You heard me. Feigning ignorance doesn't suit you, Dorian, so don't even try it.
[ The whole display does little more than fuel the fire, as he's under the impression that he is trying to drown him out. The slow, sluggish movements don't alarm him as they are normal for someone trying to rouse themselves after a particularly long night. Nor does the whisper. ]
Did you think I was going to thank you? If I wanted to unleash the monster on the city, I would've done so of my own volition. Whatever game you were playing, I hope you got your fill of enjoyment out of it because I sure as hell didn't. [ He starts to pace near the end of the bed, it's the only thing keeping him from hitting him right now. Without warning that balled up fist makes contact with a bedpost. ]
Are you proud of yourself? Did you get a new experience out of it? Nothing else matters, right? As long as you're content in your own little world, looking down from your tower as the ants scatter. You didn't think about who I could hurt, that it could be someone both of us know.
You didn't even have the nerve to face it, I've been looking for you for two goddamn days.
[The ringing in his ears is as loud as Ethan's voice. Dorian tries to listen and get out of bed at the same time. When his guest's fist slams into the bedpost, Dorian jumps. Shit. Now is when he starts to have a startle reflex. That would have been nice in the haunted house.
He manages to scrape himself off the bed and stagger toward the master bathroom, expecting Ethan to follow him. Trying to speak just produces shards of glass.
You didn't think about who I could hurt.
That line gives Dorian pause as he reaches the door.
That wasn't true. He had thought about who Ethan could hurt. He just hadn't thought it mattered. Nobody dies here.
But life isn't the only thing at stake, is it? There are people who were hurt who will remember this, would possibly remember it for the rest of their lives.
Ethan will remember this. The moment the scales fell from his eyes and he understood the kind of person Dorian really is. Will this stop him from trusting someone who actually deserves his trust?
Dorian silently moves into the bathroom, leaving the door open while he runs the water, cupping it in his hands and taking a long draft of it. Afterward, he begins to roll up his sleeves, exposing angry red skin, rubbed raw by some restraint. He splashes water on his face.]
[ Dorian being startled by the action should be a clue but he's too angry to ignore the brief flicker of satisfaction that comes with the little jolt. It means he has his attention now, so he is going to take full advantage of it. He needs to understand that the consequences of his actions can reverberate, and have, to extend to more than just the people who were affected directly. To people who, before that evening, he never knew existed here. ]
Nothing to say for yourself? You have some nerve, maybe it will keep you company when no one else will. [ He's spitting venom now. ] Your indifference isn't a strength, it's your greatest weakness. You wept that day but the only one holding you back is yourself. Not a damn curse, not the threat of eternity.
God help you, because no one else can.
[ But now he's walking away, causing Ethan to pause and follow him with his eyes only at first, an incredulous look on his face. Is he running from this? The shock keeps him rooted to the spot for a few moments before he follows after him. His boots give away the fact that his anger hasn't lessened, it's grown. The level of indifference he seems to be giving off is another slap in the face. ]
You didn't just set me loose on a bunch of strangers, I attacked people that I know. That you know. Louis was among them! You think Lestat is going to forget that? And Miss Ives was there! She's the only part of the night I can recall with clarity and now she's nowhere to be found. If I hurt her, Dorian..
[ He wouldn't do that, he couldn't. But the lingering bit of doubt, coupled with her disappearance, is enough to rattle him. Shortly before he finishes with the second sleeve, Ethan lashes out and grabs his collar to jerk him and his attention free of the sink forcefully. It's at this point that he notices the bleary eyes, his gaze sweeping across his shoulder and finally down to his wrists. The anger hasn't faded but it's enough of a distraction that he lets him go.
Too slowly, as if afraid of what he might find, he carefully unbuttons a few buttons on Dorian's shirt to get a better look at the angry, painfully familiar wound pattern. He did this. ]
[The shouting is already a lot of stimulation, but when Ethan grabs him, it's too much.]
Don't touch me! [he rasps, throat still parched, trying to struggle out of his grasp. It's not necessary. Ethan lets go, causing Dorian to stagger back a pace or two.
Then it's silence, as Dorian can't bring himself to look at the man he called a friend. The latest in his long, long series of people he has betrayed when they did nothing to him. It was his best, most reliable bridge, and he burned it. It could be considered an improvement, given it fell short of murder, but Ethan would probably have preferred that. No--he would definitely have preferred it.
But you know what? At least Ethan's pissed instead of feeling sorry for himself. That much is a good sign. Was it worth it?
No. It was ill-thought, heartless, and cruel. And Dorian knows he is many things the world considers evil, but he never thought of himself as cruel. Cold, certainly. Frozen, even. But not cruel. Perhaps because he didn't enjoy the pain of others. But that's not the same thing.
And that was how he repaid Ethan's kindness toward him: with cruelty.
That's his nature. Ethan will know better now.
