games of luck

Pushing open the door with a confidence that spoke of a familiarity he had no right to, Dorian entered the Dusklight with the air of someone who knew precisely where he was and what he wanted. Patiently, he let his eyes adjust to the warm textures and the dim lighting that enveloped the space as the door huffed quietly closed behind him. Only once his senses fully embraced the ambiance did he unbutton his coat.

In a rather charming display, he reached up to ruffle the snow from his curls. The gesture, carried out with an effortless grace, added a touch of charisma to his entrance as if he were stepping onto a stage where every eye awaited his performance. With shocking speed, Dorian's fingers reached out, their gentleness contrasting with the rapidity of his motion. He corralled a member of the serving staff to his side, and, after a whispered request, his eyes followed the direction indicated by the young boy. A horned man, comfortably seated on one of the couches, became the focal point of Dorian's attention.

Whispering his gratitude, Dorian gracefully made his way over, navigating the subtle ebb and flow of the Dusklight's patrons and shadows alike. "Dantalion?" He asked, though the smile on his lips betrayed the absence of any genuine uncertainty. The question seemed more a formality; a confirmation of what he already knew.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

Deepfrost, as many well know (and all signs point to you, too, Dorian) is not an ideal time for the Ancients, and with a few bits and pieces still requiring some completion, the Grounds are regrettably without an eternal flame at present. And so as the stranger enters the Dusklight and seeks out its master, he'll find him... well, cozy wouldn't be terribly far from the truth.

Only Danta decorates his body with other bodies, rather than opting for a scarf. Glancing up with cool blue eyes from his veritable blanket of men and women alike, the cock of his head suggests already that he sees something more than in the man who appoaches. Perhaps it's the use of his full name - Dantalion is a myth he likes to keep buried six feet under - but he extracts himself enough to speak.

"For my sins," he confirms, tipping a half empty glass towards the other man. "You have the advantage on me though, I'm afraid."

Dantalion

Indeed, Dorian did have the advantage, though his easy smile suggested harmlessness akin to a housecat. "Dorian." Once introductions settled, Dorian's gaze widened slightly, acknowledging not only Dantalion but also the peculiar cocoon of bodies draped over the Ancient.

"Perhaps I have caught you at a bad time, but I have a request I trust only you to fulfill." His words carried a nuanced confidence, a recognition of Danta's unique capabilities. Dorian didn't mind who heard what he needed. "Your finest drink—" The words were unhurried, and though unspoken, the subtle parting of his lips into a smile suggested the implicit expectation for nothing less than excellence. "-and a room with a bath drawn so that I might wash the day off of me. So to speak."

Smirking at his own jest with a humour that conspicuously avoided his eyes, Dorian skillfully maintained an unwavering focus on Danta. Even as the supple bodies in the Ancient's lap contorted and vied for his notice, Dorian's gaze remained meticulous, refusing to be swayed by the tempting display before him.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

"A pleasure." Everything is, for Danta. Usually, anyway. With a hand gently caressing the soft blonde waves of a girl tucked against his side, he hears out Dorian's request with a furrowed brow. This is what wait staff and receptionists are for, is what it wants to say, but being a creature whose instincts lay uncannily beneath the surface, he looks at Dorian and then looks again, and is not found wanting.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth and disentangling himself from the bodies on the couch, the Maverick rises with a long stretch, grabbing a sweater to pull over his head. "If you'd follow me," he purrs to Dorian, gesturing for him to meander through the crowd towards the bar. "My finest drink might be different to yours. What's your poison?" he asks. "And would you like some company with your bath?"

Dantalion

'Indeed.' Dorian agrees suggestively, watching appreciatively as the Maverick unfolded himself like velvet from the bodies at his side. Not unlike a double or triple bluff, so Dorian's request is considered. There was a subtle dance of motives in Dorian's choice to seek Danta's services, a choice that suggested a purpose beyond a simple desire for quality.

