RO > call me out; a forever open RP post, version 2

[midvalley]

NEW OPEN RP POST

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[cultivations]

[ It used to be that Dorian was suspicious as a rule -- every person he encountered would garner at least some level of distrust, would make him wonder, "Are they speaking with me for me, or for my social standing?" Granted, in his later years in Tevinter, his social standing was nothing of consequence, but that spark of doubt always remained, flickering at the back of his mind. It's a bad habit he's trying to break, and indeed, in a place as alien to him as this world is, he has no need of it. No one knows him here, after all, and unlike Skyhold, his heritage does not precede him. It's-- surprisingly freeing, even if his magic must be tightly reined.

He recognizes the man by face, though not yet by name, and knows him as friendly from their few encounters; it's not much of a surprise when the other man initiates conversation -- it rather seems as though they'd been leading up to this for some time, after all.

Which is why Dorian puts on one of his pleasant "this is my social smile" masks and nods to him. ]

Engrossing, to say the least. [ And with a nod to Warren's table, where his laptop sits, ] You seem quite absorbed, yourself.

[spellbent]

Yeah. [ He laughs, a light and amiable sound. ] Turns out getting a writing career off the ground isn’t all that easy.

[cultivations]

Really? I never would have imagined. Are you making any headway?

[spellbent]

Some, but my editor can be a real beast sometimes. One step forward and two steps back, as the saying goes.

But I’m being rude. I’m Lucas. [ And he offers Dorian a hand. ]

[cultivations]

Ah, that seems to be the common complaint. A friend of mine often complains about his own editor.

[ Handshake is go. ]

Dorian. Would you like to take a seat?

[spellbent]

Thank you, but no. I’ve got to wrap up and get going soon. There’s this bookstore a few blocks down I’ve been meaning to check out and I’d like to make it out of here before they close.

gg didn't hit post comment

[cultivations]

[ Dorian blinks, surprised, then glances over at the clock hanging on the wall behind the front counter. ]

Ah, I lost track of time. I'm actually headed that way, as chance would have it. The owner and I are--

[ well-acquainted. friends. involved. in a relationship. screwing. ]

That is to say, I know the owner.

I thought you didn't love me anymore ):

[spellbent]

Do you know them well enough to get me a discount?

[cultivations]

I suppose our combined efforts might be good enough at least for that.

[ Dorian shuts his book and stands. ]

Shall we?

[spellbent]

Sure. Let me grab my things.

[ One packing up montage later, Warren- rather "Lucas"- has his laptop bag slung over his shoulder. ] Let's go.

[cultivations]

[ He leads the way out of the shop, heading towards the store. ]

May I ask what you've been writing about, or would that ruin the surprise?

[spellbent]

It's a detective novel, but that's all I'm saying. I'd hate to spoil you.

[cultivations]

[ He huffs out a laugh, arching an eyebrow. ]

I've always found the personality of the detective more compelling than the crime, in any case. Jaded and cynical? Pithy and clever? Is he man who's seen too much, or a man who who has no clue into what sort of trouble he's gotten himself?

[spellbent]

For me, a story is only as good as its villain. [ Self-aware? Warren? Nah.

As they walk, one end of the strap of "Lucas'" laptop bag suddenly snaps off- a quick little spell on Warren's part- and he swears, barely managing to catch the laptop as it swings free. He moves off of the sidewalk and into the doorway of an old building (a FOR LEASE sign displayed prominently in the window). He holds out his coffee cup to Dorian ] Hold this a second, would you?

[cultivations]

[ He takes the cup, moving to join him. ]

Bit of bad luck. Anything broken?

[spellbent]

Laptop's fine, I think.

[ He fishes around in his bag for a second, under the guise of double-checking, then several things happen in quick succession:

First, the door to the building swings suddenly inward, revealing an expanse of pitch blackness. It is, in fact, a portal like the ones Charlie uses, leading to somewhere very, very dark.

Next, Warren abandons the laptop altogether. The Destroyer activates his Enhancements, plants a hand in Dorian's back and shoves him through the portal with more force than is probably strictly necessary.

A scant second later, the portal vanishes, leaving Dorian alone in the dark. Warren shuts the door, tucks his bag under his arm, and meanders off, calm as you please, to his own portal that he's set up some ways away.

In the meantime, Dorian will find himself in a small prison cell in the dark. It's cold, and there's nothing in the cell by way of furniture. Calling for his magic will get him only the barest of a flicker- whatever it is that the shifters use in their handcuffs seems to be built into the bars. There is no cell phone reception.

It's about fifteen minutes before the lights flicker on, revealing a large, plain room. Bare cement walls and bare cement floors. A couple of chairs and a small table sit just outside the cell, and beyond that, a flight of stairs.

Warren makes his way down. Any hint of friendliness is gone from his face, and he doesn't seem especially concerned when he asks, ] Comfortable?

[cultivations]

[ Of course, is what he thinks in those spare moments. Of course this would happen.

Dorian detests the cold, detests being held prisoner even more. Bad enough it's happened once in his life -- his father's estate, kept under lock and key and guard in what used to be his own home. But at least in Minrathous, he had such basic things as light.

But what he hates above all is being cut off from his magic. That, too, was a familiar feeling, as though his connection to the Fade had been walled off, leaving only the barest crack. That alone was enough to nearly drive him to panic, when he tried to summon flame and could only call forth enough to light a match, when summoning electricity could only bring forth a spark.

He swallows down the panic bubbling in his throat, takes some solace in the fact that he is not dead, when he could have just as easily been shoved into a pit of spikes as he was a portal. When he realizes escape is not in the cards, Dorian navigates himself to a wall, slides down to the floor, and waits.

By the time Warren finally arrives (fifteen minutes feels almost an eternity to him), Dorian is still on the floor, though the mask he wears now is one of boredom. And to Dorian's credit, he only blinks and squints a little when the lights come on, revealing the room beyond. ]

A bit of a draught, actually. You should see to it.

Do you know-- [ and his tone matches his expression -- dry, unimpressed. ] --you could have simply asked if you wanted my company?

[spellbent]

I would have, but you and I both know that wouldn’t have worked, considering the way you and the Maxwell wizard carry on.

[cultivations]

[ Dorian bristles at that, both hands clenching into fists. ]

And what, exactly, do you mean by that?

[spellbent]

All I mean is it would have saved me the trouble of shoving you into my basement.

[ he moves to sit in one of the chairs, leaning back to look Dorian over ] You know you've caused quite the stir in our little community.

[cultivations]

Have I?

[ He asks it flatly, disinterested. ]

Is it the good looks? The caliber of my intelligence? A level of excellence never before seen or met, I must imagine.

[spellbent]

Ah. So it's going to be like that.

Maybe you are intelligent, but you're definitely not subtle. Heating up your coffee in the middle of a crowded cafe with just a wave of you hand? Come on now.

Most other wizards dismiss the stories about you as just that- stories, but I know by now not to disregard anyone Jacob Randall keeps around. One way or another, I'm going to find out what makes you tick.

[cultivations]

[ ... Ah. ]

Are there stories, now? [ Wryly. Humor to mask that plummeting sensation of dread. ]

I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. I'm remarkable, surely, but not in the way you seem to expect.

[spellbent]

If that turns out to be the case, then I'll just kill you and be done with it. No great loss to me one way or another.

[cultivations]

[ He lets out a quick, barked out laugh. ]

"Be special or die," is that it? And I thought my parents had unrealistic expectations. That's a great deal of pressure to put on one person, don't you think?