Not for my wit and charm, which is a gift in itself? I’m heart broken. No, I do have things besides that, so will I be meeting you at your home or somewhere else?
Your wit and charm are all very well, but it's not a gift if I have to share with everyone you meet. And I'd say the house, but the heat in here's tortuous, I think the floorboards are warping.
There's a little green square just outside. It's shady, and I don't think any of the plants are maneaters.
Oh, but where's the fun in not having any man eaters? I'll have to pick up their nature to compensate for the lack of. I'll see you soon.
[Dorian stretches the confines of "soon" as far as he possibly can, but it isn't on purpose. One minute, he's perfectly fine showing up with a bouquet as is. The next, he's separating the flowers from one another like he could pull off saying he picked them all. Ultimately, after a frustrating back and forth, he backtracked to the market to find a vase as a compromise.
Still rather sudden, he thinks, but the presentation won't be uncomfortably informal. He's mustered up a confident smirk the second he crosses into the square, though it's faltered once he lays his eyes on Prior.] Ah - there you are. I do hope I haven't kept you waiting too long.
[Prior has found a tree with a canopy that keeps the sun off at least half of the green square in question, and he's sitting at the base of it, legs crossed, on a gingham blanket. The glass of water beside him had ice in it once upon a time, and his head's dipped over a pad, hair in his eyes as he sketches something out.]
You know precisely how long you've kept me waiting. [And the answer isn't 'too long', but he can still play this out. He hasn't looked back to find Dorian yet, but tips his head back, eyes closed.] I have to assume you'll be worth the wait.
[It's more of an relaxing scene than Dorian expected would be possible in this city, but really, he should be kicking himself for thinking Prior would provide any less. He takes a moment to admire it all - then a longer one to admire the man seated at its center - before he steps into the shade.]
You've kept yourself busy, at least. [He keeps the flowers close to his chest as he lowers himself to the ground beside him, as not to rustle them and give it all away too soon.] I should have known you had artistic talent. I'll show you mine if you show me yours?
So long as you don't tell mine I'm here. She'd be dragging me away by my earlobe if she knew I was delivering flowers to pretty boys.
[Ah, but he doesn't. The flowers are indeed for Prior, and to reiterate it, he holds the bouquet out to him shortly thereafter. His free hand extends to take his sketches in exchange; he can't help but try and grasp something else, because there's a certain vulnerability in waiting for a word about them that makes his smile hesitant. He isn't certain if they're excessive, or appropriate at all, or... Well, he doesn't know. He hasn't exactly done this before.]
I thought you might like a little nature that you won't be tripping over. At least, I hope you won't.
And I thought you were just trying to make the garden look inadequate. [Oh, no no. Prior moves his sketchbook to the other side before he takes the flowers - this is a gift, not an exchange of goods. And if he doesn't quite know why it doesn't mean he doesn't want the chance to appreciate it.] Though you'd hardly have to go to so much effort.
[It's no good, he can't maintain the kind of composure needed for wry commentary, he's smiling too widely for that, nose in the flowers.]
Is there some occasion I don't know about? [A light breath-] Is it my birthday?
[Dorian drops his hand to his side somewhat defeatedly, casting a glance towards the sketchbook as if he'll revisit it soon. He probably will, if he has his way.]
No, but you will tell me your birthday. What a grand occasion it will be. [And as if it were a grand secret, he leans forward with a lowered voice.] Now, you can't go ruining my reputation, but I have weaknesses for men who smile so sweetly. I saw them in passing, and they reminded me of you. But if you do need help with that poor garden of yours, I would be more than willing to try and help.
Well, it would be churlish to say no to a handsome man offering his tools. Or is it your hose? [Prior can double-entendre like he's reading the prayer card at church when he wants to. It's the grin he can't keep back.] I can see why Byerly likes you. Let me just-
[Deposit the flowers straight into the glass of drinking water he'd brought out.]
I'll find something that suits them better later. But tell me about your reputation. Are the neighbours going to talk?
No, no, I'm very hands on. We might not even need the hose by the time I'm done.
[He laughs, leaning back on his hands with a grin of his own.]
Oh, of course they are. I'm quite horrible at being subtle. That Dorian, he's climbing through the window again, did you see him? [A beat.] I'd rather not climb through one, if that's alright. Tears fine fabrics.
You're not supposed to climb right through the window. First you stand under with with a boombox. Or, hm. [Not a creature of modern technology, Prior.] a lute?
Though you're right to avoid my window, it's all shattered glass right now. Violent to velvet, lethal to lace.
Oh? I do play one. [He raises his brows in amusement.]
