maskormenacelogs | There's no time for us

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There's no time for us

WHO: The Shade and Dorian Gray
WHERE: Vegas
WHEN: New Years Eve
WHAT: Immortal besties being immortal besties
WARNINGS: Immortal Melodrama

Shade? Shade hated Las Vegas.

That was a given. He disliked it not just on the principle of the tackiness, but because of what it represented. Excess, the finer things in life, they were suddenly commodities. Everything, from love to money was for sale, based on chance.

And given Shade's history with chance... it was likely he didn't really believe in taking it. After all, the last time he'd taken a "chance", Charles and he had been in the middle of an occult ritual, that really just ended in his near-demise and later immortality. But... it said a lot that Shade liked Dorian enough that he was willing to go anyway, and he appeared in his living room, trailing dark wisps of smoke, his body formed as he stepped along, the curl of his lip said, very clearly, that he was vaguely amused by all of this.

Even though he certainly had a feeling that Dorian was not having a good day. "Knock knock," he called, and tapped his cane on the floor, idly.

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Dorian is most definitely not having a good day. Toby's gone, ported home, possibly to his death, how can his day be anywhere remotely near good? He's spent most of the morning drowning in his own regrets, musing over his own inadequacies, living with his own sins and sorrows and mistakes. Sometimes he's done it while looking over his portrait. Other times he's done it while idly contemplating that sticking his hand in the garbage disposal won't help matters, but the pain would at least pull him away from his thoughts about Toby. Currently, he's dwelling on all those he's hurt, lost in a spiral of self-loathing while flopped on the couch in a way that's a little bit purposefully dramatic.

When he heard Shade's voice, Dorian rolled back upwards, giving the fellow immortal a weak little smile as he did so. "So, my dearest friend. Ready to live it up in the city of sin?"

God, does Dorian sound miserable. He's too vain to tell anybody just how much Toby's departure's fucked him up so brooding in his own apartment it is.

It only took Shade a moment, to turn and find his old friend, who -- for all intents and purposes -- looks a wreck. Honestly, Shade's concerned for him if just because he can't stand to see him like this, and if he can't stand to look at Dorian like this, then perhaps it's a lot worse than he feared. After all, he's not exactly...ignorant of why his friend looks like this. It's really just a matter of getting him back on track, or at least make him think of something other than his longtime lover.

The things he did for friendship. Honestly, thirty years ago, he would have laughed at his own foolishness.

"Perhaps you want to freshen up?" he asked, looking him over with a fastidious brush at the lace at his wrists. Yes. Lace at his wrists. "If we're going to suffer through Las Vegas, I should think we do it in style, yes?"

Dorian can't help but laugh, a short bark of a laugh as he raises an eyebrow at Shade. He gets the implication of what Shade means by 'freshen up.' So he looks that terrible. Well, this certainly won't do. Not only is he Dorian Gray, but he's Dorian Gray, going on a trip that he won by being a model. He can't stand to be less than perfect.

"I won't be angry if you tell me the truth—based on your reaction, I have a feeling I look like shit."

Well he's not wrong. Still, Dorian's getting off the couch and heading back to his own room, gesturing for Shade to follow. "It shouldn't take that long for me to freshen up. And I've a few first editions that you can peruse while I powder my nose. Tell me, how do you feel about Byron?"

"Oh, I suppose Byron will do," he murmured, waving a hand. "Honestly, if I must read all of Don Juan, to see you returned to how you should be, then the time will be well spent."

It was perhaps, the most polite of ways to say 'you look like shit', but the sentiment was there. After all, Dorian did look rather awful, and perhaps it was the moping, or the loss of his loved one. Not that Shade could really quite sympathize, but he could... at least fairly, figure out that Dorian was feeling rather poor.

Shade had been there, after all. He'd lost the love of his own life as well, at one time. He did follow Dorian, though, although it was more a shrug, and he lounged on a chair in his room, book already in hand.

Well, if he was going to invite him in...

"Excuse you, I'm not that much of a cliche! I've got Childe Harold's Pilgrimage instead."

