singillatim | no one heard you but the stars.

Entry tags:

no one heard you but the stars.

Who: Konstantin Veshnyakov + YOU!
What: catchall for various open + closed prompts. (will match format!)
When: throughout April.
Where: Milton / more tba.

Content Warnings: By default, this character comes with: space / sci-fi horror, body horror, + parasite horror. Various others will be labeled if they come up!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's a moment when Dorian says that he'll have to be the one to remove the thing from the dead body, that Konstantin's opening his mouth to say something, realising it's an unfair thing for the younger man to have to be responsible, when—

'It will be messy, but I've done worse.'

He truly knows hardly anything about Dorian, who he actually is, what he did before this place. But he clearly isn't too phased about macabre business, which is... good, ultimately. It's another thing that's maybe odd to feel relieved about, but Konstantin does. The alternative is that someone's absolutely disgusted by this, by him, but... Dorian's letting him be close, helping him along, not shirking away from him at all. He's offering to get his hands messy for his sake.

"Done worse? You must have lived quite the interesting life." He manages to smile a little, though it's followed by another groan as he steps forward. He won't inquire directly about anything now, but— it's there in his mind. There's much to learn about this person who's abruptly become a part of his life in such a specific way.

He settles carefully into a chair, grateful to be off his feet, one hand planted against the table to steady himself and the other draped around his middle. The thing's still awake, and he knows it's surely paying attention to all of this movement and speaking going on, as abhorrent as that thought is. It can't understand words, but it can perceive tone, and the vibrations of his own voice and breathing. He tries to keep himself calm.

"Thank you. I'll clean myself up a little." There's a wince; he knows he must look like shit, bloody and with drying ooze at the corners of his mouth and down his front. He hates it. But then something has him looking back up, brows lifted in confusion. Surely he doesn't mean...

"Afterwards? You're not... Now?"

Is he really going to be okay with that? Being less phased by all of this than most people would be is one thing, but is he truly okay to do that now?

Dorian's not an idiot. Konstantin is going to have questions. Anybody would have questions about a statement like that, about how you've done worse things than removing a man's brain. But if he's light and casual about it, maybe Konstantin won't ask too many questions. Maybe he'll take this at face value. Maybe he won't pry too deep.

And maybe the Darkwalker will show back up and say 'whoops, my mistake, you can go back into the sunlight without it hurting you.' Hmmph. That's not going to happen. No, Konstantin will have questions. The thing that Dorian needs to decide is how many he's going to answer—and how truthful those answers will be.

As for the question...Dorian wouldn't say he's okay to do this now. Nobody relishes the idea of taking a shovel to a man's head, breaking open his skull and removing the brain. It's not something anyone would describe as fun. But he can do it. He's done worse. So he gives Kostya a tired little sigh before admitting, "If I don't do it now, I don't know if I'll be able to do it later. Might as well rip the bandage off in one go."

There's a moment where he looks over Konstantin, this enticing cosmonaut, someone who's tries to be this bright, capable, easy-going man but who in his own way seems...almost scared. Scared for Dorian, scared of that eel inside him, scared and worried in a way that Dorian knows he wouldn't want to express. Dorian's not a good person. He's acutely aware of all of his flaws, they stare back at him each night, from his portrait that's hanging on the wall of the bedroom, just past that slightly ajar door. But even a terrible person can reassure someone, can make something just a little bit better. Even if it's selfish at it's core, it's still a net good. Right? Maybe?

"If you're lucky, I'll tell you about my interesting life when I'm back. I do enjoy a story."

There's something almost hilarious to how easy it would be for Dorian to wrap Konstantin around his finger with those little worries, and sighs, and batting his lashes just the right way. Konstantin, who's always taken such fierce pride in his mental fortitude — he hasn't even had a true breakdown after being infested by an entire alien and turned into a walking incubator! (Maybe it's not normal that he hasn't had a breakdown about it, actually!)

....But he's so weak to this. It genuinely gets to him, the idea of Dorian in discomfort or danger for his sake. It's something he wants to fix, wants to protect him from. He can practically hear Tanya's voice, accusing him of just wanting to feel like a Hero again, but—

(The truth under everything is, he is scared. He got his strength back and for a while he felt fucking great, but this is a reminder of just how he has no control over his life, his body anymore. The thing's just getting worse, and another innocent person's gotten roped into all of this, and he hates it, it's disgusting and terrifying and if he doesn't pretend he's okay then he'll crumble into pieces.)

