I'm trying to protect you from it! [He can't help slamming a hand down flat on the table in frustration.] From-from me! Christ! What is wrong with you? This is why Martin- Why he stopped me last time. I can't- I don't...
[He doesn't want to turn the other man way. He wants what the other man is offering so badly, trying to resist a monstrous nature.]
[ This is a role Dorian's found himself playing many times throughout his life. The tempter, the corrupter, a man who could take someone and just ruin anything good inside them. He feels himself step back into old habits like stepping into an old pair of shoes as the conversation shifts and Dorian finds himself less in the role of 'justifying his interest in Jon' and more in the role of 'shoulder devil.' ]
You keep making these protestations and yet you agreed to meet me here, alone, knowing full well who I am and what I might do, while looking at me like that. You're tempted. And the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.
[ don't mind Dorian as he quotes part of The Picture of Dorian Gray like an absolute jackass ]
[There's quiet fury in Jon's voice and for just a moment, his form is one of eyes and void like the nightmares. He can remember the conversations with Daisy, talking her down. 'Don't listen to the blood, listen to the quiet.' But it's not his blood singing. It's not a burning, prickling sensation in his skin like Jude. Or maybe a stomach-dropping sensation for Mike. His mind cries out for the knowledge. Curiosity that's his own and something else's intermixed, bound so tightly he can't tell where the human ends and the Archivist's instincts start. Or if there's any difference anymore.]
I want... I want your Statement. That doesn't mean I should- I can't. I need to be more human. For Martin. We talked about this. Every time I give into it, a piece of that goes away.
[He's starving and Dorian's kind of Statement would be a perfect meal. Something like this, a verbal one, it would fill him up for at least a day or two. He'd be in a better place to be supportive of his boyfriend.]
[ That brief glimpse of something that's Jon and yet entirely not Jon is just so tantalizing. He knows what he should be doing: he should be reassuring Jon that no, he's still human enough, you'll be able to hold onto Martin, things will be fine. But that brief glimpse of eyes and void tells Dorian that no, he's not going to do what he should, he's going to continue to try and push this.
Besides, Jon can still be together with Martin even if he's a horrifying eye monster that feeds on information, right? Maybe? ]
It doesn't matter what you want, [ Dorian says, with a little wave of his hand, straight up ignoring Jon's question to him. ] Do you think the cancer patient wanted his disease? What matters is that you deal with the hand you're dealt.
Besides, you tried to chop off your finger and let this...'Boneturner' take out two of your ribs. The more we talk, the less it seems you're trying to hold onto your humanity in the first place.
"You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see."
Except a cancer patient doesn't have a choice in what happened to them. Jon has had every opportunity to turn back, to turn away from this, his nature. But he rarely has.]
That was to save someone. Daisy was trapped. I had to get her out.
[Except he hadn't had to do anything. Basira had told him not to. He'd jumped head first into that coffin as much to alleviate his own sense of uselessness, helplessness, as anything else. And it had played directly into Elias' hands. Jon covers his face.
He's breaking. He's going to break and give into this. He should have told Martin, regardless of what Dorian wants. A part of him had always known this was a possibility, and he'd come anyway.]
I just want to help people... If I have these powers then, I- What's the point of them--[of him existing as this horrible creature]--if I... don't?
[ Dorian bites back a sarcastic comment. Helping people? He's an entity that feeds on nightmares and stories, there are very few ways something like that can help people. But, then again, Dorian's an entity that cannot die and he knows his immortality has unintentionally helped a few people across his life.
He watches Jon as he talks, taking in the man's and despair at the situation. ]
The point is that you've been dealt a bad hand. That's it. Nothing more. There's no grand purpose to these sort of things and if you think there is one, you'll be horribly disappointed. The only thing that matters is the choice between accepting your circumstances or fruitlessly fighting against it at every turn.
[ There's a seriousness to his tone as he talks. Dorian might not have Jon's exact experience, but he knows some of what he's talking about. ]
There is a grand purpose. There was! [Jon snaps.] I'm the reason-
[No. No. That is not an admission to make to Dorian Gray, of all people. Jon clams up, shoulders going stiff. He feels trapped in this room. Unable to will himself to leave. Knowing he should. There's the sensation of hot tears prickling at the edges of his vision as he holds his breath. Do not have a breakdown in this room. Of all the bloody times.]
Tell me your story. Tell me, Dorian Gray.