The tap is still running. Dorian reaches out to shut it off. His ears ring louder in the silence.]
I'm sorry.
[The words are small, but spoken with greater sincerity than anything Dorian has said since they arrived in this world.]
We aren't done talking about this, not by a long shot.
[ The exclamation is enough of a clue; something else happened. The tension in his body is so rigid it's almost painful so, with a growing sense of unease, he lets out a sigh as his stance loosens up. As soon as Dorian is able, he fully intends to continue the conversation. His expression is grim as he carefully helps the man shrug out of the shirt that is likely ruined and beyond repair.
It's taking every bit of his will power not to lose his temper again as his own wounds, both physical and mental, are still raw. It will take time to rebuild the bridges he's burned, if they even can be. But his biggest concern right now is finding Vanessa. If Dorian did stick around after being injured, maybe he had seen her. Maybe she was safe. He grabs a washcloth and turns the faucet back on, letting the water soak the material thoroughly. ]
Are you? I wonder. [ A muscle twitches in his jaw as he surveys the damage he caused. If the wound is still here, does the mean he didn't kill him? Suddenly, he isn't as interested in conversation, choosing to remain silent as he lifts the cloth and carefully begins to tend to the wounds he can see. There are others, ones that are deeper and can't be treated physically, even a blind man could see that. ]
[Dorian allows Ethan to tend to him without making a sound. He hasn't even been able to glance at his wounds since he woke in that chair. There had been no turning his head or closing his eyes. The struggle against his restraints certainly must have caused more bleeding, and his body hadn't yet had a chance to replace the lost blood. He needed more water. He felt sick and lightheaded.]
I was punished, [he whispers, muscles tightening even at the mention of the event. He's not interested in going into more detail.] I told Miss Ives to stay indoors.
[And now she's missing and Louis is hurt--again--and Lestat must absolutely hate him for this. He hadn't accounted for the vampires being out at night. Stupid. He's burned every bridge that matters to him most.]
[ A normal person might have inquired about why he was punished in the first place, but Ethan doesn't need to, he's seen the punishments firsthand. But this is different, getting handcuffed to someone wouldn't bring out a reaction like this. Torture, however, definitely would. ]
You shouldn't have told her anything. You didn't think she was going to see it for herself? Telling her not to do something oftentimes has the opposite effect. [ He stops briefly, to look at him. ] When was the last time you spoke to her?
[ Without waiting for the answer, he goes about rifling through the cabinets as if he knows where everything is -- because he does. The bandages and ointment from his last transformation are still here, tucked away beneath the sink along with a pair of scissors. He won't need them this time, but at least he wouldn't be using his teeth to cut the gauze if he did. ]
They don't know. [ He wasn't going to reveal this but, judging by his demeanor, he needs to hear it. His temper might be fickle but torture is a sensitive subject that he doesn't condone, he isn't a cruel man. ] That it was you, I mean. It wasn't out of kindness; I never should have put that burden on you. On anyone. Whatever happens now is my cross to bear.
Everyone here knows what I am now. When I woke up the next morning, I told them.
That night. After you got out. [While Ethan rifles, Dorian bends over the sink again to take a couple more drafts of water from his shaking hands. He's probably drinking too fast. Whatever. That done, he starts roughly washing the raw skin on his wrists, wondering how much is chafed skin and how much is trace amounts of blood and seeing how much can be erased. He doesn't give a damn about the pain, not from that nor from the deep gashes in his shoulder. It doesn't really feel like his pain, anyway.
When Ethan says no one knows--Lestat and Louis don't know, nobody knows--he can feel his shoulders relax a little. It's wrong, of course. For Ethan to take the blame for this. Ethan can't help what he is, nor can he help occasionally trusting the wrong person, especially when he had no one else to trust. Being honest about it, though, that's a good move. Much smarter than trusting Dorian.]
There's needle and thread in... [He trails off, trying to remember where he saw the mending kit.] O-over the laundry machines. [He can say his part when Ethan has collected what he needs. Once he has a moment to think of what to say. Ethan deserves an explanation.]
Think, Dorian, this is important. Was it right after or sometime later?
[ Ethan is trying his hardest to maintain his composure, this is the first time he's found someone who actually spoke to her since she went missing. He waits for his answer before disappearing from the room to retrieve the other supplies as well as a glass of ice. If he keeps drinking water like that, he's going to make himself sick, the ice chips will hydrate him without it being too much.
When he reappears, it is with the needle, thread and something to sterilize it before he gets to work. Is he seriously rubbing the already chaffed skin raw? He sets the glass of ice down noisily on purpose, turning off the water with a deep frown. He's out of it, he has to remind himself, so getting annoyed is pointless. ] Stop. You're going to make it worse if you keep doing that, and it might scar.
