maskormenacelogs | he's a ghost, he's a god

Entry tags:

he's a ghost, he's a god

WHO: Dorian Gray & James Patrick March
WHERE: a bar bourgie enough to serve absinthe
WHEN: early in the month? like, March's first or second day
WHAT: continuation of this tdm thread, errybody in the club getting tipsy while trying to figure out each other's deal
WARNINGS: likely everything, definite talk about murder, gross healing, and all sorts of other terrible AHS/CODG things. :c will edit when warnings come up icly

The two of them made their way to the bar, Dorian grinning at March all the while. He liked this guy. He was an old-fashioned ghost who was perfectly fine talking about dying and seemed absolutely fine pumping Dorian for more information about how he died. The more they talked, the more Dorian realized that March was someone who he wanted to find out more about, someone who he wanted to just to see what this guy's deal was.

What better way to do that than over drinks?

Once they reached the bar, Dorian gestured to the entrance in a sort of overdramatic fashion. "The first round's on me, of course. They provide you with a stipend, as long as you stay registered, but it's hardly enough for someone who's used to the finer things in life." And Dorian, with his name brand shirt and expensive looking slacks, is obviously someone used to the finer things.

"Shall we?"

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Overdramatic fashion coupled with a black heart is the best fashion, so Dorian gets a truly pleased, companionable smile for his efforts. One that only grows at Dorian taking lead with the tab. An outsider looking at the both of them might well assume they were old friends reunited, not two men who just met, if all they did was look at March's face, his body language. Comfortable, eager, warm.

"Indeed we shall!" He knew enough about the modern world, however, to know better than walk straight in with pipe still lit. So he takes a moment to fix that minor problem before he enters and looks around. Devil's Nest is a name that sticks out, meaning the place itself should have a decor, a design, something to show off it's worth such a name. "Tell me, this stipend, does it do well keeping us where we're desired, or are there those who reject it for scruples?"

Except when he says those, there's a slight edge to his tone, like if he were a crasser man he'd have used a less than kind word instead, one that insulted the intelligence or common sense of these those.

It does indeed have a decor, something that can be summed up as sleek. This isn't the sort of bar that college students go to because they want shots, this is a bar that exudes class. Dorian stubs his cigarette out on his hand as he enters in. It hurts, obviously, but this is partly Dorian showing off, partly Dorian simply having no idea where a damn ashtray is. He'll toss the cigarette in the bathroom later.

Spotting the bartender, Dorian gives him a small nod of recognition, gesturing for March to follow him and sit down at the bar. As for his question... "Of course there are some who reject it. Some people like to pretend they still have morals and don't want handouts or what have you." Dorian rolls his eyes and it's obvious what he thinks about people who reject the stipend. Free money, man.

"I'm not going to make a stand or whatever if it actively harms my way of living. I've already had to downsize being ported into this world, I don't want to downsize even further."

March makes note of the hand-as-ashtray technique with absolutely no visible reaction. No cringing, no approval, no horror resulting in a stuttered protest. If Dorian wants to use his own flesh as an ash tray, March isn't here to stop it. He will, of course, later see the lack of mark and find that terribly fascinating as he wonders if the portrait bears a new mark, but for now? It's simply a thing that happened.

He slides into the spot next to Dorian with ease, again giving off that old friend vibe as his eyes wander from walls to bartender. Does Dorian know him more intimately than a regular customer, is there some story between them? He'll watch and find out—better than any of those ghastly flicker shows, actually seeing interaction. In person!

"How unsurprising. Somewhat reassuring, as well, to know regardless of place, people retain a semblance of predictability. Confusing refusal and inaction for action. Making a stand, as you call it." March does not roll his eyes, but the wave of his hand fills in for such dismissive body language just the same. Dorian seems to consider himself a superior being, and if he is exactly who he says he is, March fully understands why he would, past that excellently dark black surrounding him. Conversations must change depending on the party, and if Dorian is content to jab at his fellows who have rejected what's been offered, well then! Seems the best option for March to follow suit, offer a sympathetic and understanding ear to the plight of dealing with such oh-so-common and therefore dull sorts. "You appear to be doing well for having had to downsize, however."

He is definitely talking about Dorian's clothes.