[His hands fall away. Jon doesn't want Dorian to hone in on that, needle the truth out, so it's going to be this. Compelling him so he can't distract.]
[ The moment that Jon says there was a grand purpose, Dorian leans in, interested expression and excitement sparkling in his eyes. He's opening his mouth, question on his lips, desperate and yearning to know what that purpose is, but Jon beats him to the punch. The compulsion falls on his ears and Dorian knows that he's got to start telling his story. ]
I've met Lucifer many times over my life. More often than not, he speaks his intentions through other. Demons, monsters, an old flame of mine that he decided to rudely possess. But the most recent time we chatted was the most personal yet.
[ Jon's innate storytelling compulsions with Dorian's flowery narrative tendencies work well together. Dorian leans back in his chair, further away from Jon, as he continues to talk. ]
It's funny you should mention saving someone: that's how this story starts as well. An old acquaintance of mine was trapped. The only way to save her was to exchange my soul for hers. And, in a misguided attempt at altruism fueled by a terrible depression, I did just that. I stabbed my portrait. I suspect if I didn't have the exchange, it would have outright killed me. But instead, my soul became trapped inside the portrait. I spent the next two years alone, staring out of that canvas, reliving all my memories and trapped alone with all my regrets.
Two years is a long time to be trapped alone with one's thoughts. I wasn't in Hell but I might as well be. Near the end of that time, he came to me again. [ Dorian doesn't need to specify who. It's obvious enough from the context. ] He offered me a chance at life again. All I had to do was exchange some lives for my own. One for my voice, one for my body, one for my youth.
I eagerly accepted. And I got my chance when three trespassers decided to break into my house.
[He'd thought, at first, that this would be a story of Dorian's first encounter with Lucifer. That doesn't make this one any less interesting, though, and as the other man speaks, the Archivist's distress settles. He focuses on Dorian, gaze intense once more, unwavering in its focus. This man truly is the world for him in these moments, as he speaks.
The library, the world fades away and it's just the two of them.]
[ Jon looking at him is beautiful. He's looking at Dorian like Dorian is the most important thing in the world and Dorian just loves that. ]
Lucifer gave me the ability to leave my portrait, rendering it a blank canvas. After all, it's not like I could kill people while stuck in there, could I. He also made the house...haunted is probably the best way to describe it. The house was my prison and my plaything all at the same time. At first, I was just a ghost. I could manipulate the answering machine, lock the doors, but I couldn't actually do much. That is, not until I lured the first trespasser into the shadows which consumed him.
The first death gave me my voice back and I was able to talk through the phone lines. I convinced the second trespasser to abandon his friend and go to the fire escape off the roof. Unfortunately for him, the fire escape wasn't that sound. It broke underneath the second trespasser, giving him a very nasty fall.
The second death gave me my body back. I could walk around, though I was that horrible thing represented in my portrait. [ His actual self. ] I convinced the third trespasser to go to the attic. She was...kind. Too kind enough for her own good. I convinced her to kiss me. That was enough for me to drain her youth, restoring me to my current beauty.
[ Dorian settles back in his chair, giving Jon a little nod to say that he was finished. ]
I was given the option to kill one more person and get a soul from them. But I never really needed that to begin with. The devil hasn't spoken to me since.
[The Archivist can picture it now. Those three people, their terror. He knows he'll be seeing them tonight, getting to know their faces, their voices, everything about them before Dorian had stripped them away.]
The deaths? No. The only thing I regret were my actions that led me to those choices in the first place. The first good thing I've done in ages and it was a fucking mistake.
[ which Dorian is VERY bitter about. He had heard of 'no good deed goes unpunished' but those two years stuck in his portrait were a living hell Dorian could never have expected. ]
[There is some horrible irony in that, but given that the majority of heroic and selfless gestures Jon has made in his life had prepared him for the apocalypse... he can't say he doesn't relate to some degree. Life is unfair, karma is a lie, and people rarely get what they deserve. They just get what they get.]
I don't think it was. You saved someone. That's... rarely is that a mistake. You might not have liked what came after, but it wasn't a mistake what you did in the first place.
[It's what he's told himself sometimes, anyway, when the misery about what had happened to Tim or saving Daisy or any other thing crosses his mind.]
What came after was that I murdered three people, [ Dorian sarcastically continues. ]
And those people I killed? They were so young. Stupid twenty-somethings, with so much potential, who's only crime was to break into the wrong house at the wrong time. Their deaths happened because I made a foolish attempt at altruism.
