Thanks to Niko’s arrival at the temple, Julian has his outfit together. For the night, he isn’t pretending to be a creature or a character, superhero or villain. He’s going as himself, the foundation before Norway, before camp. His scrubs, stethoscope, and lab coat were three of many things he brought with them. Never did he expect to don them again. Julian wears blue scrubs with a white lab coat, while a stethoscope rests over his shoulders. His shoes are standard tennis shoes, albeit a cleaner pair than his day-to-day. On the lab coat is an enamel pin, placed on the upper left, just above his pocket. It says “just roll with it”, a gift from his earlier years in his career.
A doctor lost to the past and found in the present, who surrounds himself in bodies, hearts, and minds, who likewise shares a little bit of his heart to all
A priest composed of found families and a faith in higher powers, feeding mortal and spiritual hunger, and an unshakable spirit for righteousness
A witch crafted in stars, woven by ethereality, and painter that grants mortals immortality in acrylics, oils, or gouaches tainted with magic
A dancer stepping through bustling streets, slicing air and light through rift-fortifying shards, and rushing a little bit of himself into everyone he passes
A student wrought in frozen armor, shielding the world from his warm heart as it melts and melts and melts his own defenses, and a limitless soul as unyielding as subzero winds
Julian Dorado, Loreto Garrido, Kian Prieto, Niko Moreau, Gabriel Montgomery
Never did his eyes leave Vince’s, not even as the latter part dropped from his lips. There’s no going back, now. They couldn’t. Julian slipped his own shirt off, slow to reveal his smattering of stab wounds and a few bullet wounds alike, though concentrated on gut and side from Chicago. He wasn’t a soldier in his past, nor a mercenary nor other person useful as a weapon first and individual second.
He was a doctor, protector, advocator.
But in this moment, he was Vince’s.
Julian lowered his hand from Vince’s chin to the man’s jaw. It ran along the stubble before hooking behind his ear, fingers combing, seeping, into the curls surrounding it. “It’s scary to feel something so deep, amor,” he murmured on a soft breath, a hum, “It takes strength to allow yourself to feel it. Experience it.”
The wraith stands before him, staring the son of medicine down. Tatters give way to flesh and cloak for nothing. Visage shifts to one of his heart, someone he’s since left in his past.
JULIAN stares, wide-eyed as the woman of his dreams appears. He chokes on his air at the sight, still bald and pale and weak from her cancer. It's a dream, right..? Worry shifts to anger and he stares down his late fiancée with pools of rage, "Rachel...? How dare you take her appearance. Coward. Despicable." All that and more, as Julian’s hurt transform to a wrath rarely seen. He’s focused on one thing: ending this nightmare from hell.