Casual burning, no biggie, don't wonder too much about Dorian's lack of a burn and the fact that he was cavalier enough to stub out a cigarette on his hand in the first place, it's just normal!

The look between Dorian and the bartender is simply a look of recognition, nothing more. It's not flirty, it's not overly friendly, just a look of appreciation. Dorian comes to the bar often, he's a good tipper, and he doesn't cause any trouble (trouble's caused at the other bars, you don't shit where you sleep after all). The bartender knows that with Dorian here he's liable to order at least two absinthes, provide wonderful conversation, and leave a great tip. As such, Dorian knows that he'll get better service and, if he tells the bartender to leave the two of them alone, they'll be left alone.

As the bartender comes over, Dorian gives the man a nod. "The usual, for me. And I'd like another absinthe for Mister March here as well." Reaching into his wallet, he slides over a debit card. "Both on my tab, and let's keep it open for now." With a nod, the bartender heads back to the credit machine and Dorian turns towards March.

And oh how lovely, they're on his favorite conversation topic: himself. Dorian's mood just perks up as March mentions how well he's doing. Grin on his face, Dorian just continues talking. "You can always find money if you know where to look. Since we're imPorts, we're practically celebrities. There's modeling, endorsements...and a few other less scrupulous ways of making money for those with more flexible morals."

It didn't take long for people to figure out that Maurtia Falls was the more crime-ridden of the cities. While Dorian's brief attempt at costumed supervillainy was behind him, he still helped out with the crime mobs every now and then. It handsomely helped to pay the bills.

An appreciated bartender is a happy bartender. And a James Patrick March so politely referred to as Mister March is appreciated and happy as well. What manners this Dorian Gray has! How fortunate he is to have latched onto who is clearly one of the best sorts of people in the same situation as him! Everything's turning up March tonight and he is simply delighted.

Delighted still by Dorian's eagerness to talk more about himself. Conversation is always a give and take process, and if March can give an ear and take home a fuller picture of any interesting individual, by God, the process has been executed beautifully. He's an inward bundle of glee at this turn of events, though that doesn't manifest outwardly. He's attentive and interested without going overboard, a picture perfect image of someone who just really does enjoy listening to others. Others who are worth listening to, of course.

"You've combated your downsizing with a healthy dose of resourcefulness. That's to be admired, Mister Gray." Said in a tone that conveyed March himself admired such a move. It spoke to ambition, and ambition coupled with the idea of flexible morals was as much March's cup of tea as the finest absinthe. "You must have astounding connections by now. Tell me, which of these cities do you find the most useful for a man endeavoring to reclaim his former status?"

Because damn right has March seen a dark array of auras around Maurtia Falls, but that doesn't mean there can't be more elsewhere. And asking a man who loves to speak of himself what he believes is always a given.

Dorian knows he's being flattered. A healthy dose of resourcefulness, astounding connections, March is blatantly flattering him and Dorian is just lapping that up. So what if it's blatant! So what if half of this is probably March saying these nice things and not meaning them at all, trying to get on Dorian's good side. Dorian likes it. He likes it when people talk about him and he adores it when people flatter him. So keep it up, Mister March, Dorian is basking in all this attention like a small little lapdog.

"Easily Maurtia Falls," Dorian decisively remarked, with a little nod. "Heropa's teeming with superheroes, De Chima's simply boring and Nonah's got better imPort PR. If you want something above the line, Nonah's your better choice. But if you value ambition over scruples, Maurtia Falls is the place to be."

He had a feeling that March was the sort of man who valued ambition most of all. After all, they ended up on money within the first hour of their conversation. And, aside from that, he seemed like a man with exceedingly flexible morals. The only question now is, what will March do with his former status?

"Is there anything in particular you want to happen?"

Superheroes, hmm? There's a little twitch of those tiny-mustached lips, enough to denote disdain. Those who call themselves heroes, or are lauded as such by others, tend to be obnoxious and blind. What must they be like when the title super is tacked to the beginning? Truly insufferable, March would wager, which means Heropa is immediately placed in the check out last section. Perhaps a few of these superheroes have the ability to become something else, something better, there is that potential. But he can wait for that, needs time to acclimate himself better. Starting off with more familiar territory sounds the most reasonable decision.

