Maybe I’m a different breed…

“Vision without execution is hallucination.” - Thomas Edison

[nakatomi-ayumu]

"I am very clever, actually," Ayumu responded with a sly smile. Dorian was one of those rich, high-flying types in the city so it was not surprising that he did not know Ayumu or their more underground businesses. They slid their hand from Dorian's elbow and reached out to tap the man on the nose.

"You're extremely rude, do you know that? I polite 'please help me, Ayumu' would go a long way," Ayumu tutted. "And besides. What can you offer me in return for being useful? I highly doubt there'd be much that you can... Given your circumstances."

[dorianwells]

Dorian's hand snapped up before he thought better of it, fingers closing hard around Ayumu's wrist—the same hand that had the audacity to tap him on the nose. His grip lingered only a heartbeat before he shoved the offending arm aside with enough force to make the point. "If you're expecting me to grovel," he said, each word clipped, "you've got the wrong man."

"You approached me, not the other way around. You insist I haven't lost anything that matters, then in the next breath tell me I have nothing worth offering you. Which is it?" His gaze swept over Ayumu's immaculate clothes, the easy confidence, the amused little smiles, before settling back on the spirit's face. "Keep your empty lessons. If you're not interested in an alliance, I'll find someone who is." With that, he turned to leave.

[nakatomi-ayumu]

"Trust that you're not the first person this has happened to," Ayumu chuckled, more amused by Dorian's outburst than the daggers he was glaring at them. They were already dead after all and looks could not kill a spirit.

They continued to listen to Dorian rant about demons, their mind lready coming up with amusing scenarios in their head of how Dorian would react to meeting his first one. He was going to be in for one hell of a surprise.

"You hold too much attachment to the things in your life, Dorian Wells. Clothes are not important to spirits like us when we can do this." The clothes on Ayumu's body shifted on cue, the dark suit they were wearing turned into a brightly coloured one. "You have a lot to learn, young one. You haven't even found your feet yet," they laughed again in the face of Dorian's frustration.

[dorianwells]

Dorian regarded the shifting clothes in silence, his expression remaining stubbornly unreadable. There was a flicker of reluctant interest before it vanished again beneath mounting irritation as his gaze briefly dropped south. "You think you're very clever, don't you?"

"You've made your opinion abundantly clear. I heard you the first time." His jaw tightened. "It wouldn't matter if I could snap my fingers and put everything back exactly as it was tomorrow. I'd still want the bastard who did this to answer for it."

His gaze settled squarely back on Ayumu. "So, if you've quite finished amusing yourself at my expense, I'd appreciate it if you stopped yapping for five minutes and started being useful."

[carmenlagreve]

“Proving people right?” Carmen repeated his words with some confusion. “Wait—“ she called when the stranger looked as though he was beginning to leave. “What do you mean?” Carmen didn’t recognise him and yet he seemed to have some prior knowledge of her. It wasn’t an uncommon scenario, Carmen was mostly used to it at this point, though sometimes it was a helpful exercise in remembering parts of her past where her memory had lapsed.

[dorianwells]

Dorian paused mid-step, glancing back over one shoulder as though the question had caught him by surprise. In truth, it was exactly the response he'd expected. "You know how it is. People like to talk," he answered with an easy shrug. "I'm sure you've heard it all before."

He turned properly then, regarding her with measured indifference. "That you're troubled. Unpredictable. Unstable. That your parents are forever cleaning up after one scandal or another." His expression shifted slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows, as though he found the entire situation regrettable. "The details tend to change depending on who's telling the story."

He let the words hang for a moment before dismissing them with a wave of his hand. "I don't put much stock in gossip." His gaze lingered on her, studying her expression. "Though I imagine it grows tiresome having complete strangers decide who you are before you've opened your mouth."

Another small shrug. "Still, I'm sure you have it well in hand. You're the mayor's daughter, after all." There was just enough dry amusement in his voice to leave it unclear whether he meant it as praise or criticism. "It's not like I'm telling you anything new. People like us don't really get the luxury of anonymity."

His eyes drifted briefly around the quiet park before returning to her, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly. "It's unfortunate, but..." He gave the empty paths a slight nod. "Sitting alone in a park after dark does rather invite speculation." He tilted his head slightly, offering a faint, almost apologetic smile, as though conceding the unfairness of it. "In any case, it's none of my business." He inclined his head and made as if to continue on his way once more. "Don't let me intrude on your evening."