[ Dorian's vanity is no secret; he'll play whatever card he has to in order to get the man to cooperate and to get his information. He deposits the glass in his hand first then, while minding his wrist, takes his free hand to lead him to the living room. It has better lighting and would probably be more comfortable. Plus, it looks like he could drop again at any second, so this is preventative damage control. ]
Take a seat. I'm no doctor, you sure you want me to be the one to do this?
[Ethan disappears and Dorian considers climbing out the window and crashing at another apartment. Instead, he winds up staring into space, scrubbing at his wrists without even realizing he's still doing it. Then the water is off, Ethan is saying something, and his hand is being taken to lead him away. When he sits, he realizes there's a glass of ice in his hand. Oh. Smart. That water isn't sitting well. Dorian's never been so dehydrated during a time when ice was available. Ethan speaks again, and Dorian blinks at him.]
What? [There was something about doctor, "are you sure," and Dorian nods, figuring Ethan's probably asking something like are you sure you don't want a doctor?] Unlikely to be any doctors here. [A pause--not hesitation so much as a cognitive delay. Then, quieter:] I don't want anyone else to see.
[That he can be harmed, that he has been humiliated, the odd way he's acting, any of it.]
[ Ethan makes a face, the answer having obviously not been the one he wanted to hear. But it did put one thing into perspective, he had attacked Dorian but hadn't killed the man after all. It might put one question to bed, but the other answer is still just beyond his grasp, people don't just vanish into thin air. Rather than go against his better judgement, he opts to tend to Dorian first rather than immediately dive into an interrogation. Considering how quiet he is, he likely won't be able to give satisfactory answers anyhow. ]
I doubt that. Miss Ives would be a better choice to stitch this up, if I could find her.
[ Her hands are gentler than his, at least. At the last statement he does little more than nod before beginning to set up a makeshift surgical display, arranging the items on another washcloth he swiped from the bathroom. While he isn't a professional by any means, he's dealt with his fair share of injuries in his life. Normally he would pour him a glass of something to drink to dull the pain but that isn't an option here, it would exacerbate his condition.
Grimly, he takes a seat beside him and, after disinfecting the needle, begins the task. He doesn't have to inspect the edges of the wound to see how to best close it, he knows the damage pattern by this point. Knows it like he knows the back of his hand, unfortunately. ]
[It crosses Dorian's mind that Vanessa could be strapped to a chair right now, going through the same thing he did. Had she done something that night? No, surely Ethan just...
Killed her.
Dorian killed her.
And for what? If anything, it wound up proving Ethan's fears to be very well-founded. Dorian was the ignorant one.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't flinch at the pain of the needle, but it's a sensation similar to one visited on him in the chair. He grips the arm of the chair tightly and takes a deep breath, trying to relax as his muscles wind even tighter.]
I thought it would show you there is nothing to fear. That even should the worst happen, no one would-- [He cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes shut.] I told you I am beyond hope, Ethan. Any attempt at good turns to evil. Even when I try to douse the fire I have set, I only fan the flames. Or my solution causes greater terror than the inferno.
[A pile of severed hands smoking on a table. They're made for killing.]
Now you want to talk. Is it wise to do so when I have something sharp in my hand?
[ Unlike Dorian's morbid train of thought, Ethan is less worried about punishments and more concerned about the idea she may have been taken by someone. Or something. When he saw her that evening, he felt the fog lift from his mind as it had the night she first saw him for what he truly was. Would he actually hurt her or, worse yet, kill her? The uncertainty of it all is maddening and the more time he spends here, the further away she gets. ]
No one died. [ He says this firmly, refusing to believe the wolf would hurt Vanessa. It was the man that ended her life before, not the beast -- her protector. ] I've accepted what I am, Dorian, but even I'm not foolish enough to say the fear will ever disappear. It's the fear of letting loose what I am on the world that keeps them safe and me grounded.
What you did wasn't evil, it was misguided. [ He glances over at him briefly before resuming his stitching. ] Stop thinking that because you've existed as long as you have that you know better, because you don't. Just as I have no experience being immortal, you've never been a werewolf. When I tell you that it's dangerous it's not a tall tale, you had to learn that the hard way.
Practice empathy not apathy. [ Quietly: ] Remember what you're feeling right now. Someone who is beyond hope? Wouldn't be feel it.
[That's the thing--Dorian wasn't feeling this way until some time into his...treatment. It's not normal for him to feel like this.
His grip on the chair tightens as the needle comes closer to his clavicle.]
You were mistaken, [he mutters.] I don't flee my emotions. I seldom feel strongly at all, about anything. Day by day, I yearn to feel something. Except for this. It's useless. There isn't any purpose to feeling this way. It's over and done. Why dwell on the past?