As does keeping things still a bit vague. Dark heart this Dorian may have, doesn't mean he's got sealed lips for anyone else like him. Wouldn't do to let it all out at once, no, no, isn't any mystery, any intrigue, any draw that way. To complete that draw, March lowers his voice and leans in a little as is sharing secrets and extending trust.

"You see, in life, I was a very wealthy man. Oil and coal brought an early fortune. This came with a different taste than the lower classes, as you must know. Tastes that are not easily accommodated without some riches behind a man's name." He could be talking about fine wines, expensive clothes, priceless jewels, any number of things those elite like to lavish themselves in. Except his tone has a minor edge to it—Dorian can take that as any number of things, all of them equally shady, and that's more than fine with March. In time, he's sure, truths will be revealed. "I believe my first order of business, after this evening, should be making my name worth what it once was."

An eyebrow lifts, chin tilting up slightly. Does Dorian agree, approve, see the sense in it, does he understand? Do any particularly words of wisdom on the matter spring to mind? March is all ears.

A different taste than the lower classes, oh how Dorian knows what March is talking about. People are willing to overlook your vices if you have money. He knows that it would be different if he didn't have any money. Some lower-class sap that frequented an opium den was a drain on society, someone who you publicly talked about and set up welfare funds for. But for someone with money? Someone who had money and power behind their name could do whatever they wanted. Dorian was proof of this himself. He frequented all sorts of horrible places back in the day, publicly linked himself to all sorts of depravities. And people talked, of course. But people never did anything.

He knows precisely what March's tastes are. Though the specificities interest him more. Is it drink, drugs, or women?

"I can point you in the right direction of some people both above and below level. Nonah always wants models and spokespeople, you'll need at least a little bit of legitimacy, after all, to keep people from asking questions. But the grand thing about Maurtia Falls is that it's developed a wonderfully robust industry of looking the other way. I can introduce you to some people and I'm sure you can find a way to make yourself useful for less legitimate pursuits." After all, ranging from corrupt cops to art forgery, there's a little bit of corruption everywhere in Maurtia Falls, especially if you know where to look. Dorian's confident that he can find something for March, however old fashioned he is, to make his stake in.

"As for some of your tastes," and here, Dorian's smirk just widens as he gives March a smile that's toothy and nasty, "if there's a specific vice you're after, let me help you indulge it. After all, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."

Good manners, knowledgeable, all too content to share said knowledge when phrased properly, and apparently share more than knowledge? As he lived and breathed, March had definitely caught a winner here. He's being offered quite a lot and has the common sense God gave a lemming to show it, equal parts admiration and appreciation for Dorian's generosity. He smiles like a child let loose in a freshly stocked candy shop with a five dollar bill and absolutely no rules on how to use it. All there is to see now is potential, for sugary sweet, for bittersweet, for tart...the whole world of goodies being flashed before his eyes, all thanks to Dorian.

"I would dearly appreciate it and return the favor as soon as I can. You have my word." A man was only as good as his word, and despite the look of being pleased as punch with this turn of events, his words were serious, iron-clad. They hadn't shaken hands or signed any contracts, but words could serve just as well in their place, in March's opinion. "As for vices...I couldn't agree with you more. Nor find fault with encouragement. But I won't be able to partake of that specific vice for some time yet, and there's something to be said for leaving a little mystery, don't you think?"

Not now, but later is another version of giving his word, too, Dorian may realize.

Dorian is lapping up that admiration like a starving man takes to water, keep giving him smiles like that and you'll have yourself a lifetime enabler, March. Of course, he's not entirely certain if having March's word means that March will stick to his word. After all, he's just met the man. But so what if he doesn't! If March goes back on his word, rats Dorian out to the police or does something like that, what's the worst that will happen? He's already established a certain reputation, being ratted out will only enhance that reputation.

But oh, the talk about vices. Dorian can't help but give March a comically exaggerated pout for a moment (a little bit of mystery, oh come on buddy!) before instantly swapping back to his small little smirk. "It's hardly fair. You can read me like my book and I'm stuck with a little bit of mystery for you!"

