Dorian is still exhausted with magic he isn't accustomed too, disconnected with a power that does not belong to him—burning with the height of every emotion he experiences, from that raw power and desire to this sinking unhappy bitterness that has been spat back and forth in front of him, using him. (He really just wishes they wouldn't talk about him like he wasn't here.)
And he is neither dethroned king nor raised-up Marchioness. He is not a being of magic, nor a mage of great power. He is just an empty vessel, untitled and unfulfilled, a void where a soul ought to be, and if he could just get it right, reach for love, fill in that emptiness, it would feel better.
But the love is never enough. He needs more and more and more. Dorian can feel the last of the magic slipping away from his fingers and it leaves an aching misery of a void.
So what Dorian does is this: he straightens, though he lets Hermione brace him, because even tired and intoxicated and on the edge of untamed emotion, he is still himself and unbreakable. He looks over them, his unfaltering friend, his tempestuous Servant, and in that glance he claims them both as his. He speaks: "I think that's the end of this."
No fine pronouncements or speeches from Dorian. Just a soft but enunciated decision. An assertion: the game is over, the players are to part. No more of this.
And then Gilgamesh may feel something familiar, although it is also strange. It is, after all, Gilgamesh who most often uses their bond this way. Who most often takes up the link as a vice to hold tight to his Servant. But now, the snake-grip is Dorian's, ravenous and constricting with the last drops of his untempered emotions: I don't care that you don't love me, I don't care what you will care for, wherever you go, I will find you tonight, tonight you're mine, always, you're mine, you're mine and a pull that could almost be physical for the force of it, yanking Gilgamesh to him not in body but in thought and mind.
Dorian glances at Hermione, and just like that: his mood switches to normal. "Can we get a servant with something to drink? I always get thirsty after things like this."
"I'd be quite happy watching this world burn, I think."
And that is, indeed, the end of it. Bitter eyes cast towards Hermione for stealing his treasure away, and then he's moving on, moving past—at least until Dorian seizes upon his thoughts with such force Gilgamesh stumbles, isn't even allowed a graceful exit. More than anything Hermione has said, this puts him in true pain, and his face twists to reflect it.
"No."
Gilgamesh refuses the command. He refuses his Master and fires back, though blissfully keeps it in the realm of thoughts... for now. Bound this way, he has no choice but to abide Dorian until he lets go.
Your meddling has consequences. Look what it has done. Yet if you've truly no regrets, then it won't matter.
I won't come to you. Burn a Seal if it is your wish. But I won't come. Not this time.
Bed her instead, this vixen, this friend of yours. You may enjoy my company again when I give you permission, and not a moment sooner.
Dorian pulls; Gilgamesh pushes back, twice as hard, yanking on him in every feasible way, delivering the words that aren't, what he knows will sting.
There is something, Hermione thinks, that is between the two of them that she really can't touch. Their bond is something invisible, something powerful, and as much as she loathes the idea of it that familiar, ire inducing envy prickles at her senses before she shoves it away, focusses instead on her friend, letting thoughts of Gilgamesh disappear for now. He has done nothing today that would make her consider anything positive towards him, even if she had stepped forward and held her ground. She had been honest with him; he could have become so important, so special to her, but...
He had made his choice. She has to make hers.
It's eerie, the difference between how Dorian handles himself in the wake of Gilgamesh and the way he treats her. For all that he had been sure that their friendship would be over he is as kind to her as he had ever been, even as his mood dips into melancholy and sadness, even when she has to confirm her friendship and her love for him on occasion. The easy nature of his bond with Gilgamesh frustrates her if only because she wants it for herself; not necessarily with Dorian, but something like it. It's been a long time since Ron, a long time since she dared let herself hope, everything too busy and too dangerous in this world for her to think that anyone would want that with her.
She forces herself to smile, though, to be as much herself as possible in the wake of Dorian's switch. She nods her head, hesitant before deciding not to reach for his hand or his embrace. She feels prickly, as if she's on the edge of another outburst, not sure of herself. None of today had gone like she planned and the guilt twists in her stomach - she upset Dorian, she upset Gilgamesh, and there is going to be talk. She's sure of that.