"I'm sorry," he finds himself needing to say, and he means it as he looks miserably up at Dorian. He brought all this shit to the younger man's literal doorstep. "I know this is all... It's a nightmare." He sighs too, rough and tired and embarrassed by how fucking ugly everything about him really is, and runs his hand over his messy face for a moment before he lowers it back to the table. At least he can clean up while Dorian's gone, take some time to make himself look more presentable.

"I would like that," he adds, not quite smiling but trying to offer one, a little. He's grateful in ways it's hard to express right now; Dorian's done a lot for him just now. "I should learn more about the kind man who lets me into his home even after seeing how much of a nightmare I really am."

Edited 2025-05-01 14:20 (UTC)

Kostya thinks he's kind.

Really, that's the most unbelievable thing of this whole matter. Not the alien eel in that man's stomach or the fact that he vomited up goop like this is a normal thing. Not the fact that Dorian can kill someone if he holds onto them long enough. But that someone thinks he's kind. Idly, Dorian wonders how long it will last.

"In that case, one of my stories will have to be about an adventures I had with my ex. You're odd. You're interesting. But I wouldn't call you a nightmare."

Dorian stands up and walks over to the door out of the apartment. He gives Konstantin a little wave before, "I'll see you shortly. I'll try not to take too long. Towels are in the bathroom."

And he leaves the room, leaving Konstantin with a jug of water, a bathroom with fresh towels, and the slightly ajar door to the main bedroom. Dorian's got a skull to crack open (and also some blood to clean up from the main floor of the church, shit he should at least mop that up slightly). No rest for the wicked, as it were. He'll be back soon, though. No leaving, space man!

Odd, and interesting. They're not words he'd expect someone to use to describe him with after witnessing what Dorian just witnessed.

(Konstantin knows he deserves far, far worse words. Selfishly, he's happy that the younger man uses these, instead.) He tips his head to a nod, watching him leave, head still reeling — and then he starts the process of cleaning himself up. First to the bathroom to fetch one of those towels and look at himself very briefly in the mirror (he hates it, he's so messy and clammy and disgusting to look at right now) before he finally starts cleaning himself off.

He really needs a proper hot shower, but those are rare luxuries in this place. Maybe after this he'll head to Chloe's where there's easy access to it.

He uses just enough water to wipe blood and slime from his mouth and neck and rinse his mouth out a few times, neatly folds up the nasty towel after, and tiredly goes to sit back down. But soon enough he's standing again, because the thing's still restless, and he feels nauseated all over again from it. The last thing he wants is to start vomiting again... Maybe walk around a bit.

So he does — meandering around the little living space. There's genuine curiosity in there; Konstantin likes to poke around. Sometimes it reveals things, gives him an edge on a situation, not that he's necessarily looking for one of those now in this sweet and saucy young man's quarters.

...No, this is really just him being nosy right now, and when he comes to that slightly-ajar door, he hesitates for only a moment or two before nudging it open to step inside. It doesn't take long to spot the huge thing hung up there, and if he needed a distraction from the parasite doing dances in his guts, this sure fucking is it.

Konstantin stares, and it's macabre to be sure, but it doesn't frighten him; he's studying it curiously. Now this is an interesting choice of decor... maybe Dorian's into the gothic sort of aesthetic?

The portrait is absolutely disgusting. Ostensibly, it's of a man. At least, it's in the shape of a man. The man is old, skin mottled with age. It's hard to guess how old he is—80s? 90s? Even older than that? The horrible state of the man in the portrait makes it hard to tell. There are open sores, cuts, lesions dotting the skin. Looking through the char, the blood stains, the pus and ooze that have stained the clothes, says that the man is in Victorian attire—attire that's been through the wringer, but attire nonetheless. What little hair remains on the man's head looks like it would fall off with a simple tug. And if it fell off, it would probably take the skin with it.

Aside from the almost corpse-like state of the man in the portrait, the most notable thing is the subject's expression. It looks out with a look of absolute revulsion, derision in it's eyes. The subject of the portrait's expression is close to a snarl. There's a coldness, a hardness in the subject's gaze as it looks down at the viewer with disdain and loathing. Thankfully, the portrait here is spared the air of malevolence it radiates back in Dorian's world. But there's something horrible and disgusting about it all the same.

And it kind of looks like Dorian? A warped funhouse mirror version of Dorian, old where he is young, scarred where he is pristine, callous where he is innocent, but Dorian nonetheless. Weird, huh.