He's teasing. March may know Wilde's story but he doesn't know Dorian's entire story. And that small little smile on Dorian's face shows that he's straight up being a shit for the sake of being a shit. And, as he grins at March, the bartender walks past to them, sitting a glass of absinthe before each of them, with all the accoutrements on the side. "Shall we?"

Edited (this is why you doublecheck placeholder words......) 2016-03-07 04:13 (UTC)

That admiration is a bottomless pit. If Dorian ever needs to talk and feel he's being heard, that his worries and woes and delights are absorbed and shared, he's found the man for such a job. Regardless of what else happens this evening, or what it leads to, hopefully he's presented himself as such. That Dorian will walk away thinking he's gained not only a new connection (blossoming, but someone worth watching bloom) but a friend, a confidant.

Wait until he finds out quite a few people would be content if Dorian met a sticky (or perhaps shitty) end. How happily he'd milk the whole confidant cow for all it was worth.

Dorian's grins are returned, equal parts amusement and growing fondness. He's less on the shit side of it all. For now. Especially since absinthe has shown her lovely face, garnering a broad smile from March as he has no reservations taking a look over the splendid reminder of home.

"Certainly!" He's quick to grab up the absinthe spoon, pointing to Dorian's glass first with it. "Shall we start off in the traditional manner? I'd be honored to prepare your glass for you."

Start off he says because, yes, he'll end up drinking it straight without fuss or care. And he thinks Dorian would be fine doing just the same.

Dorian's certainly viewing March as a friend. They've only known each other for what, an hour tops, and there's something so delightfully wicked about this man. He doubts that it will reach the same level of trust as his more established friends any time soon, but it's been ages since he found somebody and hit it off with them right away. Most people he's had to slowly peel away their personality, reaching past first layers to find what he truly thinks about them. March is reactive in such a terrible way.

(Which really, is going to give Dorian a little bit of pause later—how'd this guy know what to say and how to get his attention so well? But right now, ahhhhhh fuck it, they're gonna drink absinthe.)

As March offers to prepare the glass, Dorian simply nods, gesturing to the drink. "Lay on, Mister March." If he's offering, Dorian won't say no. Besides, a little part of him wants to watch and make certain that March is doing their first glass right. Because yeah, it's definitely the first glass and Dorian's definitely going to drink it straight.

Begs the question which method to use—the flashier, fiery ritualistic drinking of absinthe, or the quieter, calmer method? Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a question at all, and he'd believe Dorian to enjoy the first. But this is not his bar, he is in an unfamiliar devil's territory, and despite the sense of not my business, not my concern he's gotten so far, he's not yet out to draw more attention to himself than necessary. So the calmer, more serene process wins out. Dorian's glass is slid over with the utmost care, March treating the spoon and sugar cube and fountain with the same gentleness as he quickly goes about business. He's deft, his body language fluid, speaking to a man who's done this exact routine a thousand times before if he's done it once.

"I've a party." Wait, wrong. "Had a party. Once a year, in my hotel." Mild disappointment seeps in, natural of realizing he's no longer home, supposing that's all over now. "Absinthe has been our customary libation for as long as we've sat down together."

Which may help explain why he's so damned good and quick with this, handing Dorian his now properly mixed sugary Green Lady before he turns to fix his own.

"If these papers handed out are to be believed, this may be the last night that requires payment for absinthe itself. Are these papers they've given me to be believed?"

Ohoho an extension of further trust, of course because he stands to gain. He's no stranger to odd powers, not at all, but the idea of having ones he never imagined, just poof here they are? Not his usual. So better to ask and give at the same time. If it's true, and easily done, then what else would Dorian ever require in this one regard than a whisper in March's ear? And a gallon or water, perhaps, since he can't make it from nothing. Or so he assumed. Superpowers are just weird.

He really is giving this the delicate process the drink deserves. Dorian can't help but nod appreciatively as March makes the drinks, with a calm steady hand, one who's done this time and time again. Great job, March is just rising up in his book, old fashioned he may be but he certainly knows how to make a proper drink.

