“Purity in body and heart May please some--as for me, I make no boast. For, as you know, no master of a household Has all of his utensils made of gold; Some are wood, and yet they are of use.” ― Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
Posted: Sun Feb 20, 2011 4:09 pm
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ＴＡＢＬＥ ＯＦ ＣＯＮＴＥＮＴＳ
01 ✦ DUST ; solo - [retconning] 02 ✦ JUST A LITTLE FAINT ; prp 03 ✦ NO ONE TO ACCUSE ; solo 04 ✦ THREE AND SYMPATHY ; prp 05 ✦ THE PRINCES OF WINTER ; prp 06 ✦ WHY HELLO THERE ; prp 07 ✦ THE CLOAKED MIDNIGHT PRINCE ; solo 08 ✦ THE LITTLE GHOST ; solo 09 ✦ CONCOTIONS & CHIVALRY ; solo 10 ✦ WOULD YOU SPARE THE TIME OF DAY? ; prp 11 ✦ CHECKING UP ON THE JONESES ; prp 12 ✦ THE JADE HOUSE ; solo - [retconning]
knife effect Vice Captain
Sparkly Vampire
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knife effect Vice Captain
Sparkly Vampire
Offline
Posted: Tue Feb 22, 2011 10:58 am
－ ＡＲＣ ＯＮＥ － ＭＡＮＩＦＥＳＴＯ
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 2:16 pm
ＲＥＴＣＯＮ-ＩＮＧ purpose: retailoring linda reese's character
DUST | IN WHICH DORIAN COLLECTS DUST (solo RP)
Twenty. Double digits. Couldn't be explained through fingers. Abstract. Dorian's age. Number of years Nancy accompanied him. Number of years until Nancy left him. Number of years until he was finally in complete solitude. Number of desserts prepared tonight for him. Number that was now relevant to him. Twenty.
Dorian Arelgren toyed with a strand of dirty-blond hair that hung near his jaw, and with his other hand, rubbed the rim of the hot cocoa's mug. The gesticulations were cast absentmindedly, for the actor was trapped in a state of limbo. Never before had he been utterly alone, no, there was always someone to keep him company. When all the peasants failed him, there was always Nancy to return to. Nancy's company was familiar and maternal to him, there was never any bickering between he and his loving maid. Why would there be? She was capable of higher thinking. She was among the few enlightened figures of Shyregoedian society that knew of his genius, his greatness, his kindness.
Kindness.
The word that once was spoken in his head with warmth was now avoided altogether with an eerie chill. The change of attitude towards the word was undoubtedly associated with Nancy's to-be death. She left him only a few hours ago, and already, Dorian's intuition whispered to him that she left for "certain" after the first hour passed.
A wave of nausea entered the Arelgren heir's head, though Dorian knew that its cause was surely not the gratuitous amounts of sugar he consumed tonight. Kaleidescope vision filled his eyes, and the Arelgren house walls that were patterned with shell-white and light-burgundy seemed to blend into each other with the furniture. His fingers flew from their mindless movements to his chair's armrests, gripping them tightly as he experienced a choking feeling.
"No, no, no, this feeling is wrong, Dorian, we musn't be feeling it,", Dorian repeated to himself in his head. Emotional vertigo was something he always refuted, never wanting to believe it was actually occurring when it did. His "well-deserved" pride overcame any sorrow, therefore sorrow never "existed" for him. Today, however, was different.
Sorrow existed. It was real. It was as real as Nancy was, and the void which filled her place only beckoned it closer.
Dorian felt his lips tremble, though he tried his hardest to ignore the streams that began to flow from his eyes. His hands were gripped too strongly on the armrests to wipe his face of his dolefulness. It would be wrong to. He was wrong to think of refusing sorrow. At least, tonight.
He never shed a tear for a person in his life. For Nancy, the only person who gave him her unconditional love and kindness, he owed her as many tears as his pores could offer. He would not allow himself to wipe his self of them. Instead, the narcissistic Arelgren watched with no intrigue as the tears fell like impeding signs of the ultimate end, dropping and collecting on his lap.
Dorian realized for the first time that he was cold. That Arelgren house was cold. He realized how artificial its palatial guise was, its regal furnishings, the portraits of his ghostly parental figures and ancestors. His epiphany made another unexpected turn when he realized how empty his abode was. Despite that he was a man now, and the house's height no longer differed from him so grandly, he suddenly felt small. The ceiling seemed further away from the floor as he lifted his jade orbs to absorb their view.
He remained that way for the remainder of the night--sitting beside the only source of warmth--Nancy's cocoa. He'd cupped it in his hands, gazing blankly into its contents. The physical warmth of the dessert only invited more coldness into his heart as he imagined old Nancy in the kitchen, humming to herself a self-invented symphony as she added ingredients for its creation. With thoughts as dark as the cocoa blend itself, Dorian Arelgren drifted to sleep with the bittersweet dream of childhood...