[ He's as tender as he can be as he knots the last stitch and clips the excess off. It doesn't look pretty but, considering this isn't his particular field, it's impressive enough and the wound will heal eventually. After dabbing some ointment on his finger, he begins applying it carefully to the edges of the wound. ]
If you're going to lie to someone, pick someone who isn't accustomed to keeping secrets of his own.
[ In other words, he is absolutely calling his bluff on this one. Despite what happened, this is the second time he has seen Dorian display some form of strong emotion. His own hypothesis is that he runs from them because he's worried about the consequences of having to feel again when he's shut himself off so completely from the world. It's a shield and a crutch. ]
The past shaped us into who and what we are today. Whether you want to dwell on it or not, it'll always be there. [ Ethan begins wrapping the wound. ] It isn't useless, it's a lesson meant to keep you from doing something reckless in the future. Think before you act and remember that your actions that night didn't just affect you.
Keep going down this path and the only thing you're going to feel is alone, because you will be.
[A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure.
Dorian has always lived by that. If he didn't want to feel something, he didn't. He saw life and death as a play, and as long as it all played out beautifully, it didn't matter if it was a tragedy or comedy. What other people called evil was, to him, an aesthetic.
But after sitting in that chair, enduring waves of pain while images of violence played out before him, perhaps the drama of life wasn't as pleasing to watch as it once was. No longer a ballet or an opera, but a reminder of his own suffering. Is that what it's supposed to be like? Suffering at the suffering of others? Then how was life meant to be anything good?
Joke's on Ethan. Dorian is already alone. And it's come to feel like that's simply the way of things.
After a time, you'll lose the desire for passion entirely, for connection with anyone. Like a muscle that atrophies from lack of use. And one day you'll realize you've become like them. Beautiful and dead. You have become a perfect, unchanging portrait of yourself.
If you're going to lie to someone, pick someone who isn't accustomed to keeping secrets of his own.
He remembers begging Lily to spare Frankenstein's life. Stupid, worthless Dr. Frankenstein. Why had that been so important to him? Why had he given Angelique a coming-out, only to end her life so beautifully, her dark hair flowing so beautifully over stone, with shards of glass around her like fallen stars? Why had he insisted on "helping" Ethan the way he did, instead of building trust, which he'd always known was the right way?
Did it really all happen because of his flair for the dramatic? Of seeing life as a story and people, including himself, as characters?
He hadn't been trying to help Ethan at all, had he?]
There is...much in my past, [he murmurs,] I ought to feel guilt for. If I let that in--ten lifetimes of regrets--I fear it will destroy me. [He hesitates, remembering who he's talking to.] But it did not destroy you.
[ Ethan doesn't say anything again until he's finished with the bandages, not until he starts cleaning up his work area. He lets the words soak in and wash over him, surprised at how they seem to strike a chord with him. For the first time since his arrival to the apartment, he feels some of the anger begin to dissipate, replaced with something bordering on understanding. ]
It threatens to destroy me every day. Some days I feel like I'm one step away from giving into the darkness, on others I've taken two steps away from it. The only reason it hasn't destroyed me is because I can't afford to let it, there's too much I want to protect. Guilt follows me like a shadow, Dorian, and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to atone for what I've done.
[ As if to drive that fact home, he carefully unravels the bandages on one of his hands to show it to Dorian. Unlike the previous time, the nail marks are deeper, jagged, and angry -- yet another display of how quickly things could change from month to month. Some months were easier than others and the injuries sustained were manageable but other times? They could be savage. ] I never know what I'll become but it's a part of me.
Sometimes I'm afraid of what I'll see if I ever find the nerve to glance behind me but if I don't embrace it, I'll go mad. I've spent much of my life running, yearning for forgiveness from people I'll never meet again in this life. If you don't face what you are, what you've done, then the lives that were lost are meaningless.
We were born into the world with a purpose. Find yours and take it a day at a time.
[What is it with people telling Dorian he needs meaning in his life? Life has no inherent meaning. It's a continuous revolving door of changing faces who make very little impression on the world and are almost always forgotten in the end. The ones who do make an impression often make a bad one. Dorian attached himself to more than one monster throughout the centuries simply because there was something about them that would last in the world after they were gone. People like Louis (not Pointe du Lac), of whom the bloodthirsty Lily was only a pale shadow.
But it wasn't really meaning Dorian took issue with--it was determinism. He did indeed make his own meaning out of life, as much as he claimed life was meaningless. He'd just chosen a meaning that pleased him and no one else. Was that wrong?
His thoughts are racing, folding in on themselves, a mile away before he can catch up to them. He takes a deep breath and nods.]
I will...consider it. [He hesitates.] And I am truly sorry.
Don't do it because someone told you to, do it because you want to. It's your life in the end. If doing things like this makes you happy, then so be it.
[ Ethan lingers at his side for a second, looking like he might want to say something else, but walks back to the bathroom with the supplies he didn't use to clean up. Everything will be put back in its proper place before he makes any attempt to leave, right down to the needle and thread once the former is cleaned off. He pauses in front of the mirror and hangs his head, eventually looking up again to meet his reflection.
