all.
[Dorian hums thoughtfully.]
Which brings up a salient point: If I’m injured at your party, it’ll give away my healing. I can avoid some amount of that myself by not putting myself in obvious harm, but I don’t suppose you’d be able to help me there somehow?
no subject
[There's a drollness to it, the idea of a melted watch being more trouble than the burning to death.]
I can shield you from the magic that heals you for a time. Take that to heart. Things you'd normally be able to shrug off you won't. Blood loss will make you light headed. Deep wounds will send you into shock.
no subject
[As Grayson describes how the magic works, Dorian hesitates. If the portrait's grip is kept off of him, does that mean his body would revert to the way it should be? Horrifically disfigured, and a creature beyond recognition? If that's even a remote possibility, it's unacceptable.]
No. A shield may not be the right way to go about it.
Think about it this way: the wounds that happen to me still exist after I've healed from them. They're being held in waiting for me by the magic. If that healing is taken away, the dam could break all at once and release everything that's happened to me, upon me. [He can't suppress his shudder at the idea.]
If you enjoy magical conundrums, this is it.
no subject
[He adores playing Devil's advocate, even if he hates faith and the faithful.]
If you're bound in some way, perhaps your soul simply never makes it to where it could be destined.
[There's an undercurrent of amusement in his supposition. True faith's effect on him is no proof of God, as far as he's concerned, no more than the existence of demons is a proof of Hell.
That is more of a challenge, but not insurmountable.]
A draught to slow it. It won't cut you off. It will simply delay the effects. Like putting a kink in a hose.
no subject
[It's possible that Lucifer's that powerful, but Dorian's skeptical.]
How would it work? Would it only touch the magic, or would it affect me in other ways, too? [Now he's curious, not skeptical.]
no subject
[Enough time for a small test, as well, if he decides he wants it.]
no subject
The nature of my soul, or something along those lines?
no subject
no subject
And none of it harmed by the addition of hot yoga, I'm guessing?
[Sorry Grayson, the impreciseness of that description made this happen.]
no subject
[He doesn't miss a beat.]
no subject
All right. Let me know when and where, and I'll bring the refreshments.
And thank you, by the way. It doesn't escape me that I'm the one leaning on you, here.
no subject
It would be a shame for you to miss the party on a technicality. It's my pleasure.
[He wants to see him in action, what he'll do, not just with him but with others of similar bent.]
no subject
action
Grayson's shoes are by the door. He's in a dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, trousers with a belt, and dark clad sock feet. There's a strong scent of incense in the air, something resinous with an undertone of dryness like bone, and a fecundity like graveyard dirt.]
Do come in.
[He sweeps his arm in invitation.]
here's a classic adhd moment for you: had this tag fully written in a tab and forgot to hit submit
Unusually, the lack of color and personality in the suite feels like a color of its own kind when he knows the occupant is who he is. He figures that all of the ingredients, chalk, and everything else for regular magic use must either be hidden or locked away somewhere.]
Should we go ahead and get right into it? [He rests a hand on a hip as he turns back to Grayson.]
In the interest of a clean reading, I haven't had coffee, or anything else that might alter . . . energy. [Except the one thing, but he isn't seeing colors burning with passionate purity or beauty everywhere anymore, so he's pretty sure it's worn off.]
The times I've done that...
In the interest of sparing you any further deprivation, short of strongly emotion or perception altering drugs, nothing in your system will affect this at all.
[He's faintly amused, a brief flicker of it in his gaze before it grows far more intense. There's...a lot...going on with his aura. He zeroes in on what interests him about it, though, what sort of magic is there and if it's the sort he can slow without cutting off.
He circles him slowly to get a full view, taking close to five minutes before he's satisfied. The fact that Dorian has as much trauma as he does isn't too surprising given his age or the sorts of things he gravitates toward.]
I believe I can do this. The complicated part will be sourcing the ingredients. I'll need powdered silver and some rarer herbs. I believe they can likely be found at Venia.
no subject
He's interested. Also unsurprised that there isn't much reaction from the vampire besides the intensity of focus. He's stabbed this man and drank his blood.]
I'll pick them up the next time I'm out on the town. [But to the more important point here:]
So, am I a hundred shades of Gray? [Does his aura look anything like his deformed soul? Or does it show any of the nuance of the brighter spots that, on the portrait, were slathered over with blood and pestilence long ago?
There's a marked feeling of nostalgia in holding out the smallest hope for that, when the portrait's message has been clear for over a century.]
no subject
I can show you.
[It's like a snapshot in his mind, the sudden flare of vision, Dorian's solid form surrounded by swirls of darkness showing rends and tears, many gray and muddied, muted colors as he asked, but also brighter streaks throughout, rose and sunlight, tiny sparks winking from within the darkness, and on the outer edges, a limning of sullen, Hellish flame with a streak shooting out in the direction of Dorian's apartment.]
I can tell you what it means, but I suspect you could say more on the subject than I.
no subject
The picture is disturbing, fascinating and beautiful all at once. It's also confirmation of what he already knew: the portrait captures the worst parts of his history, but not his living and breathing persona.
Perhaps he'll paint it and hang it next to his picture. The modern truth set against his legacy. It would be fitting.
But that's for later.]
I could identify all the tears by names and dates if I cared to. [Still, getting this image is satisfying, and he's left feeling contemplative.]
How much time do you need to pull everything together in time for the party?
no subject
[If he isn't seeking leverage, he has little reason to dig into someone who has his regard. Tears that deep don't come from insignificant sources.]
If you get the ingredients to me by the end of the week, I'll have the draught ready within one week of that. Obviously, don't drink it until the day of the party. Its effects will wear off within a week given your specific...I hesitate to use the word enchantment. It doesn't read like that.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)