Will Laurence (gentlemanly) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-10-19 11:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, temeraire: william laurence, ₴ inactive: dorian pavus |
Who: Laurence and Dorian
What: Retail therapy, discussing children
When: This afternoon
Where: Rose Apothecary, mostly
Warnings: Not really. Daddy issues.
It had, officially, been the longest since Temeraire had been hatched that Laurence had ever spent apart from him. His time in the gaols had been long, but somehow the knowledge that he’d never see Temeraire again, and that the separation was the punishment he’d rightly deserved for knowingly choosing to commit treason against his country had made the experience a little more bearable. He’d expected to be hanged, but the separation and the imprisonment had been a worse punishment, and so he’d accepted it.
Laurence didn’t think he was being punished here. He didn’t think that God had decided that he’d committed some unspeakable sin and had separated him from Temeraire for that, and if he had it was a rather strange way of going about it. Vallo wasn’t much of a punishment at all, really. In fact, it was all the things that he’d regretted giving up when he’d gone into harness: endless social opportunities, days spent in pleasant conversation with others, plenty of entertainment. If it was a punishment, it was for thoughts he hadn’t had in five years: yes, you could have this life, but only if you give up what was most important to you.
Laurence would have never chose to give up Temeraire, not for anything. So no, Vallo wasn’t a punishment and Laurence refused to treat it like one.
Which meant he wouldn’t stew in his melancholy. No, if he was feeling bereft, then he’d do something to take his mind off it, and in lieu of concerts or plays, then there was shopping - something Laurence had not yet been able to do much of yet, as most of his funds had been needed for necessities - and Dorian seemed like a man who’d enjoy shopping as much, if not more, than Laurence.
Laurence had started early, going to the tailor he’d first visited upon his arrival - the one who’d given him a discount on suit Laurence had worn nearly every day since - and he’d bought a couple more casual outfits and had them fitted to him, and then had allowed the tailor to take his measurements so that he might make him a custom suit for formal engagements, which he’d pay for in full at a later date.
Properly clothed by the afternoon, and feeling quite sharp, he went to meet Dorian. He thought Dorian might know of the best shops, but Laurence had made a short list of some he meant to visit for some home decor and gifts.
He’d meant to arrive at the coffee shop earlier, but his fitting had taken a little longer than he had hoped and so he’d arrived just barely on time, a little off-kilter, but he smiled warmly when he saw Dorian and extended his hand so that he might give Dorian a friendly, two-handed handshake.
“Dorian, as always it’s a pleasure to see you. I hope you’ve not been waiting long.”
Upon arriving at the designated coffee shop, Dorian had just enough time to order a to-go cup of something delightful - a warm, sweet sort of flavor here with the spiced gingerbread ‘latte’ (one of the best discoveries of Vallo, in his opinion). It was quite savory but had a lot of good zest to it - nothing as terrifying as black coffee, because he needed something in it or else it felt like he was drinking the stuff you paved roads with.
“Not at all, my friend,” he greeted with as much spicy warmth as his drink contained, the handshake a fond clasp before letting go. Dorian was always game for shopping - today he had on a burgundy velvet blazer, a favorite of his, with pressed slacks, a black turtleneck sweater, and black leather boots that cost way more than he would ever have anticipated a pair of shoes costing; well worth it, however.
He was ready to go out and spend more money. Why not, right? Retail therapy truly was best for the doldrums. “Let’s avoid the latest oddity and find some fabulous new things, shall we? What are you hoping to pick up today?”
Dorian’s fashion sense was something to be admired, though Laurence didn’t think he could get away with the colours Dorian managed; Laurence rarely ventured further than navy blues, aviator greens, and blacks, unless one counted his neckcloths, which often offered a little more colour: today’s was a muted floral print.
“The children, do you mean?” Laurence asked. He’d ordered his coffee online in his mad dash here, and was rather pleased at the timing. They were only now placing it on the counter, still steaming, and Laurence took a moment to add half a creamer and half a packet of sugar before taking it. “How exceptionally peculiar it must be to wake up one morning to discover that not only do you have children, but that they’re nearly grown as well.”
No, Laurence was glad, quite glad indeed that the whole thing seemed to have passed him by.
“I was thinking I might like some things for my home. If I may be perfectly honest, it’s the first I’ve thought to decorate.”
