Will Laurence (gentlemanly) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-08-29 10:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, temeraire: william laurence, ₴ inactive: dorian pavus |
Who: Laurence and Dorian
What: Dorian takes Laurence to the Dragon Preserve, and it's not what Laurence expected
When: Thursday, August 26th
Where: Morningside Manor -> The Dragon Preserve
Status: Complete
It was, frankly, astounding how quickly human beings could adjust to the most absurd of situations. Laurence had first discovered this ability to adjust when he became Temeraire’s Captain. It was likely obvious to many that he had not been born to life in service of the Aerial Corps, but he thought he’d made a good show of it, right up until his act of treason and subsequent exile from Britain. He’d even somehow to make a life for himself and Temeraire in New South Wales, despite the country’s tenuous grasp on ‘manners’ and ‘law and order.’
Vallo was likely the biggest adjustment to be made so far, but Laurence thought he was likely up to the task, so long as he could find Temeraire. He’d discovered the use of showers relatively quickly, and he was now talking nearly scalding showers in the mornings and the evenings for the simple pleasure of it. Shampoo and conditioner were new, but he enjoyed the subtle fragrances and they were worlds above the lye soaps he’d used before. Electricity was marvelous, and he’d stayed up well past sunset writing correspondences to Jane and Granby and Tharkay, though he suspected that these he would never send. Even if he had the opportunity, the contents of them were too strange to pass on without his friends thinking him mad.
The prices of goods and services were more than he could fathom. He’d purchased a suit as soon as he’d been able, and had nearly challenged the tailor to a duel for the price he’d tried to charge. The tailor had, in the end, offered Laurence a discount - just once as a sort of balm for the new arrival, so long as Laurence promised to return once he had settled in and could afford a full-priced suit - and Laurence had realized that the $1000 he’d been given upon his arrival wasn’t as astronomical a sum as he’d first assumed it was. A fact that was driven further home shortly thereafter, when the coffee he’d ordered, expecting it to cost pennies, had, instead, cost over $5. It was, Laurence had to admit, the best coffee he’d ever had the pleasure of drinking, but the price had nearly made him choke.
Despite being told that Temeraire wasn’t at the Preserve, Laurence hoped that he’d at least be able to hear some news of his dragon once he was there, and was trying not to think too hard about the possibility of Temeraire not being on Vallo at all. He waited for Dorian at the front doors of Morningside Manor, wearing a suit closer to the local style than that which he was used to (the fabric was remarkably soft and pleasant against his skin), though he’d opted for a bottle-green neckcloth (nearly the same shade as his old aviator’s jacket) instead of the neckties he’d seen many others wearing. His hair was tied back in a short queue, behaving more for him now than it ever had in his life.
He checked his new wristwatch - what convenience! - and wondered if they’d manage to reach the Preserve before nightfall. He hadn’t yet attempted to ride in one of the horseless carriages (cars, as it turned out), and he wasn’t entirely sure just how quickly they could travel.
Being that he’d moved into the city recently (he and Marina still made excellent penthousemates - she was as cold as the coast of the Sundered Sea with most everyone else, but he saw those glimmers of true warmth and caring), that meant Dorian was rather close to Morningside Manor. He’d never actually lived in the building before, having taken up residence in Skyhold as soon as he’d arrived, but from what he understood it was quite nice. The goal was to meet up with Laurence there and then be the bearer of bad news regarding his dragon - it was but a mere blip wherein Temeraire had spread those wings in these lands, and Dorian barely recalled it. He may not have even been here when that did occur (there were apparently other versions of him here at one point too which - no) but, either way, he was certain that at some point Laurence would be reunited with his dragon friend. It simply took time, and one had to succumb to Vallo’s whims rather than force anything.
Wearing a smart-but-snappy outfit appropriate for summer (a crisp shirt, brightly colored, and equally crisp slacks that were perfectly pressed) he approached the front doors of Morningside. “Hello there,” he greeted, chipper and friendly. It had been awhile since he’d met someone new - he yearned for something exciting to happen that didn’t involve passing out unconscious due to his magic and very identity being stripped from him. Honestly, Vallo. “Laurence, I presume? It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
There was a time, years ago when he’d first joined the Aerial Corp, that Laurence may have been taken aback by the simple use of his family name with no title attached, but those days were long past, and when the man Laurence assumed was Dorian addressed him, he sized him up - he hadn’t known quite what to expect from a man who confessed to dabble in necromancy, and claimed to embody ‘chic goth skull,’ whatever that meant, but he was pleasantly surprised.