"What's death like, Nancy?"
"What a morbid question, young master. Go upstairs and dress yourself."
"I won't until you tell me, Nancy, I am serious."
"Oh, master Dorian, boys at the age of nine cannot be serious."
"But I am! I am serious! Please, Nancy, won't you tell me?"
"Silly boy, I haven't died before. I could not know."
"Oh. You won't die though, yes, Nancy?"
A laugh. "Oh, young master, thoughts like those are what makes a woman age quickly. Now run along upstairs."
...What's death like, Nancy?
"Dorian?"
Disgruntled, Dorian woke to meet the brilliant emeralds of one of Shyregoed's earliest and brightest.Linda Emilia Reese. She was beautiful like a thorny wildflower was beautiful, and radiant like a harvest's sun was radiant. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed.
"Linda...?" he questioned groggily, grabbing her shoulder for support. He wondered how she got in (the door?), though his morning nausea dismissed the thought immediately. He was too tired to question the woman's motives.
Linda Reese smiled sympathetically at the slightly-unconscious man. She wondered if he'd noticed the jade-green dress (freshly tailored!) she sported for the occasion, matching his eyes. She was hesitant to speak any further, and Dorian could sense this for she opened and closed her mouth when she lifted him. She collected herself before she began.
"Dorian...I have some questions for you."
p***sDorian jolted at the mention of "questions", immediately entering a stream of meaningless babble. Linda's eyes widened for the worst at his reaction, for all she could decipher from his rush were the words "I don't know anything" and "Oh Nancy".
p***s"Dorian, please, listen to me,"She waited for him to calm before she spoke once more."I was there when she passed. She came to me, asking for rooming. Alas, she fell into the arms of death before I could catch her in my own. As an educated woman, I can deduce that she was blackened."
p***s"Linda, please--"
p***s"No, Dorian, please allow me to continue. I am not here on behalf of Nancy, as dear as she was to you, for she was merely an acquaintance of mine. She was of no relevance to me--but you--you Dorian, I care for deeply."
p***sDorian was bewildered. His greens gazed into her blues, causing her to flush a deep shade of red. Her fingers tumbled to-and-fro in her lap, eyes shyly lifting to meet his.
p***s"Wh-wh-"
p***s"I am here on your account Dorian. Did she inflict you? Are you alright? I could hide you, I could keep you safe, you are not as alone as you may think--"
p***sDorian Arelgren felt anguish suddenly rush through his veins, his eyes glaring deeply into Linda's own. He didn't care for her story save for the portion of Nancy falling into the arms of death. He questioned the validity of Linda's testimony--if she refused Nancy--if Nancy was disposed of crudely--if Linda's feelings were even to be considered.
p***s"FILTH!"Dorian roared jumping from his seat, causing the girl to shake. He paced abruptly, then gripped Linda's shoulders roughly and forced her trembling form against the nearest wall, their breaths close. She could almost feel his fury, for his jade-green eyes were filled with wild frenzy. She'd never seen him in such a disturbed state before, she was sure before she arrived that he'd be thrilled to see her, for she never forgot his birthday, she was just too...hesitant to announce anything. Nancy's death would be her and Dorian's special secret.
p***s"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK LIKE THAT," ]Dorian continued, his voice raising into a crescendo. He could feel her trembling against his form, and he released his hand from the wall, facing the opposite direction. His yelling however, resumed."WHERE IS NANCY? WHAT DID YOU DO TO NANCY?"
The girl began to cry, startled and disturbed. It didn't take a genius to deduce that Linda Reese's morning was ruined.
"Damn it, Linda..."The Arelgren released the Reese daughter, rubbing his temples and striding away from her wailing form. The din she was beginning to cause only fogged his thoughts further. He felt the nausea seep in once more.
"D-Dorian I-I s-saw her d-die," Linda wept into her sleeves, now soaked with her own confused tears. Dorian seated himself on the chair that he slept in. He gave a quick glance in the direction of Nancy's hot cocoa beside it, then Linda. He bit his lip at the scene.
"I-I w-was t-too late..."
"Linda, hush. I cannot think." Dorian shoved his face into his hands, ignoring the fact that Linda was now sniffling into his arm, relentless in her sorrow.
"Linda I require solitude."
"B-but D-Dorian my feelings--"
A violent shove sent Linda into collapse, her crushed heart bottling with fear as Dorian rose slowly from his seat. His lips spoke ill words that she cringed from. Like poisonous silk, they were delivered quite smoothly, and dealt quite a blow.
"Peasant. Leave me. I will not repeat myself," Dorian said icily, enunciating every word to ensure that he wasn't mumbling.
