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
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.