"Sounds like my sort of party," Dorian can't help but chime in, a little grin on his face, as he takes the offered drink. It's his sort of party more than he realizes. Dorian takes a small little sip, as if testing the drink and makes a slightly big deal of swishing it around his mouth a bit, like he's at a wine tasting. He knew the drink would taste good. He's just doing it to be a bit of a jerk. As he swallowed, Dorian gave March a small smirk....and then promptly proceeded to down the rest of the absinthe in like one gulp. He's great at being a lush.

As for the question about the papers... "What, the bits about your 'superpower?'" He doesn't make air quotes, but they're visible in his voice. "They're definitely to be believed. When I first arrived here, I had a superpower that wasn't part of my immortality—enhanced reflexes. I made certain those worked by accidentally falling out of a window and landing on my feet." He falls out of windows a lot. The sensation of falling out of a window and landing straight on his feet was something utterly new and utterly weird to Dorian.

Of course, the key word here is had. Thanks Porter. "Mind telling me what you received?"

Dorian's desire to drink all at once earns another broad smile from March as he finishes up his own. He understands the idea that drinks must be slowly savored, but he's always been more inclined to similar. Downing something immediately doesn't take away from the enjoyment. In fact, March finds it praise. Good enough to drink all at once, good enough to crave throwing any sort of propriety to the wind is a compliment.

"In that case, I should be able to make my own absinthe." Said as he lifts his glass, pinkie finger extended. So proper, so old-fashioned, goodness gracious. He leans back in his seat, lifts it in mock toast to Dorian, and follows suit by downing the whole glass in one gulp. Just two snobby lushes doing their snobby lush thing together. "The others are not new. I've little reason to doubt their validity. Creating absinthe is unheard of, unfamiliar territory."

The others—yes, he'd heard that had (how interesting, what could cause these superpowers to stop? Stress? Change? Loss?) but leaves it for the moment. Offers his own little hook just to see what Dorian will do with it.

Dorian can't help but give March a look that's a borderline pout. What? He had the ability to make his own absinthe? Well color Dorian jealous, that is perhaps one of the most useful superpowers around. Like teleporting, yeah, that's nice and he adores his immortality, but the ability to create your own absinthe? He'd be drunk 24/7, what the hell! How'd this man get such a great power?

Needless to say, the 'let's be friends with March' train just KICKED INTO HIGH GEAR because again, free absinthe.

"I've got to say, making your own absinthe? It sounds like you lucked out." Annoyingly so. Urgh, Dorian's still put out about this, that's such a cool superpower. But, as March said, it's only one of his abilities. And Dorian's nosy enough that he is perfectly fine poking around and asking about the others. "What else can you do? Ability wise, of course. Though if there's a hidden talent I should know about, I won't say no to you giving up that information."

A great power indeed. He could attempt to turn the water left to absinthe so he and Dorian would be set for a while, though he'd expect the bar might find that a bit tacky. Still! If the idea came from his companion, he'd have no qualms with it. Dorian had brought him here, after all, he would know far better than March how they might react to such.

And there's the question he needed, the perfect segue into proper discussion. March is more alert than ever, propping one elbow on the bar and leaning in again, eyes on Dorian and that smile for the first time crossing into what a shit territory.

"You know what an aura is, don't you? I met a man who could capture them on film many years ago. After much practice, there was no need for film. I could see anyone's aura the moment I saw them." The hand leaves the bar to point at Dorian briefly before finding shelter under his chin, like March has just come across the absolute most fascinating thing there ever was. "Do you know what yours looks like, Mister Gray?"

Dorian can't help but grin a little, raisin an eyebrow. Reading auras. Yes, he's heard of auras, and generally thought of them in the same sort of hokey category like psychics and tarot. But then, he had a psychic read his tarot and it straight up came to life so he can't be too skeptical with regards to auras. But what his looks like...the great thing about his portrait is that Dorian looks at it and sees all the sin, he sees every single trace of how he hurt himself and hurt others, he sees what kind of a human being he really, truly is.

So, with a hundred percent sincerity, he chuckles a dark little chuckle before bluntly saying, "I don't. But I imagine it looks like shit."

If his aura reflected his portrait, reflected his soul (for he had that again, didn't he) then March could truly see what sort of a man Dorian was and just what sort of horrors lie beneath that beautiful exterior. If not? Well, at least this gave him a good idea of what Dorian thought of himself.

He laughs.