Like the dust that collected underneath the bottom of Nancy's cocoa, Linda was shoved underneath his list of companions as well.
In which Dorian meets his first Plague and Grimm, and garners and interest for Obscuvianism.
Posted: Sat Feb 26, 2011 8:28 pm
ＮＯＢＯＤＹ ＴＯ ＡＣＣＵＳＥ ✦✦✦CHAPTER 3.✦✦✦ Arelgren House ; Shyregoed; solo
"Dorian Arelgren. Duncan Arelgren."
Dorian smirked at Arelgren House's doorstep at the sight of a new package of shillings from his mother and father, Nancy's hot cocoa still clutched in a steady hand. He bent down to examine it in the dawning morning. His very name had become mercurial. "Duncan Arelgren" scribbled hastily onto a yellowing package in black ink that contrasted sharply with snow that speckled it. Duncan and Dorian blended into a single figure, the only similarity between them was Arelgren blood and a mother ghost and father ghost. Whereas Duncan never knew Nancy, Linda, Peter, or any of the other Shyregoedians other than Dorian, Dorian knew them all.
Yet, they were of the same personage. Duncan was merely born from a misspelling. A mismemory. He was born because Dorian had become irrelevant. Dorian had ruined his chances of redeeming relevancy to Shyregoed itself when he spoke poorly to Linda the morning before. Knowing Linda, word of his nasty self would be the talk of the region, his effigies burned more brightly than before. Linda was relevant to Shyregoed (through her charms), whereas he rejected all hopes of collecting any. Frankly, Dorian never had the want to have peasants enchanted. He merely wanted them to revere him, was all, to per chance treat him with relevance.
He'd just always wanted to be relevant. Relevant to someone, like he was to Nancy. His meeting with the ominous pair the previous night confirmed several of his fears. For one, Nancy was indeed, a victim of the plague. For another, there was still hope. Hope for answers and discovery. Hope for a whimsical man in a word of possibilities, plagued by blackness. Perhaps it was destiny. Would Obscuvos fill the void of Nancy? He wanted to believe that He could. A little faith was all he needed, not to blame, not to question, but to believe.
However, he was alone. There would be nobody willing to assist him on his quest. Definitely no Shyregoedian, at least, perhaps in the rest of Panymium. He was still hesitant in taking part of Obscuvos's House. Thoughts of being under another mighty being, no longer being Dorian the Almighty, thoughts like such frightened him. He slumped down on the Arelgren House porch, snow filling the gaps between his fingers. He clenched them, the winter bleeding into his glove. His ungloved hand still held Nancy's cocoa.
The rosen creature from the night before had spoken of those who would have answers. He hoped for nothing but his plagued beverage to grow into an Excito, a companion. But for that, truth would be required.
A pilgrimage for truth was all he needed. No, not truth, a break from truth. He'd have to leave Shyregoed for some time, a short while, did the time even matter? No, the time didn't matter. As long as he was in a place where Shyregoed wasn't in all directions, he could intake air and think about his choices before they would be made. Besides, he memorized the address of the House venue Felicity provided from their earlier meeting. He could make time.
His abrupt quest.
There would be nobody to accuse if he failed, save for himself. He would leave Shyregoed, Plague behind him, and into an unknown where he was a stranger.
It has been made known to us that you’re interested in The House and we are forever welcoming new children into the great family of the Glutton god. You have an address in your possession... Go there when you are called upon – we will summon you in a way of our choosing - and we will initiate you into our way of life. To welcome you into The House we will have prepared a traditional initiation ceremony to birth you into the faith and bring you closer to our god. All you need to do is embrace the chaos of the world, inhale in the vapours of Obscuvos’ breath* and when you awake from your dreams you will have a new life within our world of truths.
This is to be done via solo. There is no minimum nor maximum word count. Onfroi is far too busy to answer to you personally and so you will not be required to have a follow up roleplay meeting after you complete this task.
*Obscuvos' breath is something akin to Opium smoked and inhaled from a ceremonial bowl. (Usually made of bone and intricately carved.)
"M-mister Arelgren?" a small voice whispered, femme and timid. Peter Arrows, a sixteen year-old urchin and Dorian's timeless "friend" stood trembling at Arelgren House's doorway. His tattered clothes were slightly renewed from his mother's needlework, though winter had applied a fair amount makeup to his skin. He did not wish to visit the Arelgren manor, nor did he plan to. However, the Shyregoedian council was recently notified of a renewed activity on the "Damned Hill" where three manors resided, looming over the peasantry of Shyregoed.
