"Well, you've got more on me. I'm only a hundred and fifty years old." He can very much tell that this is pulling teeth for Sweeney. However, Dorian's a stubborn bastard. And Rags filled him in on a few details.
"How about this then. You answer five questions of mine. And in exchange, I'll give you one book, whichever you want from my bookshelf. If we stop at any port with an antique store or a pawn shop, you'll be able to get a decent amount of money if you haggle correctly. We'll make this an official deal and everything."
He can hear Shitbird on the man's tongue. At least he's trying, even if he doesn't have the thief's skill at it. Ten questions for that fucking asparagus. Ten for the snack bar.
Sweeney's gaze slips up to the ceiling, considering how best to address it. His eyes find their way back to Dorian. He blinks slowly.
"Ain't 'bout what I want." Most of the time. There are some classics he won't deny. "It's 'bout what's valuable ta ya." That's the thing about offerings and sacrifices. It's intent.
He lifts his hand, his fingertips slipping across his thumb as they shift to a fist just long enough to flick back up. A gold coin is nestled between them. He shakes his head tightly.
Dorian frowns for a moment, thinking things over. After a moment, he gets up, walks over to his bookcase, and rummages around for a moment. When he returns, he's holding a record. It's a single, 33RPM, by a band called Dorian Gray and the Hedonists. He sets the record down on the table and pushes it over for Sweeney to take a look at it.
"Back home, I had more copies of this in my basement. But on the Barge, this is the only copy I've got. I used to be in a band. It was one of the greatest periods of my life until it wasn't. Five questions in exchange for this, we drink afterwards."
It's obvious even though Dorian's keeping a neutral tone in his voice, there's some nostalgia in his eyes at the idea of his old band.
The coin vanishes as promptly as it came, but his eyes are already fixed on the table.
Interesting.
He doesn't dare to touch it, but he does twist his head as he studies it from his high vantage point. Sweeney's eyes slide from the vinyl up to Dorian.
"Five questions. Any other terms?" He's seeking simple clarification, since it's not the original offer.
Good. There's a small little smirk on Dorian's face as he looks over at Sweeney. Turns out that Shitbird's information was on the right track. And, fortunately for him, Dorian has a whole magpie nest of mementos and important things that he can use for bribery.
"Asking you for further clarification on a question doesn't count as a question. If you give me a one or two word answer, I reserve the right to press you for more details."
"The addition's acceptable, Lilliput." Another thing Rags mentioned that Dorian wants to try: nicknames. Of course, Dorian wouldn't be Dorian without giving a nickname that's kind of pretentious in some ways. "Do we have a deal?"
Sweeney holds his hand towards Dorian, palm up, implying that he expects the item to be placed there instead of picking it up himself. Sometimes, it's the little things that makes one feel like themselves.
Dorian gets the implication. He picks up the record and places it in Sweeney's hand. There's an odd sort of ceremony to his actions: he gets that this is important. He's taking this part seriously.
"Question number one. All inmates have died. How did you die?"
A bit of a brutal question to start things off, but Dorian will swear up and down that he's not a nice person.
He shifts the records between his hands, then slides it into the interior of his jacket. It's off to the Hoard before if deforms the lines of the denim.
Sweeney watches the man keenly while he asks his question, then answers it with casual indifference.
Gugnir. That's Norse. So this grumpy Irish drunk of a fairy somehow had dealings with the Norse pantheon. Interesting.
"Hmm. I met Freya once—lovely lady." But that's a conversation for later. "Question number two. When you graduate, what do you want to do with your life?"
"Hm." The sound is low in acknowledgment of his dealings with Freya, but clearly with no follow up curiosity.
The next question's easy. He's gotten it so many times at this point. Sweeney pulls the cigarette down from behind his ear and nestles it between his lips. He mumbles around it while he digs in his trouser pocket.
"Fuck if I know."
There's no way to know when that would be. As such, there's no way to predict who he'll be by then. Or what. Too many unknowns.
Ok, so this fucker might be better at this than he thought.
Sweeney's lips thin and his jaw flexes for a moment as he tries to figure out how best to answer. It doesn't mean he has to like it. He just has to do it. There's a touch of restrained bitterness in it.
Dorian's mental note to self just grows even longer. Because who the hell is Swamp Rat? He's certainly not going to waste a question on that, not when he can bother Rags later.
"Question number four. What do you miss the most from your world that you can't find on the Barge? For instance, I miss shitty takeaway, the ability to travel wherever I want, and my best friend Oscar."