It's loud, it's truly and deeply amused, he even smacks the bar with his other hand. The image of a man laughing at something very funny, that's James Patrick March. So funny he throws caution to the wind, doesn't mind if eyes turn over at the noise. Laughter is a natural, human sound, after all. Some may find it obnoxious or disruptive, but there will be those who find it heartening. Which is exactly what they're discussing, how appropriate.

"On the contrary!" So amused, so pleased, so exceedingly focused on Dorian Gray and nothing or no one else. "Your aura, dear man, is even more beautiful than your face. You see, most people fluctuate between red and blue. But yours, Mister Gray, yours is pitch black. Not a hint of anything else. It's intense. A calm intense, mind. You've clearly paid no heed to ignoring vices, only indulging them. Yielding to temptation isn't weakness, and you know that. You've embraced exactly who you are, Mister Gray, and in doing so have painted an absolutely gorgeous picture."

An absolutely gorgeous picture of King Shithead that March is just so happy to drink up like properly prepared absinthe.

A pitch black aura. Well now. He shouldn't be surprised. And really, he's not that surprised because again, he knew it was shit. But pitch black? Indulging vices, yielding to temptation, being someone who has no qualms in doing and getting what he wants, Mister March you've painted a perfect picture of him. Granted, this is a perfect picture that anyone who's read Oscar's book would be able to guess at but he's just so happy. Why would March be this happy if he truly didn't believe it?

Come to think of it, why would he be so happy about a pitch black aura to begin with?

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it," Dorian mused, obviously quoting from something (he's quoting from Picture of Dorian Gray, like the cliche motherfucker he is. Harry's words, but oh how applicable they've been.) Dorian looks over at March, as if studying the man a bit will help him find out just why he's so excited about Dorian's aura. "In between my aura and your absinthe, I've got a feeling we're going to be great friends."

Because he appreciates art, and looking at the wonderful history of art and the many artists who become famous, there is a plethora of shit.

"I truly believe the very same, Mister Grey."

And he is just so happy about that fact, all smiles and pride. Even when he turns to lift up that absinthe fountain, he's borderline bubbly. To hell with waiting any longer, he thinks, pouring water in Dorian's glass. Just enough for a good mouthful, just enough to see if these so-called powers are true, if Dorian's not some exception. A moment passes after he sets the fountain back down wherein nothing happens, which prompts a very stern and disapproving look at the water. As if responding to said look with a blush, clear turns to green and March is all smiles once again, now aiming to go two for two with his own glass.

"I'd also believe this calls for a toast. Would you agree?"

Dorian watches as March pours the water, frowns when nothing happens...and just straight up smirks a bit as the water turns to absinthe. Again, what a remarkably useful power. Even if Dorian didn't know about auras, March's dead status, or his moral flexibility when it came to certain things, Dorian was pretty damn sure he'd befriend the man if only for insta-absinthe.

"To meeting new people?" Dorian asks, as he lifts up his glass in a toast, looking over at March with that small smirk. "Either that or a budding relationship, take your pick."

Unsurprisingly, March's glass turns to absinthe when he goes through the exact same procedure. Dorian gets to bear witness to a new imPort not only realizing his powers are real, but effective; the glee on his face is damn near contagious. Lifting it again, pinkie finger extended, seems like Mister March here is just on top of the world tonight. Thanks to Dorian and his ever so generously provided help, of course.

"How about both?" Still so pleased. He doesn't wait for an answer, instead taking the initiative to clink their glasses together.

Both is good. Both is very good. Especially when both involved have hearts blacker than night.

"Both's great with me!" Dorian responds, with a little grin, as March clinks their glasses together. Because hey, he's perfectly fine with both. Meeting new people and a budding relationship worked perfectly. And, based on just how damn happy March is, he wants to keep the man that way. Of course, his glee is absolutely infectious and Dorian finds himself smiling along as well.

He waits for March to drink his absinthe before he joins in, deliberately mimicking however March chose to take it, whether slowly sipping it or downing it like a shot. See? Dorian can be courteous at times!

Dorian won't have to work very hard to keep March happy, which he might delight in later. Pitch black aura who doesn't refuse to revel in it is pretty much all he has to be. Imagine that, being found positively fantastic simply for being a monster. No one loses here! No one who matters, anyway.