Peter was told that one of the two empty manors was now occupied once more, and rumors that Dorian Arelgren was on the move threatened the peaceful lives of the cold-bred Shyregoedians. Peter squinted, seeing candlelight in the distance (for he was trespassing, not that Dorian would mind, hopefully), but saw no dirty-blond heir to his dismay. Sighing, he closed the great door quietly, his small heart inking with the fear of the elders and his mother and father. It was almost amazing to him how much Dorian mattered to the Shyregoedian folks. It began to seem less like they were deadset on avoiding the man, but on finding him and and ensuring he existed. The boy wondered if the Lord and Lady were to ever return. Perhaps it was better if they did not. Dorian was not a son that any parent would vainly parade nor promote.
Darkness.
Dorian Arelgren's sigh of relief hushed the single candle that had stirred Peter's anxiety. Dust collected once more. Peter collected along with Linda. All Dorian's past friends were beginning to seem suspicious to him, people he must avoid to keep Nancy's cocoa (now hugged against his chest with one hand) safe. He descended the Arelgren's renowned, labyrinthine staircase, slowly, to avoid frustration in the dark. He was feeling quite proud of himself for successfully navigating his abode when he exited his home and embarked through the snow. He was careful not to bring a lamp.
Moonlight was sufficient enough to provide guidance for his journey. Notification of invitation for him had been mysteriously placed beside his chocolate-pot when he returned from greeting his neighbor earlier in the morning. A smile crept upon his young face, as he thought of the brothers and sisters that would meet him. He'd donned a cloak himself upon leaving, deep purple, the Arelgren's family hue. He'd been careful to remove his family's crest from the fabric in his childhood.
He snaked through a small forest, and his jade-green eyes widened at the sight of the clearing; three cloaked figures seemed to be waiting for him. One lowered their sleeve, and Dorian squinted at the sudden flood of lamplight. Before he could reach them, they turned from him, and began their walk into the Shyregoedian fog.
"W-wait!" Dorian cried, smoky breath vaporizing in the midnight air. The figures took heed of his cry, for one turned, and stood still while his comrades continued into the distance.
"Thank you," Dorian managed sheepishly, receiving a nod in return.
By the time Dorian reached the destination, his eyelashes were lidded heavily with snow and images could be made only distinctly. Cautious, he decided not to lower his hood--not just yet, until the intentions of the letter were confirmed. Nancy's cocoa burned in his hand, and he tentatively revealed it to the cultist members. At the sight of it (or smell of its decay, Dorian didn't know), they nodded slowly, and the figure that had waited for him granted the church's wooden door a round of complicated knocks.
The sound of shuffling signaled to Dorian that he should follow suit, and he filed into the unknown behind cloaked persons. The weilder of the lamp immediately put it out once more, and Dorian began to cohere the gravity of the House's security and secrecy. Finally, a cool voice added to the church's chill.
"Welcome, Dorian Arelgren, the cloaked midnight prince. Obscuvos welcomes you, as his son, and we, your siblings." a woman's voice spoke smoothly, evenly. Hooded members surrounded him, some lowering their hoods to scrutinize his form better, others mute with their hoods upright. They did not yet trust him. The feeling was mutual.
"However," the woman continued, "You cannot be dubbed a committed and whole member until you have fulfilled the test of Obscuvos. To breathe in the same breath has He!"
She raised both hands to the ceiling, and instantly, a bowl crafted of bone dropped in strings of chain, descending before him in such a swift motion that Dorian swore if it missed he'd have received a concussion. Its contents were invisible in the darkness, though he could smell a heavy, strange odor emitting from it. He unfastened his hood, snow pattering to the floor. He felt fingers usher him closer to the bowl, and he wondered exactly what the House expected of him in this trial.
What do they exepect me to...?
He would not need to wonder for long.
"Breathe, and be reborn, Dorian Arelgren! O uncloaked son, breathe His breath! Breathe his will! Breathe your soul a new being!" cried members in unison. The woman began to hum a baroque tune, others joining her in what seemed to be a chorus. Dorian's head swam as he relaxed his shoulders, allowed the vapors of Obscuvos to cleanse him when he inhaled. Tears rolled down his cheeks; images of Nancy and his child-self played before him, his mother and father, not ghosts but clear figures waltzing in the Arelgren House ballroom, a pianoforte emitting the baroque Obscuvian tune in accompaniment to their dance. He saw himself dancing alongside them with the Invisible Girl, the woman of his dreams, beautiful, sporting a red-ribboned dress, though her face was unseen. His mother's perfumed ebony locks flowed down her shoulders as her feet moved to the music, his father's blond ponytail whipping through the air with every movement of his arms. The scene changed, and Dorian was sitting between Dragomir and Felicity at the Arelgren House, sharing freshly made chocolate balls with the two. Linda Reese performed a short swansong for the trio, and Peter Arrows shyly applauded her. Dorian laughed at the gifts Obscuvos would bring him, the vision was fulfilling.