"And why might that be?" Dorian wondered, one bushy brow arched in curiosity. 'Surely what you drink for sustenance," he continued, alluding to the unspoken reality of the Maverick's blood consumption. "-is not what you drink for pleasure?"

As for company? Dorian's smile remained in place, perhaps even widening slightly. "A man does not come to a place like this to spend his evening alone, however, I do intend to make myself clean." He explains. "So perhaps my company might occupy themselves while I bathe? Perhaps they might even occupy you?"  The words, draped in a veneer of harmlessness, carried a subtle command seen in the tilt of Dorian's chin and the curve of his smile.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

"Sustenance and pleasure are mutually exclusive in my case," Danta informs the other man easily enough - not one to shy away from his nature, the Maverick is no tortured soul. The hunt, the kill, the feast - he relishes it all as much as a fine wine on a cold night. "But no, I was speaking more of simple preference." With an indulgent smile, he gestures to the wall of bottles behind the bar, selecting a robust red, a botanical gin, and an amber whiskey. "I prefer the red, but I feel like you might be more for the whiskey."

As for the company and the way in which they might occupy each other's time, the Maverick's eyes burn with a cold fire, and a fanged smirk curls across his lips. "Have we met before, Dorian?" he wonders, tilting his head. "Because I feel as though I really ought to have." That, of course, is a yes, and with a murmur in the ear of one of the staff flitting by, a bath will soon be drawn and a room prepared.

"So what made you come to the Grounds? You can say it was me - I take compliments very graciously." He grins.

Dantalion

"Always?" Dorian arches an eyebrow, a flicker of disbelief in his tone. "While I'm sure pleasure and need can overlap, surely pleasure for pleasure's sake is..." He pauses, inhaling with theatrical flair before exhaling extravagantly. "...better?" A smirk plays on his lips as he hears Danta's choice. "The red it is."

Leaning casually against the bar, Dorian's lips curve into a subtle frown, as if genuinely pondering the Maverick's question. "Surely you would remember if we had." He replies with a coy smile. "I certainly would."

His gaze follows the whispered instructions, but it's back on Danta when the Maverick returns his attention. "It wasn't not you." Dorian replies with charm, then shrugs lazily. "But I have always wanted to find myself in the Grounds during LongNight. So many stories of monsters about, you know?"

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

"Mm, so you would believe," Danta drawls, reaching for two glasses as the red makes its way to the top of the list, and he pours them each a generous measure. "Maybe it's just me, but I always find that the pleasure of sating a need just does something in the moment that I don't get when it's just for shits and giggles."

Sighing indulgently and raising his glass in a toast, he pauses to take a sip of his drink, relishing every drop. "As would I," he agrees. "At least I can say with certainty that I have met you now." And what a meeting it's turning out to be.

"I have heard similar. I confess, though, this is my first Longnight in the Grounds, and there's nary a monster to be found." Not of the Longnight variety, in any case. "Apparently they were all wiped out a few years ago."

Dantalion

From what he'd learned of humans, their throats connected in one long tunnel to their anuses, likely lending to the term shits and giggles in the first place. Real need, of the kind they spoke of now, dwelled somewhere else, he thought. "Perhaps it's a different sort of need. One not tied to the digestive tract, then." Dorian remarked, lifting the glass stem to the light with a touch of theatricality. The red liquid inside danced in the warm glow, reminiscent of blood—a detail not lost on him. With practiced finesse, he swirled the contents expertly before raising it to his lips but holding it just shy of his mouth, as if tempting the glass to beg for his touch.

Smiling suggestively at the Maverick's words, Dorian nods as he takes a slow sip of the wine. The taste, though new to his senses, carried a certain familiarity, a paradox of experience in this borrowed mortality.

Indulgence and wine painted his smile as he nodded at Danta's words. "No? What a shame. And here I thought the Dusklight was meant to trade in difficult-to-find things," he tutted playfully, savouring another slow sip of the wine.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

"More than likely. Have you never needed something in a way that goes beyond the physical?" Danta wonders; Dorian's musings on the state of humanity are unbeknownst to the Ancient, and yet their lines of thought are curiously similar. Most of humanity isn't blessed with bloodlust, after all, and the carnal craving goes beyond ordinary hunger. Raw and unrelenting it might be, but the kill feels all the sweeter for the wait.

