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"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?"

Henry's quiet for a moment, still trailing his fingers in the still water. He raises his eyes to the horizon, marveling a little at being back in a place with - no one.

No one except Dorian.

A small price to pay, really.

"I...freed them both," he answers, guessing that Dorian can see right through that answer.

Freed.

Right.

"What a coincidence," he dryly responds. "I killed my sister as well."

He sees your word choice, Henry.

Henry smirk, though he doesn't look at Dorian.

"Why?"

"She was in a situation where it would be better for the world if she died. It was a situation that I could understand, but some random person wouldn't. After all, nobody wants to be the one to actually murder an old woman. But she asked, and I decided that for once in my life, I should be a good big brother."

His tone is deliberately neutral, trying to not give anything away.

Henry doesn't always read the room very well. Not when he has the freedom to speak when he wants. But in this case, it's a hunch that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't say what he's thinking.

"You killed her to save the world. How noble." He desperately wants to see, to dig in his head for it, but he doesn't want to waste the energy or the possible revocation of consent if he does.

"She was old. Close to her own natural death."

He does genuinely mean this to be a neutral statement. Not quite comforting, but not inflammatory. Empathy is hard.

"That doesn't mean it didn't hurt," Dorian points out, trying very hard to push down the hurt and annoyance in his voice. Because surprise Henry, it did hurt. Dorian adored his sister, even if they rarely saw eye to eye and hadn't talked for decades. He missed her. He loved her.

"In fact, that makes it a little worse. She could have passed away in her sleep, but no. Not now."

Henry leans forward, sensing that hurt. "That doesn't matter. Humans die. They live their lives tied to the same sort of dance. Unremarkable in the grand scheme of time."

"Dying and killing are two different things," Dorian points out, frown on his face. There's a pause before he asks,

"Do you know anyone who's died of natural causes?"

"No," he admits with no remorse. "Not personally."

Edited 2022-09-24 16:39 (UTC)

"Then you don't know what you're talking about," Dorian bluntly responds. "There's a difference between dying of natural causes and murdering someone. It's something that you'll only know if you've experienced both."

There's a complete lack of sympathy in Dorian's voice. As far as he can tell, Henry doesn't know what he's talking about.

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