Dorian was stirred awake by the morning chill. He found himself comforted in embroidered violet sheets, Nancy's hot cocoa on his bedside table, his bedroom windows open. Birds were quiet this morning, and his fireplace was lit. He noticed his scarlet ribbon was unfastened.
Was it a dream? But it can't be...did they follow me home...?
A parchment tucked underneath the plagued hot cocoa answered his curiosity.
It was not addressed to Duncan Arelgren. "Welcome to His family."
Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 2:45 pm
ＬＩＴＴＬＥ ＧＨＯＳＴ ✦✦✦CHAPTER 8.✦✦✦ House Arelgren ; Shyregoed; solo
Despite the warm feeling within Dorian's heart upon acceptance into the House of Obscuvos, he was still overcome by fatigue. Even an Adonis required rest, and midnight adventures dealt quite a toll on the stamina of a young man. He hoped to dream of the visions he saw when he inhaled Obscuvos's breath, for he was zealous about his new beginning. Smiling into a plump pillow, the Arelgren shut his eyes, moderate breathing causing the deep purple sheets to heave every now and then, and his light snores reminded Arelgren House that it was still occupied. When Dorian slept, it felt as if the entire house slept with him, for no creature stirred, and all was still. The pleasant atmosphere did not produce much effect on Dorian, for he squeezed his eyes, frustrated at his inability to produce a dream. How could a reverie be so impossible to hatch? After all, he'd had plenty of things to dream about. Surely, his midnight adventure must have inspired more possibilities for his subconscious imagination. He was glad the House didn't bother to close his windows, for the snow that gathered over his sheets relaxed him at the sight of them.
Dorian had not noticed a small brown figure gazing at him inquisitively from his bedside. When he sneezed from the Shyregoedian breeze, it emitted a small giggle, and immediately clapped gloved hands over its mouth. Dorian did not seem to have noticed it, for he smacked his lips and followed with blubbering sounds (in which the figure giggled in reaction, again). Curiosity ruled over the small creature, its black eyes and mouth gay. Smoothening its skirt then lifting the ends of it, the creature tiptoed across the parchment paper, careful in its miniature steps. It came to a halt at the end of the table, for it noticed the wide gap between the sleeping giant and itself.
The little figure realized its position, balled its small fists and retreated a few steps, before rushing forward and exercising legwork for a leap of faith.
It almost cried out in success when its petite feet made contact with the giant's bedsheets. With great control, the figure crawled silently to sit before the giant's pale face, and when it reached its destination, clutched its cheeks in awe at the sight of the marvel before it. It was more pleased to discover that the giant possessed the same chocolate aroma as itself upon taking a whiff.
"Beautiful..." It whispered, small hands tipping its cocoa-colored hat upwards. It giggled when the giant released air through his nostrils, recoiling at the rush. However, it made the mistake of covering its mouth this time, and the sleeping giant woke.
It dared not to speak, though frozen in surprise. The faint blush upon its smoky-white face began to deepen in return when the giant's jade-green eyes scrutinized its black ones. He said nothing, though his eyes seemed to probe its very being and penetrate its small heart. The figure began to squirm in its stillness, bashfulness overcoming its previous curious state.
Finally, the giant broke the silence.
"This dream is the most boring," he confessed to the figure, brows furrowed in disapproval. He seemed to not notice (or care) much for the figure's strangeness, size, or sudden appearance. The Arelgren heir figured he was dreaming, and he was content with the thought, and whatever the creature before him was, he figured was a tardy invention of his subconscious mind. However, the snow that bit at his feet felt quite real. He'd have to make certain.
"You are quite sure this is not a dream?" the man asked quite forwardly. The creature vigorously shook its capped head, assuring him it was not. Hours ago, it had been formally born in a new state, and already interaction with a giant was tapping into its shy complex. It began to edge uncomfortably away from the giant, eyes shifting to avoid contact.
"Now, now, wherever are you going, Little Ghost? Why, your face is as white as snow! Small friend, your scent and attire stir my curiosity. Perhaps, you are my Plague?" the giant laughed. His laugh was like a magical silk blanket, and the little creature loved it so! It was arrested where it sat, enchanted by the man's lovely voice and sparkling eyes. It nodded, a smile spreading over its features. Still, it was hesitant to speak.
"Don't be shy now, do tell me about yourself, if this is not a dream," the giant encouraged, propping his great elbow beside him, and propping his cheek against a palm. When the creature remained silent, the giant carried on. "I suppose I am a little rude for not sharing with you my own title. Dorian Arelgren of Shyregoed! Charmed to be of your acquaintance. That bow is quite becoming on you."
It blushed, flattered to be complimented by such a fair face. It seemed to want to speak, though in hesitance. Dorian sensed this, and spoke in a softer tone, more soothing one. By now, it was quite difficult for him to contain his excitement upon having his Putesco reach an Excito form, like the rose-companion of Felicity.