As for Dorian himself...as Konstantin examines the portrait that Dorian is absolutely going to shove back in a closet once this visit is over, Dorian is making his way to the basement—after a pit stop, of course. A little gardener's shed outside. The sun feels horrible, just stepping outside makes him want to vomit, he can feel the rays beating down on him with an intensity that he wasn't used to. But the shovel's in the shed. And he's not going to keep a dirty shovel inside—he's not an animal, after all.

When he returns to the church, Dorian and the shovel make their way to the basement. It's a bit awkward manhandling Roberto's corpse onto the floor. Really, the poor man doesn't deserve this. He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time in life as well as death. Idly, Dorian wonders if he'll be able to repeat this trick a second time. Obviously he doesn't want to give the game away—the last thing he wants is any of the law and order types poking around. But he had a full meal last month. He'll be hungry again sooner rather than later. He can already feel the hunger start to claw at the corners of his brain. One more dead Interloper, one more brain for Konstantin and his eel, no more questions. It's a thought. Something he'll have to mull over later.

It's easy enough to bash a corpse's skull open with a shovel. Like he told Konstantin, he's done worse. Bludgeoning an old woman to death with a fire axe, to fulfill a banshee's portent. Dispatching a horde of zombies brought to life by a long-dead necromancer. Snapping his little sister's neck. Watching his soulmate die. It's not fun to bash open a corpse's skull and it's even less fun to try and get a hold on the brain, wedging the shovel in to help pry it out like digging out a flower bulb from the ground. It squelches out in the end and, gingerly, Dorian goes to pick up the slightly mangled brain.

It's at this point that Dorian realizes he is absolutely going to fuck up one of his knives cutting this brain into manageable, less obtrusive, less brain-like pieces. Ah well, he can nick another set of kitchen knives from somewhere. Gingerly, Dorian carries the brain out from the basement, leaving the battered and broken corpse below. At least it's been dead long enough that there's not a lot of blood splatter! But it's when he reaches the apartment that he spots his door ajar. And no Konstantin. And he's able to make a quick guess as to where the man actually is.

Ideally he'd like to go in there, make his excuses, come up with a quick story about what that portrait is (it's modern art, I told you I worked for an art gallery, right? It came here with me). But there's a little part of Dorian's brain that wonders what if he didn't lie. What if he told Konstantin everything? It would be better not to, he knows he'd instantly lose that innocent status in Kostya's eyes. But after this night, Dorian's not sure how long he'd hold onto that status to begin with.

We'll just see how the conversation goes. Besides, no in-depth conversations will be had until he puts the goddamn brain down.

"Kostya?" Dorian calls out. "I'm back. Do you...well look, there's no good way to ask this, but do you want me to cut this up? You'll have to get out a knife and the cutting board if you do, my hands are otherwise occupied at the moment."

Nothing about this situation is close to hygienic, but it's the principle of the matter! He's not going to just put Kostantin's dinner (or the eel's dinner?) directly on the table. At least he can use a plate.

As mentioned, Konstantin's reactions to things are not always... typical reactions to things. Call it years of extensive psychological training in the cosmonaut program (was he conditioned in ways that were almost inhuman? Maybe, but being borderline inhuman is needed to survive in space), or perhaps these days it's a defense mechanism, a necessity to be able to handle The Horrors that happened to him so that he doesn't lose himself to them completely.

Not long before his arrival in this place, he snuck around the facility holding him as a lab rat, and found a secret area. In that horrible space was his co-pilot from his last mission: hooked to a machine, kept alive in a vegetative state, half his head cracked open. On the wall were pictures of Konstantin, pictures of the people the alien had killed, the gruesome states they were left in. X-rays of the thing inside of him. All of it was a nightmare. He stared at everything in that room for hours.

He stares up at the picture now. It's undoubtedly disgusting, but his initial reaction isn't disgust, which is probably not normal! There's startle, and a morbid sort of curiosity, but he's not so... disturbed by it as he is wondering why the hell it's here at all. Maybe Dorian inherited it from the church storage. (But why would a church have this kind of art piece? Why would anyone?)

The more he stares at it, though, the more unsettled he starts to feel. Because— beneath all that rot, that ooze, that degradation, the absolute loathing and hatred coming out of that fetid face, it kind of... looks like Dorian? Konstantin's tilting his head slowly to one side as he stares intently. Did Dorian maybe... paint this? Some horrible, warped version of his own handsome, youthful face? Why would he do that? Or maybe— it's a father, or grandfather?