“And you must be Mr. Parvus,” Laurence said with a warm smile, offering a hand for a handshake. “The feeling is quite mutual. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you’d offer to help me. I’ve been doing my best to learn the intricacies of Vallo, but I’m afraid I’m still woefully out of my depth.”
“Yes - Dorian, please,” he insisted with affectionate grandess, clasping Laurence’s hand in a warm shake. “Mister Pavus was my father and he was a right dick, sorry to say.” Actually, that was Magister Halward Pavus - but also yes, quite the asshole up until the very end and his life was snuffed out like the smoldering wick of a candle. And thus left Dorian with many complicated feelings about the man who had contributed to his creation - but that was a story for another time and let’s not get into his daddy issues or any of his other potential issues so soon, shall we?
As for learning the intricacies of Vallo, yes, it could be a lot. Dorian was happy to help - it had been him, once upon a time, who was freshly arrived and utterly baffled by the architecture, the technology, the sheer Vallo-ness of the island. “It takes time for anyone to learn how the world works here, whether or not they’re catapulted into what could be considered the future like the both of us - but I will gladly answer any questions and try to fill in some missing info. Now - “
He stroked that glorious mustache, thoughtfully. “Have you attempted to travel via waypoint yet and if not - how do you feel about a magical crystal that enables you to travel quickly from one location to another?” They could use something else - take a car to the edge of the forest, or even a little bit within where the roads were twisting and winding, but Dorian wasn’t exactly wearing the right shoes for a mountain trek, so - he’d see if he had to change.
"Very well, Dorian then," Laurence said, taken aback. He'd never heard anyone speak of their parents so, and he'd known several with difficult families. His own father, the Earl of Allendale, was a hard man who had never quite forgiven Laurence for joining the Navy when he was twelve instead of going into the church, had disowned Laurence in all but name - because of the scandal it would cause, of course - when he'd entered the Aerial Corp, and though he'd not seen nor correspond with Laurence since his act of treason, Laurence was painfully aware that he was his father's greatest shame. But all of that had been his own doing, and he'd never think ill of his father for their differing sense of duty.
"Only the once, when I'd first arrived," Laurence answered. "Though I don't recall much," any, "of the process. It was quite a lot to take in all at once, though I think I'd be willing to try again."
“Wonderful. Shall we, then? I believe one of the few waypoints that lead to the forest is in the lobby here,” Dorian motioned behind Laurence, to the entrance of Morningside. “There’s a directory, if you haven’t gotten one, that you can pick up from the DOA - but to keep it simple, you declare which waypoint you want to end up at and make a few stops along the way, ultimately ending up at your destination. We’ll put in the waypoint that is at the dragon reserve.”
He was also quite certain that the lobby waypoint led to the Crossed Quills in the forest, but as stated, they could make jumps - eventually they’d get to where they were going, and that would be that. Much quicker than a day-long journey up a mountain. And less dealing with finicky weather.
Holding the door open for his companion, he headed for the large glowing crystal - it was about as tall as a person, provided that person was of average height. Dorian himself was a little taller - according to most measurement systems, he was about at the six feet mark. “You simply touch it and are pulled in - I realize how terrible that sounds, but I won’t apologize,” he added, with teasing amusement.
Laurence himself was tall for his time, and broad, though still an inch or two shorter than Dorian was. He nodded his thanks as he passed through the door, and then listened to Dorian's explanation with rapt attention. He didn't immediately understand what was so terrible about what Dorian had said, and then, quite suddenly and with a weak "Oh," he did, and he felt himself colour.
He cleared his throat, trying to cover his embarrassment, and said, "You'd best go first. I'll copy what you do."
Fair enough. Once he was certain they’d arrive at their intended destination, Dorian reached for the crystal with a, “see you on the other side” and laid his hand upon the insta-teleportation device. His own magic wasn’t particularly suited for teleporting, though he knew it was something others could do - Gilmore, for example, and Dorian had ridden along on a couple instances. The sensation of traveling via waypoint was similar to teleporting - a tingle and a bit of a zing, a little electric too. A few moments later there they were, no longer contained within the lobby of Morningside Manor - instead it was all fresh air and mountain peaks that resembled a serrated carving knife dipping into the blue of the sky.