"You may address me by Mr.Arelgren, or Dorian. Whichever to your liking," Dorian encouraged.
The creature seemed to take the sentiment, nodding its head from side to side.
"M-Mr. Arelgren," It began, stuttering slightly, white cheeks splashing in a pink blush.
"That's exactly right, my name is Mr. Arelgren. Er. Dorian Arelgren! What is your name, miss?"
"...L...Le..Lettie..."
"Lettie? How adorableeeee. You know Lettie, you and I will get along smashingly. I do believe this is fate." Dorian laughed to himself, picking up his bed. He opened a hand, and tentatively, Lettie crawled towards it, settling herself in the middle of his palm. Dorian's smile was wider than it had ever been in his twenty-six years. Thanks towards Obscuvos and Lettie streamed from his lips, and he began to twirl around the room in a state of euphoria--falling softly on the snow that piled on his bedroom floor.
Lettie didn't quite know what her Mr. Arelgren was saying, but she identified herself with him, his scent, at least, and she enjoyed being near him at all. She giggled when he reached out to tickle her, emitting a series of bell-like laughs. Lettie did not know it then, but Dorian treasured her more than anything in the world from that moment onwards. There was no gold that any man could offer to barter her from him. She belonged to nobody, just like he. They belonged to themselves, and in themselves, found company with each other.
In which Dorian keeps tabs on his favorite people.
knife effect Vice Captain
Sparkly Vampire
Offline
knife effect Vice Captain
Sparkly Vampire
Offline
Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 9:37 pm
ＲＥＴＣＯＮ-ＩＮＧ purpose: retailoring linda reese's character
THE JADE HOUSE | IN WHICH DORIAN PERFORMS A SIN (Meta RP)
Meta prompt - House.
A crow has nestled incessantly nearby you, wherever you may be, and clutched within its beak is a frail roll of parchment wrapped around ever so carefully in black ribbon. The crow is gleaming a seeping black, as if it was tainted by the Death, and around it is the aura of careful whispers. You reach for it, though you might not know why, exactly, and you unravel the contents of the parchment and, in that instance, you hear--
In a hushed voice, the parchment, whose inked words also glow with an uneasy black, whispers to you this:
"Dorian Arelgren, You've seen things, Dorian Arelgren, things you relished and couldn't imagine without His presence. It is respectful, then, to repay the favor, is it not? You have many connections developing, such a social butterfly you are and so good at picking out the peasant trash to avoid.
We need more of that, Sir, more of your connections. You being such a persuasive and well spoken individual, surely you would be able to find more wayward and needy souls to bring into the loving arms of our family?"
After it whispers to you, the crow's brittle wings flutter as it disappears into the sky, and the parchment unravels in your hands and melts into a mess of delicate black ribbon.
Dorian stared numbly at the black remnants in his hands. He was thankful Lettie wasn't literate, for he himself did not quite know how to introduce Lettie into the House. The thought hadn't occurred to him yet, and the only persons that knew of Lettie's existence were Wickwright and Dragomir. He was rather enthusiastic about Obscuvos's faith in him, and the opinion the House colored him. He was, after all, the doorman of the House. Peasants were separated from the great, and the great were scaled lower than the Almighty. He smiled fondly at the thought of himself guiding the great into the nest of Obscuvos, for he grew to think warmly towards his own guide, Felicity Wickes. Though they had only met once, he was inclining towards meeting her again. He had much to discuss with her, after all. The ebony satin in his hands drew the attention of Lettie, despite that she seemed to dislike black generally. Dorian watched the snow collect on the silver of the window's frame, though really, his eyes were raised to the sky, watering from the cold. When he blinked the liquid debris away, it seemed as if he was crying, but Lettie knew better than to assume so. Dorian never cried, signs of dolefulness were things Lettie didn't believe Dorian to be capable of.
"Well then..." Dorian whistled, tugging at his own neck ribbon, unsure of how he was to act upon the order. It had been weeks since his initiation and Lettie's development. He received no word from the House until now, and the very notion of having to do something started to act upon the man's sudden sloth. Dorian was never lazy, no, just accustomed to not having been ordered to act upon something all through his life. Nancy's instructions were never "instructions" per se, rather, suggestions. Dragomir's commands were ignored. The House was a different matter.
Dorian gingerly set the ribbon upon his bedside table, gloved fingers drumming over the wooden surface. His eyes were elsewhere.
Lettie slipped down Dorian's shoulder onto the the table where his hand lied. She lifted his index finger, holding it against her small chest. She'd lost interest in the ribbon. Dorian was humored by this a little, for his lips curled into a small smile.
"Lettie, I'm fine. There is no need to worry, simply the question of what to do, yes?"
