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

Entry tags:

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

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~ )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I grew up in the faith, but I'm more lapsed than not these days," Dorian shrugs. If Konstantin is offering to help, Dorian will happily let him—he offers Konstantin the shovel as their conversation continues. "But I saw the church, saw that it hadn't really been used in a while...and I don't know. At least someone should keep the building fresh. I might not be able to give a sermon or anything like that, but I can scrub a window and wash a floor with the best of them."

He moved into the church because it's ironic. Because the idea of a damned, cursed man living in the church is something that only Dorian would appreciate. Because he is an overdramatic, aesthetic focused little bitch.

"Thank you for the offer of help, though. I fully expected this place to have a lot of snow but at the same time....there is a lot of snow."

Konstantin reaches for the shovel as he listens, giving the other man another thoughtful look-over of his own as he does. The stranger's clearly young, features soft and fresh. He might barely be twenty. For a moment, Konstantin's reminded of the boys he'd trained back in his military days, those starry-eyed youths, some of them nervous, some excited.

He smiles good-naturedly again and starts to shovel, careful with the movements of his own body, not to bend his torso too much forwards, careful to take it a little easy to begin with. But it's hard to do that when he thrives so much in someone young watching him, again. He wants to seem capable, reliable, helpful.

"There were a few people living in there before, but it's been a long time since. I imagine the place must be pretty dusty by now. It's good someone's trying to keep it nice."

Not that he has much care for any religious establishment as an actual place to be utilised — but he can appreciate a good aesthetic as much as his new friend here. Things should be kept nice, clean, neat.

"It is a lot," he agrees with another smile that shows teeth. "And I say that coming from Russia. Lots of snow. I just never had to survive for a year out in it."

He scoops some off to the side, then tilts his head curiously. "Where are you from?"

Oh. He's ripped.

Not in a body builder sort of way, thank heavens. And considering that they're all stuck here with not that much food and water, his muscles aren't bulging. But Konstantin is fit, toned in a way that Dorian can absolutely appreciate—and will absolutely appreciate as the man works. Dorian's eyes stray to Konstantin's biceps, gaze lingering there a moment before turning back to the man himself.

"London, born and bred," Dorian responds, with a big, easy-going sort of smile. "Which means that I am remarkably useless with regards to the snow. We got some every now and then, but never to this extent."

He gives Konstantin a cavalier little shrug. He knows he's useless! He knows he's going to have to change that, but also that change like that won't happen overnight.

"It makes me wonder why exactly whatever brought us here thought that I would be suited for the environment."

Konstantin keeps shoveling, keeps being aware of the younger's eyes on him, keeps feeling a certain thrill about that — and when he feels a sudden little squirm in his guts, he keeps ignoring it!

But it's fine. It's fine. The thing's not in any immediate pain, he thinks, or else it would start writhing. He's grown very accustomed to the different forms of Worm Mannerisms. A squirm isn't too bad (even if it always has his throat feeling slick from nausea, his body perpetually reacting unfavourably to its unwanted occupant).

He swallows against that nausea, managing his reaction as he listens.

"Another Englishman. We have a lot of them, though none as cultured as you, I think." He smiles again; it's clear that this young stranger isn't like The Victorians. "I can help you learn all you need to know about snow."

But something makes him pause with serious thought for a moment. The why. Why was this person brought here? It's a good question, considering the fact Konstantin does think there's a reason for each of them being little experiments in whatever the fuck this place is ultimately all about.

"I do think there has to be a reason. Something it wanted with you," he tips his head in a nod as he scoops more snow to the side. "This place... changes people. Does things to them. Whether they came here with something wrong with them already or not."

"In that case," Dorian muses, "maybe it doesn't want something with me. You said it changes people—well, perhaps some people are brought along to push that change. A spanner in the works, so to speak."

Because change? That's something completely antithetical to Dorian's being. He doesn't change. He can't change. He's a snapshot of who he was at age twenty, young and vain and stupid, and try as he might to change it, it won't work. He will always be the Dorian Gray he was when he made that idle wish to never grow old.

No, if whatever brought him here wanted to change him? They picked the wrong man.

"I'll bring the community together as you all teach me how to survive," Dorian lightly teases. "Sort of like a classroom pet or a useless little puppy the family adopts."