Even now he's trying to understand his motivations. The fact that he trusted Dorian enough to share his secret, only for him to betray that trust stings. Friends are few and far between for him and this isn't exactly making him want to branch out and collect more. He pushed people away to protect them, what do you do for someone who added to the threat? He wants to understand.
When he finally exits the bathroom, he walks past Dorian intent on walking out the door without another word. Talking to him as he is now isn't going to solve anything, maybe leaving him to his thoughts will. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with his hand on the doorknob. ]
I need to find Miss Ives. Once I do, I'll come back and we'll finish this talk.
[Dorian gives Ethan a surprised look. He wasn't expecting the man would ever want to speak to him again.
Remember what you're feeling right now.
Because it isn't just the guilt, the fear, and whatever else is happening that he can't define. There's also a bit of hope now. Maybe he hasn't chased away the only person who's believed in him since he was actually a young man.
Maybe, one of these days, he'll even accept his apology.]
Of course. [Dorian's throat has gone dry again, so his voice is barely there.]
[ Maybe that's his weakness, he shouldn't ever want to see Dorian again after what he did but something is pulling at him, making him want to hear him out before he makes his choice. The trust will be the hardest thing to get back, he's unlikely to ever ask Dorian to help him during a full moon again. ]
Get some rest, Dorian.
[ He watches him for another couple of seconds before opening the door and closing it behind him almost too quietly. The rage is still hiding beneath the surface but sometimes not losing one's temper can leave just as much of an impact. ]
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[ The whole display does little more than fuel the fire, as he's under the impression that he is trying to drown him out. The slow, sluggish movements don't alarm him as they are normal for someone trying to rouse themselves after a particularly long night. Nor does the whisper. ]
Did you think I was going to thank you? If I wanted to unleash the monster on the city, I would've done so of my own volition. Whatever game you were playing, I hope you got your fill of enjoyment out of it because I sure as hell didn't. [ He starts to pace near the end of the bed, it's the only thing keeping him from hitting him right now. Without warning that balled up fist makes contact with a bedpost. ]
Are you proud of yourself? Did you get a new experience out of it? Nothing else matters, right? As long as you're content in your own little world, looking down from your tower as the ants scatter. You didn't think about who I could hurt, that it could be someone both of us know.
You didn't even have the nerve to face it, I've been looking for you for two goddamn days.
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He manages to scrape himself off the bed and stagger toward the master bathroom, expecting Ethan to follow him. Trying to speak just produces shards of glass.
You didn't think about who I could hurt.
That line gives Dorian pause as he reaches the door.
That wasn't true. He had thought about who Ethan could hurt. He just hadn't thought it mattered. Nobody dies here.
But life isn't the only thing at stake, is it? There are people who were hurt who will remember this, would possibly remember it for the rest of their lives.
Ethan will remember this. The moment the scales fell from his eyes and he understood the kind of person Dorian really is. Will this stop him from trusting someone who actually deserves his trust?
Dorian silently moves into the bathroom, leaving the door open while he runs the water, cupping it in his hands and taking a long draft of it. Afterward, he begins to roll up his sleeves, exposing angry red skin, rubbed raw by some restraint. He splashes water on his face.]
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Nothing to say for yourself? You have some nerve, maybe it will keep you company when no one else will. [ He's spitting venom now. ] Your indifference isn't a strength, it's your greatest weakness. You wept that day but the only one holding you back is yourself. Not a damn curse, not the threat of eternity.
God help you, because no one else can.
[ But now he's walking away, causing Ethan to pause and follow him with his eyes only at first, an incredulous look on his face. Is he running from this? The shock keeps him rooted to the spot for a few moments before he follows after him. His boots give away the fact that his anger hasn't lessened, it's grown. The level of indifference he seems to be giving off is another slap in the face. ]
You didn't just set me loose on a bunch of strangers, I attacked people that I know. That you know. Louis was among them! You think Lestat is going to forget that? And Miss Ives was there! She's the only part of the night I can recall with clarity and now she's nowhere to be found. If I hurt her, Dorian..
[ He wouldn't do that, he couldn't. But the lingering bit of doubt, coupled with her disappearance, is enough to rattle him. Shortly before he finishes with the second sleeve, Ethan lashes out and grabs his collar to jerk him and his attention free of the sink forcefully. It's at this point that he notices the bleary eyes, his gaze sweeping across his shoulder and finally down to his wrists. The anger hasn't faded but it's enough of a distraction that he lets him go.
Too slowly, as if afraid of what he might find, he carefully unbuttons a few buttons on Dorian's shirt to get a better look at the angry, painfully familiar wound pattern. He did this. ]
Jesus Christ..