And March is so, so eager to see the second to come to fruition. To budding friendships, the only thing to be done is grin, lean back, and down the hatch she goes. No second thoughts to taking it slow, nope. March doesn't board a train to potential murder in half-measures, and Dorian seems to be cut from the same cloth.

Once they finish their drinks, Dorian gives March a wicked grin, one that's about half Dorian being Dorian and half Dorian deliberately playing up his nastiness for a bit. After all, he's got a jet black heart! He's hate to disappoint March.

Though, the aura thing does make him have a question...

"Tell me more about these auras. Do they have anything to do with the soul?" Because if they do, he might be in trouble. Granted, he's entirely certain that if March can see his soul, he can convince the man not to mention that tiny little detail, but still! Priorities.

What a question! March is more familiar with people thinking him an outright oddball than being too interested in the art of auras. Fortunately he's spared from odd pauses; another man sits at the end of the bar, promptly lights up, and is rewarded with an ash tray. So March promptly pulls out a pack and lighter from his jacket to fill any odd silence, lighting up before he sets them both down on the counter close enough to Dorian that he should read the message loud and clear, that he's welcome to snag one (or more!) of March's if he so pleases.

"Depends on how you define a soul. I've always considered it closer to the heart. There's an obsession with referring to those who embrace their dark hearts as soulless, as monsters instead of men or women. It can be argued all day long whether or not people contain a soul, but without a heart, ah!" He waves a hand, gesturing to the floor. Without a heart, that's where people go. To the floor. Dead, boom, over. But a soul, can the same be said for such, if it does exist? "Can't see an aura on a truly dead man, there's nothing left of him to see but a corpse. Should a spirit linger or be transformed into something else, that's a different story, yes? As long as there is life to a person, there will be an aura. But once life is snuffed out entirely, no more. Nothing to see, move along."

Basically, he's not really sure. March isn't sure he gives a flying fuck about souls in the first place, so tied up with morality, with good and evil, with gods and devils. Vampires? Naturally. Demonic creatures? Sensible. Hybrid human-vampire children? Well duh. Souls? Ehhhhh.

Dorian just listens. He just sits and listens and well then, it seems like the answer to the question is March simply doesn't know. Depends on how you define a soul, aka at least in his world, souls are separate things. It's not like in Dorian's home were a soul isn't tangible, per se, but does exist, where creatures actively seek one's soul out and where his lack of a soul saved him from demons and sirens. After all, one can live without a soul but one certainly cannot live without a heart (well, unless you're Dorian) and what March is describing is purely hearts.

Which means that Dorian can just keep on lying.

"Good. After all, I'd hate for my lack of a soul to taint your aura reading." Lies. All lies. He's got a soul, it's hanging out in him now, but he's keeping up the illusion of his soulless state for convenience's sake. People here already know he doesn't have a soul, the less people that know about his soul now the less questions he has to ask. So yup, don't mind him, it's just Dorian "soulless" Gray.

"I've come across quite an assortment of inhuman individuals in my day, Mister Gray, and found nary an issue with seeing an aura."

Vampires, ghosts, demons, oh my! But while March isn't particularly concerned with whether or not souls exist where he comes from, that's quite the little tidbit for Dorian to ever so casually drop. March took two things from it: Dorian not only knew at least his soul was real, he also knew he somehow didn't have one. There existed a certainty in Dorian's statement that simply could not be ignored, not when coupled with the question, the comfortable darkness the man surrounded himself with...and that very particular phrasing. He doesn't mention it being sold, being taken, being lost, he just mentions it's not there. Curious.

"How is it you've come to lack a soul? Is that a story to be told?"

Because if it's not, okay, fine, he won't press (now). But if it's one of those moments where Dorian would just be delighted to talk more about himself, he's all ears. And eyes, really, ready to drink in circumstances mystical and murderous like the finest wines ever aged.

Normally, Dorian would say something cryptic and leave it at that. But if he keeps talking and casually emphasizing the point that he doesn't have a soul, people will remember that about him, ergo it's business as normal with soulless Dorian. So you bet your ass he's going to tell March about his lack of a soul. Besides, he's sure that his story will just tickle the man pink.

