open | i'll never die, i am a freak

[brushoff]

Who: Dorian Gray & OPEN
What: settling in
When: all throughout the month of March
Where: Milton, with a focus on the community hall, the church, and the outskirts

Content Warnings: drug use, smut, body horror and gore in the form of Dorian's creepyass portrait, others tba

( catch all post for March! full of open and closed starters, dm me if you have an idea~ )

Comments

[balancedlight]

She looks over, rather predictably quite pleased to help. She adjusts her sleeves and gives him a bright smile.

"Of course! I have some time. What do you need?"

[brushoff]

Jackpot. Thank you, bright and cheery and totally manipulatable young woman. Dorian returns Sveta's bright smile with one of his own as he continues,

"You know how when we arrive here, a few personal affects are in the community center? I work in an art gallery back home. One of the paintings I acquired is here and I want to bring it to the church that I've decided to stay at. However, it's a teensy bit big and while I can carry it myself, I'll need someone to help with doors and help me maneuver down stairs."

He gives Sveta an apologetic smile before, "I'll put some tea on as a thank you once we get there."

[balancedlight]

She just laughs. "Of course. That is no trouble at all. Where is it?"

It's not often she finds herself at the Community Center, especially as of late. But she's glad she managed to come this time, as it seems like these possessions are getting - strangely cumbersome.

[brushoff]

"I stashed it away in a coat closet," Dorian happily chirps. Gesturing for Sveta to follow him, he makes his way through the halls of the Community Center (holding the door open because he's a goddamn gentleman), before opening the door to said coat closet.

The painting itself is mostly covered by a sheet. However, the sheet has fallen off of one corner, exposing about a quarter of the painting. The quarter that Sveta can see is part of a man's head. The skin is mottled and rotted, the hair is thinning and gray, everything about the subject looks decrepit. Only one eye is visible and it stares at the viewer with absolute malice.

This painting radiates very bad energy. Dorian, seemingly oblivious to it, moves the sheet to cover the painting back up.

[balancedlight]

Sveta can't see auras here, but she doesn't need to in order to see that this painting is - off. Awful.

Absolutely rancid vibes.

She gasps a little and steps back as he covers it. "What - what is this painting?" she wonders, not moving back into the room until its completely covered.

[brushoff]

That painting does not pass the vibe check, a phrase that Dorian doesn't actually know as he's from 2014. But based on her gasp, he knows she's seen it. Dorian turns to Sveta, giving her an apologetic little smile, as he starts some grade-A bullshit.

"Horrible, isn't it. But that's the point. The artist is an up and comer named Hallward. He uses the trappings of class and old money in the painting's subject—Victorian clothes, posture, if you look closely, even the brush strokes are of a more vintage style. But by having the subject be so horrible looking, it serves as a commentary on...ah, on how corrupt the old institutions can be. Something we think of as revered can hide absolute sin and depravity."

Content with his bullshit, Dorian shrugs. "Or at least, that's what the artist statement says. Personally, I think he simply wanted to paint a nasty looking portrait."

[balancedlight]

Sveta buys it because she doesn't actually know anything about art, especially Western art, and she doesn't actually want to investigate any deeper than that. She just nods and steps forward, reaching out gingerly towards the painting to make sure that it's tucked away.

"Why would you - want to keep such a thing in the church?"

[brushoff]

"Because I want to live in the church," Dorian answers, as he picks up the portrait and starts to awkwardly move it out of the coat closet. "And I like this painting. I don't plan on displaying it or anything of that nature—I know it's a tiny bit off-putting."

Understatement of the century.

"But it's something from home. Horrible as it is, it's not like I have much of anything else."

[balancedlight]

"I suppose," she says quietly, holding the door for him and reaching over to help take some of the weight. "But it seems a little strange. I wonder why this came with you. Most people have - useful or personal items."

[brushoff]

Dorian absolutely is going to keep quiet that one of the other items he found is cocaine.

"I spent a lot of time trying to acquire this piece back home. I suppose that's personal enough? Are there any rules for how these things show up? Say, for example, could someone's pet fish arrive? And would it arrive in a tank, or just as a fish?"

[balancedlight]

"I'm not sure!" she admits. "I know Ben has his dog, but pets aren't common. I don't believe there are any rules for it. I have only been here - a year," she says, breathing out.

Only a year.

It sounds so long when she puts it in those terms.

[brushoff]

"A year," Dorian can't help but muse. "That's a long time and yet it's so short all at once."

In the grand scheme of things, thinking about everything, a year means nothing. A year means nothing in the march of history, a year means nothing to him. And yet, the year he's spent with certain people mean the world to Dorian.

"I wonder how long people will be here. If we'll ever go home."

[balancedlight]

"I was not among the first of us here, either," she tells him, opening the door to the outside and bundling up her coat against the wind.

"I don't know how much longer we will be here. Or what will happen. People have been lost here."

[brushoff]

Her phrasing is interesting, enticing, and worrying all at the same time. What does she mean by lost?

"I assume that by 'lost', you mean something more than wandering off into the woods and losing your way?"

Try as he may to sound worried, there's a hint of interest and curiosity in Dorian's voice.

[balancedlight]

"Lost. And killed," she remarks lightly, looking away from him as she braves the cold outside. The walk isn't long, but it is treacherous.

[brushoff]

Dorian awkwardly adjusts his grip on the portrait, shivering slightly as the cold hits. He can make this walk. He'll bitch and moan the entire way, but he'll make it nonetheless.

"What killed them? Simple exposure?"

Which is dangerous enough as is. But at the same time...it wasn't simple exposure that brought him here. Dorian doesn't know what dangers this place has, just that it undoubtedly has them.

[balancedlight]

"Some of them," she acknowledges. "Some of them were killed by others' hands. Some were killed by - the Darkwalker," she explains.

[brushoff]

Dorian sighs. He's trying hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but he can't help it: the Darkwalker situation is very aggravating.

"People have mentioned that before. The Darkwalker. But nobody seems to know what it is. Hell, even descriptions of what it looks like are lacking. It's nobody's fault, of course. But at the same time...." Do better. "...it's irritating."

[balancedlight]

She nods.

"Dark creatures like that can be irritatingly frustrating," she remarks, agreeing completely. "Especially when you try and explain them. They aren't meant to be known, because then people would fear them less. Part of their power comes from the unknown."

[brushoff]

"You sound like you know about this sort of thing," he muses. Dark creatures not meant to be known? That's not the sort of thing you say if you've only met one dark creature.

"We've got time while we walk over. I'd love to hear your story."

And also if he needs to be worried.

[balancedlight]

She laughs, though there's a sad little smile behind it. "I don't even know your name!" she reminds him.

[brushoff]

"Dorian," he says, with a little nod. "And I'll do you one better than my name. London, 2014, previously a banker, currently work in an art gallery, I enjoy music you can dance to, Indian food, and going to the theater, I don't like hospitals, most reptiles, and computers."

He gives Sveta the sort of grin that someone accustomed to public speaking, accustomed to people liking him would give. There we go. Hopefully that's enough.

[balancedlight]

She just stares at him a moment, then starts up the road to the church. "Well, at least you aren't another person who is unfamiliar with modern medicine."

[brushoff]

"I've met a few of them already," Dorian muses. "I mentioned to one of our more vintage lot that London has a population in the billions at my time and he looked at me like I was insane."

[balancedlight]

She giggles a little at the thought. "You must be kind to them," she assures him. "And my name is Svetlana Nazarova," she tells him. "Doctor Nazarova. I'm - currently the only doctor we have, though we have several who are trained."