[nakatomi-ayumu]

"Ah~" Ayumu knew exactly what had transpired when Dorian dropped the name Absynthia. "I see what happened," they chuckled. While they were not the biggest fan of what went on in Absynthia, who was he to tell the demons in that club what to do? "You humans and your insatiable needs to chase higher and higher experiences." Ayumu laughed, their arm closing around Dorian's despite how he was trying to get away.

"Aren't you lucky, Dorian wells? I am a spirit myself. One who quite enjoys living as one. You might enjoy it more if you stopped being so angry at everything," they tutted softly. Ayumu had not lived with a physical body for centuries by now and hardly missed it. "Have you gone to anyone for help? Absynthia is under demon jurisdiction. I'm not sure a new spirit such as yourself will be able to do much against them."

[dorianwells]

The laugh that escaped Dorian was short and humorless. "'Lucky?'" he repeated, the word carrying enough contempt to curdle it. "You call this lucky?" His gaze cut sideways toward Ayutu, sharp enough to draw blood if looks were capable of it.

"So what? I should thank whoever decided to steal my life because I've been promoted to... this?" One hand swept vaguely at his own semi-incorporeal form. "Like it's some grand opportunity I've been given instead of having everything that belongs to me ripped away?" His jaw flexed. "I will not just roll over and let someone take what is mine."

"Demons. Right." He gave another derisive scoff, this time succeeding in pulling free of the other's grasp. "You do realize how insane that sounds?" His lip curled. "Who exactly do you suggest I go and tell that fairy tale to? As things stand I have no office, no home, no money, no identification, not even a change of clothes." He spread his hands. "If this is truly how spirits exist, forgive me if I find your enthusiasm for it difficult to share."

[isabellexlaurent]

"Someone that satisfies a desire rather than a need. Someone that someone would want or finds highly attractive. I think it suits you." Or at least that is the way that she heard some of the younger generation using the term. Hopefully her age was not showing. At least he took it as a compliment judging by his reaction. She certainly wouldn't mind a nibble.

She watched the way his eyes darkened. The change was rather abrupt, but clearly she'd hit on a sensitive spot. "Everyone has endured the heartbreak of loss, but I sense that yours is greater than stolen trinket." She leaned forward, giving him her full attention. Whether he was ready to speak on the matter or not, whatever he was hiding piqued Belle's interest. The smooth talker seemed rather shaken by the theft. What it could be baffled Belle.

"An astute observation. Dependency becomes a handicap that can be wielded against a person when none were there before." Even the most independent people could fall under the right set of circumstances. She chuckled lightly, enjoying the banter. "I must say that your act of charity turned out rather fortunate for me as well." She didn't even noticed whether or not the nuisance of a man from earlier this evening was still in the bar. Her focus had narrowed solely to the gentleman in front of her.

[dorianwells]

Dorian's smile deepened at that. "I can work with that," he murmured. His gaze lingered on her, openly appreciative now. "I have always been rather good at..." He trailed off momentarily, reaching out to brush his fingers along the shell of her ear as he tucked a lock of hair back into place. "...satisfying desires."

The shift in his expression was subtle when she spoke again, but not enough to escape notice. She had seen through him far too easily. "You would be right about that." He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he could set the matter aside for one evening. But the anger still burned beneath his composure, refusing to be ignored. His fingers curled into a tight fist, knuckles briefly white, before he forced his hand to relax, flexing his fingers once before settling them back against the table. "But you wouldn't believe me if I told you." His gaze remained on the whiskey, expression unreadable. There was no version of the story that did not sound absurd once spoken aloud. A stranger stealing his body through some impossible trick was the sort of thing Dorian himself would have dismissed without hesitation only days ago. He knew exactly how it sounded. Knew exactly what he would have thought of anyone telling him the same thing, and he had no desire to let the course of the night change direction.

A slow breath left him before he looked back toward her. "Besides," he said, lifting his glass slightly, "I have rather enjoyed my luck this evening." His gaze held hers. "I would hate to push it by turning the conversation toward something unpleasant."

[isabellexlaurent]

"Guilty." She chuckled, swirling the wine in her glass. Tapping her chin, Belle feigning thinking of exactly how she would describe the man before her. Her lips twitched. "I believe the word is a snack." Some would describe him as the whole meal. He had Isabelle hungering for something other than a nibble.