A voice calls his name, and Konstantin's head jerks back that way. Dorian's back. He tenses a little, not because he has any suspicions of the other man after this, but because he's fully aware he's been snooping around in his apartment... Ah, well, if he flashes one of his charming apologetic grins maybe Dorian will find it amusing instead of anything else! Konstantin slips back out of the room and joins him in the kitchen. He absolutely wants to express his curiosities about the macabre portrait hanging up in Dorian's room, but first—

"Oh, of course, let me—!" He's rushing to find a knife and the cutting board and bring them over to the table, since Dorian's hands are full of brain. Setting the objects down, he stares at the organ, trying to prepare himself for what's about to come. He's never done this before. Never with a human brain. "We can cut it up. Usually I kind of... purée animal brains to make them into something I can drink, but I think.... it would like chewing on pieces."

And he'd rather do that than just... bite into the fucking thing whole. He has to try to still hold onto his humanity as much as he can.

When he spots Konstantin exit his room, Dorian keeps up his charming little smile. Kostya was snooping and Dorian knows that he was snooping, so best to keep this calm and quiet for the moment. There's no use asking things like 'hey, were you in my room and did you see my cursed portrait' when they both know the answer is yes. Besides, there's a part of Dorian that's curious as to what Konstantin will ask. If he doesn't talk about it, if they ignore the elephant in the room, how long will it take before Konstantin's nosiness wins out?

It's a stupid little game. But it does sound fun.

As Dorian sets the brain on the cutting board, he picks up the knife. His hands are already nasty as is, might as well be the one to do the deed and cut it up—all of this is going to have to be washed anyway. "Your eel looked small," Dorian muses. "If I cut the pieces small enough, you could probably swallow them whole. Take it like a jello shot."

Do cosmonauts do jello shots? They must, everybody's done a jello shot. At least, everybody who's fun. And Konstantin certainly seems like should be fun.

He can't help laughing a little at that, a dose of unexpected amusement in the face of all this horror. There's a man placing a brain down in front of him. This man just dug said brain out of a corpse down in the church basement (and Konstantin knows how hard it is to remove the thing from a human head; skulls are hard, thick, it can't have been easy for Dorian. The mental image of that process couldn't be more gruesome.) He's about to eat said brain. This is all objectively insane.

And yet it's his fucking reality, and he has to laugh, running a hand over his jaw for a moment as he moves to sit down. "It's been a long time since I partied like that. But I think I remember how."

He stares down at the knife in Dorian's hand, the evidence of gore that stains the younger man's skin. This is all.. necessary. It will help in the long run, won't it? He has to believe that.

"It's... good that you're the one cutting it up. It'll smell your scent. It'll understand you're the one providing it with food."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it likes me already," Dorian muses, as he starts to cut up the brain. "I have a way with monsters." Konstantin is right. This is all objectively insane. But Dorian's moving, acting with a casual sort of way that implies this isn't his first rodeo. Chopping up a brain? Yeah, it's weird. But it's a weird that Dorian can adjust to.

As he works, he realizes that while he wants Konstantin to make the first move with regards to his portrait, he's got to give the man something. This is all insane, this is all baffling, he doesn't want to drive away this delightful man due to the complete insanity of the situation. So he can give a little bit. He can give a hint of an explanation.

"Honestly, I wouldn't tell this to anyone, but based on what I've seen today, I think you'd understand. Back home, I had a boyfriend. Tobias. He was a vampire." Just said as casually as humanly possible. There's a moment before, "When your eel bit me and drained some of my blood, I wasn't surprised. I'd done that before, with Tobias. And it seemed to like the taste, so I let it have a little bit more. Better to do that than to have it rip an even bigger wound in my hand to get more."

Konstantin watches the other's hands as he works, listening. Though the words soon have him lifting his head curiously, eyes moving to Dorian's face instead as he stares there now.

A vampire. It's not the first time Konstantin's heard about creatures like this existing — apparently Bigby Wolf is an entire werewolf, and apparently that's normal in his world — but it's always striking. And vampires are a new one for him. People dating vampires is a new one.

Whenever he thinks Dorian's said as much as he can to catch him by surprise, he's always proven wrong. Konstantin's mouth actually opens a little in startle at the rest. The fact Dorian let this boyfriend of his drain some of his blood. The fact he let the alien do that, too. The fact he can maintain such a casual air when voicing either of these things. Sure, Konstantin can be disconcertingly all right with weird shit too, but it's striking to see someone else like that! And Dorian's so young. He shouldn't be cutting up brains and letting monsters feed from him. (He should be at the club)

"...Well, I knew you had spunk, but I didn't know it was like this. Maybe I need a different name for you, sobachka. 'Little dog' may not be fierce enough." He smiles a bit, stupid and playful and trying to figure out what the hell he should do now. He should tell this young man with his entire life ahead of him to run as far away from him as he can. Fuck making friends with the alien; if Dorian just stays away from Konstantin at all, there should be no danger.