“Here we are,” he paused outside the entrance to the reserve, checking for Laurence. “How are you feeling?”
Laurence took a step backward from the Waypoint, hand to his stomach. He didn’t feel queasy, but the jolt he’d felt course through his body was still unfamiliar. “A little queer,” he admitted. “Nothing to be concerned over, however.” He was already, he thought, nearly back to normal. He adjusted his cuffs and checked his neckcloth, and was pleased to note that neither had shifted much during the transport.
He looked at the mountains, and then scanned the horizon until he spotted the still awe-inspiring, towering buildings of Vallo City in the distance. “This is truly spectacular,” he said. “How does it work, I wonder.” It wasn’t more than rhetorical - he suspected Dorian could no better explain how the Waypoints worked than Laurence could explain how fireworks worked.
He turned toward the reserve, and felt a tightening in his stomach, and tried to manage his expectations to a more realistic level. He knew that Temeraire wouldn’t be within, and he knew not to expect the dragons to speak English. He worried that his Durzagh would be incomprehensible to them, or that they didn’t speak a language related to Durzagh at all. Or, worse, that the dragons wouldn’t have heard of Temeraire at all. Better to expect that and have his expectations met, he supposed, than to hope for Temeraire to be there and have those hopes dashed.
“Have you much experience with dragons, Dorian?” he asked as he stepped toward the reserve, hoping to sooth his nerves with conversation.
Dorian’s smirk clearly meant that he was about to make some smart-assed comment, as he was prone to do. “It’s alright, darling, I feel more than a little queer everyday.” Oh, indeed, there it was - it was a good thing, he promised. When he was dour and dreary as a rainstorm, that’s when you really had to worry.
“But yes, I’m quite familiar with dragons - they were once revered in my home country, the Tevinter Imperium, and even to this day many dragon cults exist,” he said as they made their way past the entrance - he knew where the office space was, so he thought he might take Laurence in that direction; books and parchments in there, mostly, but past a short path leading up - that was where he remembered the Vipertooth dragon was living. “There was even a Draconologist called Sir Frederic, whose works we collected when I was with the Inquisition - I had given some books to Charlie, the fellow whose reserve this is, to borrow in exchange for him letting me take a sample of dragon’s blood. In my world, their blood is quite powerful - it can even cure diseases.” That had been his main project for awhile here - he was still working on it, on and off, but sometimes things were just ridiculous and his attention shifted elsewhere. Alas.
Laurence tilted his head a little at Dorian’s queer comment. He suspected it must have had some deeper meaning than ‘odd’ or ‘strange,’ but what that meaning was, Laurence couldn’t begin to guess. Laurence hadn’t ever put too much thought into how languages evolved before now; it would be something to muse on later, perhaps.
“That is fascinating,” Laurence said. He wasn’t sure how he felt about ‘dragon cults,’ but it wasn’t impossible to imagine. Dragons were powerful enough that he was almost a surprise he’d never come across any prior to this. “If their blood can cure disease, I imagine they must be highly valued members of society.” That, or they’d been hunted mercilessly - the British Government already had very little regard for dragon life and seemed eager to slaughter them at the slightest whim, and the blood of the dragons back home wasn’t a curative - but he didn’t wish the follow that line of thinking too far. “He doesn’t go by the title of Draconologist, but I have a dragon scholar back home as well. Sir Edward Howe; he helped identify Temeraire’s breed for us after he’d hatched. Are there any dragons from your world here?”
“Sadly, no,” Dorian shook his head. “It - wouldn’t exactly be the best thing, if one showed up here. They’re beautiful but dangerous and high dragons, the fully grown females and the rarest breeds - it’s not uncommon for them to raze a whole village in one breath. They’re also extremely territorial. I don’t believe they’d take to a protective reserve very well.” No, they were meant to fly far and free, to mate and sleep atop their hoards and consume prey brought to them by their drakes. For the dragons that remained in Thedas, anyway.
He decided not to go into the dragon debacle in ancient Vallo - that particular dragon had been dangerous as well, and caused a lot of damage and a lot of injuries before it was killed (which took a group effort). Dorian knew it had depressed the dragon lovers of their Outlander crew, however. Bringing the mood down right now wasn’t his goal.
