open/closed : hello, i'm here, i'm living in the wall

[brushoff]

Who: Dorian Gray & others
What: Dorian is manic, murdery, and hungy. Thanks, Darkwalker!
When: February and onwards
Where: Milton

Content Warnings: NPC death, violence, body horror, general Wormy warnings

( open and closed starters in comments! )

Comments

for raylan

[brushoff]

Frankly, Dorian has stopped caring.

If this is going to be the end of all things, if this is going to be the apocalypse, then he might as well get on the winning side. Because truthfully, Dorian's a coward. He's died before, he doesn't want to do it again. If he can convince the Darkwalker otherwise, if he can get on this thing's good side well enough to let him be left alone or sent home or whatever the fuck the beast can do, it's worth a shot. Because the alternative? It's not happening.

The alternative is starving. Dorian is so hungry. And the only thing that might mitigate it is feeding.

So, Dorian's got his hand against the mouth of one of his fellow Interlopers as he's pushed her against a wall, hidden around the back of one of the houses. It's easy enough for him to do this. All he needs to do is hold on long enough, drain the essence from her, finally feel satiated for the first time in a while.

Beneath his hand, the woman that Dorian's got pinned against a wall lets out a muffled scream. "There's really no use putting up a fuss," Dorian hisses, under his breath. "And you should be thanking me. You're going to die before everyone else here does."

That is going to be proven very wrong, very shortly. As Dorian's hiding spot isn't exactly as secluded as he thinks and will very soon be in Raylan's eyesight.

[tinstar]

After his last little 'adventure' under the influence of this place, Raylan hadn't dared go too far into the forest to greet whatever was causing the low of his stomach to knot itself every time he thought about the trees. Every time he thought about what waited for him out there. Madness. Monstrosity. A power that would consume him. Was consuming him, every time he dared shift onto all fours. No, Milton and it's streets, however populated, was safer.

No one had so much as pipped at him about his own bloodletting and instead of being grateful, Raylan was bitter about the hypocrisy. Bitter about his own inability to stay on his side of the line, the self-perceived weakness mixing with his fear to make a dangerous cocktail of an already angry man who was currently in the middle of resenting almost everything. Everything except Tim and Goose, that was. The unfortunate result of that was that Raylan was looking for some kind of outlet. Something that would let him vent and take the edge off.

Ears and eyes sharper for his wolfing ability, the shuffle of feet and bodies and muffled scream led his attention as he and his snow grinding step bring Dorian and his prey into view. Raylan's vision narrowed down to a pinhole and his long legs quickened - he knew what Dorian was or, no. He knew the power that Dorian had and while his promise to Chloe hadn't been forgotten, he hadn't yet considered how her being gone might hold him to protect the man he was about to punch.

It didn't slow his hands in the rough grab of Dorian's shirt - Collar if he hasn't turned around much, fist full of chest or shoulder; anything would work to haul him back with a snarl of words. Raylan might not be as strong as he once was, but he wasn't lean for nothing.

"Get the hell off her." He was fully ready to fight, if Dorian decided to scrap or be an asshole...

.. The latter was almost promised.

[brushoff]

Weird Darkwalker powers aside, Dorian is a scrawny man. He’s lithe, a solid average height with absolutely zero muscle tone. It is very easy for Raylan to grab his shirt and yank the immortal over to his side. As Dorian faces Raylan, his eyes are gleaming. It’s the bright, shining intensity of a drug addict on a high, a person on a roller coaster, someone who feels absolutely fantastic and is going to keep chasing this high as long as he can.

(The woman, in contrast, is still alive though very much about to pass out. Thankfully, she’s alive enough to start to get moving, pushing herself away from Dorian and Raylan, working on getting out of the alleyway and getting anywhere but here.)

The threat of physical violence doesn’t seem to phase Dorian. Whether it’s due to the fact that he still thinks of himself as immortal or due to the fact that he just doesn’t care, he can’t pinpoint it. And really, he doesn’t want to pinpoint it. All he wants to do is feed, to calm that hunger that threatens to consume him. And Raylan has annoyingly gotten in the way.