His dead best friend Oscar. His best friend who's been dead for over a hundred years. But he's not telling Sweeney that just yet.
He lifts his chin, looking down his nose to study Dorian. Sweeney's glad that he only bid for five questions. Future transactions may have to be reviewed more closely.
"My Lucky Coin," he answers plainly, his voice more even since the last inquiry.
Dorian nods a little at that. He pauses for a moment, thinking things through on how to phrase this before he continues.
"My last and final question." A question that he highly suspects will end up with him getting punched by Sweeney or given the cold shoulder by Godric but fuck it, win some you lose some. And it's not like he'll bruise. "Do you remember your actions and your conversations when you're someone else? Not in a breach capacity, of course, but when you're here, on the Barge, but you're not Sweeney."
He should have known she couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut. For a fleeting moment, he tries to gauge if he had been the topic of their pillow talk after she finished sucking this prick off.
Sweeney's tongue slides along his teeth as his eyes narrow. He turns his face down to Dorian, his gazed fixed.
"In that case, I believe our transaction is completed. And, to mark the occasion, I'll get the drinks."
He stands up and walks over towards a cabinet. Dorian pulls out two tumblers and sets them on the countertop. He looks over towards Sweeney before asking,
His body eases some when the talk turns to drinks.
"Didn't mind it before, ain't changed much since then."
Sweeney's mind is swimming, trying to sort out who else she probably told. How many people know. His jaw clenches again in passing, though not in Dorian's direction.
That fucking Frenchie and his fucking White Hat bullshit.
Mostly oblivious to Sweeney's anger at the subject, Dorian takes out a bottle of gin. He starts to talk as he pours--and he's got a remarkably strong pour. Between the two of them, there is a high chance of demolishing the entire damn bottle.
"I'm not going to say something stupid like 'I know what you're going through.' But there was a time in my life, not too long ago, when I was dangerously close to think of myself as someone else. If I was in that place any longer, I would have lost 'Dorian Gray' entirely."
Yeah, you're right. You don't know what I'm going through.
Sweeney's brow is low as he watches Dorian pour, but there's no fire in his tone. "But what if ya didn't," he counters. He's perfectly aware that the man has more information on the subject than he'd like, so it doesn't really benefit him to try to conceal every detail.
"You'll have to pick one. You'll run yourself ragged being two people. Besides, it isn't fair to others to divide your attentions like that."
There's a tone in Dorian's voice that suggests he's speaking on the subject with at least a slight degree of familiarity. He passes Sweeney a glass of gin before sitting down across the table from him with his own.
"How can you truly be yourself with those you care about if there's always someone else lurking in the background?"
Okay. So, there's a lot to unpack there. A lot of things that are very, very wrong.
Sweeney catches the scoff in his throat before it manifests. His stare lingers on Dorian for a moment too long before it slides to the glass. He takes it and rests it against his thigh as he remains standing by the chair.
"Considering I still know next to nothing about your situation, that's something you'll have to figure out on your own."
Dorian gives Sweeney a cavalier little shrug before, far too casually, continuing with, "Unless you want to tell me more about what happens, of course"
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"How about this then. You answer five questions of mine. And in exchange, I'll give you one book, whichever you want from my bookshelf. If we stop at any port with an antique store or a pawn shop, you'll be able to get a decent amount of money if you haggle correctly. We'll make this an official deal and everything."
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He can hear Shitbird on the man's tongue. At least he's trying, even if he doesn't have the thief's skill at it. Ten questions for that fucking asparagus. Ten for the snack bar.
Sweeney's gaze slips up to the ceiling, considering how best to address it. His eyes find their way back to Dorian. He blinks slowly.
"Ain't 'bout what I want." Most of the time. There are some classics he won't deny. "It's 'bout what's valuable ta ya." That's the thing about offerings and sacrifices. It's intent.
He lifts his hand, his fingertips slipping across his thumb as they shift to a fist just long enough to flick back up. A gold coin is nestled between them. He shakes his head tightly.
"I don't need ta sell yer books."
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"Back home, I had more copies of this in my basement. But on the Barge, this is the only copy I've got. I used to be in a band. It was one of the greatest periods of my life until it wasn't. Five questions in exchange for this, we drink afterwards."
It's obvious even though Dorian's keeping a neutral tone in his voice, there's some nostalgia in his eyes at the idea of his old band.
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Interesting.
