(no subject)

[tevintage]

Who| Dorian and Maxwell, Tabris
What| Dorian is in a bit of a downward spiral and who needs self respect anyway
Where| Maxwell's room
When| a few days before the arena
Warnings/Notes| lots of sexual innuendo, and really terrible life decisions. Alcohol abuse ( a bit ). Probably a really ill-thought-out attempt at seduction.

At the very least, he wasn't drunk.

The drinking had gotten worse. Even he could acknowledge that to himself - dimly - as if from a great distance, and about someone else. He'd always enjoyed a good drink but he was using it more and more as an escape, lately, and he was caring less and less about keeping to his tolerances. It was beginning to be a Problem, but one that he couldn't quite help himself with.

Tonight, however, he was not drunk. That was a relief. He would not be doing what he was doing if he had been - he legitimately did care about Maxwell enough that he wouldn't make the man endure that - but he was tired, he was depressed, and he was lonely. The Sinful places in the city had enticed him for a little while but hadn't actually made the depression or the loneliness any better. Whores made good friends but there were only so many male ones in the city and while engaging in carnal passion was indeed a) a satisfying type of rebellion, and b) distracting, it was in absolutely no way fulfilling. Quite the opposite. He felt emptier with each passing day.

He'd been avoiding his friends. He at least had it in him to be ashamed of himself, even if he saw no other particular way of getting on with his life. Back home, perhaps, he could have found another avenue. He could have thrown himself into his studies, into his magic. Into killing random strangers in the countryside. But here...

But here.

It was enough to almost make one wish that one was Tranquil. At least then he wouldn't care.

He had a bottle of brandy in his hand and two glasses, when he knocked on Maxwell's door in the middle of the night. He was dressed, but in the kind of leisurely sexual way that many in the sinful class of this city seemed to. Not as flashy as the peacock modes, but a late night demure outfit - a shoulder bare - the neckline high and strewn through with glinting silken threads, but still soft. It folded to the touch, lay his adam's apple bare. He wore a carefully tailored, if comfortably loose shirt under it. His trousers were fairly snug, with whisps of embroidered blue fire up the outside of the calf. He looked, in a word, fantastic. But there were bags under his eyes that hadn't been there before, and his coif was not quite as well placed as it usually was, and his smile, when he gave it as the door opened, didn't quite manage to reach his eyes.

"Good evening, Maxwell," He said quickly, before the man could make any sound of surprise or even of acknowledgement, before carefully side stepping past him and into the room. "I thought you could use some company, and I had the perfect bottle in mind."

Comments

[dreadinquisitor]

It was late, early even depending on one's point-of-view, and district 8 was quiet, but Maxwell had been awake when the knock had come softly at his door. Wearily, he'd blinked up at the ceiling - enchanted with the Capitol's 'science' to resemble the night's sky - eyes chasing the stars, looking for constellations he'd come to know since arriving.

He'd hoped once that it would help with his sleeplessness, but if nothing else, at least it had given something to occupy the long hours with. If his mind was going to be active anyway, it could at least spend the time doing something productive. Something besides remembering everything he'd lost; something playing his conversation with Tabris' over and over again. Something besides imagining the worst that could come.

So he heard the knock, and while he was tired, he was alert when he opened the door.

"Dori--" He didn't have time to ask, the man slipping by him as soon as there was room enough.

Quickly, he glanced down the hall, then turned back to look at the mage, closing the door gently. His eyes moved over the man, taking in the clothes, the skin artfully bared, and the bottle and glasses, dangling loosely at his side. Something uncertain squirmed in his chest.

"...This is unexpected."

[tevintage]

"Is it?" Dorian teased, walking over to the small table to set the glasses down and take the lid from the decanter. "I admit it may contain a touch of spontaneity, but completely unexpected?"

He poured one glass then poured another, before turning to give Maxwell a knowing smirk.

"Was that a gentle hint to tell me that I am unwelcome?"

[dreadinquisitor]

There was a book open on the stand, the image of twin boys on one of the pages, (Gemini, the constellation was called; charming and adventurous, with a love for knowledge), and there was a candle. Unlit and unused, in a simple glass votive.

"You're always welcome, Dorian," he replied softly, honestly, though he didn't smile back. He'd tried, more than once, since speaking with Tabris to speak with Dorian. To try and - sort things. But the man had been always been busy, and not always because of Jason, if the gossip was too be believed.

He'd have rather talked it out, however painful it was, than have it come what he expected this was.

"And I am glad you came. I've been trying to see you, since the meeting."

[tevintage]

"Yes, I've been told I'm hard to come by," he said wryly, picking up both glasses and handing one to Maxwell. He gently ignored the subtle hint that Maxwell wanted to talk. Mostly because he was fairly sure talking was the worst thing this could come to, at the present moment.

"I admit I've been doing my utmost to keep myself distracted. Did you know they've bred seven different colours of peacock, here? Seven! I almost want one, for my room, but they are terribly noisy."

He raised his glass and clinked it gently against Maxwell's, not meeting his eyes. "To our endless fortune and prosperity," he said, deeply sarcastically, before taking a good, long, drink.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell said nothing - did nothing - for a moment, watching Dorian instead as he swallowed back his drink in nearly a single mouthful. Then he followed, taking a deep drink of his own. Holding it on his tongue, burning in time with his lungs, before finally swallowing.

"So," he said, exhaling a long husky breath. He studied the last splash of brandy in the bottom of glass, swirled it from side to side. "Is that why you're here? No more new distractions?"

[tevintage]

"No. I'm here because ever since Adella arrived, Cullen has made a terrible drinking partner."

He drank the last of his glass and then set it aside, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"And I'm here because I got the distinct impression that you wanted me to be here. That is, of course, when you don't obviously want me as far away as humanly possible."

He let out a breath. He certainly didn't want Maxwell thinking that this visit was different than what it was, but that would require Dorian somehow figuring out exactly what it was in the first place.

"I'm here, Maxwell. Make of it what you will."

[dreadinquisitor]

And not, Maxwell noted, because he wanted to be. Not because he actually wanted-- But that was fair enough. He'd expected that, hadn't he?

He could understand that, even as that feeling in his chest turned cold and sank heavily into his gut.

He tipped back the last of his glass and then set it empty on the stand, pushing it away from the edge with the tip of his finger as he swallowed.

"I won't pretend that I don't, Dorian. I won't pretend that there isn't a part of me that hasn't wished to the Maker that it could be that simple... but it's not." He met Dorian's eyes, folding his own arms over his chest, feet set shoulder-width apart, as if expecting a blow. As if needing to steel himself. "I haven't been honest with you."

[tevintage]

Ah. They were back to talking. For a brief moment Dorian wondered if he could distract Maxwell from the actual discussion - but decided against it just as quickly. Dorian's own stance, though similar, was casual and relaxed, versus Maxwell's guarded defense.

"You're not the Inquisitor?" Dorian asked wryly, quirking an eyebrow. "Or, perhaps, you've a little more in common with our friend Krem than I was led to believe? No! Don't tell me - you're actually an elf, or at least 1/8th elf on your mother's side--"

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell blinked at him, momentarily caught of guard, then he snorted. A small, low laugh.

"If only," he replied with a small shake of his head. "I would know what to do about outright lies..."

The soft edge of humor disappeared as quickly as it came.

"No, the truth is -- I left someone in Thedas, Dorian. Someone I cared about very much." His gaze moved over Dorian's face, tone shifting, deepening as his throat began to tighten. Threatening to close. "...But even as I say that, he is here. And to him, I never was."

[tevintage]

Whatever he had expected, this wasn't it. Or - perhaps it was, partially. Perhaps a part of him had thought-- no. Ridiculous. His eyes fell away, the smile disappearing.

"... Ah," was all he could think of to say. It was rare that he was a man without words, but this was certainly one of those times.

[dreadinquisitor]

Under other circumstances, Maxwell would have taken a simple, teasing sort of pleasure in being able to trip up Dorian's clever tongue, but it that moment, he waited, his breath stilled.

Hoping for -- what he couldn't even say.

Something foolish, no doubt.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have told you sooner, but I thought it would be for the best that if I didn't. That it might get easier... but it hasn't. If anything it's gotten worse. Every time I see you, and I know you don't--

[tevintage]

He raised a hand to stop him.

"That I didn't know? That I was making a fool of myself? How painfully right, on both counts." He looked up, tried to give a sardonic smile, and failed. "But I take the message loud and clear. I won't make things more complicated for you, Maxwell. Though if it is who I think it is, you'd best put your heart aside, on that one. He's fairly firmly in his own world, now--"

[dreadinquisitor]

That he wasn't feeling any of the things that he was, complicated or otherwise. That he wanted something that Maxwell would likely never be able to give him.

That Dorian would never care for him the way he once had.

"Yes, you've made that quite clear, Dorian," he said, interrupting the man in turn. The mage had a right to be angry, and Maxwell wasn't going to begrudge him for feeling the way the way he did, but it wasn't as if he'd done anything lightly.

"For what it's worth, if I could send you back, or bring him here for you, I would."

[tevintage]

Confusion flashed across his face, and then the brows furrowed. "Send me-- I see." He stood straight up, now.

"Far be it for me to give a damn, Maxwell, but it isn't my fault that he doesn't love you, here. And you're hardly the only one having to go this particular trek alone. I thought you could use the company, and I was wrong. But maybe you should actually talk to Cullen, instead of having to deal with such a poor substitute."

He reached behind him and grabbed the decanter, a little too roughly, a little brandy spilling out onto the carpet."

[dreadinquisitor]

"I know it's not your-- Cullen?"

He'd been about to try and explain. To promise that he would try to keep his distance, that he would try to keep his feelings from being a burden to him - or anyone else for that matter, but then Dorian mentioned Cullen and he stopped fast.

"Why would I talk to--" He stared at Dorian, a strange mix of incredulity, and amusement, and pain pulling at his face. "...Dorian, the only person I need to talk to, I am."

[tevintage]

"Well then don't complain to me if he--" Dorian started, but midway through his sentence, he froze, understanding finally dawning on him.

The only person he needed to talk to, he was.

His mustache drooped as he turned his face, something pained in his expression. "... Oh." He said finally. "... Well, that was an unfortunate misunderstanding..."

[dreadinquisitor]

Watching him turn away, Maxwell wondered for a moment if maybe he should have let Dorian think it Cullen he carried a torch for. That anger might have easier for them both.

"A bit," he agreed, wryly, after a long moment of silence. "But it all still stands. It isn't your fault, and I am sorry that I didn't tell you as I soon as I realized there wasn't--"

He shook his head and turned away as well, arms unfolding to rub a hand through the hair at the base of his head.

"I knew you were grieving. I didn't wish to burden you further."

[tevintage]

He didn't seem to quite hear Maxwell - both his eyes and his attention focused elsewhere, as the gears in his mind slowly shifted into place, realigning with the newly gained knowledge.

... Well. That made things quite a bit clearer. He wet his lips, frowning, before looking back at Maxwell murmuring about burdens.

"What? No. How is it a burden?" He finally met Maxwell's eyes, his brows furrowed, but more out of a sense of attempting understanding than of anger. "I admit I-- I find it someone incredulous, that something could happen twice, but then, that's the entire premise what our myriad worlds are based upon. That another Inquisitor should--" he cut himself off, still frowning, and let out a long breath. "... Well. I've been a fool. And a fool likely doing significantly more damage than I ever meant to."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell snorted again, rougher, deeper that time. Leaning against the little stand, a hip beside the little white candle, he looked back.

"That's how. I know you're not him, Dorian. How much alike you may be." And they were, so, so much. He was still all the things he'd come to know and love: charming and intelligent, adventurous and brave, confident and determined, gentle and caring....

He was certain they probably wouldn't have been having this conversation, if he weren't.

"You are your own person, and you shouldn't have to concern yourself over what damage you might or might not do just by being you."

[tevintage]

"My entire life has been centered around damage control for 'just being me'," Dorian pointed out, a little wryly.

He wasn't sure what else to say, however. His brows furrowed again, and he realised he was still holding the decanter. Carefully, he filled his glass again, and then gently took Maxwell's and filled it too.

"Of course I'm him," He said, somewhat airily. "At least, in so far as flesh and bone can extend. Just as the rest of our intrepid little party are very much them, despite the fact that none of them seem to remember anything quite the way I do - if at all." He took a breath, handing the glass back. "... But you're right. You should have told me. And I...." his eyes slid away. "... Exactly how much do you actually know about my 'grief'?"

[allyorfoe]

The Capitol seemed to almost encourage alcoholism, really. With all the bullshit they put the Tributes through, then offered unlimited alcohol of various strengths, right up to stuff that could probably peel paint if you were so inclined. It's almost like they liked their tributes to become addicted to quick fixes to make their problems go away.

Ha.

Ha ha.

Tabris was doing pretty well, all concerned, but some nights were better than others. Even separated from the archdemon, from the darkspawn, and reunited with her husband, the nightmares haunted her sleep. No need to keep Alistair up, when he could find more peaceful sleep than she could. And, she had discovered, getting all but blackout drunk and stumbling up to her room was a pretty good way to keep the nightmares at bay.

She wasn't quite at that point yet, but she was always a determined sort, and working hard on it. She looked pretty miserable, head drooping, eyelids heavy. She looked like she might nod off, when Dorian stumbled in, looking even worse than her. That made her raise an eyebrow, and take enough notice to lift her head up. Not to mention his outfit was...something else.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Dorian? Because I don't think that'd go well for anyone." She informed him, a wry smile on her face. She's not drunk, honest. Just buzzed.

[tevintage]

"You really don't need to remind me," Dorian said, almost flippantly, walking straight for the alcohol and barely sparing Tabris a glance. He knew exactly what he was here for, and what he was here for was to get dead drunk. Again.

"Though I'd like to point out that I'm sure I could manage it if I really tried." Just for the sake of his ego.

He poured himself a glass, and knocked the whole thing back in one gulp, then poured himself another one. At least the desperate arousal had been replaced by utter self loathing and near-nausea. At least he had that.

Finally he turned to get a good look at her, looking almost as ragged as he felt. "You look terrible." No point beating around the bush.

[allyorfoe]

"You know, Dorian, I might just let you try to see how that'd go." She replied, just as flippantly. She had her own ego, and she knew how to poke and prod at one that was inflated. She didn't go too far, though, because it looked like Dorian had already got his ego given a pretty good jab, if the way that he was chugging down alcohol like a man in a drought was anything to go by.

She gave him just as critical an eye as he gave to her. At least she was sipping her alcohol. That made her less of a hot mess. This is what she told herself to make herself feel better.

"I wanted to make sure that we matched." She took a deep drink, throwing her 'I'm better because I'm drinking slower' right out the window.

[tevintage]

He laughed at that - a single, resounding, 'Ha!'. He didn't knock back the second one quite as quickly, instead just held it while looking off in the distance for a while before slumping down into a nearby chair with a sigh.

"It was a mere observation," he said, kindly. "Have you been sleeping?"

[allyorfoe]

"I have been sleeping. And when I do, I dream the darkspawn are dragging me into the deep roads and force feeding me tainted flesh until I become a horrific abomination that spits out more darkspawn," She told him with a blitheness that was trying to make the idea less mind-numbingly horrifying. "So I'm drinking." She stared at the drink for a moment, then took another sip. "I'm trying to find the perfect balance between blackout drunk and able to make it to my room. It's taken some experimenting, but I think I almost have it."

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "What about you, Dorian. You seem determined to make even more progress with this venture than I am." She might have snarked at him about having nightmares about not having his clothes freshly pressed and having to feed himself, or something like that. But it seemed a poor joke to make at the moment.

She'll save it for later.