“Lord save me from men trying to play sheriff,” Dorian teases. “Plan on stopping every person who tries something? You’re going to fail. I know you can feel the shift in the air just as much as I can—no point trying to fight it.”

Dorian is absolutely going to be an asshole.

[tinstar]

He should have let Dorian go when he got the man back level with him but his fist remains twisted in fabric, stuck between holding Dorian in place as if he would go after his would-be prey and holding him at bay in some form of self defense. Raylan has seen that look before, normally on crazed and desperate men. Dorian could well be categorized as one of those right now but Raylan didn't think that was desperation he saw.

He clocks the woman slipping away but doesn't move his equally bright, steely gaze from Dorian's face. Keeping the man's attention was paramount. Keep him distracted so his prey will get away. And so, he doesn't do more than draw his lips into a thin, tight line at Dorian's opening tease.

"No, can't do that. Can't fight it. Better to give in like a bitch and forgo any suggestion that you were a man with a spine at all, right?"

The tone was biting and acidic, a sneer curling his lips with the words. The unfortunate truth was, game saw game and he wasn't strong enough to control those asshole impulses. Raylan Givens, card carrying asshole, at your service.

"Not that you got to worry about that, attackin' a woman makes it clear enough." And here he does let Dorian go, just as violently as he grabbed him, with a light shove away from him to match the disgust in his voice.

[brushoff]

The longer Raylan holds onto Dorian, the more cold his hands start to feel. Though Dorian’s Cold Fusion may be diminished, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work—it’s simply holding a solitary ice cube instead of shoving your hands directly in the snow. The longer Raylan holds on, the more painful to touch it becomes. So really, good idea to shove Dorian away. Dorian stumbles backwards as he’s let go, staying upright but obviously a little bit wobbly. At Raylan’s words, at the phrase ‘attacking a woman,’ Dorian can’t help but let out a sharp little laugh. That’s his problem? That Dorian attacked a woman? How parochial!

“Is that your problem with all this? Do you want to swoop in and save her? Prince Charming on his white horse, come to save the day!”

Dorian stands back up, cracking his neck as he gives the man a wild grin. He knows he should let this be. He knows he should leave Raylan alone, to plead his case, to do something to save his reputation. But at the moment, Dorian is just so damn hungry. Raylan will suffice.

“You’re in the wrong sort of story to play the hero. But fine! If attacking a woman is the problem, I can change that. There’s plenty of men who can satisfy me instead.”

Dorian’s attitude is pure ‘bring it.’ He will probably lose this fight. He will probably get something broken. But all he needs to do is grab onto Raylan, to hold onto him long enough for his Darkwalker gift to drain something and he’ll be satisfied for the moment.

[tinstar]

The biting cold in his fingers was barely noticed until the relief of not gripping Dorian washed in. Everything was cold and Raylan wasn't running nearly as hot as he used to. Something else that he hated, something else that ate at him with accusations of weakness. Maybe that's why his hands were in fists without any conscious thought at the cutting laugh.

He had the hat for the horse though.

The toothiness, the brashness of that grin only serves to get his neckhairs up more. In truth, he was torn between two urges - wanting Dorian to do what most men did and cower, give way to his assertions and wanting Dorian to mouth off some more so he could hit him. Thankfully, a threat to men - to him by virtue of the specificity - was more than enough. Then again, 'The Darkwalker take you' was all it had taken before.

There was barely a heartbeat between the end of Dorian's sentence and Raylan's fist flying out, aiming for the middle of the man's face with all the strength that was left in him. He might not win too many physical fights without the Old Bear's Blessing giving him an edge, but he had Dorian on height and fury at minimum.

There wasn't so much as half a thought towards what touching Dorian meant for him, so outside of his norm of concerns, it was forgotten entirely.

for kostya

[brushoff]

Dorian's Darkwalker-induced mania is running the show.