(The danger is that Dorian isn't as afraid of monsters as he should be. And the danger is that Konstantin is glad about that fact.)

"You have a good heart. Helping monsters even if it hurts you." And then, thinking of that dark, frightening painting just there in the other room, he adds, a little teasing and a little serious: "And maybe you like a bit of danger."

"The thing is, I like sobachka. You'd have to find a new nickname that's just as cute for me and I'm very picky."

It's a cute nickname. But it's also what Dorian wants to be seen as. Young. Attractive. Harmless. A tiny thing that might nip at your heels, but you don't have to worry about too much. Because Dorian knows that due to whatever this is, whatever new power courses through him, he's going to have to hurt people to stave off that hunger. Konstantin says that he has a good heart. Konstantin compliments him for helping monsters. Konstantin doesn't know that Dorian's the biggest monster in the room.

And honestly? In an ideal world, he'd like to keep it that way.

As he finishes cutting up the brain, dicing it up into small, sashimi-sized chunks (though most are a little bit smaller than that), Dorian sets the knife down and grabs a towel. This towel's going to have to be burned or destroyed or used to clean up stains in the basement later, but there's enough of them here. He can clean it the best he can and then find something not stained by brains and eventually blood. As Dorian dries off his hands, he gives Konstantin a smirk of a smile.

"You're right, by the way. I do like danger. Though I suppose a better way of phrasing it is that I loathe boredom and I adore new experiences. I've traveled, I've taken new jobs, I've gone to extremes just to push past the crushing tedium of being bored. If those new experiences involve attractive men? All the better." And he just blatantly eyes Konstantin over, lingering on his chest for a bit.

Yes, he knows Kostya is taken, but there's no shame in looking!!

Whether intentionally or not, the young man knows exactly what to say to butter Konstantin's heart in just the right way. He can't help smiling again at that, hearing that Dorian likes the nickname, approves of it. Konstantin seeks out approval in any shape or form, even the ones that may seem so laughably minute — he's so hungry for it, desperate for it. For all the ways someone might still see him as something good and wanted even now that he's what he is.

"Then sobachka has to stay."

He watches Dorian set down the knife and wipe his hands, folding his own arms over the table as he leans forward to listen to him. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards like a pleased cat when the younger man eyes him like that; once again, it emboldens Konstantin, makes him feel attractive in the middle of a very unattractive moment for himself... Here he is, freshly having vomited an entire alien right on this man's floor, and now Dorian's about to help him feed said alien a human brain.

The fact he's still getting Looked At should be impossible, but it isn't, and it makes him feel so good he could sing. (Cosmonauts love to sing. Fortunately he'll refrain right now...)

"It sounds like I'm very lucky to have met you, then. And I suppose it's a good thing I'm anything but boring." His smile's pleased as he gives his most Charming Wink, flirty right back, lapping all of this attention up. He loves Vasiliy, this has nothing to do with that, doesn't feel wrong. Konstantin likes being looked at, craves it. Needs it.

"So you're a well-traveled man seeking adventure, and who has a way with monsters. All of that must explain the art piece in your room." He's not just stalling to avoid breaking this fun little moment and eating a human brain, okay. It feels like the right time to satiate some of his curiosity about it, and he adds with a grin, not as concerned about the fact he was clearly snooping as he probably should be: "It's very unique, and a little spooky."

Konstantin... it's definitely a lot worse than that....

He really shouldn't tell Konstantin this. Dorian should absolutely keep the fact that he's a hundred and fifty year old immortal and also that Dorian Gray a secret as long as humanly possible. He should shut up and let Konstantin just think that he's an eccentric. It would be easy enough to do. It's something he should do.

And yet....

"There is a...story behind that painting. If you want, I can trust you with it. But it's not a nice story. And if you'd prefer I remain your little sobachka, I'm just as fine with that."

Dorian's nice. He doesn't bring the bullshit immediately to Konstantin's doorstep by vomiting up an eel. He gives the other man an option. An out. Dorian knows what answer he'd like Konstantin to choose. But wanting something doesn't mean you'll get it.

"So? Do you want to know about that portrait?"