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Don't touch me! [he rasps, throat still parched, trying to struggle out of his grasp. It's not necessary. Ethan lets go, causing Dorian to stagger back a pace or two.
Then it's silence, as Dorian can't bring himself to look at the man he called a friend. The latest in his long, long series of people he has betrayed when they did nothing to him. It was his best, most reliable bridge, and he burned it. It could be considered an improvement, given it fell short of murder, but Ethan would probably have preferred that. No--he would definitely have preferred it.
But you know what? At least Ethan's pissed instead of feeling sorry for himself. That much is a good sign. Was it worth it?
No. It was ill-thought, heartless, and cruel. And Dorian knows he is many things the world considers evil, but he never thought of himself as cruel. Cold, certainly. Frozen, even. But not cruel. Perhaps because he didn't enjoy the pain of others. But that's not the same thing.
And that was how he repaid Ethan's kindness toward him: with cruelty.
That's his nature. Ethan will know better now.
The tap is still running. Dorian reaches out to shut it off. His ears ring louder in the silence.]
I'm sorry.
[The words are small, but spoken with greater sincerity than anything Dorian has said since they arrived in this world.]
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[ The exclamation is enough of a clue; something else happened. The tension in his body is so rigid it's almost painful so, with a growing sense of unease, he lets out a sigh as his stance loosens up. As soon as Dorian is able, he fully intends to continue the conversation. His expression is grim as he carefully helps the man shrug out of the shirt that is likely ruined and beyond repair.
It's taking every bit of his will power not to lose his temper again as his own wounds, both physical and mental, are still raw. It will take time to rebuild the bridges he's burned, if they even can be. But his biggest concern right now is finding Vanessa. If Dorian did stick around after being injured, maybe he had seen her. Maybe she was safe. He grabs a washcloth and turns the faucet back on, letting the water soak the material thoroughly. ]
Are you? I wonder. [ A muscle twitches in his jaw as he surveys the damage he caused. If the wound is still here, does the mean he didn't kill him? Suddenly, he isn't as interested in conversation, choosing to remain silent as he lifts the cloth and carefully begins to tend to the wounds he can see. There are others, ones that are deeper and can't be treated physically, even a blind man could see that. ]
[ Finally: ] What happened?
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I was punished, [he whispers, muscles tightening even at the mention of the event. He's not interested in going into more detail.] I told Miss Ives to stay indoors.
[And now she's missing and Louis is hurt--again--and Lestat must absolutely hate him for this. He hadn't accounted for the vampires being out at night. Stupid. He's burned every bridge that matters to him most.]
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You shouldn't have told her anything. You didn't think she was going to see it for herself? Telling her not to do something oftentimes has the opposite effect. [ He stops briefly, to look at him. ] When was the last time you spoke to her?
[ Without waiting for the answer, he goes about rifling through the cabinets as if he knows where everything is -- because he does. The bandages and ointment from his last transformation are still here, tucked away beneath the sink along with a pair of scissors. He won't need them this time, but at least he wouldn't be using his teeth to cut the gauze if he did. ]
They don't know. [ He wasn't going to reveal this but, judging by his demeanor, he needs to hear it. His temper might be fickle but torture is a sensitive subject that he doesn't condone, he isn't a cruel man. ] That it was you, I mean. It wasn't out of kindness; I never should have put that burden on you. On anyone. Whatever happens now is my cross to bear.
Everyone here knows what I am now. When I woke up the next morning, I told them.
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When Ethan says no one knows--Lestat and Louis don't know, nobody knows--he can feel his shoulders relax a little. It's wrong, of course. For Ethan to take the blame for this. Ethan can't help what he is, nor can he help occasionally trusting the wrong person, especially when he had no one else to trust. Being honest about it, though, that's a good move. Much smarter than trusting Dorian.]
There's needle and thread in... [He trails off, trying to remember where he saw the mending kit.] O-over the laundry machines. [He can say his part when Ethan has collected what he needs. Once he has a moment to think of what to say. Ethan deserves an explanation.]
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[ Ethan is trying his hardest to maintain his composure, this is the first time he's found someone who actually spoke to her since she went missing. He waits for his answer before disappearing from the room to retrieve the other supplies as well as a glass of ice. If he keeps drinking water like that, he's going to make himself sick, the ice chips will hydrate him without it being too much.
When he reappears, it is with the needle, thread and something to sterilize it before he gets to work. Is he seriously rubbing the already chaffed skin raw? He sets the glass of ice down noisily on purpose, turning off the water with a deep frown. He's out of it, he has to remind himself, so getting annoyed is pointless. ] Stop. You're going to make it worse if you keep doing that, and it might scar.
[ Dorian's vanity is no secret; he'll play whatever card he has to in order to get the man to cooperate and to get his information. He deposits the glass in his hand first then, while minding his wrist, takes his free hand to lead him to the living room. It has better lighting and would probably be more comfortable. Plus, it looks like he could drop again at any second, so this is preventative damage control. ]
Take a seat. I'm no doctor, you sure you want me to be the one to do this?