[ There's a part of this dilemma that Dorian is overlooking. He didn't have to kill those people. But, at least in his mind, he totally did. What else could he have done, just accepted his own personal hell? ]
What came after was your imprisonment. None of those people had to die. You could have stayed in there.
[It's unfortunate that Jon can also relate to being stuck in a personalized hell and wanting to get out. He didn't have to kill anyone for that to happen, but after two years... he might have.]
No, I really couldn't, [ Dorian says with 100% certainty. ] You have no idea what that hell was like for me. I would have jumped at any chance I took to get out of there.
Unless you want to try to be better than you base nature. [Which... this situation is proving that Jon's not, either. He stands abruptly, reaching for the tape recorder.] End recording. I need to go. We're not doing this again. I can't do this again. I'm going to tell Martin the next time you ask me to meet you in-person.
You'll be back~ [ Dorian says, in a sing-song tone, still seated. He's seen the way that Jon looks at him. There's no way that man can entirely ignore him. ]
I'll make sure to have a lovely story for you when you return. Maybe ghosts? Or perhaps the time I took on the body of someone else.
[Jon fights the urge to snap something. It will be giving Dorian the attention he wants. Instead, the Archivist circumnavigates the table, snatches up his phone and head out the door. Better to be away before the other man can remember to ask any other questions.]
[ And Dorian lets him. It's only after Jon leaves and Dorian starts pushing his chair in that he remembers he should have probably asked about that 'grand purpose' thing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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If you need me, Archivist, then stop turning me away.
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[He doesn't want to turn the other man way. He wants what the other man is offering so badly, trying to resist a monstrous nature.]
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You keep making these protestations and yet you agreed to meet me here, alone, knowing full well who I am and what I might do, while looking at me like that. You're tempted. And the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.
[ don't mind Dorian as he quotes part of The Picture of Dorian Gray like an absolute jackass ]
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[There's quiet fury in Jon's voice and for just a moment, his form is one of eyes and void like the nightmares. He can remember the conversations with Daisy, talking her down. 'Don't listen to the blood, listen to the quiet.' But it's not his blood singing. It's not a burning, prickling sensation in his skin like Jude. Or maybe a stomach-dropping sensation for Mike. His mind cries out for the knowledge. Curiosity that's his own and something else's intermixed, bound so tightly he can't tell where the human ends and the Archivist's instincts start. Or if there's any difference anymore.]
I want... I want your Statement. That doesn't mean I should- I can't. I need to be more human. For Martin. We talked about this. Every time I give into it, a piece of that goes away.
[He's starving and Dorian's kind of Statement would be a perfect meal. Something like this, a verbal one, it would fill him up for at least a day or two. He'd be in a better place to be supportive of his boyfriend.]
Not all of us want to be monsters. Did you?
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Besides, Jon can still be together with Martin even if he's a horrifying eye monster that feeds on information, right? Maybe? ]
It doesn't matter what you want, [ Dorian says, with a little wave of his hand, straight up ignoring Jon's question to him. ] Do you think the cancer patient wanted his disease? What matters is that you deal with the hand you're dealt.
Besides, you tried to chop off your finger and let this...'Boneturner' take out two of your ribs. The more we talk, the less it seems you're trying to hold onto your humanity in the first place.
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"You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see."
Except a cancer patient doesn't have a choice in what happened to them. Jon has had every opportunity to turn back, to turn away from this, his nature. But he rarely has.]
That was to save someone. Daisy was trapped. I had to get her out.
[Except he hadn't had to do anything. Basira had told him not to. He'd jumped head first into that coffin as much to alleviate his own sense of uselessness, helplessness, as anything else. And it had played directly into Elias' hands. Jon covers his face.
He's breaking. He's going to break and give into this. He should have told Martin, regardless of what Dorian wants. A part of him had always known this was a possibility, and he'd come anyway.]
I just want to help people... If I have these powers then, I- What's the point of them--[of him existing as this horrible creature]--if I... don't?
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He watches Jon as he talks, taking in the man's and despair at the situation. ]
The point is that you've been dealt a bad hand. That's it. Nothing more. There's no grand purpose to these sort of things and if you think there is one, you'll be horribly disappointed. The only thing that matters is the choice between accepting your circumstances or fruitlessly fighting against it at every turn.