Perhaps there should be at least a few red alarms going off in Konstantin's head about the kind of not-nice story that a young man like this — one who had a vampire lover, one who said that gruesomely ridding a corpse of its brain wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done — could tell. Dorian's sweet, but there's clearly something more to him.

He should run away from not-nice things. Isn't that what most people would do? But the thing is that Konstantin has found himself drawn to them, instead. Bigby Wolf, Louis with the sharp teeth and acid-green eyes. Vasiliy, who came back from the dead and may not even be human at all anymore. There are so many not-nice stores, including his own, and maybe he's always needed to be closer to the potentially dangerous things than the mundane ones. He'd have given his soul to be able to get to outer space; some people might claim he had done just that. And even now, after knowing what lives up there, seeing and living the horror of it for himself, Konstantin would go back the first chance he got.

The fact that listening to this story of Dorian's staves off Konstantin having to eat a human brain in front of a beautiful young man who looks at him so favourably is just another bonus.

"You will always be my little sobachka," he promises with a warm, wide-open smile. "I want to know your story. I'm not afraid of not-nice things."

"In that case, might as well have a little snack while you listen," Dorian muses, as he gestures to the diced up brain. "It's a long story."

This is a good idea, Dorian tries to remind himself. They'll find out eventually, he points out. Your portrait is here, someone's got to know to keep it safe aside from you, he thinks. You're not making a mistake trusting this man. He's young, he's eager, he's willing to hear him out. Dorian should just leave and let Konstantin deal with his own demons.

He doesn't.

Instead he leans back against the counter as he starts to talk. "A long time ago, far before you were born, there was a young man. He had a friend who was an artist and this artist friend asked him to sit for a portrait. The young man did so, thinking nothing of it, but when the work was finished, he was struck by the nature of the portrait. He would grow old. The young man would eventually become an old man. He would age, wither, scar, and die, beauty and youth wasting away to nothing. The portrait would stay as it was, reflecting that precise moment in time. So the young man made a casual, stupid wish. He wished that the portrait would grow old while he could remain as young and youthful as the day the portrait was painted. He would give his soul for that."

Hey that's the premise of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.'

"I first noticed that my painting was taking on my sins after I had a spat with a young actress I was seeing—Sibyl Vane. I fell in love with her for her acting ability, for her sheer talent. But when we decided to court each other, her talent faded. She said that since she had experienced real, true love, she found it hard to mimic it. How could she pretend to be in love when she had experienced the real thing? I...was cruel to her. We fought, I broke things off, she killed herself the next day."

Hey that's the plot of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.

"That's when I noticed it on my portrait. A sneer, a grimace, a trace of my sins that should have reflected on my face but didn't. Over the next one hundred years, I discovered the true extent of that deal I made. My portrait took on every sin, every trace of age, but it also took on wounds, scars, any imperfection. And as you can probably guess from our conversations, I've run into a lot of trouble."

Konstantin looks down to the brain and takes a steadying breath, rolling his shoulders back. He can't put this off much longer, he supposes... And the more he waits, the more restless the creature will no doubt become. Besides, it's a good idea to eat while Dorian talks; the thing will associate his voice with its meal. It'll know that Dorian helped provide for it — yet again, since he already let it have some of his blood.

He slowly reaches for one of the smaller slices, closes his eyes for a moment, and swallows it whole. It's unpleasant the way he knew it would be, both physically and psychologically. But worst of all is the way the creature reacts when the meal hits his stomach; it writhes excitedly around, pecking at the brain with quick little movements, like a fish trying to tear apart bread. Konstantin places one hand lightly to his abdomen, wincing as he waits for it to finish devouring that piece.

Fortunately, Dorian's story is immediately so interesting that it gives him something to focus on through this unpleasant experience. Even more fortunate, maybe, is the fact Konstantin's jock ass isn't much of a reader... He doesn't recognise the story he's being told at all. And god, is it a story. A story full of things that should be impossible. Konstantin's staring up at Dorian from his chair, listening as the handsome young man tells him about a soul sold, about a painting that absorbs the sins of its owner, about so much death and inevitably worse things. Over the next one hundred years — Dorian should be dead. If it were possible for someone to live that long, they'd look... well, they'd look like the man in that hideous portrait. Rotting and decrepit, almost rendered inhuman.

Once upon a time, he would have met such a story with immediate skepticism and disbelief. It's shocking, to be sure. He sits there for a long moment, stunned. But now... he knows impossible things exist. He thinks of Vasiliy, who somehow is alive when he shouldn't be. Youthful-faced when he shouldn't be. (Could this be... anything like that?) Finally, voice quiet and words very slow, thoughtful—

"So you... will never die. You've lived over one hundred years, unblemished. You'll stay that way forever." He's sounding it out, this incredible story. His eyes are wide, but not with fear.

