#dorian001

There's a rhythm to Alyssum and Dorian. The lyrics she can never quite recall from one moment to the next, but there's something about the melody that will never leave her. Whether this is the tenth or tenth thousandth time they've shared drinks in this condo, it doesn't matter to her at the end of the day, because it's just as entertaining, just as comfortable. Alyssum's holding the cocktail in her hand, pretending to survey it with a critical eye from where her head rests on his shoulder. "Maybe I all along could make a far better drink than you, but I like to order you around too much." She's not conscious of why she ought to be in any hurry to drink the beverage, not even aware of her own state an hour ago when she'd been harassing some poor stranger on the street thinking they'd stolen her favorite dress, one she'd grown bored of and donated years back. No, there's not even time to take more than a sip when she hears her name from one of her best friend's lips. There's a scratch in the record player, she thinks. His tone is off, not snarky enough. That isn't the way her name should sound on his lips.

Alyssum lifts her head just as he asks the question, and any retort dies on her own lips at the sight of his dress shirt. She hasn't brought any fabric dye tonight, and their drinks aren't red -- Red like cherries, like roses, like rubies, like a memory she cannot unlock no matter how hard she tries. There's a flash of anger that he'd remind her of that -- of what? -- and the only remaining Serling child crawls into Dorian's lap, ready to strangle him at the joke. Perhaps his little court of jesters put him up to this? Except. Except. Except. Except. Her hands have found the stain on his chest and the color is growing on his shirt and leaving his face and this is... There's no scream, no sensible action or reaction yet other than one hand pressing instinctively on the red. "Dorian. This isn't funny. You aren't... No." The room begins to spin; there's a song slowing. "No. You're fine! Nothing can happen to you. I... I'll fix it. What's happening?"

"Happy birthday, man!" Jaren shouts when he finally makes his way to Dorian. It's only slightly redundant, considering the surprisingly decent-sized crowd Jaren and Matty have managed to hide across the establishment for Dorian's surprise party. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to pretend I forgot your birthday this morning? It was like stabbing you and myself in the heart," Jaren teases. "Hey! Does this make it an April Fool's prank?"

Location: Dorian’s home

It’s become sort of a habit. Alex drives. He sees a piece of junk discarded on someone’s curb. He calls Dorian and asks if she’s interested. He hauls it into the back of his old truck and brings it to her. This time is no different as he carries the weird little three-legged chair over his shoulder and up to her door, stumbling across it on his way home from Coleman’s. In his eyes, the thing has no real potential, and honestly, he doesn’t blame its previous owner for leaving it out with the garbage. Dorian, on the other hand, would disagree, because of course she would. She is, without a doubt, one of the most eccentric people he’s ever met, but he guesses it takes some unconventional creativity, no matter how odd, to do what she does. 

Sighing, Alex knocks on Dorian’s door as he gently sets the chair down, not too confident it won’t disintegrate right then and there if he drops it with any sort of force. Looking down at the pathetic little thing, he can’t help but to laugh to himself. “Ta da,” He says, amused when the door swings open. “You know, I’m really starting to think this is just an excuse to hang out, because there’s no way in hell you’ve actually got any use for this thing,” Alex adds, teasing as he picks the chair up for her. “Can I come in?”

@dxrianmatthxws

      Now this was a place worth looking at. Markets adorned the streets with some of the cutest little things you could ever find, and likely buy with the right coin. Luckily for Isabela, she was pro rogue, and pro stealing, so buying some of these trinkets and otherwise glorious looking things would be piss easy, once she managed to grab the money from another person. Eyeing the streets up for a moment, she began looking for the particularly rich. One man that took her interest was one who looked somewhat like a mage. She was uncertain whether it was the staff that gave him away, however, he was her target.

Unaware that her abilities were capped in this place, Isabela switched straight into her stealth form, disappearing from sight of any unsuspecting bystander. Working quickly, she paced toward the male, worked her way into a pocket to try and steal a coin purse of sorts. However, just as she'd grabbed the item she was looking for, the stealth mode somehow stopped working, putting her in full sight of the male now. Holding the purse in almost shock horror, Isabela glanced over to one side in near embarrassment.

Hawke gently stirred, eyes opening to see it was light out all ready. A shame, it meant he couldn't go back to sleep and pretend he hadn't been awake in the first place. A hand slid out, attaching around a nearby waist as he shifted and pulled himself a bit closer. The Champion couldn't say it hadn't been a surprise, for multiple reasons, but he for one was too tired and pleased with himself to bother complaining.