At the moment, he's nothing but intense energy as he makes his way to Kostya's cute little homestead. Dorian's humming something to himself that the good cosmonaut may or may not recognize as an Adam and the Ants song. He's got a thick coat on, holds a cooler at his side, and hasn't done as good a job getting the blood out from underneath his fingernails as he thinks.

Dorian is hardly subtle as he makes his way to the other man's cabin. And why should he be? Subtlety is for people who are scared and terrified. And right now? Dorian feels on top of the world. So he cheerfully calls out, in a sing-song voice, not knowing if the man is even home or not, "Kostya! I've brought you a present!"

You see, he's a good friend. Someone who absolutely would be boyfriend material. He's taking care of Kostya's weird worm-eel-slug thing by bringing him a brain in a cooler, he's just so nice like that!

[sputnik]

Konstantin's stopped leaving the house, for the most part. At first he tried to make some usual visits to the Community Center, but he can barely make it past the front door any more. He's so weak, as sickly as he was when he first arrived here, stripped of the powerful strength he's been indulging in for so long now.

This weakness also comes with an aching hunger that never seems to quite go away, and he's afraid what that means. Afraid that everything he's been dreading for so long has finally come true, that he has to regularly feed on people now to truly stabilise his condition, the way it was back home.

Vasiliy's gone out with Lyudmila to make another slow trek into town, seeking trade and food where they can, and Konstantin stays behind, unable to keep up and knowing it's safest if he doesn't attempt. He's holing himself away very miserably when he hears the voice coming from outside, startled when he recognises it. Dorian?

The shame he feels for his own weakness, his own ugliness, is something he very much does not want to display for Dorian Gray, in particular. But he couldn't ignore him, not when he's come all this way. And so Konstantin will open the door after a long pause, revealing his state: he doesn't look well. Dark circles beneath his eyes, skin pallid, disposition tired and feeble. He has to lean against the doorframe to keep himself up. Even so, he smiles a little; he can't help it.

"You've caught me at a bad time, I'm afraid... I'm not looking my best."

[brushoff]

“You look like shit,” Dorian bluntly points out. Dorian doesn’t look like shit externally—he’s a bit standoffish, not coming close to Kostya, but he looks perfectly fine. No, his weirdness is internal. The corpse that he got this brain from, the woman whose body now lies in a shallow grave, she could turn into a wolf. Dorian did that once, just to see what it was like, but quickly changed back afterwards (dogs are gross, sorry not sorry to Milton’s bizarre wolf pack). And now…it’s hard to explain. His brain feels itchy, off-kilter.

He can’t help but think back to that time in Scotland, after the Great War, where due to magical bullshit, he spent some time puppeting another man’s body. It feels like that, a sensation where he is obviously himself and yet at the same time isn’t.

Dorian doesn’t really like that sensation. Best not to focus on it.

“Fortunately, I have something that can fix it,” Dorian happily chirps, pushing past his own hesitation, his own mental confusion, to just ride the giddiness and euphoria that he’s felt ever since the sun didn’t rise. “I brought lunch. Though admittedly, it’s more lunch for your little passenger than you yourself. With how off-kilter everything’s been lately, I suspect you’ve forgotten to eat.”

Dorian’s talking like this is a perfectly normal, average, every day conversation. But the excitement and mania given by the Darkwalker still courses through his body. He’s like a kid after eating all his Halloween candy—wound up, excited, buzzing at the seams but not for any particular reason. It’s simply how his body is right now.

[sputnik]

There's an almost sheepish but amused grin at that, a reaction he can't suppress before it happens — because it's like a dear friend teasing him, not anything more offensive. And Konstantin is so stupidly charmed by Dorian that he could be called any horrible thing in the world by the other man and still not take true offense.

....On the other hand, his shame practically ignites; he doesn't want Dorian to see him like this. But it's too late to run away, the damage has been done, and it's not as if Konstantin could ever really run away from Dorian Gray. Especially not when he's like this, all cheerful and energetic. It's... it's nice to see, even if it does stand out as a bit odd, considering all of the shit falling down on their heads these days, and the literal world most likely coming to an end.