"...This deal you made... did you truly give your soul? What does that mean for you?" It's an odd thing for him to ask. He's never thought much of the concept of a soul. "Are you afraid?"

Dorian keeps his expression calm and neutral at Konstantin's questions. He can die. He did die once. To destroy the painting is to kill Dorian himself. He did it before, a futile gesture to save a woman that he once cared about. And he was stuck in a living hell in return. It took a second deal, a more dangerous deal to be revived. Three victims: one for his voice, one for his body, one for his youth. The murders were hard, but doable.

Konstantin doesn't need to know that. His weakness, the murders, his fleeting moment of altruism. As far as he cares, if Konstantin wants to think that Dorian's immortal and cannot die, then he'll let it.

The metaphysical questions of a soul, however....

"What it means for me...depends. I'm still myself. I still think, talk, love. I still have my preferences." And hey, don't mind him as he stares at Kostya's chest for a bit. "It doesn't feel different. But I know it is. Things have tried to kill me before. Monsters that feed off of the soul of a man, fire that burns you from the inside out...I've survived all that and more. As for your last question?"

He is afraid. He's afraid that he's changed here, he's afraid that he's scarring, his blistering, he can see the smallest lines on his face that weren't there before. What happens if he's burned? If he gets frostbite? Dorian is weak here, the Aurora or Enola or what the fuck ever is messing with his immortality and that is what scares him most of all. That age and vice will catch up to him in this place.

But again: Konstantin doesn't need to know that.

"I'm not particularly afraid. A soul wasn't much use to me when I had it—I haven't had many reasons to mourn it now that it's gone."

Konstantin's trying very hard not to feel self-conscious about the fact he's eating bits of brain right now, and the look he gets helps; the corners of his mouth quirk upwards a little despite himself. Please stare at his chest all you like, Dorian... He's very proud of his Man Boobs...

But he's growing serious again as he keeps listening. This is all... a lot. This man is telling him that he's not... what? Not as human as some? Is that what it is? (No, Konstantin doesn't feel that way, he realises. He doesn't feel that way about Vasya, either.)

He falls to thoughtful silence again at that last part, eyes drifting downwards as he slowly takes another piece of a corpse's organ, swallows it whole like some beast, some unholy creature from a horror story. The thing squirms in his guts again, excited, hungry for more. Many people would say he's less human now, himself.

"I don't think a soul matters much. Maybe that's strange to say, but... things that are tangible are so much more important. Things we can prove. Touch, feel."

Konstantin's not saying souls don't exist, but... he doesn't at all believe in a higher power, and has little place for thoughts of spirituality in general. It doesn't matter to him. What matters is that Dorian's been changed by something, and... maybe that simply makes Konstantin feel more connected to him than before. (He isn't ignoring the fact that that portrait is riddled with marks of "sin", that Dorian has clearly... done dark things. But... it doesn't matter so much to him. Maybe that shows just what kind of person Konstantin is, himself.)

"Your portrait.... if something bad happens to it, will that affect you?" They're connected to each other, the same way that Konstantin's connected to his own creature. It's a concern. This place can be dangerous; he thinks of how the Forest Talkers struck, infiltrating homes, killing people, setting things on fire. What happens if that portrait gets damaged? Can it be damaged?

"Maybe we should find a way to hide it even more, make sure no one can damage it. Keep you safe."

Precisely.

Dorian doesn't think a soul matters either. He's met men with souls who acted like heartless monsters and he's met creatures without souls who were the most human of them all. Besides, it's never bothered him that he doesn't have a soul. Why should it?

Konstantin's question on the other hand...that is something of note. "If my portrait is damaged, the damage reflects on my skin. An enemy of mine stole my portrait and branded it once—the brand marred my face until I had the portrait restored. If someone were to destroy it entirely, I suspect it would kill me."

There's a pause as Dorian lets that sink in before, "So yes, hiding it more might be a good idea. There's some space in the basement I can move it to—unless you have a better idea?"

Dorian's response makes Konstantin frown for the first time, and his eyes cut quickly up to the other again, expression darkening. Maybe some of it is that Old Bear's Blessing in him, that fiery feeling in his gut that's so much quicker to roar to hot flame than it ever used to be. That feeling that makes him so protective over the people here that he's attached to. And yes, he hardly knows this young man at all, has only met him twice now. But attachment forms quickly for someone who looks at him the way Dorian does, and lets himself be doted on, called sobachka. Someone who's seen the worst parts of Konstantin and doesn't want him gone. Someone who's... different, like him.