Nutmeg was the Vipertooth dragon here at the reserve - not as friendly as Norberta, who...well, still wasn’t friendly per se but she’d allowed Charlie to take blood from her without scorching his face off. Dorian led the way to her space, where the small dragon rested - she had ridges on her back, and sort of a brown undertone to her scales. Resembled a lizard, just a larger one. “This one’s Norberta,” he said. “The other one a few spaces down is Nutmeg. I’m not certain if they’ve seen your dragon but I suppose it’s worth an ask. How did you end up with Temeraire anyway?”
Laurence started at the mention of dragons razing a village in one breath. He imagined that Iskierka would undoubtedly like nothing more than to raze a French village once in a while, though Granby would undoubtedly keep her in check, and really, it was only because they were at war with the French. He imagined there must have been some sort of provocation for it to happen on a regular basis. Then again, he thought wryly, if more dragons were like Iskierka, provocation could be as little as someone insulting Granby’s appearance.
Laurence stared at the dragons, a little surprised. They looked very little like the European or Chinese breeds that he was familiar with. Lightweights, certainly, though he’d never seen a dragon that lacked its forelegs before. Norina showed very little curiosity toward them - which was strange but not unheard of, as there were plenty of dragons in his own world who paid little attention to humans that weren’t their captain and crew - and so Laurence thought it would not be rude to tell Dorian the story before he attempted to converse with her.
“It was in the early days of the war,” Laurence started, and then grimaced, realizing belatedly that ‘the war’ likely didn’t mean much to anyone not from his world, or even from his time, other wars becoming ‘the war’ of their time. “The war against France, I mean. The tyrant, Napoleon Bonaparte, styled himself Emperor and took to invading the rest of the continent. I was a captain in the Navy at the time, and we’d come across a French frigate we’d meant to take as a prize. After a short battle - though hard fought on part of the French sailors, who were really in no condition to have fought as hard as they did - we discovered a dragon egg in the hold, and determined that it was set to hatch long before we would make landfall to deliver it to the Aerial Corp.
“None of us, I think, thought the Aerial Corp was an especially appealing post. By necessity, the soldiers in the Aeria Corp have give up general society. Its not like captaining a ship, where you can leave your ship when you make landfall or during peacetimes. And so we - my men and I - drew lots on who was to harness the dragon once it hatched. I did not draw the short straw, and yet, when Temeraire hatched, he would have nothing to do with the man who had drawn the lot. Instead, he approached me, and asked ‘Why are you frowning?’,” the memory made Laurence smile. “And from there, my duty was clear. I suppose you could say that Temeraire chose me to be his captain, more than anything.”
Dorian tipped his head to the side a bit, a little smile forming there on his face - the mustache twitch was evident, and there was a twinkle in gray eyes, the icy gleam of a hoard of diamonds. “That’s quite the story - very sweet,” he stated. “There must be something about you. So you speak to him, then?”
That was interesting too - in Thedas, dragons didn’t really speak. The Old Gods and Archdemons seemed to have a way to communicate telepathically, but otherwise - there wasn’t much of that going on. Or perhaps it was similar to the Mabari hounds, in a sense - they were smart enough not to speak even if they could.
“Can you speak to these particular dragons as well?” Lots of questions. But what could he say, he enjoyed learning a thing or two about new endeavors.
Laurence blinked in surprise at the question. “Well yes, I would hope so. I think it would be cruel for a captain to never speak to their dragon.” Even Rankin, cur that he was, had spoken to Levitas, even if he’d never had a kind word to say to the poor dear.
He glanced at the dragons, frowning a little. “Well, I’m hoping I can. I’ve been told they don’t speak English,” and he assumed they likewise didn’t speak French or Chinese, which Laurence could hold a conversation, though poorly, in, or Prussian or Tswanian, which were languages Laurence could, sometimes, make himself understood in if he was pressed, or any other human language.
But Temeraire had attempted to teach Laurence Durzagh once he’d learned it - in that way where he evidently assumed that Laurence had the same sort of talent for languages that Temeraire had - and Tharkay had taken pity on him and had taught him a couple key phrases, showing him how to make the clicks and whistles that he could substitute for the sounds only a dragon’s throat could make.
“I will certainly make the attempt,” Laurence said in response to Dorian’s second question.
He approached the dragon, who eyed him warily, and he made a low bow at the waste. “Norberta, I Laurence of Temeraire,” Laurence said in the guttural language of the feral dragons, well aware that he was butchering the grammar and pronunciation. “You see him?”
