seelie; video; why this

[depicted]

[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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[reticence]

[I know always win the 'gamble' of asking someone I really, truly love because I know romance and sex can't hurt a love like that. These words perhaps more than the rest give Faolan pause. It's true, he supposes. If he really digs deep, if he really pulls from his life experience, he will realize that when Ana found out, nothing changed between them. Not really. The summer they spent together, traveling - Ana, Drustan, and himself - Faolan had been the one to make things awkward. Faolan had been the one who had had to leave, who couldn't stand to be around them and their happiness. That pain has lessened now, though the fondness is still there. He will always love her in some way, the princess who taught him how to love again.

But now he has this. And it is just as confusing and inappropriate as before. Not because he is a man - he had been a bard, and bards had always been free with who they loved. No, because of Lancelot's position. Because of his love for Gwen. Because of the man's innocence, and his own lack thereof.

The comment about enjoying a little pain has Faolan narrowing his eyes and letting out a little noise that might be conceived as a growl, however.] I do not self-lacerate, as you put it. But there is no guarantee that it will be as you say. I am content enough with what I have now. Should I cross that line - should it change things between us. I would never forgive myself for it. [You do not know what it means to Faolan to be able to admit to himself even so much as that he is content, Dorian. Faolan, a Breakstone man. It is true, perhaps he will be the better for it. But perhaps not. The risk is too great, and he does not see the point of upsetting the fragile balance he has found for himself with the other man simply because he has made the mistake of falling in love.]

Lancelot cannot know.

[depicted]

[Dorian believes Faolan, but not fully. Mostly, he doesn't believe the bit about not being masochistic. The very answer betrays the truth of it.]

[But he rolls his eyes, sighing out his dismissal of Faolan's implications.] He can, but he won't hear it from me. Miraculous he hasn't noticed yet, but there you are.

[reticence]

[Miraculous indeed. Dorian figured him out within mere moments, and he is not around him anywhere near as often as Lancelot is himself. Faolan's not quite certain how Lancelot hasn't figured something out by this point, but he supposes that that's neither here nor there, all things considered.]

He... Has other concerns, besides my own personal affairs. [Which is to say that yes, yes it is a miracle indeed. God, is he really that obvious? He wants to ask, but he's terrified what the answer might be...]

[depicted]

That's a poor excuse for blindness. But he is pure.

[Oh, those pure types. Dorian just shakes his head and lets it go. Faolan's love life is his own problem, even if it's undeniably entertaining. He isn't going to actively meddle.]

[reticence]

Yes, he is. Say what you will, but I am of the opinion that he should stay as such, for as long as he can be.

[And if that means that he should have to keep this secret to himself, then so be it.]