He doesn't like the thought of anything happening to Dorian. It makes him uncomfortable, unsettled. Angry the way it probably shouldn't.

He's not going to let that happen.

"The basement's a good place, I think." He nods, working his flare of alarm and weird anger into something useful, expression hard and serious. "People don't often go there, do they? Is it possible to lock the doors to it, just in case?"

Pause, before he adds: "This town has been attacked, before. There are people who call themselves 'The Forest Talkers', and possibly other groups out there. They can't be allowed to hurt you."

It's...odd having someone worry about him like this. Dorian is used to going at things by himself, facing the world on his own terms, barrelling through whatever he comes across because he has no other option. Even Toby didn't worry, per se. Not like this. Dorian and Toby knew that the other were capable and knew that they could handle themselves as needed. It's probably why they worked well together.

Dorian misses that man. Tobias Matthews: vampire, lover, soulmate, dead.

Hopefully things will end up better with Konstantin.

"I believe there's a lock," Dorian nods. "No matter what, since I've been very open about the basement serving as a morgue if needed, that should operate as a deterrent." Who wants to hang about with corpses? Gross.

Though Konstantin's last comment gets Dorian's attention most of all. A wry little smile plays on his face as he points out, "Does Russian have a specific term for 'guard dog'? Because you're certainly acting like one right now. I like it."

It's a huge relief to hear that, although Konstantin's still fretful about it, frowning in thought as he mulls it over. He's already planning to keep a close eye on it, too. He can hang around, even make a bit of an ongoing presence outside the church. He's already passing it by on his walks and runs; he can amp that up. Maybe that'll help deter anyone who might think about poking around places they shouldn't.

Dorian's next remark brings him out of his worried thoughts, at least for a moment, and Konstantin looks back up at the younger man with a kneejerk smile before he can even think about the gesture.

"There are a few ways to say it, though none as fun as sobachka." The term of endearment is specifically cute, stylised that way. "But we have a dog breed specifically for guarding. The Moscow Watchdog. We could say... storozhevaya."

That's a short-ish way to generally refer to the dog. Konstantin smiles again, forgetting for just a moment that there's blood on his mouth and a good heap of brain left in front of him and he's sitting across from a man who some might say is barely even human anymore.

"I'd be happy to be your storozhevaya. I'm going to watch over you." Beat as he swallows against the lingering sensation of rubbery organ in the back of his throat. "I won't forget what you've done for me, either."

"Storozhevaya," Dorian repeats, making sure he's got the name and the pronunciation right. Because that's what Kostantin is. A guard dog, somebody keeping an eye out for him. Someone who, oddly enough, Dorian has decided to trust. You trust a guard dog to keep your property safe, he's trusting Kostya with his secret. His true identity.

That next sentence causes Dorian to give Konstantin a little shake of his head. "I'd like to say I'd do what I did for anyone, but I know I'll only do it for the people I find most interesting." Or who he knows he can flirt with. The teasing dies down for a moment as Dorian continues,

"I'll tell you if any more bodies show up. Seeing you writhe on the floor like that...it scared me. I think it would be best for everyone if we keep that eel of yours fed."

It's one thing to barf up a worm in the comfort and privacy of your own home. It's another to barf it up in front of people, to invite strangers who won't be as forgiving into their little secret.

Konstantin can't help another little smile at that, something pleased that he only barely tries to keep hidden. He likes that Dorian thinks he's interesting. He likes it a lot. It's so much preferable to all of the other things that he could think of someone like Konstantin. Other words that he fears being seen as, constantly. Words like dangerous and disgusting.

"I like that you call it an eel. It's much nicer than other things. Almost even a little cute."

It helps make things even slightly more bearable, which means a lot. He's sitting here with the taste of blood and brain fresh down his throat while a slimy alien entity inside of his organs twitches and pulses with movement, finishing up its meal. He could scream in horror and disgust any moment, if he let himself. He can't let himself.

"This will keep it satisfied for a while, thankfully. It's been a while since it had... human, and I can tell that it's.. excited." That's... disgusting, but he can admit such things to Dorian now. "You might become its new favourite person."

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brushoff - 2025-06-23 14:08 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

no one heard you but the stars.

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cw: body horror, corpse dismemberment, a really fuckin long tag

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cw: mention of suicide

cw: cannibalism (again), parasitic feeding things

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