That makes Konstantin pause for a moment, shovel hovering over the snow before he slowly slides it back in. He's thoughtfully listening to the other's words, and they certainly hold his interest. He's spent a lot of time thinking about this. A lot.

"I think that would be very believable, actually," he has to agree, though it's... interesting to hear someone claim such a role so easily. A spanner in the works.

"Some of us don't get changed in the same ways as others. I think whatever this... experiment is, whatever it's trying to do, or prove... there probably are some of us meant to just help things along. Help set it all in motion. It sounds almost villainous, when I think about it that way."

He gives a grim smile to the young Englishman, looking him over again. If that's true, then... it's a pretty upsetting thing to be. He's wondered about it for himself. He doesn't have any 'gifts' from this place, yet. Just the curse he came in with. Maybe he's meant to cause destruction. Be some sort of villain for the others to use their new abilities against. Train and grow stronger.

"Hey now, you're not useless," he barks a laugh, immediately cheerful again as he resumes shoveling. "If everyone has some sort of role to play, then clearly you were a needed addition. ...Although with such a cute face, you may end up the designated town pet, I am sorry." He grins, playful as he flicks snow off to the side.

Almost villainous. Some people might call Dorian that. He's ruined so many people over the years. An immortal youth, a thing without a soul, a perfect simulacra burning through people with no thought or care for their well-being. Is that why he was brought here? A villain to drive everyone together?

Or, equally likely, a sentinel to see it through to the end. Dorian has realized by now that he can be injured. But there is a vast difference between injury and death.

Not that any of that matters, though. What matters is the beefy Russian called him 'cute.' Might as well press his luck, see what fun he can have.

"I don't think I'd mind that," Dorian muses, with a light, slightly joking tone in his voice. "The town pet. I look good in a collar. And I'd be grand at following orders. Sit. Stay." And with a smirk and a tone of voice loaded with innuendo, telling Konstantin that Dorian knows precisely what he's implying,

"Come."

Konstantin is no stranger to flirting. It's a part of who and what he is — and a part he's all too glad to play into. Some part of him even craves it now, even with his heart belonging to one undead EMT. Craves that... validation. The concept that he's still someone considered attractive enough to be flirted with, despite everything that's so wrong with him.

Of course, what's wrong with him isn't visible on the outside. Apart from the occasional puking up blood... which is objectively disgusting, but... no, his ugliness is tucked deep down under layers of skin and muscle and organ. He doesn't want anyone to see. It's easier for him to forget he's a monster if people look at him with stars in their eyes and teasing little smiles at their pretty little mouths.

That said, the younger man's words do take him by surprise, and in some part because he's still not so used to interacting with men like this, but only for a moment. He looks Dorian over again — really, he couldn't be more than twenty-five, could he? Someone that young is saying words like that to him. He could keep this moment forever.

Konstantin's smile only grows, and he lets his eyes drop down to Dorian's mouth, lingering on his lips for just a moment too long. Then back up—

"In that case, we really are all lucky you're here. Ahh, but when word gets around how handy you are, the others may start fighting over you... I'll just have to try and keep you for myself, first."

And he gives a wink. Konstantin you are probably twice his age and also in a devoted relationship, don't wink at him like some dirty old man. But this is fine, it's harmless fun! Let him be sexualised every once in a while!

Yeah, he knows that look. It's a look he's received time and time again in his immortal life. That's the look of someone smitten. Of someone attracted to him. He's not surprised the little game is working - of course it is, he's Dorian Gray, he can enthrall whoever he lays eyes on. He is a bit surprised that his first target, his first real claim that he wants to drive his hooks into is someone so old but hey, he's not complaining. Old people can be useful! Konstantin certainly is.

"Well, you know how to make a stray your own," Dorian teases. "Invite it into your house, give it food and water, let it sit on your lap as you give it the affection it craves. Good doggy. Sweet doggy. Such a pretty boy."

Might as well go a bit more forward with this. Dorian takes a few steps towards Konstantin, closing the gap between them, as he attempts to wrap an arm around the man's waist.

"Easy enough, wouldn't you agree?"

Back home, people throw themselves at him. There are cultural norms and boundaries to be respected on the surface, but it certainly wouldn't be the first time he bumped into a stranger after some press conference or social event (starring him, Commander Veshnyakov, Hero of the Soviet Union, this generation's most esteemed cosmonaut) and was met with dirty little whispers. He's viewed like a celebrity back home; people want him.