She raised a single brow, leaning forward the slightest bit. "Interesting is one of those words we use when the truth is not so pretty. It is a rather bland word attempting to make something more palatable than it really is." Nothing worth having was ever something safe. The thrill of that risk only made the reward that much sweeter. She'd lived far too long to not notice the predictability of the daily choices one makes. The patterns of the universe, while chaotic, still existed in an alarming regularity. "Something troubling you?" He looked as if he spoke from the experience of having his treasure snatched from beneath him.

"There is a certain selfishness to doing good deeds. Some wish for the acclaim while others do so for the simple feeling of a job well-done. Either way, there is self-gratification in the acts of charity." It was difficult for any one act to be truly selfless when the motives often were so self-serving. "But then again the benefits of said acts are hardly worth complaint." She hummed, taking a moment to process his remark. "And you are one to always seize an opportunity when presented?"

[dorianwells]

A genuine laugh escaped him this time. "A snack?" Dorian repeated, turning the words over with obvious amusement. "I'll take that." His gaze lingered on her, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A meal sounded dangerously close to permanence, and there were certainly worse things than being considered tempting. Isabelle herself seemed to fall rather neatly into the category of dessert—the part of the meal people anticipated most, even if not everyone was fortunate enough to have it.

"Sometimes," he countered with a slight tilt of his head, holding her gaze without offering any further argument. At her question, Dorian's face darkened. His jaw tightened as his attention drifted to the whiskey in his glass. For a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between them. When he finally spoke, the easy confidence had been replaced by something far more severe. "Have you ever had something stolen from you?"

"You're not wrong." By the time he looked back at her, the edge had receded beneath his usual composure. "And too much charity isn't charity at all. At some point you're no longer helping someone—you're simply making them dependent." There was little hesitation in the opinion. He'd long since made up his mind on that. Then the corners of his mouth lifted again. "Though some charitable acts are rewarding enough to justify the investment." His gaze lingered on her just long enough to leave little doubt which sort he meant. "I'd be hard-pressed to complain about this one." His answer to her final question came without a trace of uncertainty. "Yes. Always."

[nakatomi-ayumu]

Ayumu laughed as he took in Dorian's frustration and ire and clear distaste.

"Why don't you tell me how you died, Dorian Wells?" the spirit asked. Dorian seemed relatively well-adjusted for someone who had just turned into a ghost. The anger and annoyance was not anything Ayumu had not seen before. "And let's get out of this shady little alleyway." The hand around the other man's arm moved to slide into the crook of his elbow instead as they guided the irate spirit out of the shadows.

[dorianwells]

Dorian's jaw tightened at the continued insistence that he had died. "I didn't—" He stopped himself, forcing a breath through his nose. Arguing with someone who had already decided on their version of events was clearly getting him nowhere. "I was at a party in Absynthia. A masked man approached us claiming he could perform some kind of trick. An out-of-body experience, he called it." His expression soured at the memory, not with embarrassment but annoyance. "I humored him. We shook hands. He pushed me back, and when I looked up, I was looking at myself." He paused briefly, as if even now the sentence sounded absurd when spoken aloud. "Then he walked away in my body, and I was left behind."

His arm tensed slightly where the other held him, the faintest attempt to dislodge himself made more out of irritation than any real expectation that it would work. When it became clear this Anumu had no intention of releasing him, Dorian simply allowed himself to be guided along, albeit with the air of someone tolerating a profound inconvenience. "So there. That is what happened. I did not die." His gaze moved ahead toward wherever he was being taken. "Now what exactly are you planning to do about it?"

[carmenlagreve]

Distracted again. This time the source of the noise revealed itself and Carmen’s head tilted as she watched the stranger approach. She didn’t recognise him, nor could she quite recognise his species. The elderly man beneath the tree drank more out of his flask and seemed sluggishly disappointed at the lack of contents before slouching further down the trees trunk and quickly beginning to snore loudly.

“Oh, I’m fine.” Carmen reassured, just a little annoyed she had lost her practise subject for now. “I was just taking a breather. Sometimes it feels stifling to be in my house, so I like to come out here.” She admitted. While it hadn’t been her sole reason for leaving that night, it wasn’t a lie either, she often felt suffocated by her own situation.