"What did the letter say, Mr. Arelgren?" Lettie chimed, curious. Dorian pulled away from her, stroking his chin. She was well aware that he was hesitant to share, so she looked down at the table's wood to avoid eye contact. She'd learned from observing Shyregoedian women that often it was easier to confide in someone when eye contact wasn't made, to the contrary of popular belief.
"Lettie," Dorian began, careful of where exactly he was treading. He was eventually going to have to confide in her his new affiliation, and now was perhaps the most appropriate time. "I require your attention on a very important matter. You must try to understand."
Lettie nodded to this.
"Lettie, you know of how I never mention my mother and father. They are not important, but for thisparticular story, they happen to be so. For you see, in their absence, I was raised by my family's maid, Nancy Burdrew. She was like a mother to me, and the only factor that kept others to believe that she was not was by the contrast of our attire."
Lettie had heard of Nancy before, but she did not know Nancy was her Keeper's maid. She never thought there could be a peasant that Dorian did not speak of lowly either, and whoever Nancy was, Lettie decided, was most likely a relevant figure in Dorian's life. She was patient, and he continued.
"She left when I was twenty. The day of my birthday, the turning point of my revolution. Linda testified that Nancy died, but I refused to believe her. Ever since then, Linda and I have not been seeing each other."
Dorian turned away from his Plague, he did not want her to see his face contorted in melancholy. No, Lettie must always have the brightest expressions from him, after all, they were like sunlight to each other--it was mutual.
Lettie was guilty of her thoughts. She was more interested in Linda than Nancy, for Linda seemed more faceless than Nancy. Dorian had never brought her title up until now, and Lettie wondered who she was. Dorian, however, chose to not explicate on his mysterious companion, and instead, on another subject at hand.
"I was lonely, and there were very few responses to my situations I had at hand. One night, I took a stroll around Shyregoed, and came into acquaintance with a fellow Keeper like myself. Her name was Felicity Wickes---make a note of that, Lettie, and her Plague was an Excito like yourself, only she was made of the most beautiful white petals..."
Lettie was now more curious than before. Felicity's Plague sounded embellished and lovely, surely, Felicity was also? Lettie was secretly interested in the women in Dorian's life. She wondered if the mysterious letter was directed from one of the trio Dorian mentioned, and she was eager to hear more of whatever her Keeper had to share. Dorian seemed to take little notice of her unwavering stare, for his fingers resumed their absentminded drumming. With each thud of his fingers, time seemed to slow. He was silent for awhile before he spoke again.
"Well, you see, Felicity shed light on the issue of Plagues, and how the Black beings were really tools for the shares of humanity and the 'greater good'. She told me the great things about Obscuvos, the great glutton god, and how Obscuvos was expecting me to join him and would welcome me into his family. You do remember Mr.Meschke? Yes, he is one of my brotheren in the House of Obscuvos. They have kept my heart at ease, and they have finally called upon me to repeat what Felicity did to me weeks ago..." Lettie heard Dorian's voice trail off, and she wondered if he would continue. He was muttering something about Felicity and Dragomir, and Lettie wondered if the faceless woman and Chayele's Keeper were acquainted. Perhaps she could learn more pertaining Ms. Wickes from Chayele later...and about Obscuvos also. She smiled at the thought of meeting Obscuvians, for Dorian's family was her family.
"In any sense, we should leave. Obscuvos needs me to fulfill my part, and he needs you to accompany me. Let us go find Linda and her companions, yes? Oh, don't give me that face, Lettie. Linda can never manage to stay cross with me forever. Only peasantry hold grudges. The great find very few things that irritate them."
Once the little Plague hitched onto her Keeper, the two silently ventured out from "The Damned Hill" , Dorian whistling a cheery tune as snow crunched from his steps. Lettie was unsure of where they were headed, but she was glad Dorian did not tire himself entirely in his journey to Stillcrest, where Linda, supposedly, had relocated herself. He was well aware that he was taking advantage of her society and status, but it was not as if it were the first time Dorian Arelgren had ever lied to Linda Reese about anything at all. For all she knew, he was her childhood sweetheart and they would remain so forever. Thoughts on how to convince Linda polluted the blonde head of the prodigal son as the carriage that carried him wobbled uneasily from the snow below. A box of chocolates rested over his lap; he'd hand-made them as a token of forgiveness for the Reese daughter. Knowing Linda, she was still grieving over the shearing of their ties, and would be more than jubilant to meet him again.
Dorian smiled softly at the coachman that assisted the Arelgren's journey, and handed him a fistful of shillings that seemed to satisfy. Lettie was still in Dorian's pocket, excited to enter the Reese Manor that Dorian spoke quietly of on their snowy voyage. Once Dorian could no longer make out the horse coach trotting over the white canvas of winter, he forced his legs to trek the hill that the Reese Manor loomed over. He could hear distant voices of both women and men laughing in the company of each other, and his smile melted. He wondered if he'd be out of place in such a sudden period, but Obscuvos would have wanted him to press onward.
