eachdraidh | seelie; video; why this

[Oh, look, it's Dorian Gray! Everyone remembers Dorian Gray, right? Sweet kid, a little naive, recently got scolded at the royal audience? Well, today you wouldn't believe it, not from how very self-possessed he looks, how pleased, how utterly brazen.

One might think that someone who just got publicly called out and punished might feel more need to keep their head down and be discrete, but apparently not. Every actor needs an audience, and this actor, at least, seems to be particularly committed to enjoy the show he's putting on. Feline in recline, he speaks as one who savours language, gesturing in smooth, languid movements. He is the 1890s Aesthete come to life, in all its hedonistic glory, and he is here to share.]

How dreary we all are getting. It's the fin de siècle all over again, but with far less Oscar. Or Yeats, for that matter. [Suitably, mockingly dramatic:] "And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

[And here's a scoff.] I'm not feeling it. We are meant to be the court of tradition, of love, of welcoming the apocalypse. And yet I haven't seen even one orgy in my time at Caer Glaem. Frankly, I'm unimpressed.

[The headshake turns back into that canary-eating smile, and he purrs out his proposal for fixing this shameful problem.]

So tonight, at the sun's setting, I'll be holding a, ah, ritual in the Magi's Workroom. Wine from Mandragora Estates—top of the line, for those tragically ignorant of the most up-and-coming vinery in the Drabwurld—and various other substances. Children not invited.

It's a protection ritual, for the record. It would be so very unsuitable to be decadently useless in our embrace of the End. Try to bring yourself as magically charged as you can.

[ooc: THERE WILL BE NO LOG FOR THIS I am not going to put up an actual orgy log dear god. But this a thing Dorian will really be doing, any character can come as long as they're over the age of consent. Wine, drugs, and sex, all night. Technically, it really is an actual magical ritual.]

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[Thatta princess]

Really? No apocalyptic orgies on the calendar in Irish lore, for whenever the ends of days come?

I'm Scottish.

[Not really snapped, because she may as well be Irish at this point. And her Drabwurld father is Irish so. She's just going to shrug and tilt her head.]

I only know of th' northmen's Ragnarok really. Irish myth is more about th' deeds of heroes an' th' gods. A better person to ask would be Diarmuid. I'm from about eight hundred years past th' time of his myth.

My apologies. [It's genuine, actually. He does consider it a rude mistake to make, and so he is truly contrite over it.]

Mm, I'll try to get him for a Q&A on that. Oscar and Bernard weren't really big on it, and Yeats was more interested in a kind of mystic apocalypse than anything.

It's no big deal.

[She waves a hand nonchalantly, then reaches to brush the hawk feather braided in her hair back behind her ear. There are plenty of worse things to be called than Irish really. And she has no idea who those people are so...]

I grew up learnin' about th' old lore from my mother an' th' clansmen. I suppose that's why I'm not really surprised by anythin' in th' Drabwurld.

[Dorian is comfortable talking about this as much as anything. The point is not to think about one particular thing. As long as they're gabbing, it doesn't mean anything. So he goes for it.]

No, I imagine not. It's a bit of a Celtic hodgepodge most days, with everything else added in for spice.

Is that what they call us in th' future?

[It's a confusing term, but she doesn't think much of it.]

Yeah, it's sort of a collective term for the Bretons, the Cornish, the Irish, the Manx, the Scots, and the Welsh, nowadays. Sort of everyone on the Isles who were pissed at the English for Anglicizing everything.

Anglicizin'?

Making everyone more like the English. Culturally, linguistically, etc.

[The English...ah, Britain. That makes her think of Saber, but she keeps her mouth shut on that, instead crossing her arms as a one year old wolfhound pries for her attention.]

Ugh. That's like suggestin' we coexist with th' northmen. [Then again, she'd managed with Hiccup while he was here.] Britain's not exactly our enemy in my time but we're not exactly friends either.

It gets a little bit more bloody than that in the years to come. Such is the nature of restless power, and all that.

Sounds like I have wonderful things to look forward to if I become Queen.

[Said sarcastically, but the if is a bit ambiguous.]

If it is a comfort, this will be long, long after your time. I imagine the Northmen will remain the greater concern during your reign.

Dad an' th' lords drove them off our lands before I was born. It was how our clans were united.

Ah, yes, the unifying effect of war. How powerful it can be.

[He remembers. And he remembers the times it wasn't enough anyway.]

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