Then he's staring, expression immediately melting into stun.

"You brought....?" His eyes sweep down to that cooler in Dorian's hand, and realisation dawns on him. Wait— wait. Did he really.... (Of course he did. Dorian's done the very same once before, hasn't he?)

"....Someone else died?" Not 'you killed someone?' because Konstantin doesn't think like that about Dorian, even if all signs say that he should maybe assume as much. (Never mind that the cosmonaut isn't as stupid as he actually seems. Never mind that sometimes it's about choosing not to think a certain way instead of really being oblivious to it!)

And definitely never mind that he's now staring at that cooler with something more focused. ...Something hungry. If that's what he thinks it is, then.... (He needs it, he fucking needs it.)

[brushoff]

"Is that how we're phrasing it? Someone else died? " Dorian laughs. Because Konstantin has to know by now. He has to at least suspect. Dorian knows he's a monster, he knows that sooner or later, Kostya will realize that as well. He doesn't want it to happen, but he knows he's going to. After all, there's far more blood on his hands now than there was before.

"In that case yes, my dear Kostya, someone else died. Waste not want not, after all. At least one of us should end this evening satiated and not hungry."

The more they talk, the more Dorian looks over at Konstantin, it's obvious there's something wrong. His eyes are glassy, his bearing jittery, it's the mania of someone who's hopped up on caffeine or a Darkwalker induced high. Dorian doesn't seem to notice it, though. He's treating this like it's a perfectly normal, every day conversation, despite the fact that he's carrying a cooler full of brain.

open

[brushoff]

Dorian is in the community center, absolutely chowing down on a can of tinned tomatoes.

Frankly, this isn’t fair. He knew what he had to do to satiate that Darkwalker hunger. And frankly, it was easy enough to kill that other person (Peter, Dorian. His name is Peter.) Hold on long enough, absorb his entire being, leave him outside for the fog to rot away the body. Honestly, it feels like the Darkwalker is helping, giving him the means and the opportunity to hide the evidence of his crime.

But if that’s the case, then why the fuck is it also hindering him? Dorian knows what absorbing one of Enola’s gifts feels like. He’s done it before, after all. It’s not supposed to make him sluggish, he’s not supposed to trip over his own feet, he’s not supposed to be hungry like this. Because the Darkwalker hunger, that hunger innate to him that’s only rarely satiated is now combined with the more physical hunger of the Free Runner gift. And so, Dorian Gray is just scarfing down a can of tinned tomatoes, using his fingers to scoop them directly into his mouth.

It’s not a great look.

When the door to the community center opens, Dorian looks over at the new arrival. The hunger is writ large in his expression—this is a man not bothering to hide any of it. “Please tell me you brought some food for the group,” he sighs. “Or at least, reassure me that you too have a gift from Enola that’s a tiny bit fucked up right now.”

[ricochetingbullets]

Dex walks into the center and notices Dorian eating his food like some sort of wild raccoon, just picking it up and stuffing them in his mouth. A curl of disgust comes to his lips that he doesn't bother to hide but he's got no room to talk. He's been hungry for days now, both in mind and body. It's starting to wear on him a little bit, with his usually impeccably groomed appearance looking just a touch more out of sorts, his hair messy and his jacket with a few more small stains on it that he hasn't bothered to wash off just yet.

He's got four dead squirrels in one hand, holding them by their tails. "These two are for whoever wants or needs them." He takes the two smallest and skinniest ones, holding them out towards Dorian. "The other two are for me and my dog." Despite himself, Dex has started to grow very fond of his wolfdog, and is determined to make sure Cy has enough to eat too. Is this what caring about another creature feels like?

He doesn't make any comment on if any of his gifts are messed up. Dex has a near obsession with making sure he appears to be completely and utterly ordinary. He never wants to come off as different, so until he can confirm other people besides him are having trouble with their gifts, he won't comment either way on how hard it's become to turn into a wolf or how hungry he is all the time now.

