I black out on dessert wine

[brushoff]

WHO: Dorian & others! some closed prompts, some open prompts
WHERE: all over the place
WHEN: all through the month of February
WHAT: surprise, Dorian Gray is actually secretly really pathetic
WARNINGS: talk of depression, mild drug use, alcoholism, body horror

open ish prompt: for people Dorian's got good cr with
Dorian's still an absolute wreck. It's been a month since Toby ported out and while he handled December by getting blackout drunk on a near daily basis, he's handled January by holing up in his apartment like a recluse, staring at his portrait, and just thinking about the past, about how he messed everything up, how it's his fault that if Toby comes back here, he won't be the same.

Of course, that's a big if in the first place. He's already lost Toby twice. What's the likelihood that the third time he loses him he'll get lucky?

Dorian's thankful for the blackout--it saved him the trouble of having to go out and pretend to care about all these sorts of trivial, boring imPort things. But he's hidden himself away for most of January and he knows that his friends are probably wondering why one of the community's most social butterflies has been laying low.

He has friends. Friends that care about him. That's still damn weird to wrap his head around.

So, Dorian's invited people over, partly to stop people from worrying, partly to force him to actually clean up his goddamn apartment. As he opens the door, Dorian gives whoever he invited a grin. There are still signs that things aren't great: there's far too many liquor bottles in the trash can, far too many shot glasses in the sink, and Dorian's wearing a sweatshirt. Still, he's able to put on a fake enough smile.

"Come on in," said with a nod.

open prompt: a bar in maurtia falls
This 'trying to people' and 'trying to seem like he's got it all together when in reality he almost had a breakdown at the laundromat when he discovered one of Toby's shirts in his load' fucking sucks. So Dorian's getting drunk. Again. Surprising no one. This bar's a bit more dive bar than his usual locations, but the alcohol's cheap, there's a jukebox, and nobody'll bother him.

That is, nobody except the bartender who recognizes Dorian as that guy who kind of passed out drunk sometime last month and they had to call a cab to get his alcoholic ass home. Needless to say, Dorian's gotten cut off after one drink.

So hello there person who Dorian might or might not recognize from the network, he's sliding right up to them, presenting them with his most winning, most 'surely I'M not trouble', most persuasive smile he can muster.

"Buy me a drink? I'll pay you back later, I just left my wallet at the house."

This is a lie. Just talking to the bartender will reveal this as a lie. Still, Dorian's delivering it like it's the utmost truth.

Comments

[brushoff]

"Likewise," Dorian responds with a sigh. Still, he gets Crane's message. The conversation is over, time to swap it to something else.

"I take it you managed to survive that black-out and emerge unscathed? It was more inconvenient than debilitating on my end." Occasionally he wanted to be depressed and watch bad television, after all.

[restingstitchface]

"Inconvenient? You know how much opportunity there was in that little reality show, Dorian." He begins heading towards the next room, and it's more acceptable art, with an airy walk. A wave of the hand and he finishes his sentence. "It wasn't inconvenient. It was frustrating."

People running around in a panic? He'd wanted to see that!

[brushoff]

Dorian rolled his eyes. Opportunity. Riiiiight. For looters and people to get hurt and people to cause chaos, not for Dorian in the slightest.

"It was inconvenient! The liquor store near my house was looted and robbed within hours of the blackout. I had to spend part of the week sober!" It's said as if being sober is the worst possible thing that could happen to him.

[restingstitchface]

No opportunities for Dorian. Not like he cares.

He slides his hands into his pockets as he strolls down the hall. "You're complaining to the wrong person, Dorian. Don't you have another psychiatrist on call for these little things?"

[brushoff]

Dorian can't help but laugh at that, a short bitter laugh. Oh, he knows who Crane's referencing about another psychiatrist. Damn Chilton, there's only one other imPort psychiatrist here in the first place! "Why would I willingly seek out that pompous little git?"

And then, because he was feeling particularly nihilistic and 'fuck that', he decided to continue. "I've burned all my bridges with Frederick Chilton in a spectacularly wonderful fashion. Ask him about organs sometime if you want to hear a particularly grand story."

[restingstitchface]

"Oh." He bites his silence. "I'll do that in the morning. Might even pass on a message, your opinion of his services, if you wish."

After arranging his own business with the good doctor, that is. Crane brushes some invisible dust off his lapels, distracting himself from how fascinating Dorian's news has made the day.

[brushoff]

"There's really no need to pass on a message. He knows I hate him already."

It's said with a little shrug. What message would he even pass on in the first place? I hate you, fuck off, go away? If he wanted to tell Chilton that for some reason, he'd do it himself.

[restingstitchface]

"Of course, though... Hate. That's a little weak isn't it? The two of you are adversaries, and despise is such a nicer word..."

He tilts his head. The negative talk of Chilton reflects on his own relationship with the man, and it makes him feel better, more secure to know that his opinion is shared. What a lovely conversation he's having here, today.

[brushoff]

"How about loathe? That's a grand word."

Even if this is just shittalking for the sake of shittalking, it's making Dorian feel so good and making him feel absolutely wonderful. Being an asshole helps pull you out of the funk.

[restingstitchface]

A tilt of the head for the sake of shrugging. "Loathe? Do you believe so? It's hardly the nicest word to roll off one's tongue. Revile. Now that's the superior choice."

What a lovely day this is. Most people couldn't carry a conversation about words, their sounds, their origins, and probably wouldn't do so in the future, honestly speaking. He pulls off his glasses and wipes them with the cuff of his shirt. Oh well. That just gives him an excuse to ring Dorian later.

[brushoff]

"It's Germanic based, isn't it? I've always had a soft spot for things Germanic. Wagner's infinitely better than any of that Italian nonsense."

Because yes, this is a logical train of conversation: art to people you hate to etymology to opera.

[restingstitchface]

"Yes, well, you would enjoy the epitome of classical music's Romantic period."

A weak smile plays on his lips.

"Realism doesn't suit you. You are a complicated man, Dorian; a style that explores emotional expression is intrinsically more welcome to you."

[brushoff]

"Flattery gets you nowhere." Except that little smile on Dorian's face, the wideness in his eyes, that's telling Crane that flattery is gonna get him everywhere.

Keep calling him complicated and pretty and hello buddy, you've got a new bro.

[restingstitchface]

Dorian loves people who flatters his illusion. The more he spins it, the greater his fascination. What are Dorian Gray's limits? He looks him over.

"I believe in being honest. It's been months since I've enjoyed such exemplary company."

[brushoff]

"Well who all do you regularly interact with? That's the problem right there, so few imPorts can actually provide good conversation these days."

It's teenagers, twenty-somethings, or just plain idiots. It's been ages since Dorian had a properly snobby conversation with someone.