Dorian's room is very luxurious. There's books all over the place: first editions set pristinely in bookshelves, dog-eared paperbacks lying on the floor. A queen-sized bed in dark red sheets takes up the majority of the space in the room. It's also piled high with pillows: Dorian is one of Those People, who apparently sleep on nothing but pillows. A stately armchair sits in the corner, and a dark Romantic seascape hangs on the wall.

It's a lot easier to be a pack rat when you have your own basement and aren't living in an apartment.

His closet is also a goddamn mess. Still, Dorian flits over to it and expertly picks out an oxford, slacks, and a suit jacket in a ruby red that's a bit too flashy for most people.

"I won't be more than ten minutes. I've already bathed, I just need to change and bash my hair into something remotely resembling order."

"Feeling vampy, are we?" he asked, noting the red jacket, before he turned the page.

After all, Dorian's place was just as he'd imagined it, as much romantic as the man himself, and he shook his head, idly tipped his hat, and while his cane was somehow on the other side of the room, tipped against the wall, it was obvious he was perfectly content to settle in where he wished. The armchair, after all, was rather comfortable.

Not that Shade had shown up before to sit. Of course not.

He was dressed in all black, as fitting tradition, so the change to Dorian in red was nearly welcome. "Perhaps a hat?" he called, his tone lazy, although he could hardly complain. After all, a night on the town with Dorian was hardly something he'd dislike, even if the man looked foolish.

"The only thing worse than being talked about is being not talked about," Dorian called out, as he headed over towards the bathroom. He's pretty certain Shade doesn't want to see him strip down to his boxers, so the bathroom door's getting closed for a moment. Once he's got his trousers put on, however, Dorian nudges the door back open again.

"I'm not sure about a hat, by the way. Wouldn't the jacket and a hat be a bit over the top?"

Shade looked idly up, from his position lounging in the chair, his lip curled in amusement. "My friend, I'm wearing lace," he waved a hand. "I don't know if over the top is out of the question tonight, particularly if we're going to Las Vegas," he knew, after all, what they were in for.

"Besides, if we're going to celebrate the new year, it should be in style, no matter what those fools think."

"The problem with that is I don't know what hat to wear!" Dorian calls from the bathroom, squirting some product in his hands to run through his hair. Yes, it's a bit needless doing so if he's going to put a hat on but he's going to look good no matter what, dammit.

"You've cornered the market on top hats. If I show up wearing one, it'll pale in comparison to yours!"

"Mm, unless it looks intentional!" he waved a hand, like it was nothing. "We'd look like a pair, like that," he admitted, his lips curled into a smile.

"Two fine gentlemen? Out on the down? In dashing red and black? I should think we'll catch every eye."

"We'll catch attention no matter what we wear!" Still, it's a good idea. Leaving the bathroom, Dorian walks over to his closet. It's bursting at the seams, and he removes a hatbox from the top shelf. Inside the hatbox is a top hat, which Dorian places on his head at a jaunty angle.

"So, shall we?"

Shade stood from his own seat, a slip of shadows led the cane back to his hand, the book neatly tucked back on the shelf. "Perhaps we should arrange for you to have a larger closet," he commended, idly, but his smile was fond -- more teasing than anything else, before he held out his hand.

"Next stop, of course, is Las Vegas," said half-announcement, before the shadows took them, and whisked them off to the middle of the strip.

"I'm far too picky with regards to housing. I'd need to find the perfect mansion before I consider moving." Dorian can't help but smirk a little bit as he sets the hat on his head. Besides, free housing. Dorian's going to ride that train as long as he can.

"But yes. Vegas first, talking about my housing crisis later. Shall we?"

"Mm, we'll just need to lift you a place next door to me!" Shade said, and they walked through the shadows, Shade at the lead. It was just as cold and unforgiving as always, the immortal's shadows enough to pull Dorian through the darkness, before they were there, and the chill of the darkness was replaced by the heat of Vegas itself.

"Perhaps we'll win enough for you to simply buy one!"

Dorian laughs, a bright laugh completely at odds with his dourish mood a few moments ago. Shade just brightens him up that much.

"If that's the case, I hope your luck at the betting table is better than mine! I'm terrible at these sorts of things!"

Shade snorted, something normally not done, and looked at Dorian over his sunglasses, as they started to walk. "My friend, I was literally sacrificed to an unknown darkness the last time I went on a bender. I don't know if luck is quite the word," he gestured with a cane. "But I suppose, I still lived, so perhaps there is some!"