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[Ethan disappears and Dorian considers climbing out the window and crashing at another apartment. Instead, he winds up staring into space, scrubbing at his wrists without even realizing he's still doing it. Then the water is off, Ethan is saying something, and his hand is being taken to lead him away. When he sits, he realizes there's a glass of ice in his hand. Oh. Smart. That water isn't sitting well. Dorian's never been so dehydrated during a time when ice was available. Ethan speaks again, and Dorian blinks at him.]
What? [There was something about doctor, "are you sure," and Dorian nods, figuring Ethan's probably asking something like are you sure you don't want a doctor?] Unlikely to be any doctors here. [A pause--not hesitation so much as a cognitive delay. Then, quieter:] I don't want anyone else to see.
[That he can be harmed, that he has been humiliated, the odd way he's acting, any of it.]
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[ Ethan makes a face, the answer having obviously not been the one he wanted to hear. But it did put one thing into perspective, he had attacked Dorian but hadn't killed the man after all. It might put one question to bed, but the other answer is still just beyond his grasp, people don't just vanish into thin air. Rather than go against his better judgement, he opts to tend to Dorian first rather than immediately dive into an interrogation. Considering how quiet he is, he likely won't be able to give satisfactory answers anyhow. ]
I doubt that. Miss Ives would be a better choice to stitch this up, if I could find her.
[ Her hands are gentler than his, at least. At the last statement he does little more than nod before beginning to set up a makeshift surgical display, arranging the items on another washcloth he swiped from the bathroom. While he isn't a professional by any means, he's dealt with his fair share of injuries in his life. Normally he would pour him a glass of something to drink to dull the pain but that isn't an option here, it would exacerbate his condition.
Grimly, he takes a seat beside him and, after disinfecting the needle, begins the task. He doesn't have to inspect the edges of the wound to see how to best close it, he knows the damage pattern by this point. Knows it like he knows the back of his hand, unfortunately. ]
tw: needles, dismemberment
Killed her.
Dorian killed her.
And for what? If anything, it wound up proving Ethan's fears to be very well-founded. Dorian was the ignorant one.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't flinch at the pain of the needle, but it's a sensation similar to one visited on him in the chair. He grips the arm of the chair tightly and takes a deep breath, trying to relax as his muscles wind even tighter.]
I thought it would show you there is nothing to fear. That even should the worst happen, no one would-- [He cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes shut.] I told you I am beyond hope, Ethan. Any attempt at good turns to evil. Even when I try to douse the fire I have set, I only fan the flames. Or my solution causes greater terror than the inferno.
[A pile of severed hands smoking on a table. They're made for killing.]
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[ Unlike Dorian's morbid train of thought, Ethan is less worried about punishments and more concerned about the idea she may have been taken by someone. Or something. When he saw her that evening, he felt the fog lift from his mind as it had the night she first saw him for what he truly was. Would he actually hurt her or, worse yet, kill her? The uncertainty of it all is maddening and the more time he spends here, the further away she gets. ]
No one died. [ He says this firmly, refusing to believe the wolf would hurt Vanessa. It was the man that ended her life before, not the beast -- her protector. ] I've accepted what I am, Dorian, but even I'm not foolish enough to say the fear will ever disappear. It's the fear of letting loose what I am on the world that keeps them safe and me grounded.
What you did wasn't evil, it was misguided. [ He glances over at him briefly before resuming his stitching. ] Stop thinking that because you've existed as long as you have that you know better, because you don't. Just as I have no experience being immortal, you've never been a werewolf. When I tell you that it's dangerous it's not a tall tale, you had to learn that the hard way.
Practice empathy not apathy. [ Quietly: ] Remember what you're feeling right now. Someone who is beyond hope? Wouldn't be feel it.
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His grip on the chair tightens as the needle comes closer to his clavicle.]
You were mistaken, [he mutters.] I don't flee my emotions. I seldom feel strongly at all, about anything. Day by day, I yearn to feel something. Except for this. It's useless. There isn't any purpose to feeling this way. It's over and done. Why dwell on the past?
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[ He's as tender as he can be as he knots the last stitch and clips the excess off. It doesn't look pretty but, considering this isn't his particular field, it's impressive enough and the wound will heal eventually. After dabbing some ointment on his finger, he begins applying it carefully to the edges of the wound. ]
If you're going to lie to someone, pick someone who isn't accustomed to keeping secrets of his own.
