An expert at weathering that storm because you had a cute little group to be a part of. [ at least, that's what he's assuming based on Misty 'I started this conversation talking about how I want a really intense friends group' Quigley. ]
How many of you survived that plane crash back home? At least two, probably more? Certainly more than your cute little group here of Natalie, Pagan, you, and me—and even then, your cute little group here is rocky at best.
[God, Dorian. Are you going to make her say out loud the thing she doesn't even like thinking about too hard? Extremely rude.
Or she could lie. She could tell him that he's right, that they're all so close-knit, that they all definitely love talking to her and keeping in close contact.
She doesn't answer, not immediately, but the indecision plays out across her face.]
[ Dorian doesn't say anything for a bit, mostly because he suspects he's right. Instead, he takes the silence to top off Misty's wineglass before quietly asking, ]
Others exist. But Nat's the only one you actually talked to, isn't she?
[ Idly, he thinks back to their conversation after Natalie showed up for that flood, before she showed up entirely, Misty so desperate to learn something, anything about what they talked about. He's only heard the names of the other girls once or twice. Even if she didn't show up for the flood, if she wasn't here, he suspects he'd hear Natalie's name more often. ]
I think the way you make friends is more like me than you realize.
[She says it defensively, remembering Dorian's months-ago accusation that Natalie is the only one she really cares about.]
It's just-- Nat's the only one who talks back.
[And at home, only when she needed something. But that had been enough.
She lets that answer hang, hoping that he'll explain further. Whatever reaction she'd expected - mocking, teasing, a little casual cruelty - it hadn't been commiseration.]
[ he talks as he walks, heading out to the hallway. ]
And it's because Nat's the one who talks back, because she's the one who understands, that's why you're so close to her. Because sure, you could tell other people what happened. You could make friends with your coworkers or neighbors or whatever. But they won't know the real you.
[ Someone miiiiight be projecting a smidge himself. ]
Vampire ex. Though he did die and come back to life so technically a zombie? But he was a vampire first and foremost.
And do they not like talking to you or do you just not put in the effort? You're smarter than most people give you credit for, I'm sure you could find a way to bullshit your way through social interaction.
I put in the effort. Well, not as much as I used to. I've talked about this with Pagan; the older I get, the more most people and most interactions just feel... hollow.
[Him not having her go first makes it a little harder to indulge in exhilarated theorizing about whether or not this is a trap, but she'll do her best anyway.]
Of course they liked me, [ he shrugs. ] I sold them cocaine.
[ The attic is much the same as it was last time. However, Dorian's portrait is there. It's a hideous, old thing, a painting of a man riddled with age and covered in wounds. It sneers at Misty with a terrible expression.
Dorian doesn't say anything about the portrait. He lets Misty ask the questions. ]
[Any other thing she might have said leaves her brain (for now, anyway). Slowly, she approaches the portrait: studying the front, and then circling it, checking around its back.]
You know, I never actually read the book.
[But she remembers Natalie mentioning it, so--]
You aren't afraid I'm going to do something to it?
[ Buddy, that's a little worrying. What's also worrying is the way that Dorian looks at the portrait, taking in it's every aspect, as if entranced or drawn in by a spell. ]
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[This time she laughs, tense and forced-sounding.]
You really don't know the first thing about me, do you! Wow.
I've been weathering that storm for my entire life. I am an expert at weathering that storm.
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How many of you survived that plane crash back home? At least two, probably more? Certainly more than your cute little group here of Natalie, Pagan, you, and me—and even then, your cute little group here is rocky at best.
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Or she could lie. She could tell him that he's right, that they're all so close-knit, that they all definitely love talking to her and keeping in close contact.
She doesn't answer, not immediately, but the indecision plays out across her face.]
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Others exist. But Nat's the only one you actually talked to, isn't she?
[ Idly, he thinks back to their conversation after Natalie showed up for that flood, before she showed up entirely, Misty so desperate to learn something, anything about what they talked about. He's only heard the names of the other girls once or twice. Even if she didn't show up for the flood, if she wasn't here, he suspects he'd hear Natalie's name more often. ]
I think the way you make friends is more like me than you realize.
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[She says it defensively, remembering Dorian's months-ago accusation that Natalie is the only one she really cares about.]
It's just-- Nat's the only one who talks back.
[And at home, only when she needed something. But that had been enough.
She lets that answer hang, hoping that he'll explain further. Whatever reaction she'd expected - mocking, teasing, a little casual cruelty - it hadn't been commiseration.]
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Come on. There's something in my attic sex dungeon that I need to show you. Something that wasn't there last time.
[ He really hopes he's making the right choice. ]
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[This sure is unexpected! But she'll follow, leaving her drink behind.]
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And it's because Nat's the one who talks back, because she's the one who understands, that's why you're so close to her. Because sure, you could tell other people what happened. You could make friends with your coworkers or neighbors or whatever. But they won't know the real you.
[ Someone miiiiight be projecting a smidge himself. ]
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Who was your Nat? Your zombie ex?
[See, she pays attention! A little too much attention sometimes.]
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And do they not like talking to you or do you just not put in the effort? You're smarter than most people give you credit for, I'm sure you could find a way to bullshit your way through social interaction.
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[A pause.]
Cardboard. That's the term I've used.
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I was a banker back in the 2000s. I felt that way about all of my coworkers. I was Dorian Gray, immortal and famous hedonist. They were just...normal.
[ He pulls down the hatch for his attic. He goes up first before gesturing for Misty to follow him. ]
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And did your coworkers like you?
I can't imagine you working at a bank.
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[ The attic is much the same as it was last time. However, Dorian's portrait is there. It's a hideous, old thing, a painting of a man riddled with age and covered in wounds. It sneers at Misty with a terrible expression.
Dorian doesn't say anything about the portrait. He lets Misty ask the questions. ]
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You know, I never actually read the book.
[But she remembers Natalie mentioning it, so--]
You aren't afraid I'm going to do something to it?
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I do a lot of things that piss Pagan off.
How many people know about this?
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I'm Dorian Gray, Misty. As in 'the picture of.' My portrait isn't a secret. However, only a few people have actually seen it.
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Why?
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Instead, he shrugs a little before pointing out, ]
Because, despite what you accused me of at the start of all this, I do enjoy your company.
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[She comes to a stop back at the front of the portrait, facing it directly and crossing her arms over her chest.]
I'm not planning to do a thing to it, by the way.
How often do you come and look at it? Oh, and where did you put it when you brought me and Nat up?
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[ Buddy, that's a little worrying. What's also worrying is the way that Dorian looks at the portrait, taking in it's every aspect, as if entranced or drawn in by a spell. ]
And I left it at Pagan's for that evening.
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You really love it, don't you.
["Love" may very well be the wrong word, but it's how Misty - twisted, screw-loose Misty - interprets it.]
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