[dorianwells]

Dorian studied her for a quiet beat, weighing the answer against everything he'd heard. She looked composed enough, certainly not frightened. Irritated, if anything. There were certain rumors that seemed to follow her wherever she went. The mayor's daughter was said to be… difficult. Peculiar, if one was feeling charitable. Unstable, if one wasn't. Hardly someone he'd imagined would be difficult to win over with a little charm, but now he wasn't so sure she was worth the trouble.

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, polite enough to smooth over any lingering awkwardness without pretending familiarity. "Very well, then," he said evenly, slipping his hands into his pockets. His eyes flicked once toward the old man beneath the tree before settling back on Carmen. "Just try not to make a habit of proving people right." He inclined his head in a small, almost absent-minded gesture, already angling himself as though to continue on his way. "Enjoy your breather, Miss La Greve."

[anna-tariel]

Happy 35th Birthday Brett Patrick Dalton!

                   {January 7, 1983}

[isabellexlaurent]

"Observant. That could be dangerous under the right circumstances." It would have taken little more than a bit of glamour to send the man on his way, but with the new rules courtesy of Artemis, Dorian's rescue offered a far cleaner alternative. She chuckled. "I never did have a taste for junk food. Refined pallet."

Isabelle understood the difficulties of adjusting to a new life. It might have been well over a millennia ago that she turned from human to vampire, but the transition had been fraught with problems. Problems similar to what the spirit before her was experiencing. "Dancing on the daggers end keep the adrenaline pumping. If you are not on the edge, you are not truly living. At least that is as the old adage goes." She leaned forward ever so slightly. "I get the impression that you are the sort who enjoys high risk, high yield investments."

She smirked, touching her hand to her unbeating heart. "How very noble of you." Normally she might have shaken off the savior when their use expired, yet Belle found something genuinely intriguing about the man from the way that he carried himself to the playful touches in their conversation. "What about you? As a man of the world, have you become jaded by it all?"

[dorianwells]

"Dangerous under the right circumstances?" A quiet laugh escaped him. "So you do like your meals with a little spice." His thumb traced the rim of his glass before he lifted it, this time making a conscious effort to focus on the cool weight of it in his hand. "Color me intrigued." His eyes flicked back to hers. "If he was junk food..." A beat passed as Dorian swirled the whiskey around his glass, the corner of his mouth lifting. "What does that make me?"

He settled back into his chair, studying her over the edge of his drink. "You're not wrong. Risk is what keeps life interesting." Interesting... and, lately, exceptionally inconvenient. A faint frown creased his brow as his thoughts wandered somewhere less pleasant. The whole situation was still too strange to fully grasp—too absurd to accept and too real to ignore. Somewhere, someone was walking around wearing his face. Had stolen his life out from under him. And when he got his hands on them, there would be hell to pay. Though, for the moment, there were more immediate matters to concern himself with. "If the outcome is guaranteed," he continued, leaning in slightly as though sharing a secret, "someone else has already claimed the reward."

He mirrored her gesture with a small shrug, the expression on his face suggesting the answer was obvious. "I've always believed in community service." The faint curve of his mouth made it clear he was aware of the irony, though not enough to let it humble him. "Though I suppose not everyone is willing to make such a generous contribution of their time." At her question, he tilted his head slightly, considering it. "Jaded?" He rolled the word around as though deciding whether it suited him before dismissing it with a slight shake of his head. "No. Bored, occasionally. The world isn't short on opportunity," his chin lifted with quiet conviction, "it's short on people willing to seize it."

[carmenlagreve]

For: @dorianwells

Vievecor City Park was always peaceful at night and it was a convenient cut through back to Carmen’s apartment on the nights when she felt like walking. Luckily, the elder elf that looked after the park wasn’t often there at night time and so Carmen didn’t have to deal with his judgemental gaze. Her parents had assumed Garond would be the safest place to house her, with less temptation and bad influence readily available in the mostly elf populated district, but all it had done was enhance Carmen’s tastebuds and turn her favour towards the Elven population.

But it wasn’t the peace of the park of the Elven blood that Carmen was in search of tonight. She sat on one of the benches, waiting for someone to approach that she could practise on. She’d noticed that late at night, most of the humans that wandered through the park were often intoxicated and heading back from a night out in the city bars, or those without a home to return to at all. They were easy targets for learning how to glamour.

She was focusing on a man who had settled with his back against one of the tree trunks, organising his blankets for the night and trying to balance his flask of liquor on the uneven ground, when she sensed someone else close by. Carmen’s brow furrowed, suddenly concerned, and she instead tried to find the source between the trees. When she failed, she convinced herself she had imagined the incident, before she returned to the task at hand, focusing more intently this time.