"Of course. I'll go and ask, if you want to stay here, or we can go somewhere else."
Her lips purse for a moment, her expression tense, before she finally gathers herself and holds her head high.
"I'm sorry for arguing with him. You love him and you care about him and I should be more respectful of that."
It doesn't hit its mark, that brutal strike, because the man he lashes out at is not the boy whom he contracted with. Dorian lets go, but only for the moment. Only because he can't hunt down Gilgamesh with his full resources when Hermione is near. Dorian lets go and releases Gilgamesh to flee, but he makes it clear:
I do not reject you. I accept and embrace you. Always. Rejection? Dorian has faced rejection. And he has changed its mind, over and over and over. I will call for you. And if you don't come, then I will come for you. My King of Kings, don't think you can shake me off so easily. I am not the man you chose because I surrender so easily as that.
And yet when Dorian looks at Hermione, he is almost himself again. The Dorian that Hermione knows. "Don't put it on yourself, Hermione. Frankly, I can't hold for him something he'll never give me, and no one should have to abide by what he demands." Except Dorian. With a brightened smile, he takes her hand. "Take me inside before I swoon? Or people won't believe I'm not a Victorian anymore."
Hermione is all but ethereal, incorporeal, intangible and false. They no longer exist to each other. All that exists, all that Gilgamesh hears is every bold, embittered word, every refusal of his rejection, every statement that would speak to defiance and one sentiment above the rest: this isn't over.
Yet Gilgamesh commits a fatal error and assumes that it is. He turns from Dorian and says nothing more, leaving the same way he entered—as a measly ball of light to carry his spirit far from here.
They are fated souls. As usual, they've much to think on for later. For now, Gilgamesh wishes to think of everything except for Dorian Gray.
Hermione watches Gilgamesh go, her expression tight before she breathes out and shakes her head. He isn't important any more - not right now, in this moment, and he is something she'll have to think more about later. She might even have to apologise, which makes her feel a little uncomfortable. Right now, though, she has Dorian, and she turns to him.
"Let's go, then." She smiles, reaching for his hand and taking it. "I can't let anyone think that you're a Victorian, not with how different you've grown. We have to keep up your reputation, don't we, Mr. Gray?"
She steps forward, leading him out, careful to keep her hand in his and her expression gentle, not wanting to antagonise him more than she already has.
"Don't we just," he agrees, walking with her. And then, with one squeeze of her hand, he leans over to add, "It's all right." In a stage whisper: "He's a bit of a whining bitch sometimes."
Dorian has already decided what he will do next. But that plan will only work when sundown comes. For now, for this moment, he is content to set it aside and enjoy the company of a friend in pleasantness—to drink tea, to sit together, to discuss when their next practice will be. All while planning to hunt down a wild, wounded thing and use unnatural force to make it listen.
Truly, they were all broken here. But each of them was mad in their own particular way.
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no subject
And he is neither dethroned king nor raised-up Marchioness. He is not a being of magic, nor a mage of great power. He is just an empty vessel, untitled and unfulfilled, a void where a soul ought to be, and if he could just get it right, reach for love, fill in that emptiness, it would feel better.
But the love is never enough. He needs more and more and more. Dorian can feel the last of the magic slipping away from his fingers and it leaves an aching misery of a void.
So what Dorian does is this: he straightens, though he lets Hermione brace him, because even tired and intoxicated and on the edge of untamed emotion, he is still himself and unbreakable. He looks over them, his unfaltering friend, his tempestuous Servant, and in that glance he claims them both as his. He speaks: "I think that's the end of this."
No fine pronouncements or speeches from Dorian. Just a soft but enunciated decision. An assertion: the game is over, the players are to part. No more of this.
And then Gilgamesh may feel something familiar, although it is also strange. It is, after all, Gilgamesh who most often uses their bond this way. Who most often takes up the link as a vice to hold tight to his Servant. But now, the snake-grip is Dorian's, ravenous and constricting with the last drops of his untempered emotions: I don't care that you don't love me, I don't care what you will care for, wherever you go, I will find you tonight, tonight you're mine, always, you're mine, you're mine and a pull that could almost be physical for the force of it, yanking Gilgamesh to him not in body but in thought and mind.
