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

constantine: dorian's apartment aka the sadness cave

[brushoff]

Dorian had invited Constantine over partly for drinks, partly for another reason. And, as they're standing in front of a closet door with some sort of magical sigil scribbled on the doorknob in sharpie, that other reason is becoming apparently clear.

"These are the wards Klarion put up," Dorian explains, as he fumbles with a lighter. He's gripping a cigarette between his teeth as he talks, struggling to get the lighter to actually light the damn thing. "He's a good kid and I trust his magical ability. But I'm a firm believer in asking for a second opinion. I don't want you to set them off or anything, I believe the wards are set to vaporize someone. I just want you to see if they're there."

He's fairly certain they're actually there, after all, but it never hurts to have a second opinion. Klarion's...well, he's not necessarily a good kid, but he's someone that Dorian trusts. Their odd little brotherly relationship is definitely odd and only slightly brotherly, but Dorian enjoys it all the same.

He finally gets the damn lighter to work. As he lights his cigarette, Dorian looks over to John. "Want a smoke while you work?"

[heckblazer]

By the time Dorian turns around to ask, John's already got his own smoke between his teeth and his engraved lighter in hand to help himself. He replies with a silent, teasing look at Gray before leaning in to examine Bleak's handiwork. The kid was mostly a basket of trouble filled with headaches, but he could be amusing. If the tickling in John's frontal lobe as he bends over to squint at the insignia is any sign, there is a potent spell at work here, but...

"The kid's handwriting is atrocious." concludes John. "Muddles up the whole enchantment. Pretty sure this'll amortize or magnetize the intended victim, with what a mess the runes are."

He looks back at his mate quizically, "Wot's it you need me to do?"

[brushoff]

"Really, I just needed you to make certain it worked," Dorian answers, with a little shrug. "I don't know all that much about magic. I don't care how it'll mess people up, all I care about is that except for me, nobody should open this door."

There's a pause, while Dorian takes a drag on his cigarette. "Unless I want them to, of course. But I doubt that'll happen any time soon."

[heckblazer]

His reply to Dorian mostly just takes on the form of a hard stare, the kind that John hopes will, if he waits another moment or so, break the pretty man's haughtiness. Too easy to fluster, this one. Dorian might be immortal, but John knows how to long-game. It's another minute or so of holding the gaze, slowly cooking his friend beneath before he asks as casually as he can manage,

"Is what's in there what I think's in there? And I no mean yer' stash."

Although he was a touch bitter that Dorian still hadn't shared any of his top-shelf opium.

[brushoff]

Sorry bud, all the really good drugs got used in in Dorian's massive depressive January sadness binge. But he understands entirely what John's talking about, even though neither of them have actually said the word 'your portrait.' What else would Dorian want to protect so much?

"It is." Dorian's voice is resigned, a bit tired as he looks over at the door. "It was at a safety deposit box, but when that black-out happened, I had to move it here as soon as possible." He's tired of people using his portrait to get at him. It's been over a hundred and fifty years of people using his portrait as blackmail. The fact that he's got such an obvious weakness annoys him to no end. So, bring it to the apartment, shove it behind wards, keep his insecurities and his regrets at such a close corner that nobody else can use them against him ever again.

"Do you want to see it?"

[heckblazer]

In what probably amounts of piss few merit points for John anyway, he at least pretends to hesitate.

The curiosity has loomed around since their first meeting, and he wasn't above admitting to himself that such a big, famous, exploitable weakness wasn't something John had thought about trying to use before. But when he and Dodo got together, they were usually too drunk or otherwise preoccupied to have an agenda beyond druggy magic nonsense. With that said, John understood boundaries better than most people gave him credit for, and he'd decided to wait it out, until Dorian offered to show him. Still, even from behind the closet door John can feel something quite old, and quite entrenched in vice. Fingers filthy with sin reach beyond the lock, brushing at the edges of something inside of him, just tickling enough to be irritating.

The look he gives the dandy bastard softens just noticeably. It's no small thing, what Dorian is offering. But he's seen enough horror he'll take to his grave, so what's one more?

"Sure," he says in that too-casual tone, "Let's see what's behind Door Number One."

[brushoff]

"Drum roll please," Dorian remarks, in the world's most dry tone as he reaches over towards the closet door and opens it.

What's behind Door Number One is absolutely awful. It's a portrait, decently sized, propped up against the back of the closet. The portrait is of a man, bent and twisted, warped with age. He's old, with mottled skin and missing hair. Traces of wounds upon wounds line the portrait, faded burn scars dot the skin while two puncture wounds heavily feature on the neck. Even under all the traces of age, under every wound or mark of sin, that portrait is unmistakably one of Dorian. And the most noticeable thing is the sneer on the portrait, that look of sheer contempt as the portrait stares down Dorian and John.

"There you go," Dorian says, in a tone of voice that's simultaneously exhausted and resigned. "All my sins laid bare."

[heckblazer]

For silence to fall between the two was a legendarily rare occasion, but John allows it to happen, save for the audible, cautious intake of breath and exhale. John keeps breathing in, ready to make a comment, then thinks better of it as he notices new, heinous details and sighs uncomfortably. He scans the portrait slowly, taking it in a piece at a time rather than allowing his gaze to take in the image's entirety. It looks like how they feel after a bender. It looks like it belongs in every circle of Hell, simultaneously, if it weren't for how it would send demons running in tears.

