driftfleet | [Open Moons Mingle Log]

No, it is not you who should apologize. I suppose I stepped too far, I should have known better, perhaps.

[He had no way OF knowing, but all the same. In drunken gracelessness, he pushed too far, wished for companionship, kinship, where men like him had only left scars.

He was angry, again, at the Magisters who saw it in their right to do such things. Fenris, here, was living proof of how warped and twisted these men had become.]

I suppose that is the way of it, isn't it? Tevinter leaves scars on everyone- some worse than others, some more easily seen. I cannot pretend to know what happened to you. But...thank you.

[It was not Dorian's fault, but the fault of the society he was bred for. Disgusting, all of it, but he took some solace in knowing that Fenris gave him more of an explanation than he deserved.]

It is not an enjoyable tale, you are better off not knowing it.

[It only incites pity, and Fenris can't stand that. Their pity is better served elsewhere, in ways that can make a difference, for the people who have not been torn to nothing as he has.]

But I do not need to tell you what Tevinter is capable of. I cannot imagine they would treat someone who shunned their ideals well.

[They both have scars, little mementos of a homeland that has lost itself to darkness and corruption.]

[Dorian takes his seat again, taking the glass in hand. For a few moments, he is silent, contemplating how much to share of himself.]

I am the pariah of Minrathos. But I am not from Minrathos. I am from Qarinus. I left there...fled, really. I left to escape my father.

[His voice falters at the last word, and he looks down at his glass, trying to be honest to another person was far more difficult than he thought.

But he had to try, at least.]

[Fenris frowns, thinking, sifting through memories he wishes he could repress, but knows they remain within him to make him stronger.]

I saw little of Magister Pavus. Danarius rarely invited him to his soirees, except when propriety demanded it.

[Fenris didn't much care at the time. He didn't care about anything, back then. He lived to serve, and that was all. He didn't exist to have opinions.]

I assume he did not approve of your ideas any more than the Magiterium as a whole would.

There was more to it than that. He wished me to play a part, lie about who I was, and for what? So that he could avoid scandal. So that his legacy would live on, a legacy more important to him than his own son.

[He took another drink. The memories were still fresh in his mind, like a wound ripped open and left to bleed again.]

I am certain you know the words, what they call a man that would prefer another man to his wife. Scandalous. He wanted me to marry. Called me selfish when I refused. Selfish, and all I wanted was to not live feeling like my soul was screaming.

He was going to change me, use blood magic. I found out and fled to Minrathos.

[Ah. That...explained a lot. The elf leaves his wine alone, for now, instead, his brow furrowing. ]

I am not surprised they would treat you as such. Every party you had them parading their young men and women about as if they were cattle going to stud. All for the perfect line. Because Maker knows a person has to stick with tradition above all else. It's ridiculous.

[He scoffs, annoyed, but not at Dorian.]

I am not surprised that became a resort. The desire for perfection is so strong in all of them. You are lucky you got away when you did.

[Would they have toyed with Dorian's mind the way his was toyed with? Erase the unwanted parts to paint over with what they desired? The thought makes him feel sick. Certainly, he still assumed his own memory loss was due to the branding, but that did not mean Danarius didn't take advantage of the fact he had a clean slate to work with.]

[Dorian nods, and takes a drink.]

I loved him. I would have done anything to make him proud of me. But in the end, I was just a pawn to him.

[He finished his drink, downing the whiskey but barely tasting it. That was the horrible truth of it. It wasn't that his father had betrayed his own words- it was that Dorian was nothing more than a tool to him, to further the Pavus line.

Everything he had done to make him proud had meant nothing when his father was faced with the idea that his son might be different than what he wanted. Dorian knew there was nothing wrong about him. It was Tevinter, the Magistry, they were the ones at fault.

Dorian refused to play the role they wanted. That was why they hated him.

He considers drinking more, but having already fallen out of his seat once, he considers that enough of a show of himself for the night, so he stands. He nearly reaches out to pat Fenris on the shoulder, but he stops himself, steps back, and takes the quarter-full bottle of whiskey in hand.]

Goodnight, Fenris. I will see you again, soon, ideally.

[Fenris notes the hesitation to touch and is glad for it. To him, it speaks volumes. He makes a small noise of assent, going back to his wine. He has much to think about.]

I have a room on this moon. You will often find me in the bars here, should you wish to speak to me.

I will keep that in mind. Let me know, should you ever want for company. I am, after all, a charming conversationalist when I think to make myself one.

[There's a bow, an exaggerated gesture, and he chuckles drunkenly to himself and saunters toward the door, to find a place to sleep.]

[There's the faintest tug of his lips, a ghost of a smile.] I shall keep that in mind.

[He leaves Dorian go, returning to his wine. There are many things he never thought he could possibly do, but actually being anywhere near comfortable with a mage from Tevinter was not one of them. Strange times.]

Edited 2015-02-05 01:39 (UTC)

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