A military life didn’t lead one to having a stable living space. He’d had a room in his father’s house at Wollaton Hall, up until his father had forbade him from returning when he’d joined the Aerial Corps, but even with the room he’d mostly rented out temporary apartments in London during his shoreleave, and so he’d tried to never own more than that which could fit in his sea chest. After joining the Aerial Corps, he’d been given a room at whichever covert he and Temeraire were berthed at, but that changed often and so he’d owned even less.
He’d thought that he might put more time and care into his farm in New South Wales, but he’d been whisked away to Vallo before it had ever reached a stage where it would be prudent to buy frivolous things like decor.
“I’ve a list of shops here that I’d looked up on the internet,” he said, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “And of course if there’s any favourites you’d like to visit today, then you need only say so.”
Dorian wrinkled that (perfect, if he did say so himself) aquiline nose. “Yes, the children,” he confirmed. “I don’t think I’d make much of a father - I am a fantastic uncle, however.” He seemed like he’d adore helping Shaun with his daughter Via, teaching her all about proper skincare and fashion - but giving her back at the end of the day was ideal, and while he would change a diaper to assist one of his very dear friends, he hoped it didn’t happen more than a single solitary instance.
Maker, the smell. It must be ghastly.
“Look at you, all internet-savvy,” he praised, sipping his coffee. “I could always do with home decor so those shops will suit me just fine. I’ll see if I notice anything Marina will let me get away with at the penthouse.” It seemed like a fun, stealthy sort of mission.
"I've had plenty of children under my command," Laurence said, though once they joined the Navy, it was best to stop thinking of them as such. They joined the aviators at an even younger age - around seven, as opposed to the Navy's twelve - but thinking of them as adults proper wasn't something Laurence had ever been especially skilled at. He'd always done his best to encourage and help their schooling, and to keep them from the thickest parts of battle, and when they fell, as they so often did, it always hit harder than when someone with more years under them did. "But I think I make a better commanding officer than I would a father. I suppose at some point I'll have to produce a child for Temeraire though. It's the custom in the Aviator Corps, since dragons are much longer lived than us."
It was odd to think how much things had changed since Laurence had joined the Aviators. He'd always thought that he'd have at least one or two children with Edith, and she'd raise them while he was at sea and he'd do his part while he was on shore leave. He found he didn't regret the loss of that future as much as he'd expected to.
Laurence smiled, replacing the lid on his coffee, dipping his head in an unspoken invitation to follow as he headed toward the door. "It would be a waste to not learn how to properly utilize it," he said, in regards to the internet. "I've never known anything more convenient in my life. And I'm sure Marina couldn't fault you a flourish or two. Has she done all the decorating then?"
Wait, what. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but - how do you mean produce a child for Temeraire? Would you mate with a dragon yourself?” Dorian inquired. Such a thing was unheard of in Thedas - drakes, the male dragons, were selected by the high dragons (fully grown females) and if chosen, they mated for life. But he supposed in other worlds it might be different - maybe human and dragon hybrids were possible.
Outside he went, into the crisp autumn air - the weather was getting cooler and he actually sort of enjoyed it; it was something of a cool balm, and leaves rustling in the wind was a pleasant sound. “But yes, Marina’s done all the decorating - it was her place before I moved in, I just took myself and Blackwall and a few things, not much.”
He also knew that he should perhaps offer to share custody of Blackwall with Atreus but honestly, their breakup was so sudden and painful for Dorian that he really didn’t have it in him to show compassion toward his former lover. Figuratively lighting fire to his self-esteem and having to build back from the ashes allowed him to hold onto some resentment, he thought.
Laurence had taken a rather ill-timed sip of his coffee, and Dorian's question sent him coughing, sputtering coffee. "Oh good Heavens no," Laurence said, equal parts horrified and amused. "No, my apologies for… No, I meant a human child, in the usual manner." Jane had said that she'd have offered, though the war kept her so busy, and he supposed now that she'd been promoted to Admiral it was out of the question for after the war too, even if he'd not betrayed her as he had. "So that my child might become Temeraire's captain once I pass on. It's easier for them - the dragons, I mean - to accept a new captain if it's the progeny of their first."
Laurence had originally assumed that Dorian and Marina were lovers. He hadn't imagined an unrelated man and woman living alone together without being so, but he wondered now if he hadn't been mistaken in his assumption. There was a lot to adjust to here in this world.