He looked down the way, and then back to Dorian, and then back down the road. "Now, you'll have to direct me. I'm afraid I have no sense of direction in so much light."

It was likely not true, Shade was just being melodramatic.

Dorian rolled his eyes at Shade's melodrama (because he straight up KNOWS it's melodrama) as he gestures for the immortal to follow him.

"Considering you don't know what hotel we're staying at, I'll have to direct you in the first place." He pulls out his phone as he talks, opening up the email app to read about where they're staying.

"We're spending the night at a place called the Palazzo--ooh, it's Italian themed! That has the potential to be incredibly tacky."

"My! Do you think they have the togas, there?" he asked, a laugh on his lips. "Or do you think it's themed like the mob?"

Either way, the tackiness was almost... well, with Dorian around, it was becoming enjoyable to think about. As long as he didn't think about it too much, Shade was likely to have fun. He just had to keep Dorian close by.

"God, I'm hoping for togas. Can you imagine, some poor twenty-something who's just getting minimum wage, having to wear a toga? It's so wonderfully humiliating."

He knows this isn't Shade's cup of tea. But he's all the more thankful for the other man's company in this trying time.

Shade's note of disgust is apparent, but he's playing along with Dorian for his sake. Just because he likes him. Because Shade is a good friend, and he can tell when someone needs something.

Dorian had a great loss. He can suffer through children in togas.

"Could you imagine? Perhaps they'll attempt for authentic food," he laughed, like that was funny. "It's likely pasta, because the Italians have never made anything else."

"Honestly, as long as they keep up the grand Italian tradition of a shit-ton of wine, I'm willing to overlook the pasta."

Dorian flashes Shade a grin at that. Does he plan to spend a good chunk of the evening hammered? Absofrickenlutely.

"Do you think they'll cater to our... rather pricey taste?" Shade asked, his tone snobbish, even as they neared the casino.

"I suppose, if worse comes to worse, I can always... liberate some from elsewhere, yes?"

Ah Shade, ever willing to go the extra mile.

"This is Las Vegas! The city of sin, vice, and decadence," Dorian remarked, sly grin on his face. It may be tacky, but underneath that tackiness lie a vein of showing off. If they had the money, they'd flaunt the money—and surely wine would be part of that set!

"If they don't have anything to cater to our specific whims, then they'll find it sooner or alter."

"I should hope so," he said, his sigh soft and almost disappointed.

After all, Shade liked to make the excuse to be a snob. "Perhaps we should go all out, then? Make it difficult for them to appease us?"

Oh Dorian can't help but to grin at that. He too enjoys being a snob.

"I am a licensed model now. I should at least act the part!" Of being difficult and obnoxious and a pain.

"My!" Shade held a hand to his chest, the grin on his face more than enough. He did enjoy the way Dorian delighted in messing with other people. It made him rather endearing.

"This may very well be where you belong then, isn't it? Think they'll be impressed?"

"Oooh, I hope so. After all, it hasn't happened yet but a contract with Chenel? It certainly sounds impressive enough."

And really? Sounding impressive is good enough for Dorian. As long as people paid attention to him, he didn't really care how.

"Then perhaps we'll milk that, yes?" he laughed, and held open the door for his friend, to let him enter as soon as they crested the steps of the casino.

"I can't imagine it wouldn't be for our own good, to... have a little fun with it. Enjoy our time here in Vegas in some form or fashion."

Shade honestly hated Vegas, but for Dorian...

"I have a feeling that with alcohol and gambling I'll have fun enough." But the question is, will Shade? Hopefully, though Dorian doubts it.

"But yes, milking it for all it's worth sounds like the best option. Shall we?"

"Mm, Alcohol and gambling it is," Shade said, with a slight roll of his eye, before his smile quirked, slightly.

"Although...perhaps we should play a game, while we're here..." he waved a hand. "I mean, they could hardly stop the shadows from...stacking things in our favor?"

Dorian's smile widens, as he grins at Shade. "Perhaps we would become the reason for Las Vegas to ban superpowers!"

He is 100% up for causing trouble and that much is 100% apparent in that smirk on his face.

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