[dorianwells]

Dorian had almost passed her by. A woman alone on a park bench after dark was hardly his concern, and he had more pressing matters occupying his attention. Then recognition caught up with him. Even in the dim light, there was something familiar about her, enough to pull him to a stop and take a second look. Carmen La Greve. The mayor's daughter. What exactly she was doing sitting alone in a city park at this hour was anyone's guess, but he found himself changing course all the same.

With a faint shake of his head, he stepped closer, adopting the easy confidence that had carried him through boardrooms, negotiations, and more bad decisions than he cared to count. "Excuse me," he said, drawing her attention without raising his voice. "Are you alright?" His gaze swept briefly across the dark paths and clusters of trees before returning to her. "It's late. You shouldn't be out here all by yourself."

[isabellexlaurent]

She hummed her concurrence. She'd been to the top of skyscrapers that challenged the heavens and on planes that allowed her to trapse the earth in hours rather than days. She could buy herself the experience that he offered. Besides the last thing the vampire was was easy.

She raised the glass to her lips, her lipstick leaving a vivid red mark upon the rim. "So Dorian, do you make a habit of playing prince charming to the maidens in need?" The way he practically purred her name suggested a certain familiarity with the game that they played. She was no pawn on the board nor did she ever wish to play with one. It was far more interesting to be challenged by an equal.

"Indulging in the unknown. I'm certain you must understand the lack of thrill when everything becomes so trite and repetitive." In her time upon this earth, she had seen empires rise and fall. She'd heard every joke, every pickup line, every supposed novel idea. True singularity was something that she rarely encountered.

[dorianwells]

His gaze lingered on the red imprint she'd left against the rim of her glass before drifting, unhurriedly, back to her mouth. "Did I save you?" he countered smoothly. "You don't strike me as the damsel-in-distress type." One brow arched. "If anything, I may have saved him. A few more minutes and I think you would've eaten him alive." His smile sharpened. "Skin, hair and all."

His hand moved toward his drink and for the briefest instant, his fingers slipped cleanly through the glass. Right. The reminder of that particular inconvenience arrived abruptly and unwelcome. A muscle tightened in his jaw before he withdrew his hand as though he'd never intended to reach for it at all and returned his attention to her. "Isn't that what they say?" he continued, entirely unfazed. "That the most beautiful things in nature are usually the most deadly." His eyes held hers for a moment longer than necessary before he tried again, this time successfully lifting his glass for a sip.

"Ah, but what a shame." The corner of his mouth curved upward as he shook his head in mock regret. He'd heard that complaint before—that everything became repetitive eventually. Usually from people decades older than she appeared and far less striking. "It seems I'll have to spend more time with you to find out what such a novelty might be." There was an easy certainty to the statement, delivered with the confidence of a man accustomed to getting his way. "A sacrifice I'm prepared to make," he added, sounding thoroughly unconvinced by the hardship of it.

[isabellexlaurent]

She raised a single brow as his answer only begot more questions. The din of the bar faded as they moved closer to edges, yet Belle knew that not to be their final destination with how certain he guided her from the floor to the corner. The table in the shadows felt far more intimated than any other spot, and with his hand still on her back, the charade of him being a tardy lover remained. Not that either of them paid the man left behind any heed.

The vampire allowed him a moment to access her and decide whether he wished to continue the evening in her company or not. He'd served his purpose if he wished to leave, but there was something intriguing about him. Few possessed the confidence that he'd shown so far. This was a man used to getting his way.

"What makes you think I haven't already seen the city from above?" She toyed with the olive stick in her martini. If he wanted to impress her, he would need to be far more original than mere showings of wealth and status. Isabelle had plenty of that on her own. She longed for someone to challenge her and make her existence a little less mundane.

"A pleasure, Mr. Wells." Wells... Wells.... The name struck a cord with Isabelle, although she couldn't remember where she'd heard the name before. Of course there were Orson and HG, but she doubted this man to be related to them. No his assurance came from a more self-made perspective than an entitlement. "Isabelle Laurent."

[dorianwells]

A corner of Dorian's mouth lifted. "Have you?" He settled back in his seat, attention fixed on her as though the rest of the room had ceased to exist. "There goes my easy option."