Perhaps I'll have to purchase one again, if that's what it takes. As long as you unlock your door instead... You are worth trouble, but if I'm going to have anything torn off me, I'd rather I already be inside.
[His eyes widen a touch - the gesture is so unexpectedly sweet that he doesn't know what to do with it. He raises a hand to ensure it stays, slowly smiling as he sits back.]
You're something else. I don't normally wear such natural accessories, but I'll make an exception. [And, with a thoughtful hum, like the question is more casual than it is:] You didn't hide, before all this?
Please don't tell me these are all man-made fibres. [Lowering his hand, Prior lets a fingertip trace across Dorian's shoulder, testing the fabric.] It's no wonder you've been here five minutes before talking about tearing them off. And no, I don't. Well.
[He tilts his head, ticks a few things off on his fingertips.]
Birthday presents, unexpected acne, receipts from Bloomingdales, and my boyfriend wouldn't kiss me anywhere below 14th street, but I would have kissed him on the steps of the Supreme Court if he'd let me. How about you?
Oh, darling, I'll stand a lot of things. Talk of my dress isn't one of them. [He scoffs, waving a scolding finger before dropping it in his lap.] It was very in fashion back home.
[Home. He bites the inside of his cheek, turning his gaze back to the flowers.] We don't kiss at all. We don't have... boyfriends, was it? Anything more than a few romps behind closed doors is shameful.
Oh I like how you dress. I simply hope it doesn't chafe anywhere important.
[Ah, the flowers. Well, Prior picks another one to match the first. With apologies to the previously flawless arrangement.]
Oh its shameful at home, too. We walk hand in lavender gloved hand down the street straight to Sodom if you listen to some people. Some news channels, even. Doomed, doomed. So. [His voice turns clipped.] I listened to those people for a while and I thought - if I'm to be an abomination all my life, I might as well be a fabulous one.
[He pauses, fingertips pressing at the flower's stem.]
[As morbid as the topic is, he still finds it in him to smile. It's a bitter smile, that doesn't quite reach his eyes.]
I used to be. But when you have to leave home because no one can stand you for who you are, least of all those closest to you, you get rather exhausted pretending to be anything but. Us abominations are just too prideful, aren't we?
I was going to say - [As he kneels, leaning in again to thread the next flower in beside the first] that I don't believe you learned to flirt like this without ever kissing boys. But then you put down pride.
[He settles both hands on Dorian's shoulders now.]
Pride is the only response to shame. It's the only defence. Where I'm from, Pride is a movement. Pride is marching down the street in rainbow hotpants while people rattle protest signs, because we exist, and we have and will exist whether they see us or not, we have and will exist whether they try to put us down or not. We have and will exist so we may as well be goddamn visible and make them deal with it. It's their problem. There are fucking terrible people in the world, Dorian. There are genocidal dictators with Chaplin moustaches, and murderers and abusers and presidents who should've stayed actors, and Republicans in general, and lawyers, and republican mormon lawyers and they should be ashamed for the things they think and feel and do. And anyone who thinks queers are shameful ought to be ashamed that they think fear and hate and rancid conservativism less shameful than love. Screw the bastards. They're messed up assholes, and they're the ones missing out.
[His shoulders tense, but he isn't so uncomfortable that he leans any further away. He listens, and parts his lips to interrupt, but lets the questions die on his lips. As many as their are running through his head, he shouldn't deflect.]
I might have a few questions about rainbow hotpants, but... [He starts slowly, carefully, like saying something might make him vulnerable.] You're much braver than I, Prior. It's a very good quality - an attractive quality. I'll try after you, shall I?
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Oh? Should I have put in a reservation? I would come bearing gifts to make up for this grave oversight.
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There's a little green square just outside. It's shady, and I don't think any of the plants are maneaters.
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[Dorian stretches the confines of "soon" as far as he possibly can, but it isn't on purpose. One minute, he's perfectly fine showing up with a bouquet as is. The next, he's separating the flowers from one another like he could pull off saying he picked them all. Ultimately, after a frustrating back and forth, he backtracked to the market to find a vase as a compromise.
Still rather sudden, he thinks, but the presentation won't be uncomfortably informal. He's mustered up a confident smirk the second he crosses into the square, though it's faltered once he lays his eyes on Prior.] Ah - there you are. I do hope I haven't kept you waiting too long.
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You know precisely how long you've kept me waiting. [And the answer isn't 'too long', but he can still play this out. He hasn't looked back to find Dorian yet, but tips his head back, eyes closed.] I have to assume you'll be worth the wait.
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You've kept yourself busy, at least. [He keeps the flowers close to his chest as he lowers himself to the ground beside him, as not to rustle them and give it all away too soon.] I should have known you had artistic talent. I'll show you mine if you show me yours?