[ There's a seriousness to his tone as he talks. Dorian might not have Jon's exact experience, but he knows some of what he's talking about. ]
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[No. No. That is not an admission to make to Dorian Gray, of all people. Jon clams up, shoulders going stiff. He feels trapped in this room. Unable to will himself to leave. Knowing he should. There's the sensation of hot tears prickling at the edges of his vision as he holds his breath. Do not have a breakdown in this room. Of all the bloody times.]
Tell me your story. Tell me, Dorian Gray.
[His hands fall away. Jon doesn't want Dorian to hone in on that, needle the truth out, so it's going to be this. Compelling him so he can't distract.]
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I've met Lucifer many times over my life. More often than not, he speaks his intentions through other. Demons, monsters, an old flame of mine that he decided to rudely possess. But the most recent time we chatted was the most personal yet.
[ Jon's innate storytelling compulsions with Dorian's flowery narrative tendencies work well together. Dorian leans back in his chair, further away from Jon, as he continues to talk. ]
It's funny you should mention saving someone: that's how this story starts as well. An old acquaintance of mine was trapped. The only way to save her was to exchange my soul for hers. And, in a misguided attempt at altruism fueled by a terrible depression, I did just that. I stabbed my portrait. I suspect if I didn't have the exchange, it would have outright killed me. But instead, my soul became trapped inside the portrait. I spent the next two years alone, staring out of that canvas, reliving all my memories and trapped alone with all my regrets.
Two years is a long time to be trapped alone with one's thoughts. I wasn't in Hell but I might as well be. Near the end of that time, he came to me again. [ Dorian doesn't need to specify who. It's obvious enough from the context. ] He offered me a chance at life again. All I had to do was exchange some lives for my own. One for my voice, one for my body, one for my youth.
I eagerly accepted. And I got my chance when three trespassers decided to break into my house.
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The library, the world fades away and it's just the two of them.]
cw straight up murder
Lucifer gave me the ability to leave my portrait, rendering it a blank canvas. After all, it's not like I could kill people while stuck in there, could I. He also made the house...haunted is probably the best way to describe it. The house was my prison and my plaything all at the same time. At first, I was just a ghost. I could manipulate the answering machine, lock the doors, but I couldn't actually do much. That is, not until I lured the first trespasser into the shadows which consumed him.
The first death gave me my voice back and I was able to talk through the phone lines. I convinced the second trespasser to abandon his friend and go to the fire escape off the roof. Unfortunately for him, the fire escape wasn't that sound. It broke underneath the second trespasser, giving him a very nasty fall.
The second death gave me my body back. I could walk around, though I was that horrible thing represented in my portrait. [ His actual self. ] I convinced the third trespasser to go to the attic. She was...kind. Too kind enough for her own good. I convinced her to kiss me. That was enough for me to drain her youth, restoring me to my current beauty.
[ Dorian settles back in his chair, giving Jon a little nod to say that he was finished. ]
I was given the option to kill one more person and get a soul from them. But I never really needed that to begin with. The devil hasn't spoken to me since.
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Statement ends.
Do you regret it? Any of it?
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[ which Dorian is VERY bitter about. He had heard of 'no good deed goes unpunished' but those two years stuck in his portrait were a living hell Dorian could never have expected. ]
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I don't think it was. You saved someone. That's... rarely is that a mistake. You might not have liked what came after, but it wasn't a mistake what you did in the first place.
[It's what he's told himself sometimes, anyway, when the misery about what had happened to Tim or saving Daisy or any other thing crosses his mind.]
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And those people I killed? They were so young. Stupid twenty-somethings, with so much potential, who's only crime was to break into the wrong house at the wrong time. Their deaths happened because I made a foolish attempt at altruism.
[ There's a part of this dilemma that Dorian is overlooking. He didn't have to kill those people. But, at least in his mind, he totally did. What else could he have done, just accepted his own personal hell? ]
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[It's unfortunate that Jon can also relate to being stuck in a personalized hell and wanting to get out. He didn't have to kill anyone for that to happen, but after two years... he might have.]
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I think I can guess. That still doesn't mean it was needed. It's what you wanted.
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[ This isn't always 100% true. But in Dorian's mind, it's true enough for him to make blanket statements like this. ]
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[He's going to try to make himself tell Martin.]
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I'll make sure to have a lovely story for you when you return. Maybe ghosts? Or perhaps the time I took on the body of someone else.
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Fuck. Well, he can always bother him next time. ]