John starts up carefully, ripping his vision from the portrait to look back at the much prettier vessel, letting the look of the full hair and glowing skin cleanse him. He claps Dorian on the shoulder with a playful hand, but it lingers and forms a tight grip;

"Y'know what, Dodo? I take back all the times I thought I've outsinned you. 'Course, you've had a century head start on me."

[brushoff]

Dorian can't help but laugh at that, a bitter little laugh as he gives Constantine a small, weak smile. "It's a challenge, having all one's sins reflected back at you like this. I can remember every bad decision I've made, every person I've hurt. Every scrape, every stab, every wound I've taken on, I remember. Most people would eventually forget...but then again, we both know I'm not most people."

He doesn't take his eyes off the portrait the entire time he talks, as if he's transfixed by the thing, almost like he's forgotten Constantine's here to begin with. The more Dorian talks, the more it should be obvious to John why he's been shutting himself up ever since Toby left. When you're acutely aware of every mistake you've made and every person you've hurt, no wonder your self-esteem is in the pits. Add in a Ported out husband on top of all these self-esteem issues and surprise! Everything sucks.

"I still wouldn't give it up, though," he admits, as he still looks at the portrait. "Of course, I don't think I could give it up even if I wanted to."

[heckblazer]

Another friendly squeeze of Dorian's shoulder;

"Well, 'least you've got somewhere to put all yours. I'm stuck with mine." There was a reason why he drank the way he did, really. Blacking or passing out was the easiest way to sleep without nightmares. Not that he didn't deserve them, after everything he'd seen and done. But then that was all why he and Dorian got on like fire and oil. Which is perhaps why John feels sympathetic, almost generous.

"I can clean up the warding while I'm here. Might be able to add something to your -" he gulps and avoids looking at the portrait again - "- to the canvas. Messing with something that old's my meat and potatoes."

[brushoff]

If Dorian actually thought things through, he'd decline the offer. After all, the portrait's already been messed with via magic before both in this world and his own and things went absolutely horrible then. He's got a part of his soul steeped in such old magic and filled to the brim with so many regrets, it's entirely possible that something weird would happen if Constantine added a little to the canvas.

Of course, Dorian doesn't actually think things through, so when Constantine offers to add a little something to the portrait, he acquiesces.

"Go ahead," he responds, with a little nod.

[heckblazer]

If either of them thought anything through, they wouldn't have such a wonderful friendship. Even if you did keep all the good drugs for yourself, Dorian.

He starts by smearing some of the ash from his cigarette onto the doorknob, muttering something in a combination of tongues, Latin, and something that might not even be a dialect from human history. Klarion's written runes glow for a moment and re-arrange themselves slightly under John's gaze and hand, both focused and loaded with intent.

"There. That'd at least do the vaporizing you wanted." Although, John doesn't mention how he added a little bypass to the hex based on his own fingerprints. Just in case. Sorry, Dodo.

Surveying the area around the portrait cautiously, John wonders if there's a way to spruce up any sort of defenses it might have. The layers of sin and toxic emotions and curses on the painting are enough to give John a migraine like someone being drenched in bad perfume. He purses his lips intently, trying to focus rather than let on any sort of weakness show, even to someone that he (unfortunately) trusted.

"I could ward the canvas or frame so she stands up to wear and tear better, unless there's something specific you had in mind."

[brushoff]

There's a pause as Dorian looks at the portrait. It stares back with eyes full of hatred. There is just sin and depravity and bad decisions radiating off the portrait like a motherfucker and Dorian just can't stop looking.

"Actually, is there a way that you could make it a little...for lack of a better word, less?" After all, normal people could forget their sins. Normal people could have memory problems or simply be scatterbrained. Why was he the one cursed to remember every bad thing he's ever done?

[heckblazer]

There's a lot of weight to that word, "less", to which John is not blind. It's an interesting request, wanting to forget one's ill deeds. Something John wishes he could do for himself, actually. And it's all the permission he needs to try something really quite moronic.

Without hesitating, he raises his hands dramatically, palms facing the painting. In his dominant hand is the cigarette, and careful not to touch the famed portrait, he lets the smoke waft into the closet while again letting incantations slip from his mouth. These words are clearer, and despite the sinister tilt to the whispering, Dorian just might start to feel a weight being lifting, just ever so slightly at a time.

It's when the words reach their highest pitch and the feeling of shadows looming all around them is at their most intense that John stops, no dramatic finale or fanfare to it.

"Right then. Said my piece, let's see if the universe will let us get away with that one."

[brushoff]

It's weird. Dorian can feel his guilt lifting a bit as clear rationalization cuts through his haze of guilt that's been looming the past few months. It's not his fault. He didn't know. He wouldn't have accepted Lucifer's offer of his soul back if he knew the true cost.

All of this is just so...weird. For someone like Dorian, who's acutely aware of his flaws and focuses way too much on all of his flaws, this letting go and acknowledging things, this feeling of all his guilt being assuaged that John is giving him is strange and unusual and exciting.

And then it's done. Dorian still feels lighter somehow, as he turns to John, a confused yet pleased tone in his voice. "Thanks."