[brushoff]

Using the back of his hand, Dorian wipes away some of the tomato juice from his lips. The way he’s staring at those squirrels, the intensity in his eyes, it’s obvious there’s some part of him that’s contemplating eating them raw. But that’s a step too far from him. Dorian might give into his impulses, he might be giving into whatever temptation comes his way, but he still has a reputation to uphold. Plus, the squirrels probably have worms. (Do squirrels get worms? Dorian’s not sure).

“I will happily take one of them off of your hands,” Dorian says, as he goes over to grab one of the squirrel corpses. He’s holding it gingerly, like one would hold something absolutely disgusting (Lord, it probably does have worms). The mention of a dog gets his attention. Dorian, who is not an animal person, does a quick once-over to make sure that the dog isn’t actually in the community center—if that thing slobbers on him, he’ll be very put out.

“Is your dog a normal dog or one of those wolf dog things that have been passed around like a cheap date?”

Because seriously, with how many people have arrived and then left or arrived and then been eaten by something, it can’t be good for the dogs.

cw: reference to previous animal abuse, mental health conditions

[ricochetingbullets]

Indeed, the wolfdog is in the building. He's flopped over, resting by the piano in a comfortable doze until his master is ready to go back home. Hearing Dorian talk about his pet that way means Dex's usual attempts to act like a normal human being go straight out the window. "Insult Cy again by calling him a thing and I might just take that squirrel back." In another man, those words might have been light and joking. Between the lack of emotion on Dex's face and his eyes plus the completely flat tone in his voice, it's clearly a threat.

Within himself, Dex feels confused. Having always seen animals as just something to hurt since he was a kid, something that had taken a lot of therapy sessions growing up to overcome, he's not sure why this particular animal makes him feel any different. He feels protective of Cy and has little to no desire to ever hurt or kill him. With the utter disconnect between himself and his own emotions due to his ASPD, Dex has no idea what feeling genuine affection for a pet as he now does should look like in someone like him.

[brushoff]

Dorian raises an eyebrow at Dex’s immediate grumpiness. Well then. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. This is why he hates dog people! You express dislike of the beast, of a smelly, stinky, dirty animal and suddenly you’re the bad guy. He rolls his eyes dramatically before pointing out,

“Am I the only person in this damn town who doesn’t like dogs? Everybody else seems perfectly fine with them, letting them go inside the house.” Dorian lets out a little huff before the bitching continues. “Just because people here can turn into dogs doesn’t mean that we need to let them go everywhere.”

[consistentpatterns]

Nancy steps into the Community Center, taking a bit of a break from the fog outside because she might be used to Hawkins’ own flavour of weird, this is something else. She scrubs a hand through wild curls, catching sight of Dorian going positively FERAL on a can of tomatoes.

“I’ve got a couple cans in my bag,” she tells him. “No gift, though.” She knows about them, knows that they’re a thing. She just hasn’t ended up with any. So far as she’s discovered, anyway. (She’s not sure how she’d feel about that, if she did end up with any. The only one with powers in their little group back home is El, and she’s gone through hell, poor kid.)

[brushoff]

Oh hey, it's that girl from before. Dorian gives Nancy a little nod before he reaches for a napkin to wipe tomato juice away from his face.

"If you're offering those cans to the community, I will happily take one. And be glad that you don't have a gift. Whatever's going on right now, it's fucking them up to hell and back. Normally, I'm perfectly fine, but now? I'm famished."

Granted, this isn't his usual gift. This is an ability stolen from someone he killed that Dorian's only guessing how it would usually go. But he doesn't need to know how it usually works to know that 'massive, unending hunger' isn't the sort of thing that should be happening.

[consistentpatterns]

“It’s more I forgot they were in there until you started talking about being hungry.” She rummages in her backpack and pulls out three cans. “I’ve got… baked beans, another can of tomatoes, and some spaghettios.” Whichever one (or ones, honestly, it looks like he might need a couple of them) she’ll grab one of what’s left.