Most people were impressed by helicopters, private rooftops, sports cars, a view money couldn't ordinarily buy—but her response suggested she had already seen that particular side of the world. Which made her all the more intriguing. An equal.

"Isabelle Laurent," he repeated her name slowly, deliberately, as though he was savoring it. Women tended to like that sort of thing. It made them feel special. Seen. Whether it worked or not, Dorian saw little reason to abandon a strategy that had served him well for years. Her name was one he recognized. Attached to the right circles. The right kind of people. "That's better than sweetheart." His smile deepened a fraction as he touched a hand to his chest in an easy, habitual gesture. "Call me Dorian. Please."

His gaze drifted briefly to the untouched martini before returning to her. "Now you've made me curious," he continued, folding one arm across the back of the booth, entirely at ease in the shadowed corner he'd claimed for them. "What does an interesting night look like to you?"

[nakatomi-ayumu]

The way this ignorant spirit was so dismissive would have been what got Ayumu's hackles rising. How disrespectful he was being when Ayumu was actually trying to help.

A hand shot out to close around Dorian's arm to hold him back from moving any further. "Now before you get too ahead of yourself," the spirit said, throwing Dorian a sideways look as their eyes flashed unnaturally in the low light once more.

"Why don't you cast your eyes downward? See what you're missing?"

[dorianwells]

"I am aware," Dorian ground out between clenched teeth. "I'm missing a whole lot more than that." His gaze flicked downward anyway, more out of annoyance than anything that could have been mistaken for compliance. The sight was no different than it had been five minutes ago, or ten, or however long he had been wandering through this nightmare.

His attention returned to the stranger, then to the hand still wrapped around his arm, the contact earning them a brief look of distaste. "So unless you are planning to help me, you're in my way." He lifted his brows expectantly, waiting for them to either relinquish their hold or offer something useful.

[beckdean]

Beck keeps walking ahead. For a few moments, silence lingers behind her - then comes the hurried sound of movement as Dorian finally decides to follow. Satisfied, she presses onward without looking back, maintaining her brisk pace along the docks. If he truly wanted answers, he'd figure out how to keep up. His attitude hadn't earned him any extra patience from her, and the sound of him struggling behind her brings a flicker of satisfaction than she'd ever admit to out loud.

Still, she can't help the wince that pulls at her face when his voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. "Keep your voice down." She hisses, finally glancing back over her shoulder. Even hushed, the irritation in her tone is clear.

"I'm not security, but I do work here. Which means I have every right to be here - unlike you." Her words are an obvious contradiction to them sneaking around in the dark, but she doesn't care to elaborate on her late night escapades. "Just concentrate on keeping up."

Finally, they reach their target.

Beck drops to a crouch beneath the window, eyes fixed on the security guard inside as she studies his movements carefully, the rise and fall of his chest. Ronald still looked asleep, thankfully, slumped in his chair beneath the dull glow of the office light.

She notices a second too late that Dorian has straightened to full height beside her with no regard for his visibility, already making his way toward the door. Beck's stomach lurches.

She's about to grab him. They were both trespassing, and if Ronald woke to the sound of them barging in, they were both screwed - but it quickly becomes apparent that intervention isn't necessary after all.

To her credit, Beck does try to suppress the amusement that flashes across her face as Dorian's hand slips uselessly through the doorknob. But the tension in his expression, combined with the increasingly frustrated way he fumbles for the handle again, eventually forces a smug smirk onto her lips.

For a moment, she lets the silence stretch deliberately between them, satisfaction written plainly across her face. Then she pushes herself upright and steps closer.

Even now, even in this situation, he's barking orders at her like she’s a dog. A thought that gets her back up. Beck's jaw tightens, a sharp breath escapes through her nose as she nears him, voice low and firm.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but here, you listen to me." Her eyes lock onto his. "If that guy wakes up, we are both fucked - I'm out of a job, you're out of your answers, we're both arrested. Got it?"

She gestures sharply toward the office door. "So I'll open it. And in return, you keep your mouth shut and stay quiet while we're in there." A beat passes, her gaze narrowing. "And if you can't manage that, then I'll go in there alone, slam the door in your face, and we'll see how long it takes you to figure out the handle by yourself."

[dorianwells]

The smug look on her face makes Dorian's jaw tighten. He tries the handle a third time anyway, as if persistence alone might bully reality into cooperating. When it doesn't, he huffs out a breath and shifts his weight, already annoyed that she seems to be enjoying this. Then she starts issuing orders and his expression darkens further. "Here, I listen to you?" he repeats, incredulous. "Don't get carried away."