This young man doesn't know his status or anything that matters about him. Whatever compels him to hit on Konstantin so boldly must purely be physical attraction (or so he's assuming), and that makes him feel really damn good. It'd be so easy to fall into it, to do whatever it takes to validate the fact that he's still desirable.

But there's Vasiliy — (and it's such a strange, warm, frightening awareness to have; Konstantin, the commitment-phobe, has someone he loves) and there's the creature, and it's this second thing he's abruptly worried about when Dorian's arm comes in close to his waist. The thing's capable of sensing people through his own senses, and Dorian's a stranger; it might get antsy...

He doesn't flinch back from him, but he does lift a hand to place against his shoulder, his own arm forming a little barrier between them, hopefully protecting the younger man from any alien upsets... His smile is just as warm as the squeeze he gives Dorian's shoulder. He's genuinely so happy that someone is hitting on him like this! He hopes he always makes a good impression on him and doesn't do anything disgusting like throw up an alien in his vicinity!

"I'm flattered, sobachka." Little dog; Dorian's already gotten an endearing nickname. "Truly. But I have—" How does he say it? He's so new to this. "I have someone. I'm a lucky man; he's as pretty as you."

Sobachka. Dorian doesn't know enough Russian to pick up on the meaning of the endearing nickname. But he knows it's just that: an endearing nickname. This man likes him. As he should, of course. Dorian operates like someone who knows he'll get exactly what he wants, when he wants it. Of course Konstantin likes him. Of course Konstantin is enthralled by his presence.

It's just that other little statement that annoys Dorian. He has someone. Obviously that someone can't be all that important if he's here, flirting with Dorian. Besides, whoever that someone is, it's not him. It's not Dorian.

Dorian Gray is someone who doesn't really like to share. But he's also someone who doesn't mind playing the long game. He'll win this delightful man to his bed in the end. He has all the time in the world.

"No one's as pretty as me," Dorian lightly retorts, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "But fine, I can temper my expectations. Still, there's no shame in a little flirting. A little tete-a-tete? Unless your someone gets jealous. In which case, you'll have to tell me his name so I can flirt with you in his presence."

Dorian gives Kostya an innocent little smile which very quickly shifts to a wide, shameless one. He's being a bit of a shit and he knows it.

What a handful this one is! Konstantin finds himself charmed all over again, amused and delighted by the retort, the quick wit, the confidence. This new young companion of his is a force to be reckoned with, clearly. He's almost taken aback by it, unused to such things (the Bratty Behaviour of a good-looking youth! they're so strong-willed!), and that in itself is a thrill.

There's some part of him that likes the idea, admittedly, of someone being jealous over him. Of anyone being jealous over him. It's countered by another part that feels a pinprick of unexpected guilt by the concept at all. Vasiliy wouldn't get a thrill off of such a thing, Konstantin thinks; it would wound him. He already thinks so badly of himself, thinks he deserves the worst things. Konstantin's terrified to ever hurt him.

"My, aren't you a saucy one? No harm in a little tete-a-tete. But no, no, you mustn't torment him. He's too sweet, I have to protect him from this spanner in the works." Echoing Dorian's words earlier, Konstantin chuckles playfully, and leans on the shovel, looking the other over almost fondly.

"I'll tell you his name, but not today. You can have mine, though. Konstantin Veshnyakov — but you must call me Kostya. All of my friends do."

Too sweet? That makes Dorian want to find this man even more. He doesn't do it as much these days, but there's still a little part of him that sees someone sweet, someone innocent and unspoiled, and wants to corrupt the hell out of them. He could make both of those men love him. He should make both of those men love him, at least it would be something to do in this boring town.

He'll let Kostya think he's acquiescing for the moment. After all, Dorian knows damn well he can have some fun later.

"All my friends call me Dorian," he says, with a little nod. No last name mentioned—there's only a few people who Dorian's mentioned his last name to and both of them were when he was a teeny tiny bit high. He knows that cat will come out of the bag eventually, but not yet. "It is a pleasure to put a name to that lovely face of yours, Kostya."

Because of course they're friends. Why wouldn't they be?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject