WHO: Mina and Dorian WHAT: Chatting, frowning, more chatting (guess who does what) WHERE: Dorian’s place WHEN: Eons ago. Way back. Before the AHS change ups WARNINGS: Never!
Mina hummed a soft tune under her breath as she walked towards Dorian’s, flashing a wan smile to anyone politely passed her by. It wasn’t that she felt any particular need to check upon him in person, not really. He said he was fine and she believed him. If Dorian Gray said his worst problem boredom then truly it was, for little would be as appalling as that.
But she was concerned for the girl, ghost or not, living staying with him. Perhaps Violet reminded her too much of her young cousin or perhaps Mina would never lose her protective streak. Whatever it was truly, it drove her to stop by his home in the city, hoping the girl had fared as well as she and Dorian.
And, perhaps, she had missed a bit of the man’s company.
But that was a small thought, tiny, even. Pushed away the moment it tried to surface within her mind. Concern was the more pressing matter, and everything else could wait until she saw if Violet was even there in London or not. She smoothed her pale hands over the dark fabric of her coat and dress one last time, no wrinkle in sight, nothing out of place, before rapping on his door to see if anyone was home.
Dorian enjoyed the little to-do he had created just by hosting his “flower” at his London address. He had celebrated the permanent departure of Nathan and the introduction of the far more pliable Hunter by re-introducing himself to the scene and various loose-minded members of the ton. London’s nobility were always keen for a scandal, and he shrouded himself and his family in such mystery that he was as irresistible as cake to a man starving. He made up something vague about being the nephew of the man who used to live in the same house, and even claimed to be named after him, and the conceit amused him for a while as he smoked his fashionable opium cigarettes in the finest, loudest, most daring parlors in London. The introduction of a foreign, foul-mouthed little heathen of a cousin just cemented his reputation as a terrible rake.
He was, however, at home this evening. It was never a good thing to accept every invitation after all, and he could not depend on Hunter to keep his obligations after the party so rattled the younger man. So he was lounging in his library, his favorite room, and yet fully dressed, when his man knocked on the door and informed him that a Miss Mina Harker was awaiting him in the parlor, because no one was ever shown to the library. Dorian led them in or they didn’t come at all.
The parlor was airy, a far more pleasant, coolly decorated room than the dark, shadowed library with its dusty trinkets. Someone had gone for a tea tray and there was a bright fire in the hearth. The parlor caught the sun from the front of the house, and a window showed the busy passage of the street just beyond. Dorian swept in like a spring breeze, dressed in Chinese indigo and French cream, layered silk and a vest to match his eyes. “Mina,” he said, in a voice all presumptuous affection. “Where have you been hiding yourself?” He drew near her so he could take her hand, eyebrows aloft.
“As if you didn’t know,” she replied cooly, giving him her hand as a wry smile graced her lips. Against his brighter attire, hers was paled in simple comparison, a forest green dress to warm the highlights of her dark hair with a touch of black velvet at the edges. “Or rather, as if either of us have much choice in the matters of comings and goings.” Mina was aware that circumstances differed from person to person when it came to their relationships with their counterparts. But she did like to believe the two of them were above forcing their Other’s hands.
“I must say I am a bit surprised I caught you here. I almost expected to be turned away, that you and your... guests, would be out being entertained.” She, of course, had heard the something about his having American relations over but clearly the woman knew otherwise. “Unless they too have had their fill of parties.”
Dorian brushed warm lips over the back of Mina’s hand, lingering a little because he was obviously enjoying himself as he did it, lifting a lush lower lip from her second knuckle and releasing her hand to the air as if he was freeing a bird. Straightening out of his bow, he glided away over the lush carpet, patterned in layers by the dappled sunlight and imprinting his long legs as he moved over to a side table. “Can I tempt you with a cup of tea?” he asked, grinning because the idea of tea as her drink of choice amused him, and also because the tray had not yet arrived. It was also distinctly Dorian to ask about tea in the middle of all those accusations and theories.
He leaned one hip on the table and appeared to think. “My counterpart isn’t as willing as I like, but I’ve had worse.” Another flash of teeth. “And my guests quite refuse to be entertained. They are so modern and childish.” He scowled, because neither Tate nor Violet had fallen immediately to his charms, and he was the kind of man that liked to be admired.
Her eyes fluttered with a downcast look, and as a small smile playing upon her lips the only thing missing from the picture was a rose to her cheeks, or any color at all. But the expression was fleeting, fading away as he let her hand go and dissolving into one amusement and a hint of exasperation. Honestly. Tea.
“No. Thank you,” she said with a quick shake of her head, and a half hearted admonishment in her tone before following his trek across the room with a soft rustle of fabric. “Modern and childish,” she echoed with a soft laugh. It felt like such an understatement. “Yes, that does cover it, or at least the young Miss Violet. I met her the other day, daring to undress right out on the street.” It was clear from the way her lips turned to frown what she thought about that. “And of course, that is nothing compared to...” Her fingers pressed to her lips as she recalled the Violet’s antics at her home and the faint tang of blood. But she let her train of thought fade into a sigh before turning back towards him. “She’s quite wild. I’m surprised you let have let them stay with you for so long.” She hadn’t forgotten the scowl and already surmised what it would be about.
The admonishment only pleased him, as Dorian could be quite the unruly child even at his age. He indicated a chair and let her settle into it however she so chose, an implication that she was fully capable of it despite certain stricter manner sets that might suggest he hold a chair or take her hand. Fortunately the sheer amount of skirts women used to sport seemed to be going down as of late. Dorian had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, at least one didn’t need to haul women and their boatload of clothing from one seat to another; and on the other hand, females were less of a treasure hunt without a map these days.
“They are amusing, in their way,” Dorian said, grinning fully at the idea of Mina Harker tutting at the obscure and sullen Miss Violet. Dorian couldn’t understand half the things the girl said and he increasingly thought of her as a social project, like adopting a sodden chicken out of the gutter. “Though it is beginning to tire me. I imagined they would have worked out this foolish nonsense about some house in the first fortnight.” He was exaggerating, of course, but he did that regularly. He sat brooding about it as the tea tray was brought in and set on the sideboard.
She remained tight lipped about the slip in etiquette, just the slightest hint of exasperation but no more, for when it came down to it she expected no less. At least he offered her the seat and she into it easily, it without further complaint. It was, after all, an offer she could accept without issue, unlike the tea that was being brought out. She watched quietly as it was set, waiting patiently until they were alone once more before she could try and talk candidly.
“Yes, she mentioned that. Though what foolishness? She’s...” Mina pursed her lips together a moment, trying to find the most proper way of describing Violet’s... condition. “She’s a spirit, Dorian. I saw it. Heard it, or rather, I heard her lack of... heart. I can’t quite say I would readily believe her claims about such a house but surely equally strange things do exist.” Like the woman sitting in the parlor.
Dorian picked up a really spectacular bit of cake from the tray and popped it into his mouth, ignoring the more urbane cucumber sandwiches and the proper notion that he should pour first. He knew Mina would only decline again and Dorian only played at the gentleman when it suited him. He picked up the pot, but only to pour some tea into the ready milk before picking up the cloudy drink and swirling it gently around with a careful silver spoon.
He said, “Surely. But if they belong there, it is only a matter of time before they return. I thought the boy might have some promise, but he has done nothing but sulk in the entirety of his presence here, and though sulking may be attractive for a proper week or so, it does become tiresome eventually.”
It was strange to watch him eat, or rather anyone eat, these days. Before she might have entertained envious little thoughts, the dessert looking particularly sumptuous, the divine smelling tea reminding her of how soothing it once was. But knowing that it would never satisfy no matter what she ate or drank, she felt nothing, and quietly watched him with only mild interest.
“Only you would think sulking is becoming, even for a week,” she chided, though there was some amusement tugging at her lips. “Are you going to miss them? If, or when, they do return to their terrible home?” She firmly expected a no on the matter, but she also hadn’t expected him to let them reside here in the first place. “Living alone can also become tiresome eventually.”
Dorian surveyed Mina over the rim of is china cup. The fingers holding it aloft were as delicate as the painted white surface, bones glassy and long, fingers tapered as the carefully painted leaves on the false china flowers. “I am accustomed to it. When one is as long-lived as we, Mina, everyone else falls aside like so many wilting flowers, eventually. Even ghosts. Those two have no sun and no moon but each other, and such people are tiresome before they are led eventually to ruin by their own short-sighted misery.” Dorian’s bitterness was a casual thing, sheathed always in silk and veiled by his ethereal beauty, but it was always there, and such old friends as Mina Harker were no doubt reminded of that on a regular basis. Dorian broke the long gaze, tossing the youthful fold of his hair aside and folding his long legs out in front of him so they settled in a languid sprawl of carefully tailored limbs. “I noticed that your moon has recently returned to the sky,” he said, arching a brow.
Though not wrong, his words were a fairly brutal way of looking at their lives among mortals and her lips thinned into a serious line as her gaze flickered away. The solemn expression melted into one of quiet confusion as his words continued, turning her face back to him with a furrowed brow. “My moon?” She thought back to his analogy and the way that Violet always spoke of her and that Tate fellow. She shook her head, dark tendrils of hair spilling back over her shoulder, as she tried to push away the memories of her late husband that returned unbidden with his words. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
He was watching her with eyes of amber glass, shining, hooded, intent. “The Transylvanian count was scrawling on paper not a month ago, Mina.”
Silence ticked for a few long moments as Mina returned his gaze with the flattest stare she could muster. “You’re joking.” She pulled her shoulders back to survey him properly, searching for a hint of a smirk or a smile to prove that her assessment was right. “Or you’ve been talking to the young Violet too much. She had similar notions that I had to correct her on.” Suddenly she wished she had accepted the tea. Even if it did nothing for her, she had something to distract her from this ridiculous ideas. “He’s a monster, Dorian. Why he’s here – how he’s here, I cannot fathom but if I could have nothing to do with him, I would be a much happier woman.”
Dorian regularly dropped stones into calm ponds just to see what happened, and he observed the ripples over her expression and only gave her the smallest, politest smile when she pinned him with a searching stare. He sipped at the rapidly cooling tea. “I think that’s rather unlikely. Aren’t you the only two running about?” He sincerely hoped that was the case. Dorian definitely didn’t give a damn about the rest of the world, but he wanted to avoid other immortals in most cases. Beautiful Mina was an exception, because she was always enchanting. She tended to wreak unintended damage around her, and Dorian sometimes kept his days passing by watching such things.
Now it was she who was rooted to her spot, the slight shifting barely noticeable except for the simple fact that he was looking at her. “I don’t…” The notion of other vampires had crossed her mind in coming to terms with her… condition. But then it was only her, the source of her curse long since destroyed along with his brides, and never had she come across mentions of others in civilized cities. Perhaps if she had been more diligent in looking… She gave him a tight shake of her head. “No. There couldn’t be others. Else he would be seeking them out instead.” Though that sort of logic didn’t hold much weight when he shouldn’t be alive in the first place.
“Besides, he and I aren’t the only sort of immortals out there. You are proof of that. Perhaps we should be wondering if there’s another like you tucked away somewhere.” Though she tried to hold a straight face, it was impossible to keep the teasing tone from her voice or the way the corners of her mouth lifted. For as much as she didn’t wish to inflate his ego, she couldn’t deny that she doubted there was anyone else like Dorian.
For once, Dorian did not smile. He angelic features never aged, never held a crease, but the dark eyes would always be a perfect window into the absent soul. He brought the tea cup away from his lips and set it with a finishing force down on the tray. He didn’t come close to cracking the china, but Dorian’s delicacy was always so carefully polished that even a hint of something stronger was rare enough. “No. My maker, if you wish to call him that, is dead. Very much dead, and his... unique accomplishments dead also. There is not another like me, though I would be surprised if there are not one or two others who have found a way around death. I heard rumor of a doctor capable of renewing life in a corpse once.” He gave her a humorless smile, as beautiful as it was lifeless. “Be careful who you leave behind, hm?”
How the warmth evaporated from her expression, a slow but steady cooling of her smile, a tightening there around her eyes. She had long since stopped pretending she was still wholly human around Dorian, but to be reminded of her true nature so blatantly... “Well,” she breathed with a sigh of finality after holding his stare for a long moment.”I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have so many other engagements.” She rose a little too quickly, another reminder of her inhumanity, and her pride bruised just a bit more as she tried to hide the slip with a smoothing down of her dress. When she looked up at Dorian again she paused, letting her tension seep away before she left in the heat of anger. She couldn’t begrudge him too much. He was, of course, only reminding her of the simple dark truth of her life. “Do take care?” she offered him with a more familiar smile, earnest in her farewell and her plea as she slipped past him. There were such terrible things out there to tread carefully around. Besides themselves, of course.
Dorian rose when she did, but the movement was belated, too slow and languid to be properly gentlemanlike. He put the set of his right knuckles behind a hip and stood there for a moment in repose, watching her face. Then he smiled, a beautiful smile, small and ethereal, with all the glow of magnanimous appreciation. It didn’t need to be earnest, because he could trust his beauty to blind. Such was Dorian’s nature. He moved forward then, in a wide berth, and he held the door for her so she could exit into the care of the butler, who would escort her to Dorian Gray’s front door and out into the bustling world beyond. “Delightful to see you, my dear. Happy hunting.”