Dorian glances at Hermione, and just like that: his mood switches to normal. "Can we get a servant with something to drink? I always get thirsty after things like this."
no subject
And that is, indeed, the end of it. Bitter eyes cast towards Hermione for stealing his treasure away, and then he's moving on, moving past—at least until Dorian seizes upon his thoughts with such force Gilgamesh stumbles, isn't even allowed a graceful exit. More than anything Hermione has said, this puts him in true pain, and his face twists to reflect it.
"No."
Gilgamesh refuses the command. He refuses his Master and fires back, though blissfully keeps it in the realm of thoughts... for now. Bound this way, he has no choice but to abide Dorian until he lets go.
Your meddling has consequences. Look what it has done. Yet if you've truly no regrets, then it won't matter.
I won't come to you. Burn a Seal if it is your wish. But I won't come. Not this time.
Bed her instead, this vixen, this friend of yours. You may enjoy my company again when I give you permission, and not a moment sooner.
Dorian pulls; Gilgamesh pushes back, twice as hard, yanking on him in every feasible way, delivering the words that aren't, what he knows will sting.
I reject you, Dorian Gray.
no subject
He had made his choice. She has to make hers.
It's eerie, the difference between how Dorian handles himself in the wake of Gilgamesh and the way he treats her. For all that he had been sure that their friendship would be over he is as kind to her as he had ever been, even as his mood dips into melancholy and sadness, even when she has to confirm her friendship and her love for him on occasion. The easy nature of his bond with Gilgamesh frustrates her if only because she wants it for herself; not necessarily with Dorian, but something like it. It's been a long time since Ron, a long time since she dared let herself hope, everything too busy and too dangerous in this world for her to think that anyone would want that with her.
She forces herself to smile, though, to be as much herself as possible in the wake of Dorian's switch. She nods her head, hesitant before deciding not to reach for his hand or his embrace. She feels prickly, as if she's on the edge of another outburst, not sure of herself. None of today had gone like she planned and the guilt twists in her stomach - she upset Dorian, she upset Gilgamesh, and there is going to be talk. She's sure of that.
"Of course. I'll go and ask, if you want to stay here, or we can go somewhere else."
Her lips purse for a moment, her expression tense, before she finally gathers herself and holds her head high.
"I'm sorry for arguing with him. You love him and you care about him and I should be more respectful of that."
no subject
I do not reject you. I accept and embrace you. Always. Rejection? Dorian has faced rejection. And he has changed its mind, over and over and over. I will call for you. And if you don't come, then I will come for you. My King of Kings, don't think you can shake me off so easily. I am not the man you chose because I surrender so easily as that.
And yet when Dorian looks at Hermione, he is almost himself again. The Dorian that Hermione knows. "Don't put it on yourself, Hermione. Frankly, I can't hold for him something he'll never give me, and no one should have to abide by what he demands." Except Dorian. With a brightened smile, he takes her hand. "Take me inside before I swoon? Or people won't believe I'm not a Victorian anymore."
no subject
Yet Gilgamesh commits a fatal error and assumes that it is. He turns from Dorian and says nothing more, leaving the same way he entered—as a measly ball of light to carry his spirit far from here.
They are fated souls. As usual, they've much to think on for later. For now, Gilgamesh wishes to think of everything except for Dorian Gray.
no subject
"Let's go, then." She smiles, reaching for his hand and taking it. "I can't let anyone think that you're a Victorian, not with how different you've grown. We have to keep up your reputation, don't we, Mr. Gray?"
She steps forward, leading him out, careful to keep her hand in his and her expression gentle, not wanting to antagonise him more than she already has.
no subject
Dorian has already decided what he will do next. But that plan will only work when sundown comes. For now, for this moment, he is content to set it aside and enjoy the company of a friend in pleasantness—to drink tea, to sit together, to discuss when their next practice will be. All while planning to hunt down a wild, wounded thing and use unnatural force to make it listen.
Truly, they were all broken here. But each of them was mad in their own particular way.