[brushoff]

“What the fuck are spaghettios?”

Despite the fact that Nancy caught him eating canned tomatoes out of the can, with his hands, there’s still something a little posh about Dorian. The way he carries himself, the way he talks, it’s obviously that of a man who’s used to the finer things in life, who’s used to not suffering or wanting, and who has zero clue who the fuck Chef Boyardee is.

open. cw: suicide, body of a dead teenager, gun violence

[brushoff]

There is a dead teenager on the ground in front of Dorian. He’s looking down at the teenager, one of the Forest Talkers, though he doesn’t know the kid’s name. What was it that they were saying during that attack? Yammering on about the Long Dark, how everything was going to die. A cute little cult based around the Darkwalker. Idly, Dorian wonders what would have happened if he had opened up about his gift to these children. If he had led with hello, Dorian here, don’t mind me, your freaky little god just gave me the power to kill people with my hands.

No use wondering. After all, it’s not like he could do anything about it.

There’s the sound of a branch breaking behind him, the sound of someone walking closer. Someone else is probably here, someone who also decided to venture out to the forest for food, shelter, an escape, and is now looking at Dorian as he looks dispassionately at the body of a dead teenager. Dorian takes a moment to try and steel himself. He’s indulged too much already. That hunger, that giddiness is still at the wheel, still driving all his actions, but it can’t do it now. He needs to practice something he’s terribly bad at: restraint.

“I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dorian dryly remarks as he takes a step to the side, letting whoever approaches see the corpse. “Look at their head. A bullet, straight through the skull. I’m no Poirot but even I can see that the trajectory only makes sense if it’s suicide.” There’s a pause before Dorian sighs. “Besides, everybody knows my modus operandi already.”

[moralabsolutism]

That is in fact exactly what Rorschach is thinking. Look, he doesn't like Dorian for what he feels like are very good reasons. Namely that the man has killed other people here without feeling so much as an iota of remorse. He's been thinking of killing him for months now and being done with it, even after his talk with Kostya. Why he hasn't is only because it's been difficult to find a way to make it look like an accident so he could get away with it.

But there will be none of that today. He draws close, looking down at one of the young Forest Talkers, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trenchcoat. He sighs in an almost mirror of the same one Dorian makes and then shakes his head slowly. "What a waste."

[brushoff]

Dorian lets out a small, bitter laugh as he dryly muses, “For once in my life, I agree with you on this.”

Because it is a waste. That Forest Talker was young, barely out of his childhood. Aging is a curse, decay is a curse, Dorian could understand killing yourself if you were older. A fifty year old man shooting himself through the head makes sense. But a youth? It’s a waste.

“We’re all going to die here eventually,” he sighs. “That much is apparent. But there’s no need to chase it like that. When it happens, it will happen.”

[moralabsolutism]

He nods. "Well put." Rorschach has long since accepted that he's never returning to the time and place that he'd been taken from. This is his home now, for better or for worse. Though with the way things keep heading, the 'for worse' portion of that statement is becoming more and more true. Things are becoming grim indeed he knows if people are starting to commit suicide. There had been a few here and there over the years, mostly at the start, but no one recently up until now.

"Should bury himm." With how frozen the ground is, that's going to be a tall order. Still, it doesn't feel right to leave someone who had been young and alive not long before alone in the snow to freeze or be eaten by predators.

[brushoff]

“We should,” Dorian nods. Though truthfully, by ‘we’ he hopefully means ‘someone else.’ Dorian doesn’t exactly want to bury the body as that's an effort he frankly doesn’t want to take. The ground is hard? That requires time and effort? Gross?

“At least for the moment, we can store him in the church’s crypt. He can stay there until the ground’s warm enough to bury.” There’s a moment before Dorian points out, “And I doubt he’ll be the only corpse we find.”

If there’s one Forest Talker who kills themselves, there’s a high likelihood there will be more than one. You can’t just have one person do a ritual suicide.