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[The pause in the rather haughty diatribe he's affecting comes when he turns his head finally and - oh. Oh?
He regains his stride, but can't quite look away from the bouquet.]
I haven't played that game in a while. Alright, but don't tell mother.
[No reference to the flowers - surely it would be presumptuous. Perhaps Dorian brings flowers to every park he visits.]
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[Ah, but he doesn't. The flowers are indeed for Prior, and to reiterate it, he holds the bouquet out to him shortly thereafter. His free hand extends to take his sketches in exchange; he can't help but try and grasp something else, because there's a certain vulnerability in waiting for a word about them that makes his smile hesitant. He isn't certain if they're excessive, or appropriate at all, or... Well, he doesn't know. He hasn't exactly done this before.]
I thought you might like a little nature that you won't be tripping over. At least, I hope you won't.
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[It's no good, he can't maintain the kind of composure needed for wry commentary, he's smiling too widely for that, nose in the flowers.]
Is there some occasion I don't know about? [A light breath-] Is it my birthday?
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No, but you will tell me your birthday. What a grand occasion it will be. [And as if it were a grand secret, he leans forward with a lowered voice.] Now, you can't go ruining my reputation, but I have weaknesses for men who smile so sweetly. I saw them in passing, and they reminded me of you. But if you do need help with that poor garden of yours, I would be more than willing to try and help.
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[Deposit the flowers straight into the glass of drinking water he'd brought out.]
I'll find something that suits them better later. But tell me about your reputation. Are the neighbours going to talk?
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[He laughs, leaning back on his hands with a grin of his own.]
Oh, of course they are. I'm quite horrible at being subtle. That Dorian, he's climbing through the window again, did you see him? [A beat.] I'd rather not climb through one, if that's alright. Tears fine fabrics.
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Though you're right to avoid my window, it's all shattered glass right now. Violent to velvet, lethal to lace.
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Perhaps I'll have to purchase one again, if that's what it takes. As long as you unlock your door instead... You are worth trouble, but if I'm going to have anything torn off me, I'd rather I already be inside.
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[He crooks a finger in Dorian's direction - lean closer?]
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I only prefer there not to be prying eyes.
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[And he tucks the flower into Dorian's hair, angled so the stem catches and holds.]
There, somewhere more fitting. They're beautiful, thank you.
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You're something else. I don't normally wear such natural accessories, but I'll make an exception. [And, with a thoughtful hum, like the question is more casual than it is:] You didn't hide, before all this?
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[He tilts his head, ticks a few things off on his fingertips.]
Birthday presents, unexpected acne, receipts from Bloomingdales, and my boyfriend wouldn't kiss me anywhere below 14th street, but I would have kissed him on the steps of the Supreme Court if he'd let me. How about you?
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[Home. He bites the inside of his cheek, turning his gaze back to the flowers.] We don't kiss at all. We don't have... boyfriends, was it? Anything more than a few romps behind closed doors is shameful.
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[Ah, the flowers. Well, Prior picks another one to match the first. With apologies to the previously flawless arrangement.]
Oh its shameful at home, too. We walk hand in lavender gloved hand down the street straight to Sodom if you listen to some people. Some news channels, even. Doomed, doomed. So. [His voice turns clipped.] I listened to those people for a while and I thought - if I'm to be an abomination all my life, I might as well be a fabulous one.
[He pauses, fingertips pressing at the flower's stem.]
Are you ashamed of yourself?
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I used to be. But when you have to leave home because no one can stand you for who you are, least of all those closest to you, you get rather exhausted pretending to be anything but. Us abominations are just too prideful, aren't we?
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[He settles both hands on Dorian's shoulders now.]
Pride is the only response to shame. It's the only defence. Where I'm from, Pride is a movement. Pride is marching down the street in rainbow hotpants while people rattle protest signs, because we exist, and we have and will exist whether they see us or not, we have and will exist whether they try to put us down or not. We have and will exist so we may as well be goddamn visible and make them deal with it. It's their problem. There are fucking terrible people in the world, Dorian. There are genocidal dictators with Chaplin moustaches, and murderers and abusers and presidents who should've stayed actors, and Republicans in general, and lawyers, and republican mormon lawyers and they should be ashamed for the things they think and feel and do. And anyone who thinks queers are shameful ought to be ashamed that they think fear and hate and rancid conservativism less shameful than love. Screw the bastards. They're messed up assholes, and they're the ones missing out.
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I might have a few questions about rainbow hotpants, but... [He starts slowly, carefully, like saying something might make him vulnerable.] You're much braver than I, Prior. It's a very good quality - an attractive quality. I'll try after you, shall I?
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