This is a silly place...
Who: Dorian Gray and Hayley Stark. Then, Dorian and Adrian Veidt.
When: Tonight.
Where: Seventh floor, though perhaps he will venture further.
What: Dorian is meeting Hayley so she can explain his comm to him.
Warnings: None.
Note: COMPLETE. This ends with Dorian going away angrily to read Dorian Gray, so he isn't lingering about after Adrian's thread.
( Dorian the explorer. )
When: Tonight.
Where: Seventh floor, though perhaps he will venture further.
What: Dorian is meeting Hayley so she can explain his comm to him.
Warnings: None.
Note: COMPLETE. This ends with Dorian going away angrily to read Dorian Gray, so he isn't lingering about after Adrian's thread.
( Dorian the explorer. )
The air of cruelty around Dorian, however slight, did not escape Adrian's notice, though, and he left it open as to whether this would be a good or bad thing. The name, though. Of course, book characters had been onboard the Barge before. That in itself was nothing novel, but he'd be lying if the character of Dorian Gray wasn't particularly intriguing to him, and revolting, all at once. This was partially due to characteristics he saw in his own self.
He gave no hint that the name might be familiar to him, however. Most people didn't normally like to have it pointed out to them that they were 'fictional.'
"Adrian Veidt," he replied evenly, pleasantly, refusing to be the first to offer a handshake, however counterintuitive it was for him. "If you don't mind my asking, what was it you were looking for, then?" The Admiral, the exit, a conversation? More likely, something else. Adrian keeps his mind open.
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"In lieu of that, I am attempting to locate the Admiral. Would you happen to know where he is? I imagine, at the mast or helm or... something along those lines. I have some matters to discuss with him." It was all very matter of fact. He had things to discuss, and they would be taken care of. That was what he knew. What he asked was done for him, what he wished for was granted. Dorian Gray was very spoiled on the surface. He was spoiled below the surface as well, but in a very different meaning of the word.
[Feel free at some point to tell Dorian there's a book... he'll assume it was written about his life. See permissions.]
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"Come with me," he added, leading the way toward the library. "There's something you should see."
[ooc: i read permissions, so i assume its okay for adrian to show him the book? :X]
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Dorian wasn't fond of the communication device, or "computer" as Hayley had called it, nor was Dorian too fond of Hayley. He purposely would forget the names of both, simply out of spite.
"I'm afraid I'm not that stupid. Tell me; what is it I should see?" he spoke with suspicion as Adrian turned to walk past him and to the stairs.
He would not follow Adrian anywhere unless he knew where they were going, and then he would not let the man out of his sight. Dorian had found himself on a time traveling prison barge peopled with criminals and child laborers, sharks and strange men who spoke with hideously uneducated accents. He was still in alert mode, however calm he might appear to be.
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"I demand that you tell me how you know about my portrait at once," he said, voice low and dark as he came to stand before Adrian, blocking his path.
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"Patience. I told you, we are going to the library, so that I can show you. Perhaps we can do something to prevent others from finding out. In the meanwhile, I suggest using a pseudonym if you don't want more people to know instantly who you are and what you've done. It should work, at least until you have a warden."
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You see, there was always that part of Dorian which, for some things, accepted help and such without question. A part of him that was still quite sure of the way of things; people doing things for him without compensation. But Adrian was no lesser man, no servant or valet. People of ones own class only ever helped another when it helped themselves. Or when it amused themselves.
"What is in this for you? Why are you helping me?"
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However, why was he really helping Dorian? Well, because Dorian was Dorian Gray: attractive, classy, and dangerous: the type of friend that Adrian wouldn't mind having.
"I also think we might have a bit in common. Forgive me if that's presumptuous, but there's just very few people aboard the barge who can hold much interest from me." Flattery, of course, but also sincere. People generally were very dull, after all.
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Flattery. There it was, something that Dorian Gray knew. It was not the sort of flattery that he was accustomed to; being told that he was attractive, that his lingering youth was impressive and enviable. This was different; Adrian found him interesting.
"Boring people merely lack imagination," Dorian responded, tone making it clear that the compliment was received but that flattery alone was not going to alleviate his suspicions. "I will come with you to the library. Lead the way."
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At this hour, it was empty, the lights off. Adrian casually flicked them on, immediately heading towards the fiction section, specifically, toward the 'W's.' What book he was looking for would be obvious. His eyes scanned the covers until he pulled out an old, oxford hard cover edition of The Portrait of Dorian Gray, handing it to his companion.
"The cover alone should tell you enough, but I suggest reading the content as well. Tell me if it's accurate or not."
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He stood in the library, arms folded across his chest as Adrian looked through the books. He saw the title first and snatched the book away from Adrian. He stared at it in stark disbelief. The Portrait of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. A book penned by a stranger, and his own name in the title. His name, and his secret, stamped together on the cover for anyone to see.
The look on his face made his shock clear, but the depth of feeling could not be adequately expressed. He felt as if he had been punched, the slow, creeping realization that this book contained details of his life, and people had read it. People knew him, details, names, places. Crimes.
"And you have read this?" Dorian demanded, voice thin and struggling against his rising panic.
It was ironic, really, that it should have been a book that poisoned him, and a book that exposed his corruption.
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"Of course, that doesn't mean I believe every word of it is true -- only the bit about the portrait. Your own earlier response told me that much."
Lies. He knew every word of it was true, the way every word of 1984 portrayed Stephen O'Brien or how Fahrenheit 451 described Captain Beatty. Of course, if their positions had been reversed, and he had had all his secrets displayed for all to read, he would have denied it, refused to even acknowledge its existence or dignify the 'author' with a response. After all, he was a well known man in his world, and libel was a near constant. 'Libel' that happened to be true also wasn't a foreign enemy, but something he was deeply familiar with after the publishing of Rorschach's journal.
Dorian, on the other hand, wouldn't be so well prepared.
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"I don't understand how it could be true."
Dorian looked... dazed. This conversation had to end soon, because he had to go read this. He had to know what was said about him, what other people knew or assumed about him.
"Is this the only copy here?" he asked, clutching the book more tightly to himself.
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"These two are the only ones that I see." He handed it to Dorian nonchalantly. "As for how it can be true? There are people here from different times, different places. Perhaps someone from the future saw fit to right about your life, however incorrect some of the details may be." He spoke casually enough, as if that may actually be the case, instead of it actually being a real man who wrote a fictional account of another man's life that turned out to be an actual account of a real man's life in another universe. The lie simplified matters immensely, and he got the impression that Dorian was a man who very much liked being told what he wanted to hear. "Some may insist that every detail is true, that you are even 'fictional,' but ignore their ridiculous claims."
He smiled again, but only slightly, though it was not unfriendly. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Dorian. I'll leave you to your reading now."
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Someone, after he had died, wrote about his life. He was infamous. He had, in some sense, been infamous while he was alive. He was still adjusting to the idea, perhaps the fact, that this barge travelled in time and that he was liberated from his own time, rather than merely being dead and in hell, or on the way to it.
"Fictional..." he echoed, kind of distantly. He was, to put it mildly, incredibly preoccupied. "Ignore them. Yes..." he frowned at Adrian, though he was not upset with him. This was not his fault. He actually owed him a favor for telling him about this quickly, helping him to possibly head off potential damages.
"Thank you," he said. "I trust that you won't speak of this..." though, he knew, from what Adrian had told him, that some people knew regardless.
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