His eyes track the movement of the wine, the glass, Dorian's fingers and lips, and it isn't just the wine begging for a taste; the Maverick isn't shy about his hooded stare either, clearing his throat and straightening up a touch if for no other reason than in defence of his establishment. "I would argue that Longnight monsters are more than difficult to find," he remarks. "But if I do get hold of one, I'll send it your way."

Glancing up to see one of the staff gesture across at him, he inclines his head to Dorian. "Your bath is ready, it seems."

Dantalion

"Oh, yes." There was heat in his words as a flicker of vulnerability passed through Dorian's gaze; a fleeting glimpse into a well of yearning and memory that was as vast as it was distant and shapeless. Just as he had once been. His tongue moistened his lips as a curious warmth spread across his cheeks. Inhaling resolutely, Dorian's jaw feathered beneath his beard just once, before the mask swiftly returned. His smile regained its polite and intrigued composure.

"Please do," Dorian agreed, the yearning momentarily tucked away. "Though I shouldn't imagine a monster would be too hard to find during LongNight. All that darkness within which to hide, you know?" The curve of his lips hinted at a shared knowledge, a silent understanding between him and Danta.

Without bothering to twist around to follow Danta's gaze, Dorian straightened and nodded before glancing at the bottle. "Best bring that," he suggested, "and perhaps a few more as well."

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

"Then I needn't say more," Danta murmurs behind another sip of wine, and his open admiration of the other man means he spots the briefest glint of the beast beneath Dorian's polished veneer, before it's promptly hidden away again. But not before he likes what he sees. "Mm, I know. Though it isn't as dark as it used to be, I'm told." All those streetlights where people are daring to prowl through the night again, and so on.

Regardless, Longnight falls to the back of his mind as the other man straightens up, and Danta inclines his head indulgently. "A wise decision. If you'll follow me." Collecting another couple of bottles along with the glass in his hand, it's with a pointed glance to the couch where he'd been enjoying himself that he summons the blonde. "She is delightful company, I promise," he drawls to Dorian, before leading them to the dark, polished wood stairs.

The Dusklight is predictably busy (what better way to wile away the longest night than in a brothel?) but the room Danta leads them to is at the end of a long corridor and somewhat shielded from the noise. Turning the key in the lock, he opens the door into a plush suite. Steam rises behind a folding screen somewhere to their left - the drawn bath, as requested.

Dantalion

Saying nothing, Dorian followed Danta indomitably, moving with the ease and confidence that could fool the uninitiated into thinking he was the proprietor. Upon entering the room, he paused, surveying his surroundings with a quick but decisive glance. Whatever thoughts crossed his mind remained carefully hidden, though he reached out to brush his fingertips against the thick wall paneling for a fleeting moment before making his way over to the steaming bath.

Though a screen was set out, Dorian began to undress right next to the tub, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He placed his clothes meticulously on a nearby chair. Only when his jacket, shoes, and the buttons of his shirt were undone did he look over his shoulder, his chin tilted slightly. "Make yourselves comfortable," he offered, playing the part of a gracious host in this borrowed room.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

Dorian moves to the bath and Danta sets down the bottles of wine, finishing the glass in his hand and placing that on the table as well. And the blonde, while initially surprised to see the Maverick joining them too, clearly has no qualms about it as she clicks the door shut behind them. Offering a sultry smile to both men, her eyes (somewhat glassy with booze) linger on Dorian, as if trying to make the measure of him with her gaze alone.

"How comfortable?" Danta wants to know, the tilt of his head catching rainbows on one of his horns. There's let's lounge on the bed and drink and chat comfortable, there's let's lend you a hand in that tub all the way up to I'll be with you in a moment, my head is buried between this lovely lady's thighs comfortable.

Dantalion