"Have you two lived together long?" he asked after a moment.
The usual manner. That made sense, then - bless you, Laurence, for referring to sex in such a fantastic manner. “Well, in that case - that way of producing an heir doesn’t sound as interesting as mating with a dragon but it’s effective,” Dorian responded cheerfully. “I was expected to produce an heir as well. But - it likely would not have happened.” Women were wonderful but sex with them really just was not his cup of tea.
He technically didn’t mind it so much with Atreus, who was gender fluid - but that was because Dorian loved the person. Or once did, anyway. Relations with someone he was forced to marry and didn’t actually care for was an utterly terrifying concept.
The first shop was right here and Dorian went inside, beginning to have a look around. It seemed to have a bit of everything, from jade figurines to lovely parasols and other knick knacks to kitchenware to skin cream in fruit-shaped containers. “Not very long - a few months?” he said, examining one of those glass figures. “My former lover ended things between us and I needed a place to go.” Since Atreus had offered to expand his house for him and Dorian to live together, then kicked Dorian out weeks later. And all of that associated turmoil.
“I think this is one of those cases where I’d prefer the tried and true method over the more exciting option,” Laurence said dryly, though there was some amusement in the curve of his lips. The most disturbing thing was that he imagined that there were likely people from worlds here where dragons and humans could mate, and that was a mental image he was likely to endure for some time now.
Laurence examined the jade figurines, smiling a little as he spotted one that looked a little like Temeraire, though without the Celestial’s wings. He’d never seen a dragon that looked quite like it, all serpentine but with legs and his dragon’s identifying ruff around its face. It looked like some sort of strange mix between a sea serpent in its body and a dragon in its face.
He couldn't help the sympathetic look he gave Dorian at the mention of heirs; he knew the topic seemed to be a sensitive one, though of course he could not ask Dorian for any details on a matter of such a personal nature. He had enough information from their previous discussion to think that he had the shape of it, in any case. “I’ve always been a little grateful that the duty of the family heirs fell to my brother. I think it was for the best all around, as he’s performed admirably. Three boys and two girls, last I heard from him.” Of course, Laurence hadn’t heard from any of his family since his conviction, so he’d not be surprised if he had more nephews and nieces he’d not heard of.
“I’m glad that you had such a friend whom you could turn to in such circumstances,” Laurence said. It seemed like the loss of the relationship still stung a little, but at least he’d not had to suffer through it alone.
He put down the figurine, deciding it was, maybe, a little too strange, like it was made by someone who’d only heard a description of a dragon - one that lacked wings altogether, for some reason - and had attempted to carve something from it. This was one of the most eclectic stores that he’d been in thus far in Vallo. “You don’t suppose this is actual cat hair?” he asked, holding up one of the scarves. He’d never heard of such a thing.
“Oh, it is,” Dorian chuckled - he couldn’t help but pick up one of the cat hair scarves too, because they were quite warm and soft. “Cats certainly shed enough to make scarves - or blankets or whatever else.” It was mind-boggling, honestly. Living with Marina’s two cats also meant that he’d seen more than his fair share of fluff on many of the surfaces - magic helped keep the place tidy but there was no spell that could counter an animal’s fur entirely.
He might actually purchase one, come to think of it. Perhaps matching ones for both he and Marina - a symbol of their friendship. She’d either hate it or pretend to hate it while secretly loving it, so he supposed he’d see.
“How do you like being an uncle then, Uncle Laurence?” he asked. “That’s - so many nieces and nephews but I’ve always wondered what it was like.”
Laurence stared at the cat-hair scarf for another moment. It was quite soft, though there was something about the idea that was inherently off-putting to him. One of those things that likely involved no logic whatsoever. “I’d ask how they managed to weave cat hair into a scarf, but as I don’t know how they weave wool or silk or any of the rest, I’m not sure why I should be so curious,” he said, with a vaguely amused smile, and he put the scarf down.
“Ah, I hardly know them,” Laurence said, a little distantly. He was examining some cutting boards now with a great deal of interest. “I’ve seen them on the holidays sometimes, if my shore leave permitted, and I’ve sometimes sent them candies or toys from my travels, but I’m sure if I were to meet them now, not a one would recognize me.” He frowned, turning a lovely maple chopping board over in his hands. It was stained in a checkered pattern, a lovely red, a pale blonde, and a darker brown. The price tag was a little steeper than he would have liked, but Laurence had recently discovered some small enjoyment in cooking. “My mother and I were close, before…” He trailed off, Dorian likely knew what the before was without Laurence needing mention it. “But my father and I never were, and I’m afraid that may have contributed to some distance between myself and my brothers.”
