Dorian Gray

To this day he still thrills to hear this title, murmured and whispered around him, sacred through the vastness of his Kingdom. Myths and stories surround himself and his Sovereignty. None except his sweet princess-daughter knew the truth of his story. It would die with her, as it died with the last heir he had entrusted and the ones that came before. Each lifetime he picks a child from his loins to carry the story so that if the day ever comes he can no longer remain here in the golden chains he created for himself.. Mehmed would not die with him but live on through the world he had crafted so splendidly. The recollection of that world living countless myrieteris of years in the past was not a known thing, pages in books lost to history, sands in time that had turned to dust and blown away in the winds of change.

But the memory of his lifetimes clung to him like silken threads, pull one and another came loose with it, such was the life of a man immortal. He had watched all empires fall. From his first home, the Dorian Isles where he was simply a prince. A boy-man named Dorian Gray for ease of passage as he was whore or soldier, slight and beautiful, to the Jewel of Constantinople and a million lifetimes before, between and after. All empires fell, all empires were victims to time and the harshness of age meeting youth. Now the ruling fatherhead of an Empire slowly attempting to throw itself into chaos, he has grown tired.

The prison of his own making was closing in around him and though he fights to remain steadfast.. He is wary. He aches. He misses his Sultan with every beat of his heart.

But who else is there to take up arms? To keep this kingdom he's fought for over a decamillennium and yet now he's unsure why he has went to all this trouble. With each turn of his head he finds another foe, another fight, another idiot who thinks they know best. Seventy-two years long was this lifetime and still he looked like the young man he would forever be.. but even he could see the exhaustion in his features. Perhaps he's finally reached his end.. Perhaps it was finally time to rip the crown from his head and toss it into the flames of chaos. This business on Arrakis, Duke Leto and his young son, Paul, it left a terrible taste in his mouth and for once since this entire business had started.. He couldn't see an end that fit his deepest secret wishes.

I have been damned.

Hello! voice like butter, face like marble statues somewhere fancy. Foggy knows better than to think that heavy-handed pick-up line is directed at him, but he figures ogling the guy doing the talking is fair game since they’re sharing the same crowded stretch of sticky bar-top. Naturally, he doesn’t answer. No, he just drinks his beer and does his staring as discreetly as a half-drunk Foggy can… which isn’t really that discreetly at all– BUT THAT ISN’T THE POINT! No, the point is that… he should probably… get a look at what kind of specimen butter and marble here is trying to take home from Josie’s.

Cue a craning of his neck, face angled the other way for a few moments while he tries to figure out between the aging bikers and washed up roadies who the lucky lady?? gent?? is. Ah, they’re the kind of people who give Foggy hope. As many times as he’s hung around ‘til closing? He’s seen even the most washed up of them find someone to sling an arm around and hobble off into the night with. One day, it’ll be his turn. He’s got hopes held out that it’ll be Matt’s waist his arm winds up slung around, but even if it’s not, he’s going to be grateful for whoever it is. Romantic thoughts that fill his buzzed head and leave him slower on the uptake than usual. He was supposed to be looking for whoever Mr. Butterworth here was talking to… but then… as usual, he thought of Matt and ended up distracted…

In spite of it taking a few beats for him to come back around to his original purpose, Foggy gets there in the end and turns back to him to commiserate drunkenly. “I don’t think they heard ya, buddy.”

Well, isn’t that sweet. The poor thing had no idea the words had been directed towards him and he has the opportunity to watch him while he searched for the lucky soul Dorian was interested in. He can’t help but find himself softening at the way his curiosity turns to sadness and then back again. He wonders what had darkened his face, was it the one who denied him or something else, he decides he’s willing to find out. 

I SPY W MY LITTLE EYE, ONE FAV

Dooooooorian