He’d evidently butchered the language more than he’d expected, because she was beginning to let out a low growl. “No harm,” Laurence tried, raising his hands, quickly, to show he meant no harm, but she evidently took the gesture as a threat, for she lunged at him. Laurence dropped to his stomach, her jaw closing on the empty air where his hands had just been, and then he rolled out of the way as she struck again.
He sprang to his feet and backed the rest of the distance toward Dorian, which evidently satisfied her because she calmed down even if she didn’t take her eyes from him.
Laurence, for his part, didn’t take her eyes from her either, even as he addressed Dorian. “Is there something wrong with her?” he asked, breathing hard. Volley was simple, as far as dragons went, but he’d never seen something like this.
Ooh - alright then. Dorian didn’t want to interfere, necessarily - he knew this was important to Laurence. Though he also didn’t want the good captain to lose a limb or something - thus, he stepped in right as Laurence stepped back, gently tugging the other man further away from Norberta’s enclosure. She ought to stay in there and the humans could just stay out here - that seemed to be best all around.
“From what I understand, all dragons from Charlie’s world are quite...aggressive?” he replied carefully. “They can’t be domesticated, necessarily. He said Norberta took to him a little better because he raised her - she was young when she ended up at the reserve. But otherwise - well, I wouldn’t try Nutmeg.”
That would lead to disaster and most certainly bloodshed - a rather bad way to kick off Laurence’s time in Vallo. “Hearing you speak to her was quite impressive though,” he admitted. “If you’d like to read up on dragons native to the reserve’s world, I believe there may be books in the office?”
“Aggressive is one thing,” Laurence said. Iskierka could be considered aggressive, he thought. She was certainly vainglorious and quick to quarrel with anyone who would quarrel back. He’d even teased Temeraire about a certain bloodthirstiness. He’d known aggressive men, who would come to blows over any silly slight, especially in New South Wales, where men were prone to look for distractions in the bottom of bottles. “That was the behaviour of some sort of wild beast.”
Norberta looked downright offended - or perhaps she just always looked that way, who knew. Resting Angry Dragon Face. Either way, Dorian wouldn’t push it. “When I first got here, I was utterly baffled by the differences in magic. It’s - astounding, really,” he said. “I was born to be a mage, my mother and father entered into an arranged marriage because bloodlines - they couldn’t stand each other, but anyway. And all I knew was how magic worked in Thedas, and I was good at it, one of the best - then I got here and it was like all of that got caught in a storm and was flung off into the cosmos.”
There were multiple Necromancers. Necromancy meant different things in Vallo - and in other worlds. He’d spent a lot of time with the Beketh coven, learning their ways - and sometimes he felt as if he was starting from scratch again. It often felt impossible to find one’s footing.
“Point is, this is a place where - you get to encounter others you would never have met before. You learn about their worlds, their customs, in some cases their magic. It’s educational, if nothing else.”
Laurence’s shoulders, which had been tense, drooped, and he realized, ashamed, that he had been hoping that Dorian would say something that Laurence could use to quarrel. But no, everything Dorian had just said was frustratingly reasonable, even if it didn’t quite seem applicable.
“This isn’t a difference in magic,” Laurence said, turning away from Noberta. “Back home, dragons aren’t… they’re…” He ran a hand down his face. “They’re thinking creatures, like you, or I. They have their own lives, and their own customs, and they love and feel as deeply - perhaps more deeply - than any man. Temeraire is cleverer by half than anyone I’ve ever met, and he has friends with whom he’ll debate mathematics or read poetry, nearly all of which sails right past me. He has me read books on mathematics or philosophy to him, and I often find myself in the awkward position of needing him to explain to me what I’m reading. And dragons in Europe are treated as second-class citizens, as less than. Many people do think of them as wild beasts, despite the fact that they’re the furthest thing from.
“This…” he gestured vaguely toward the enclosures. “This is a -” he bit off the word mockery; he would not let his horror make a heel of him. “If you can imagine if these were men, not dragons, perhaps my feelings would be more easily understood.”
“I understand your feelings, truly,” Dorian assured. “The differences in magic between worlds is a comparison - for some, it’s a way of life just as dragons are a way of life for you, and being flung into a place that offsets everything, no matter what you know, is very jarring. In Charlie’s world, there’s no speaking with dragons as if they’re men and that’s simply the way it is. It must be a horrible shock, yes. I don’t think you ought to accept it right away, but...”