The doorman seemed to not recognize him, for he made Dorian repeat his name. Nervously, the balding man wiped his brow with a small, satin cloth, lips beading with sweat. He was caught between the decision of allowing the dandy or refusing him. Surely, the man was of great social class judging by his attire, but truth be told, the young madam had not informed the doorman that someone like the dandy would arrive.
"Lady Reese does not seem to have invited you, are you on an urgent matter?" the doorman finally asked. He was replied to with the show of a box of chocolates, and instantly the pieces fell together. Surely, this dandy was a suitor? Without further hindrance, the doorman ushered in the mysterious man, and lo! Dorian entered the Reese Manor, the most unsual manor he'd seen.
The walls were painted a light indigo, the furniture furnished with a pale green. Oriental jade aligned the jewelry cabinets, and the portraits that peered down at him did not at all resemble any of the living Reeses--nor the late ones--but him. Dorian could hardly deny that he was spooked, and he clutched Lettie tighter against his pocket until she made a gesture that she couldn't breathe. Linda Reese was plagued by a certain obsession, and he wasn't sure if he approved of it (to his advantage) or disapproved of it (due to his horror). He decided he would conclude his feelings after he'd recruited Linda and her butterflies.
He followed the sound of celebration and party, his fingers brushing by hallways after hallways until Linda came into view. She was laughing, blonde hair and blue eyes radiating until his eyes hurt. The women around her were nymphlike in their apparel, garments and dresses rivaling Linda's own in seductiveness, though Linda was forever the apple of every man's eye. She didn't seem to take notice of him at first, and when she did, silence seemed to reign. Wine glasses were lowered from lips, and the ladies' hands flew to their mouths. The men seemed shocked, some bemused. Linda's reaction was something Dorian did not expect. She was stricken.
"Linda, these are for you," Dorian offered, his voice suave in delivery. He was feigning confidence, really, the eyes of Linda's companions were creating an uncomfortable feeling in his heart. He was thankful when Linda accepted his chocolates, though her lips trembled when she lifted the lid. Dorian half-expected tears to flow from her eyes, or a slap in the face--but instead, Linda collected herself on a nearby couch, muttering to herself. Her companions seemed to be affected by her as well, they smiled awkwardly at the Arelgren, watching curiously when Linda sampled a few chocolates. Relief soaked them when Linda smiled.
"Thank you, Dorian. I thought you were still cross with me." Linda said shakily, and Dorian knelt before her, holding her hands tenderly (though the furnishing and the paint of her house was really quite disturbing him). "Why did you return?"
"Because, Linda, I was saved, and I am penitent because of my savior." Dorian began to sob this time, something that struck Lettie as odd. She figured instantly that he was acting, but the other seemed unfamiliar with his theatrics and mistaken them for the truth. For all they knew, Dorian Arelgren was a different man now, different from what Linda had confided in them.
Linda ran her fingers through his hair as he wept, encouraging him through soft words to carry on his story. Her company seemed to fall in love with the tenderness of the two, and were silent with interest.
"Shhh, Dorian, tell me who was your savior? I must repay him for returning you to me."
"T-the great glutton god O-Obscuvos," Dorian managed shakily, only to receive widened eyes from those around him. Obscuvos was not a name to be spoken of lightly, not in Shyregoed at least. "H-he told me that I could have a family by going to him, and I do now. But that family is not complete...not without you, my dearest Linda."
Lettie's mouth opened into the widest "O" it could manage. It was impossible for Dorian to fall for a woman! His voice was thick with the promise to commit to Linda, and Lettie knew better than to believe him. Dorian was lying, and Lettie did not like it one bit. She wriggled in his pocket, kicking at him, and he clenched on her little body to make her stop. Linda said something along the lines of 'oh Dorian!" and Lettie could only stare in disgust as the the two embraced. To her further disapproval, Linda's guests seemed to be overjoyed.
"Linda, please say you will join him with me? Perhaps then we could--"
"---Never be apart?" she finished his sentence for him.
"N-NO!" Lettie squeaked, though Dorian masked her voice with an obnoxious cough.
"Yes, we will never be apart." Dorian said, though the words were bitter in his mind when he spoke them. The entire process of convincing Linda was more easy than he figured. Linda's blush was beautiful on her, but he really could care less. He'd never really kissed her to know her. He was rather irate with his Plague at the moment, too much so to care for Linda's company's questions. When he finally collected himself, he spoke of the meeting places of Obscuvos, and many of the guests that felt they were distant from their lovers seemed more interested in the House than before.
He'd recruited at least more than twelve, including Linda, he was sure. He spent the night at the Reese Manor.
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