Dorian nodded sagely. “Understandable,” he replied, without his usual flair for dramatics - a rare bit of seriousness for him. “Family is complicated. I know that all too well. I wasn’t particularly close with my own father either, as I’ve mentioned. And yet despite that, I still...miss him, in a sense.”
As a Magister, within the Senate, Dorian had few allies - he was already painted with a mark on him thanks to his father and how Halward supported those calls for reform, the ones also supported by his son. And look where the Pavus patriarch had ended up, as in, rotting six feet below - it was part of the reason Dorian and Max had gone their separate ways.
In some ways, their union had been a good thing. It spoke of promise. For others, it was dangerous. One of Dorian's biggest fears had been the Magisterium going after his lover, taking him out, and he'd die for supporting Dorian's cause. Just like his father had.
But at any rate. “You should get that,” he encouraged, nodding to the cutting board. “It’s beautiful. And one day you may even invite me by for a dinner party, hm?” he teased, nudging Laurence gently.
Dorian had, in fact, described his father as a ‘dick’ when they’d first spoken of him, which was a more direct descriptor than Laurence was used to and had made a rather strong impression. He didn't think he'd describe his own father in the same way. He'd always been able to respect his father, and while he was a stern and distant parent, his honour was above reproach in both his private and public life. He had a set of convictions that he adhered to, and many of those convictions Laurence himself held; his father was a staunch believer in abolition and had dedicated his life to the cause, and Laurence could only admire him for it.
Laurence, on the other hand, had not been an ideal son, just as set in his own convictions that occasionally ran in opposition to his father's, such as when he'd joined the Navy instead of the Church, and then, later, the Aerial Corps. Last he'd heard, his father had fallen quite ill, and Laurence rather suspected that he was the cause.
He was relatively certain he'd never speak with Lord Allendale again, would never have a chance to explain himself, even if he hadn't been brought to an entirely different world. There was no way his father could ever be brought to understand or accept the treason of his youngest son. Laurence was still trying to reconcile himself to his own crime, and he had the benefit of knowing, in the very depths of his soul, that it had been just.
He reached out to give Dorian's shoulder a brief, comforting squeeze. "I do too, I think," Laurence said, though he wasn't sure if he missed his father so much as he regretted the shame he'd brought him.
But he'd not meant to dwell on any such things today, and Dorian's encouragement was the only push he needed to decide to get the chopping board. He smiled a little at the man's boldness. There'd been a time when he'd have been disturbed at such a blatant request for an invitation, but he found it refreshing now, especially as he considered Dorian one of his dearest friends here in Vallo.
"Mr. Scientia has been teaching me a little, though I'm not yet confident enough in my culinary abilities to inflict them on anyone else just yet," he said, with a bit of a smile. "Perhaps soon, though." There was still the matter of his apartment not being up to his standards for entertaining, but he didn’t think Dorian would mind overmuch.
"You mentioned that you were an uncle as well?" he asked.
“Oh - sort of, I suppose,” Dorian chuckled, cheeks flushing red. Being an uncle - if not by blood - was such an odd concept. But he knew right away that he’d do his best at the job - despite how the idea of staying in Vallo for an obscene amount of time made him a little depressed on the other hand.
He’d make the best of it, however. As he always did. “One of my dear friends has a daughter, apparently - both he and his partner adopted her, raised her as their own. I was pleased to know that the ‘me’ in the future is involved in her life. And Max and his husband have a son too.” Dorian had met the small orc child and he was quite precious.
“In a way, it’s nice to know that settling here isn’t...too ‘out there’ of a concept?” he mused. “That all of this work put in at starting over, building a life - it’s not all for nothing.” A philosophical moment, for a philosophical day...
But back to shopping, because he definitely picked out two of those cat hair scarves - creepy as they were (and he knew creepy, he was a necromancer), he remained fascinated by them.
So not the children of Dorian’s siblings then, which was of little surprise. Dorian had yet to mention having any siblings, so Laurence suspected if he had any, they were likely not here in Vallo or Dorian wasn’t especially close to them. “I’m sure they must both consider themselves lucky to have an uncle such as yourself in their lives,” Laurence said.
