dorian "empty carbs" gray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
depicted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eachdraidh2015-05-06 03:58 pm
depicted) wrote in eachdraidh2015-05-06 03:58 pm
Entry tags:
- aragorn: tolkien,
- aslan: the chronicles of narnia,
- clara oswald: doctor who,
- colette brunel: tales of symphonia,
- cullen rutherford: dragon age,
- diarmuid ua duibhne (lancer): fate/zero,
- dorian gray: codg,
- elise de la serre: assassin's creed,
- emil castagnier: tales of symphonia,
- erik lehnsherr: x-men,
- faolan: the bridei chronicles,
- flora: the winx club,
- gabranth: final fantasy xii,
- lancelot: bbc merlin,
- lancer: fate/stay night,
- lia de beaumont: le chevalier d'eon,
- merida: brave,
- rachel elizabeth dare: pjo,
- remus lupin: harry potter,
- snow white: once upon a time,
- steve rogers: mcu,
- tarz: eachdraidh,
- zhaneel: mage wars trilogy
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.]
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.]
video;
[And something in him shifts and changes and a moment later the shrieks aren't so high-pitched but his voice is still higher than it should be for him.]
Enough already! Don't bring Marta into this with that guy!
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[Aster doesn't even know what to say to make him stop. What will make Dorian stop?]
A-Anyway what you're talking about involves a lot of people!
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I wasn't.
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Or with Richter in a threesome, in Emil's case.
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Say that again!
[And just like that, Emil blinks, still bright red.]
Oh no are we still talking?!
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[And Dorian's words carry the undeniable weight of the truth.]
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[He switches out again, this time leaning into the locket to glare harder.]
I wasn't running away! You know I can hear this stupid trash even if I don't want to!
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threadjacking
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I'm surprised you're getting as flustered as you are. It's actually really charming.