brushoff | tlv ic contact

Come onnnn. There's an entire city out there. The world is your oyster! What do you want to do with it?

[Set it on fire, usually.]

You're not going to get far if you're stuck on that. I'll come out with you because you helped me, but the port holds little interest for me.

Then that's what we'll do. Half of our two hours will be spent with me getting you some new clothes. The other half will be us finding something that interests you.

[New clothes. That's the last thing he wants, but he doesn't voice that. There's no way he's risking three hours around other people.]

When?

An hour from now? It'll give you enough time to finish up what you're doing on the ship. We'll meet up at the exit of the Barge, where it docks to the port.

And Henry is there, a little over an hour, though that's less on purpose and more because Henry doesn't do punctuality unless he has to.

He carries only a small jar with him in his hands.

Once they're out in port, he can't help but stop and stare at the water.

Don't mind Dorian as he attempts to take a little look at the jar, mostly to be nosy and see if there's anything in there. But once Henry looks at the water, Dorian looks out at it as well.

"It's overwhelming, isn't it. All this water."

The jar is empty and he rests it gently against the edge of the bridge as he looks out.

"I lived in Indiana. And even before that, we never went to the coast."

He doesn't even mind Dorian for that moment as he takes in the drowning buildings. It's beautiful, he thinks. If you take the people away, it's - really lovely. Surreal, though he doesn't quite know that word.

Dorian remains quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say or do next. And also, just so Henry can take in the view without the peanut gallery (himself) chiming in.

"We can rent a boat, if you want. Drive it far out enough that we're absolutely surrounded by water."

Henry glances at him, not antagonistic at all.

"Alright."

The thought of being alone, away from the hustle and noise of the Barge is appealing. So much that he doesn't even mind being in Dorian's company.

"We'll do that first then," Dorian says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Fortunately, he's been out long enough that he has a vague idea where things are. "I think there's a marina a few blocks north? Something like a jetski or a small motorboat might be good since there's just the two of us. I'll drive, of course."

Dorian at least vaguely knows how to pilot a boat. That's better than Mr. Never Seen the Ocean.

Henry can ride a bike and that's where his knowledge of vehicles ends. So he offers up no argument as he wanders along behind him.

As they traverse the markets and the streets, Henry doesn't pause at the people but he does take in the buildings and the city itself, walking a bit slow, like the tourist he is.

And Dorian matches his pace so that the ten year old child that is his inmate can look around at everything. It would be kind of cute if one wasn't aware that Henry had the ability to horrifically traumatize people.

As they approach the marina, Dorian gestures for Henry to follow. "It's a pity we don't have more people. I'd love to rent a sailboat but it has been literal decades since I've ridden on one of those."

So, small motorboat it is. Because like hell Dorian's doing the manual labor required for a kayak or canoe.

Henry is cautious as he steps into the boat, but finds his balance and sits down anyway. "Why would more people be ideal?" he mutters. "The point of this excursion is to get away, is it not?"

"It is," Dorian says, as he gets into the boat after Henry. "But sailboats are always easier if you've got at least one other person who knows how to pilot one. The size of crew depends on the size of the boat. I'm starting the motor up, by the way."

It's a brief warning as Dorian very quickly starts up the boat. The motor sputters to life as he starts to pilot them away from civilization, further into the ocean.

Henry hardly flinches, turning his attention away from the buildings and onto the ocean.

"I think my father went sailing," he says with absolutely no inflection in his tone.

"He seemed the type, at least."

"Recreational sailing, as a whole, is usually done by those with too much money who want to project a certain image about themselves." Boats are expensive. Marinas are expensive. Paying to dock your boat somewhere is expensive. And Dorian is a rich fancy man with rich fancy taste.

"Was your father that sort of type?"

"We were middle class."

At least what a child thinks of such things. He can look back on it now with some clarity.

"My mother inherited money and a big home from her rich uncle," he explains. "So we moved to Hawkins. My parents thought it would help me. But it was just one home to another. I dont think we were rich as much as my parents were lucky."

Dorian nods, making a noise of understanding before continuing.

"Joining a yacht club wasn't the sort of thing one did in my childhood. But my parents were rich enough that I think they would." A pause before, "I can't say for certain. My father died when I was ten and my mother was institutionalized shortly afterwards."

He glances down to the water and dips his fingers in it, marveling at its warmth. "Who raised you after that?" People don't tend to leave children alone.

"My aunt and uncle," he shrugs. "They were fine. But you can tell they had no idea how to raise two children under ten."

He eyes the motor as it sputters slightly, but it seems to continue on uniterrupted.

"Two?"

Dorian nods. "I had a younger sister growing up. Isadora. She's dead now."

As the motor sputters, Dorian gives it a whack on the side. It sputters back to life for a moment but then slowly starts to die again. Hmm. Maybe he'll just take that as a sign that they should enjoy the scenery for now. It's probably just a little overheated.

Henry watches the fish underneath them, wrinkling his nose at that. "I had a sister, too. Alice. She and my mother are dead. And my father is institutionalized."

He can't help the twinge of disgust as he speaks about them.

"We're more alike than I thought," Dorian muses. And idly, he wonders if their sisters both died the same way. After all, Dorian murdered his darling sister.

He kind of wants to find out the details.

"How did she die?"

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