"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"
Sweeney takes a long drag and lets it escape through his nose. His tongue rubs hard against the roof of his mouth.
"Goin' out on a limb here," he prefaces. "But I'm guessin' a hundred an' fifty's a bit outside yer natural lifespan. If so, ya gotta know at least a bit 'bout magic."
He taps his ash.
"Ya e'er run 'cross any curses in that time ya've got?"
Dorian nods. "Technically speaking, I sold my soul for eternal youth and beauty."
Except then he got his soul back. But that's complicated and a story for another time.
"I've run into cursed objects and haunted places, but not so much people who were cursed—supernatural beings, but nothing more human. Still, I know of the concept."
He's unfazed my the mention of soul-selling; lots of folk he knows are in that business in some capacity. Fuck, there's at least one devil on the fucking boat.
"Yeah." Sweeney allows himself a short puff. "It's kinda like that."
It's exactly like that.
It's not like he's human, even when he was. And when he is. It's just a fucking hot mess.
Oof. Dorian frowns a little, lightly biting the inside of his lip as he thinks things over.
"If it's the sort of curse one can break, we can ask the Admiral to get rid of it when things are less chaotic. But if it's the sort of curse that's innate to your being...well, I'll think of something else."
"Fuck if I know," he answers with a tap of his ash.
"Not like it's one that came with a clause." Those are the easiest ones to manage. One would think he would have remembered that shit when he made his deal with that one-eyed cunt.
Realistically, he's carried the curse through several lives now, even as a Leprechaun. He's not sure how it might have been fused into what he is. But Dorian's not the first person to offer to look for a way to break it. Just haven't found it yet.
There's a pause as Dorian takes a sip of his gin. The pause is mostly so he can think things over before continuing the conversation.
"When I thought that I was someone else, the thing that helped was remembering what I had done. Reassuring myself who I was. Even if the entire world said otherwise, I thought that I was Dorian Gray. I wanted to be Dorian Gray."
Until he almost didn't. But again, keeping that to himself.
"I don't know if that would help. But it's certainly worth a try."
Sweeney's eyes fix hard on Dorian, and he sucks his tongue roughly against the roof of his mouth. It makes the tendons in his neck flex.
The silence hangs.
Then he lifts the glass, tipping in upward and continuing to swallow until it's empty. Sweeney sets it on the table.
"An' what if ya don't wanna be any of 'em." His voice is low as his gaze returns to the other man. It should be a question, but the inflection says otherwise.
He doesn't want to remember what he did. That's the whole fucking point. Dorian's reminding him of who he is--who he really is--and that's why he drinks. It's why he does a lot of things. And it was stupid for him to think he could do different.
"Then be someone else instead," Dorian says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And sure, that might be hard here where everybody already knows your name. But you know what happens when you graduate? You can go wherever the fuck you want."
He looks over at Sweeney and then, in an act of possible stupidity, drains the rest of his gin as well. Dorian sets the glass down, regretting it with his last swallow, but fuck it. He'll end up vomiting in the bathroom later, whatever, he's done worse before.
"No matter what, you still have to decide who you want to be before you become that person."
"I don't decide," he explains slowly and with purpose. "That falls on you cunts." Humans do this. It's what they've done, over and over. He's just there to do what he's made to.
Dorian, who doesn't have the full context for what Sweeney is or how his existence works, can't help but scowl. He knows he should keep things good, he knows he should keep this conversation neutral. He's a warden, dammit, he shouldn't be picking fights and being a shit to the inmate in his charge.
But despite his attempts to be better, Dorian is at his core a bit of a cocky asshole. He's also a cocky asshole who adores talking about himself and the slight frustration that he's been feeling at the fact that this whole conversation feels like pulling teeth is slowly bubbling over into actual frustration.
"Yes, you do decide. Because you've obviously decided what sort of person you are already—a combative fuck who can't string a sentence together if it contains more than ten words and only responds to alcohol and bribes."