The irony of the lecture is not lost on him either. She keeps talking about getting caught while sneaking around her own workplace in the middle of the night. Whatever explanation she has for that, he doubts it would impress her employer. She seems very pleased with herself at the moment but for all her posturing, the consequences here land much harder on her than they do on him. "Besides," he continues, eyes narrowing, "if anyone should be worried about jail, it's you." The corner of his mouth pulls into something halfway between a scoff and a smirk as his gaze drifts over her. "Jail is no place for delicate little girls."

He looks back at the door. There is a reasonable chance he could simply walk through it. Maybe. He has passed through solid objects before—walls, fences, the containers in this very shipyard and more than one unfortunate pedestrian since ending up like this. He has also gotten stuck in things before, and there is no chance in hell he is giving her the satisfaction of watching that happen. So he settles for pointing a finger directly in her face instead.

"If you leave me behind, I will make enough noise to wake him, and then you can explain that to your boss." The threat is not entirely empty. Dorian has never been above making a nuisance of himself when it serves his interests. He holds her gaze a moment longer before finally stepping back and raising both hands in a gesture that is anything but surrender. Then he motions sharply toward the door and mouths, Open it.

[nakatomi-ayumu]

"Oh? Dorian Wells?" Now that name did ring some bells. "What would the great Dorian Wells be doing loitering in an alley like some common vagrant?" Ayumu asked pointedly as the man rounded in on them, their eyes moving down to the spirit's feet to find none there, it all but confirming what they were dealing with.

"My name is Ayumu. Nakatomi Ayumu," the much older spirit replied with a knowing smile as they looked up at the other. Dorian seemed to be trying to use his height to intimidate, but Ayumu was not easily intimidated.

"Do you know that you're dead, Dorian Wells?" Ripping the bandaid off seemed like the best option and it gave Ayumu the gleeful opportunity to see how the other man might react.

[dorianwells]

The edge in Dorian's expression eased by a fraction—at least this Nagamui knew who he was—then promptly returned at the suggestion that he was no longer alive. "Dead? Right." He barked out a disbelieving laugh, tongue running along the inside of his teeth. The mere thought was absurd. He was standing right there. "Does this look dead to you?" He gestured at himself, the question rhetorical. "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I were dead."

He waved them off as though dismissing an employee who had wandered into his office with a particularly stupid problem. "You know what? I don't have time for this." He did not wait for a response. Whatever game this man thought he was playing, he had neither the patience nor the inclination to indulge it. "Enjoy your alley." With that, he moved past them.

[matthew-alexander]

Matthew arched a brow at the man's annoyed retort as he took in a face that looked fairly familiar. As much as the man seemed put off by the fallen deity's question, he still decided to pull out a lighter.

Matthew leaned in to light his cigarette, blue eyes still trained on the other man's face as he pulled away. "Your actions don't quite match up with your words, Mister Wells," he said as he blew the smoke from his lungs.

"It's Dorian Wells of Easton-Wells, isn't it? What brings you to the streets of Klin this evening?" Matthew recognised that face. This man was someone who moved in the upper echelons of human society the way Matthew did, but they had not met yet. Until now, that is.

[dorianwells]

“Lucky for you, then,” Dorian replied, the irritation still there beneath the remark as he snapped the lighter shut again, though he didn’t pocket it immediately. Recognition was hardly unusual. People had known his face long before they knew anything worth saying about him. But recognition here—on the streets of Klin, in the middle of this fucking nightmare—carried a different sort of weight. His gaze lingered a moment longer on the man in front of him. Wealth recognized wealth easily enough, even stripped of context. The coat, the cigarette box, the way the other man carried himself—he was clearly someone of influence, and Dorian had never been in the habit of ignoring opportunity. “And who might you be?”

At the question, his expression tightened almost imperceptibly. Several hours wasted moving through overcrowded streets and festival traffic had done little for his patience and even less for his mood. “I’m looking for someone,” he said plainly. “Someone currently in possession of something that belongs to me.” His hands lifted slightly then, gesturing vaguely toward himself—to the expensive clothes hanging off a body that wasn’t entirely there, to the noticeable transparency below his knees, to the entire impossible situation clinging to him like a bad joke. “And I intend to get it back.”