He trailed off, with a glance back toward Norberta - she slunk off, and Dorian took a breath of fresh air. It was tinged with a bit of smoke perhaps - an earthiness, that really spoke to what this reserve was. And he was glad it was here - these dragons deserved that much. They were beautiful creatures, if in a different sort of way than one might be accustomed to. “Perhaps in time, you will. Because Charlie loved dragons about as much as you do and that’s one thing you’ve got in common. You’d have liked him, I’m certain of it.”
A number of uncharitable thoughts swirled in Laurence's head: that the difference I magic seemed no more than a difference in technology, which Laurence was able to accept quite willingly, instead of this, which made Laurence feel quite queasy; that Charlie may have loved dragons, but if this is what dragons were, then he'd have loved them as a breeder might love a prized bitch instead of how Laurence loved them, which was as friends and compatriots. He swallowed his words though, and thought he recognized for what they were: a product of stress and uncertainty, of the growing realization that his life may have been tossed topsy-turvy once again, but this time, he had no Temeraire to act as a storm anchor to keep him steady. For if Temeraire had come here to wait for Laurence to find him, he would have left just as, if not more, disturbed as Laurence himself. And if no one had seen wing or tail of the 20-ton dragon that had no conniptions of having his presence known, then the simple fact of the matter was this: Temeraire had not arrived when Laurence did.
He wondered with a sick feeling what Temeraire was doing, alone, in New South Wales now. Had he flown recklessly into the interior searching for Laurence, as he had when the egg had been stolen? If he had, could he navigate his way out again, or would he die there of dehydration?
"I think I'd like to return," home "to Morningside Manor," Laurence said at length, once he was certain he wouldn't have a regrettable outburst. He recalled that Dorian had mentioned books on these beasts, and maybe Laurence should have taken them if for no other reason than Temeraire would have been curious if he did appear like so many claimed he would, but Laurence didn't think he could bring himself to so much as look at them. "I thank you for bringing me out here, and for helping me navigate the Waypoints; I'd have been quite lost without you."
Dorian felt more than a twinge of sympathy - he wasn’t coldhearted, not in the slightest. Far from it, in fact. Most likely those in power, in Tevinter, would say that he was too soft, too compassionate - and that sort of thing would get you killed in the Imperium. A knife in your back whilst taking in a jaunty little theater performance, or a poisoned goblet of wine - it varied, with the assassination attempts.
But he’d never been able to squelch that sort of thing, despite having it hammered into his head that he needed to. “Of course,” he nodded. There was no telling Laurence he was wrong (he wasn’t, really, he was just shell-shocked) or telling him he needed to buck up and accept the reality of the situation - people came around on their own terms, on their own time. You couldn’t push someone like Dorian into anything either - but now that his newfound friend had the shock of cold water that was the Vallo experience, he would simply have to let it settle.
He began walking back toward the waypoint. “Perhaps, whenever you’re ready - I could show you one or two of my favorite places to grab a drink around here? It doesn’t make anything all that much better, but it takes the edge off sometimes.” And he’d bring some books then too - if Laurence wasn’t in the right frame of mind to immerse himself in them now, later he very well may be.
"I would like that very much," Laurence said, offering Dorian a wan smile, and feeling some amount of relief that he hadn't been so ungracious as to have driven off the first person who'd shown him kindness here. "I'm afraid I'd be rather poor company at the moment, but I will let you know when I can make a better show of it."
“Perfect,” Dorian returned the smile, though with him it was a bit more encouraging. It would be alright, Laurence, of that he was sure of. Vallo was full of opportunities and wisdom and new delights around every corner (iced coffee and bagels, for example) - but beginning to build a life here, brick by brick and piece by piece, often meant that you opened yourself up to heartbreak as well (oh, and Dorian had experienced plenty of that).
Such things were to be expected, however - people, they seemed like they wanted to take advantage of the time they had here while they were able to grasp onto it like the lifeline rope that it was. They endured and persevered and it was inspiring to see, it really was. “I’ll eagerly await word from you, then,” he said, and once they reached the waypoint he got ready to place his hand upon the crystal, so they’d be able to make their jumps back to Morningside.
In the meantime he’d return to the University and conduct his teachings, his research - because all of that were important parts of the life he’d built here too, and he intended to keep on with that as long as possible.