"Well I had to give up something for my immortality," said almost too casually, as Dorian gives March a look that's pure 'surely you can guess.' How come he doesn't have a soul, well he's immortal, and it's not like Satan's just handing out immortality like people hand out t-shirts at baseball games, do put two and two together March. "Eternal youth isn't just handed out. You've got to give up something in return. In my case, I mentioned I would give anything." And, because he is such a cliche motherfucker, Dorian straight up quotes from the Oscar Wilde text itself, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he recites.

"If it were only the other way. If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old. For that...for that I would give everything. Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give. I would give my soul for that." Opening his eyes again, he fixes March with a stare, drinking in the man's features to see how he reacts. "I think that answers your question enough."

An answer that begs so many new questions, but an answer nonetheless. What did the devil really look like? Tailed red goatman? A normal fellow? Something rarely suggested, something in between, what was his aesthetic!? No, though, he supposes Dorian and he aren't quite that close yet. Another route now, questions about the nature of evil later.

"Indeed!" But but but BUT BUT BUT he has questions he won't ask, focusing on something else instead. Still watching Dorian and only Dorian, the hand with the cigarette ignored while his other comes up to help him get them out. Talking with hands, better than talking with heads. "And have you found this to be worth it, Mister Gray?"

Yes. He doesn't ask about the devil, but he asks that. Because he has his own devils, they're in a place claiming the name...Dorian's surrounded himself with it just the same, so is that done from familiarity, twisted poetry, self-loathing, or was the deal actually one Dorian would do again in a heartbeat?

What did the devil really look like, well that is a damn good question, Mister March. A damn good question that Dorian doesn't know the answer too because when he met the devil, he was regrettably human-looking (and now looks like his lover, watch Dorian repress that bit SUPER HARD).

But have you found this to be worth it. Dorian can't help but laugh, a sharp little laugh as he glances over at March, fixing the man with a look that's pure 'you must be joking.' Why would March ask that question in the first place? "Of course it's worth it!" said as if he's answering the most obvious question ever. With a smirk, Dorian leaned in and finished with, "I'm immortal."

Forever young and forever beautiful. That's just the way he wants it.

He keeps as neutral a face as possible when he waits for the answer. And then, oh, what a smile Dorian's response brings. A man positively enraptured, March is. Even dead, he's had no time for regret. To find another with a heart as black as his own who can't spare a second to what ifs and instead focuses on the present, the future? Of course it's "love" at first sight.

"Something most men only dream of." And only achieve through being spoken of years and years after their passing, like March to the outside world, like his pupils. Yes, he can appreciate the idea of immortality. The claiming it without any complaints. The lack of hours wasted on something so trivial as regret. "I must say, Mister Gray, this evening has been an absolute treat. I must thank you for making my introduction to this new world so memorable!"

That smile of March's is something that Dorian adores. As soon as he sees the other man break into such a wide smile just at talk of the devil, Dorian knows that he's got someone who he doesn't have to temper his blacker desires around, someone who he can just be absolutely terrible with. And, if for some reason, Dorian's darker tendencies scare off March...well, he'll just have to lead that man down a trail of depravity, won't he.

It probably won't come to that, though. Dorian doubts that March is someone who will look at his worst desires and then run away.

"And I must say, Mister March, that I have enjoyed getting to know you. I hope that we'll run into each other again—you're far too interesting to let this sit at one visit. Maybe here, maybe in some other place...who knows?"

The rest of the water gets poured into their glasses, turned green and strong once more. It's just a circle of enjoying terrible company going on right now. It'll never end. Two snakes happily gnawing on each other's tails without any attempt to actually consume (unless betrayal happens). Except for when it comes to absinthe and the like because yes, March will drink absinthe like it's water and never think twice. That's what absinthe is there for, to be drunk!

"I couldn't agree more, Mister Gray." Ever so casually sliding Dorian his glass, again holding his own with pinkie extended. It's all just dark dark dark awful desires and booze with March, of course Dorian wants to run into him again! A little party never killed nobody, unless that party was a really good one. "To the future."

A toast to a future of terrible things for other people is the best sort of toast, isn't it?

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he's a ghost, he's a god

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