[semi-open]

[depicted]

Characters: Dorian and Various
Date: June 19th and onwards
Location: Dorian's suite: FI-2A
Situation: Dorian wants to deal with people but I'm the boss around here and I say he doesn't get what he wants.
Warnings/Rating: Standard PG-13 warning, will edit if anything comes up. Dying magic carpets.

He is being phenomenally unsociable, so if you want a threadstarter just pm or pp me and I will try to set one up! There is a 9/10 probability that the starter would just have to be someone knocking at his door until he answers. The sulking brat.

Comments

the 21st: Bruce Wayne

[depicted]

[Dorian is sprawled out on the sofa with Aloysius lying atop him. Idly, he plays with the carpet's tassels; it tries to play back, but Dorian can feel its grip getting weaker and weaker. Aloysius can't fly anymore. Aloysius can hardly move the furniture.

Aloysius is dying. Dorian knows it. Dorian has seen it. In artfully decorated bedrooms, in ugly and rundown hotels, in sterile hospital beds, it is so often the same. They weaken, they fade, they give one last kick of energy. And then they stop. He tried to avoid it when he was freshly immortal, but there was no chance of escaping it all the time. At this age, it barely even bothers him to watch a friend slip away. Dorian just never expected to see it happen to his pet carpet. So he reads out loud, to the carpet and to himself.]

'I am glad you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.'

[cowled]

[Bruce doesn't do friendships. Superficially? Yes, of course. It's an ability he's had to hone in Keeliai. In Gotham, the expectations were different. The reality was different. There were never enough hours in the day to be everyone he had to be, do everything he had to do.

Here, he knows every building in every city block in Keeliai. He knows all the old mineshafts outside of town, the burnt-out husks of old villages. He's combed and cataloged and familiarized himself with everything, from the chemical composition of the saltwater to the precise density of the turtle's shell and for the first time in his life, there isn't enough to keep Batman busy. Not the way he wants there to be. Not, either, the way he needs.

Bruce cannot be idle. Too much, too long, and his mind starts to drift. Back to his convalescence after Bane. Back to the eight months he spent in jail after he was framed for murdering Vesper. Idle hands do the devil's work, and Bruce is devil enough already in his darker moments.

The degradation of powers has him revitalized somewhat. It takes his attention off Cassandra's disappearance. It gives him a goal. A focus. Sharpens his mind. He hates to admit that he needed the challenge, but he did.

Does.

And one of the offshoots of that challenge is that he maintain with perfect geniality the veneer of his gentleman's persona. Which is why he's at Dorian's door, knocking.]

[depicted]

[Dorian isn't certain he wants to answer it. He pulls himself up and to his feet, but the carpet stays wrapped around his shoulders and winds around an arm. Instead of shaking it off, he lets the carpet stay as he heads to the door. Such a cloak would have been in fashion when he was young anyway. Some more Orientalism brought over for the English Lords and Ladies to admire.

Book in hand at his side, Dorian opens the door. Bruce looks genial and in good health. Dorian almost wants to hit him. He smiles instead. Bruce can't help being normal.] Oh, Bruce. Sorry, did I forget to hand in a report?

[cowled]

[That sure is a carpet.]

Is there some unwritten rule that says I can't make a social call, Dorian?

[His expression... gentles after a moment.]

Are you all right?

[depicted]

[It's a fashion statement, fight him.

Concern is hard to take right now—though in all fairness, Bruce could be questioning Dorian's new taste in cloaks—and Dorian closes off questioning with a half-smile that loks as young as he did. As young as he might not be in the future, there is a morbid thought, but Dorian didn't undo Basil's masterwork in an evening. He can still look like he has suffered only the afflictions of a privileged youth.]

I'm managing. Do you want to come in?

[cowled]

[Bruce stands a moment longer on the doorstep, a little awkward. This... has him at an odd impasse. Because at the end of the day, if you strip away the fundamental differences between Bruce Wayne and Batman, Bruce... has some affection for Dorian, in a manner he's entirely unaccustomed to.

It's not that the caring is unusual. Bruce cares about everyone, it's... part of why doing what he does is so hard, and so fundamentally necessary at the same stroke of the brush. It's that Bruce likes him that's the oddity here.

He steps inside, takes his shoes off.]

When was the last time you-- [pick one, he thinks wryly. 'Ate, slept, showered?' There's a heavy sort of malaise in the air, and it makes Bruce think of the Manor after Bane.] - had a visitor?

[depicted]

[The windows are all open. It's good for Toby to enjoy the sunlight when he's here. Dorian is meticulous about his appearance and the organization of his house. There is a mirror here where a black cloth thrown over it, as if at an Irish funeral. But that is to protect Toby from seeing his own face.]

[He smiles sweetly at Bruce.] Is there something you want to say? Only I'm not in the best of moods and it makes me disinclined to do the Victorian runaround.

[It is his voice that is sharp. Dorian fixes Bruce a drink—there is at least Dorian's ability to keep finding them alcohol—and holds it out to him.]

[cowled]

[Bruce says nothing, but Dorian's attitude makes him raise an eyebrow as he accepts that beverage he won't drink. He's had alcohol exactly three times in his adult life - once when Jason died, once when Gordon was shot, and once while he was recovering from Bane breaking his back.

Sorry Dorian, your misery isn't enough to make him start now.]

I'm not particularly concerned with your moods, I've known you long enough to be aware of the fact you're capricious.

[That's a bland observation, but there's a tiny bit of something in his tone that doesn't quite match up with the Bruce Wayne ideal.]

I came to see if you needed anything I could provide.

[depicted]

[Dorian's laugh, bitter and tired, disturbs the gentle music of his alien music box, playing away on the mantle. The carpet wraps tighter around him.]

I'm afraid what I'm losing costs more than even your pocketbook can afford. Go home, Bruce. I'm sure someone will be grateful for your philanthropy, but not me.

[cowled]

[And Bruce thinks of Jason, dying in his arms, and his expression twists and tightens. Dorian has no idea of how deeply that concept cuts him, how little all his wealth is truly worth.

Spiderweb cracks crawl across the glass in his hand, and he looks down at it with indifference, then steps past Dorian into the kitchen.]

Would you rather I be cruel?

[You are losing nothing more than that which of the rest of us have lost, but he holds his tongue for now.]

[depicted]

[Do you really want to get into this right now, Bruce?]

[Dorian stays in the threshold, just watching.] I'd rather you get out.

[cowled]

[And that, as they say, is that. Bruce says nothing, merely sets the glass in the sink, and heads for the door.

Saying he is Not Pleased would probably be an understatement, given that this is a reasonably unprecedented taste of his own medicine, and he hardly has an acquired taste for it.]

[depicted]

[Dorian lets him go. Guilt is something he leaves for the portrait, or at least for the morning after. He heads to the sink to pick up the glass. No need to waste good alcohol, after all.

The glass has begun to crack. Dorian's mouth twists, and he holds it up to the light. No, he isn't just seeing it. Bruce really did begin to shatter one of his glasses.

Dorian didn't think he had it in him. He didn't think he'd made Bruce that angry, either.

Oh well. The glass probably isn't cracked enough for shards to hurt him. He may as well take that sort of risk when he still has some fraction of his healing left to him. Dorian drinks what Bruce didn't in one go. And with Lady Luck's favour, he'll get to stay inebriated for longer than he usually does.]