He could laugh if his shoulders weren't already so coiled. He's definitely not that drunk. Sweeney's been goaded into a lot of fights. Probably will be goaded into a bunch more. But not by this cunt. Not tonight.
Sweeney's attention lingers on Dorian in study. Well, at least he's a different sort of Warden. Doesn't change the fact they all keep trying to tell him who he is.
He slides his tongue over his teeth and takes a drag.
"You think that, yer only showin' ya don't know me."
There's no particular hostility in it, just a tired resignation. This prick is telling him he gets to decide who he is in the same breath he's defining that exact thing.
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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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Sweeney takes a long drag and lets it escape through his nose. His tongue rubs hard against the roof of his mouth.
"Goin' out on a limb here," he prefaces. "But I'm guessin' a hundred an' fifty's a bit outside yer natural lifespan. If so, ya gotta know at least a bit 'bout magic."
He taps his ash.
"Ya e'er run 'cross any curses in that time ya've got?"
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Except then he got his soul back. But that's complicated and a story for another time.
"I've run into cursed objects and haunted places, but not so much people who were cursed—supernatural beings, but nothing more human. Still, I know of the concept."
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"Yeah." Sweeney allows himself a short puff. "It's kinda like that."
It's exactly like that.
It's not like he's human, even when he was. And when he is. It's just a fucking hot mess.
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"If it's the sort of curse one can break, we can ask the Admiral to get rid of it when things are less chaotic. But if it's the sort of curse that's innate to your being...well, I'll think of something else."
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"Not like it's one that came with a clause." Those are the easiest ones to manage. One would think he would have remembered that shit when he made his deal with that one-eyed cunt.
Realistically, he's carried the curse through several lives now, even as a Leprechaun. He's not sure how it might have been fused into what he is. But Dorian's not the first person to offer to look for a way to break it. Just haven't found it yet.
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"When I thought that I was someone else, the thing that helped was remembering what I had done. Reassuring myself who I was. Even if the entire world said otherwise, I thought that I was Dorian Gray. I wanted to be Dorian Gray."
Until he almost didn't. But again, keeping that to himself.
"I don't know if that would help. But it's certainly worth a try."
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The silence hangs.
Then he lifts the glass, tipping in upward and continuing to swallow until it's empty. Sweeney sets it on the table.
"An' what if ya don't wanna be any of 'em." His voice is low as his gaze returns to the other man. It should be a question, but the inflection says otherwise.
He doesn't want to remember what he did. That's the whole fucking point. Dorian's reminding him of who he is--who he really is--and that's why he drinks. It's why he does a lot of things. And it was stupid for him to think he could do different.
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He looks over at Sweeney and then, in an act of possible stupidity, drains the rest of his gin as well. Dorian sets the glass down, regretting it with his last swallow, but fuck it. He'll end up vomiting in the bathroom later, whatever, he's done worse before.
"No matter what, you still have to decide who you want to be before you become that person."
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"I don't decide," he explains slowly and with purpose. "That falls on you cunts." Humans do this. It's what they've done, over and over. He's just there to do what he's made to.
No one knows my name. Least of all me.
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But despite his attempts to be better, Dorian is at his core a bit of a cocky asshole. He's also a cocky asshole who adores talking about himself and the slight frustration that he's been feeling at the fact that this whole conversation feels like pulling teeth is slowly bubbling over into actual frustration.
"Yes, you do decide. Because you've obviously decided what sort of person you are already—a combative fuck who can't string a sentence together if it contains more than ten words and only responds to alcohol and bribes."
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Sweeney's attention lingers on Dorian in study. Well, at least he's a different sort of Warden. Doesn't change the fact they all keep trying to tell him who he is.
He slides his tongue over his teeth and takes a drag.
"You think that, yer only showin' ya don't know me."
There's no particular hostility in it, just a tired resignation. This prick is telling him he gets to decide who he is in the same breath he's defining that exact thing.
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