He looked over the rest of the shop, musing on the idea of settling here. His future, these last five years, had always had Temeraire in it. He was the one constant, the one thing he knew to plan around. Even here in Vallo, Laurence spent some time trying to find some likely spots with plenty of space for him and Temeraire to settle in, should the dragon ever appear; he thought somewhere seaside might be best, so Temeraire could supplement his diet with fishing. He wondered if he might not need to adjust his way of thinking once again, and start planning for the possibility that Temeraire may never appear.
“If you had the choice between settling here, or returning home, would you choose to settle here?” he asked, surprising even himself, and he was more than a little appalled at the personal nature of the question. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish, of course,” he added hastily, hoping to at least make up for some of his impertinence.
Oh, Laurence. Only he would think that to be too personal of a question - Dorian was charmed, truly. His friend was so proper - and reminded him of Cullen in a lot of ways, which wasn’t a bad thing at all (he also knew that Cullen, when he let his hair down, participated in many a fun game of Wicked Grace wherein he lost all his clothing).
“I don’t mind answering,” he chuckled warmly. “Though I’m actually...not certain? For awhile, I was content here. I was in love and everything seemed so...brilliant. It sparkled. Then that changed and I wanted to return home quite badly, because the pain was too much to bear some days. I felt low and down on myself.”
He had always considered himself disposable - deep down inside, the self-loathing remained there, firmly wedged. The fact that Max never cast him aside had baffled him; loving the Inquisitor had allowed Dorian to come to terms with who he was and to accept who he was. He reached a point where he didn’t bristle at the idea of becoming a Magister - he had come so far and though they had ended their relationship, ultimately Dorian had emerged a better person throughout the course of it all.
And then to have his fears re-confirmed, that he was disposable, shown to him when Atreus just cast him aside because he was bored, tired of being settled down - it sent him back to square one. That wasn’t a place Dorian wanted to be.
“Not to mention I have plenty of work waiting for me at home,” he added. “But - I suppose there’s something warm about Vallo in its own way. Ultimately, I think I’d like to stay. For as long as the place will have me.” His stormy gray eyes sparkled a bit. “...though if I do disappear, you’re welcome to anything I have. And make sure Blackwall ends up in a good home.”
There likely wasn’t much else in this particular shop that Laurence was in need of, and he gave up looking at the various creams and ointments. Such things in his world were created by charlatans, a way for someone to swindle someone out of their hard-earned money by claiming to bring about the impossible. Vallo was different enough that such things, maybe, were possible, but even if they were, he had little need for any sort of anti-aging cream.
Laurence didn’t think he’d ever been in love quite like that before. He’d been disappointed when things had ended with Edith, and with Jane, but there was, perhaps, some part of himself that had been reconciled to the idea that such an ending was inevitable.
“I’ve not much work at home myself, save trying to build the farm Temeraire and I started,” Laurence said. It had been good work and honest, and there’d been something quite rewarding in the idea of building and growing something, instead of the constant tearing down and killing that had shaped much of his life. But he was aware that it was a personal venture, and didn’t impact the greater world at all - he’d likely never fight in the war again, regulated to just hearing what news there was six months late, and while Macarthur kept trying to entice him to use Temeraire’s strength in support of his own rebellion in New South Wales, Laurence had little interest in ever letting himself be used for such political machinations again. “But I agree that there is a certain ineffable warmth here. For what it’s worth, Dorian, I’m glad that you’re here, too.”
Even as he looked askance at those cat-hair scarves. To each their own, he supposed, and he’d try not to judge too much, but he deeply hoped that one of those scarves wasn’t some ill-conceived gift meant for him. “I’ve little experience with dogs, but should you be sent home, I’ll be certain to make sure he’s cared for.”
Laurence needn’t worry - Dorian was a troll but not so much of a troll that he’d waste a perfectly good cat hair scarf on this particular venture. He smiled, a delighted twitch of that impeccably-groomed mustache. “Thank you, my friend - it means quite a bit to me,” he said, reaching out and giving Laurence’s arm a gentle squeeze.
“Now - shall we take the next step on our adventure?” More retail therapy awaited and there was still plenty of money to spend (or not spend, but they would anyway) and plenty of oddness to avoid.