He doesn't dare to touch it, but he does twist his head as he studies it from his high vantage point. Sweeney's eyes slide from the vinyl up to Dorian.
"Five questions. Any other terms?" He's seeking simple clarification, since it's not the original offer.
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"Asking you for further clarification on a question doesn't count as a question. If you give me a one or two word answer, I reserve the right to press you for more details."
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"If I don't know the answer, it doesn't count against ya." Sweeney's run into the problem with Rags, and that had been their arrangement.
His brow cocks, silently questioning if the addition is acceptable.
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"The addition's acceptable, Lilliput." Another thing Rags mentioned that Dorian wants to try: nicknames. Of course, Dorian wouldn't be Dorian without giving a nickname that's kind of pretentious in some ways. "Do we have a deal?"
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Sweeney holds his hand towards Dorian, palm up, implying that he expects the item to be placed there instead of picking it up himself. Sometimes, it's the little things that makes one feel like themselves.
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"Question number one. All inmates have died. How did you die?"
A bit of a brutal question to start things off, but Dorian will swear up and down that he's not a nice person.
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Sweeney watches the man keenly while he asks his question, then answers it with casual indifference.
"I was speared through the chest by Gungnir."
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"Hmm. I met Freya once—lovely lady." But that's a conversation for later. "Question number two. When you graduate, what do you want to do with your life?"
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The next question's easy. He's gotten it so many times at this point. Sweeney pulls the cigarette down from behind his ear and nestles it between his lips. He mumbles around it while he digs in his trouser pocket.
"Fuck if I know."
There's no way to know when that would be. As such, there's no way to predict who he'll be by then. Or what. Too many unknowns.
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"Question number three. Who would you consider the top three people on the Barge you feel closest to?"
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Sweeney's lips thin and his jaw flexes for a moment as he tries to figure out how best to answer. It doesn't mean he has to like it. He just has to do it. There's a touch of restrained bitterness in it.
"Shitbird, Swamp Rat, an' Annie."
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"Question number four. What do you miss the most from your world that you can't find on the Barge? For instance, I miss shitty takeaway, the ability to travel wherever I want, and my best friend Oscar."
His dead best friend Oscar. His best friend who's been dead for over a hundred years. But he's not telling Sweeney that just yet.
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"My Lucky Coin," he answers plainly, his voice more even since the last inquiry.
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"My last and final question." A question that he highly suspects will end up with him getting punched by Sweeney or given the cold shoulder by Godric but fuck it, win some you lose some. And it's not like he'll bruise. "Do you remember your actions and your conversations when you're someone else? Not in a breach capacity, of course, but when you're here, on the Barge, but you're not Sweeney."
When you leave flowers at Godric's room.
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He should have known she couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut. For a fleeting moment, he tries to gauge if he had been the topic of their pillow talk after she finished sucking this prick off.
Sweeney's tongue slides along his teeth as his eyes narrow. He turns his face down to Dorian, his gazed fixed.
"Sometimes. It depends."
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He stands up and walks over towards a cabinet. Dorian pulls out two tumblers and sets them on the countertop. He looks over towards Sweeney before asking,
"Do you mind gin?"
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"Didn't mind it before, ain't changed much since then."
Sweeney's mind is swimming, trying to sort out who else she probably told. How many people know. His jaw clenches again in passing, though not in Dorian's direction.
That fucking Frenchie and his fucking White Hat bullshit.
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"I'm not going to say something stupid like 'I know what you're going through.' But there was a time in my life, not too long ago, when I was dangerously close to think of myself as someone else. If I was in that place any longer, I would have lost 'Dorian Gray' entirely."
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Sweeney's brow is low as he watches Dorian pour, but there's no fire in his tone. "But what if ya didn't," he counters. He's perfectly aware that the man has more information on the subject than he'd like, so it doesn't really benefit him to try to conceal every detail.
"What if ya were both. All the time."
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There's a tone in Dorian's voice that suggests he's speaking on the subject with at least a slight degree of familiarity. He passes Sweeney a glass of gin before sitting down across the table from him with his own.
"How can you truly be yourself with those you care about if there's always someone else lurking in the background?"
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Sweeney catches the scoff in his throat before it manifests. His stare lingers on Dorian for a moment too long before it slides to the glass. He takes it and rests it against his thigh as he remains standing by the chair.
"An' how is it that I do this...pickin'?"
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Dorian gives Sweeney a cavalier little shrug before, far too casually, continuing with, "Unless you want to tell me more about what happens, of course"
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