[ In other words, he is absolutely calling his bluff on this one. Despite what happened, this is the second time he has seen Dorian display some form of strong emotion. His own hypothesis is that he runs from them because he's worried about the consequences of having to feel again when he's shut himself off so completely from the world. It's a shield and a crutch. ]
The past shaped us into who and what we are today. Whether you want to dwell on it or not, it'll always be there. [ Ethan begins wrapping the wound. ] It isn't useless, it's a lesson meant to keep you from doing something reckless in the future. Think before you act and remember that your actions that night didn't just affect you.
Keep going down this path and the only thing you're going to feel is alone, because you will be.
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Dorian has always lived by that. If he didn't want to feel something, he didn't. He saw life and death as a play, and as long as it all played out beautifully, it didn't matter if it was a tragedy or comedy. What other people called evil was, to him, an aesthetic.
But after sitting in that chair, enduring waves of pain while images of violence played out before him, perhaps the drama of life wasn't as pleasing to watch as it once was. No longer a ballet or an opera, but a reminder of his own suffering. Is that what it's supposed to be like? Suffering at the suffering of others? Then how was life meant to be anything good?
Joke's on Ethan. Dorian is already alone. And it's come to feel like that's simply the way of things.
After a time, you'll lose the desire for passion entirely, for connection with anyone. Like a muscle that atrophies from lack of use. And one day you'll realize you've become like them. Beautiful and dead. You have become a perfect, unchanging portrait of yourself.
If you're going to lie to someone, pick someone who isn't accustomed to keeping secrets of his own.
He remembers begging Lily to spare Frankenstein's life. Stupid, worthless Dr. Frankenstein. Why had that been so important to him? Why had he given Angelique a coming-out, only to end her life so beautifully, her dark hair flowing so beautifully over stone, with shards of glass around her like fallen stars? Why had he insisted on "helping" Ethan the way he did, instead of building trust, which he'd always known was the right way?
Did it really all happen because of his flair for the dramatic? Of seeing life as a story and people, including himself, as characters?
He hadn't been trying to help Ethan at all, had he?]
There is...much in my past, [he murmurs,] I ought to feel guilt for. If I let that in--ten lifetimes of regrets--I fear it will destroy me. [He hesitates, remembering who he's talking to.] But it did not destroy you.
[How?]
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It threatens to destroy me every day. Some days I feel like I'm one step away from giving into the darkness, on others I've taken two steps away from it. The only reason it hasn't destroyed me is because I can't afford to let it, there's too much I want to protect. Guilt follows me like a shadow, Dorian, and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to atone for what I've done.
[ As if to drive that fact home, he carefully unravels the bandages on one of his hands to show it to Dorian. Unlike the previous time, the nail marks are deeper, jagged, and angry -- yet another display of how quickly things could change from month to month. Some months were easier than others and the injuries sustained were manageable but other times? They could be savage. ] I never know what I'll become but it's a part of me.
Sometimes I'm afraid of what I'll see if I ever find the nerve to glance behind me but if I don't embrace it, I'll go mad. I've spent much of my life running, yearning for forgiveness from people I'll never meet again in this life. If you don't face what you are, what you've done, then the lives that were lost are meaningless.
We were born into the world with a purpose. Find yours and take it a day at a time.
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But it wasn't really meaning Dorian took issue with--it was determinism. He did indeed make his own meaning out of life, as much as he claimed life was meaningless. He'd just chosen a meaning that pleased him and no one else. Was that wrong?
His thoughts are racing, folding in on themselves, a mile away before he can catch up to them. He takes a deep breath and nods.]
I will...consider it. [He hesitates.] And I am truly sorry.
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[ Ethan lingers at his side for a second, looking like he might want to say something else, but walks back to the bathroom with the supplies he didn't use to clean up. Everything will be put back in its proper place before he makes any attempt to leave, right down to the needle and thread once the former is cleaned off. He pauses in front of the mirror and hangs his head, eventually looking up again to meet his reflection.
Even now he's trying to understand his motivations. The fact that he trusted Dorian enough to share his secret, only for him to betray that trust stings. Friends are few and far between for him and this isn't exactly making him want to branch out and collect more. He pushed people away to protect them, what do you do for someone who added to the threat? He wants to understand.
When he finally exits the bathroom, he walks past Dorian intent on walking out the door without another word. Talking to him as he is now isn't going to solve anything, maybe leaving him to his thoughts will. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with his hand on the doorknob. ]
I need to find Miss Ives. Once I do, I'll come back and we'll finish this talk.
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Remember what you're feeling right now.
Because it isn't just the guilt, the fear, and whatever else is happening that he can't define. There's also a bit of hope now. Maybe he hasn't chased away the only person who's believed in him since he was actually a young man.
Maybe, one of these days, he'll even accept his apology.]
Of course. [Dorian's throat has gone dry again, so his voice is barely there.]
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Get some rest, Dorian.
[ He watches him for another couple of seconds before opening the door and closing it behind him almost too quietly. The rage is still hiding beneath the surface but sometimes not losing one's temper can leave just as much of an impact. ]