Instead, she will find the remnants of a horror story (so, exactly what you'd expect to find in someone's room in the box). A closet with its doors have broken, blood on all of its panels. One wall with a metal pole through it, dried blood and viscera on the pole, fluids that dripped down to pool on the ground. Not far away, some gross, dried mass of muscle (which, if inspected, will prove to be a heart.) On the far wall, two holes (as if made by nails) with plenty of blood around them, and then another set of holes, less bloody but still stained, underneath. More blood spattered on the ground there, along with fragments of bone and, strangely, lung.
There is blood on the sofa too, but there in handprints or the occasional light spattering as if from another wound. Also, the room still smells faintly scorched. That might have been from the bombs downstairs, but it is entirely possible that this smell in fact has the same source as the ashes that have been mostly cleared out, but not entirely. And yes, that's a broken bottle of vodka.
There is a good reason Dorian is not in his room right now.]
so suddenly she's standing beside him, peering up into the tree. ]
Somehow I totally thought you were kidding. [ she lifts a hand to shield her eyes, as if that'll help see it better. ] Or like, that was some kind of metaphor or something.
[ a moment of scrutiny, but then she realizes this could be so much easier. ]
Hang on.
[ and she's ghosting up into the tree now, onto a branch decently close to the piano. don't mind her, scoot-scooting over a little closer, looping her foot around a slightly lower branch for stability, then she leans forward just a bit to reach out toward the piano. three keys are pressed, and the sound quality is iffy but it sounds like a relative success. ]
It's going to be mega uncomfortable? But I think you can do it, you just have to lean way far like this.
[Dorian makes a judgement of the base of the tree, walks backwards from it, and then goes for a running jump at the lowest branch. He manages to swing himself up on the momentum, and with a bit of scrambling, he has got himself standing on a tree branch. Getting in touch with his monkey self, Dorian manages to pulls himself from one branch to another until he has himself balanced on that lower branch.]
Y'know, I never actually pictured you being too into the athletics. [ she's saying, except dorian's slipping before she can quite get the last word out. sally's eyes go wide, and she flings a hand down to wrap firm around his shoulder. y'know, so he doesn't fall like six feet back into the dirt? but of course, her hand goes right through him, stupid useless ghost hands. ]
What bone cracked? It doesn't matter, it'll heal in a second. But he does wince hard, and let out a little 'oomph,' and stare up, dazed, at the tree branches above him.]
You've been all right, then? No malicious clone, no Biff getting struck down by plague, noe—I don't know. There has to be some third thing flittering about wanting to wreak a doom upon us. Fill in the blank.
[ wow, he went right for the 'biff' jokes. they totally aren't a thing, dorian!! the universe won't even let them bang. ]
No getting horribly exorcised by some asshole with a vengeance? [ she supplies from personal experience. ] None of the above so far. [ she lifts her hands to cross her index and middle fingers for luck, a less dated 'knock on wood'. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Right? You didn't manage to make yourself dead x 3, did you?
Fine. Bored. [if he keeps saying it's boredom, then boredom will totally eventually become what the problem is. yup. that makes sense.]
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i can come over?
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do u not want me there bc i dont have to
[ but yes, it would indeed be more convenient. ]
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Instead, she will find the remnants of a horror story (so, exactly what you'd expect to find in someone's room in the box). A closet with its doors have broken, blood on all of its panels. One wall with a metal pole through it, dried blood and viscera on the pole, fluids that dripped down to pool on the ground. Not far away, some gross, dried mass of muscle (which, if inspected, will prove to be a heart.) On the far wall, two holes (as if made by nails) with plenty of blood around them, and then another set of holes, less bloody but still stained, underneath. More blood spattered on the ground there, along with fragments of bone and, strangely, lung.
There is blood on the sofa too, but there in handprints or the occasional light spattering as if from another wound. Also, the room still smells faintly scorched. That might have been from the bombs downstairs, but it is entirely possible that this smell in fact has the same source as the ashes that have been mostly cleared out, but not entirely. And yes, that's a broken bottle of vodka.
There is a good reason Dorian is not in his room right now.]
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poofs back to her room. ]
right so where r u
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so suddenly she's standing beside him, peering up into the tree. ]
Somehow I totally thought you were kidding. [ she lifts a hand to shield her eyes, as if that'll help see it better. ] Or like, that was some kind of metaphor or something.
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If I climbed up there, do you think I could find a place to settle down to play it?
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Hang on.
[ and she's ghosting up into the tree now, onto a branch decently close to the piano. don't mind her, scoot-scooting over a little closer, looping her foot around a slightly lower branch for stability, then she leans forward just a bit to reach out toward the piano. three keys are pressed, and the sound quality is iffy but it sounds like a relative success. ]
It's going to be mega uncomfortable? But I think you can do it, you just have to lean way far like this.
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[Dorian makes a judgement of the base of the tree, walks backwards from it, and then goes for a running jump at the lowest branch. He manages to swing himself up on the momentum, and with a bit of scrambling, he has got himself standing on a tree branch. Getting in touch with his monkey self, Dorian manages to pulls himself from one branch to another until he has himself balanced on that lower branch.]
There we are.
[He goes to lean forward, as Sally demonstrated.
And his foot slips.]
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Y'know, I never actually pictured you being too into the athletics. [ she's saying, except dorian's slipping before she can quite get the last word out. sally's eyes go wide, and she flings a hand down to wrap firm around his shoulder. y'know, so he doesn't fall like six feet back into the dirt? but of course, her hand goes right through him, stupid useless ghost hands. ]
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What bone cracked? It doesn't matter, it'll heal in a second. But he does wince hard, and let out a little 'oomph,' and stare up, dazed, at the tree branches above him.]
This is the bit where the falls on me.
i assume you mean piano
I am so sorry.
maybe i mean dinosaur what then
My death is on your hands. Live with that guilt.
Or remain undead with it. As you prefer.
[The arm drops. Dorian closes his eyes.]
what if i'm reptile intolerant!!
then we better get some antihistimines stat
You've been all right, then? No malicious clone, no Biff getting struck down by plague, noe—I don't know. There has to be some third thing flittering about wanting to wreak a doom upon us. Fill in the blank.
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No getting horribly exorcised by some asshole with a vengeance? [ she supplies from personal experience. ] None of the above so far. [ she lifts her hands to cross her index and middle fingers for luck, a less dated 'knock on wood'. ]
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But he smiles despite himself now.] I'm glad to hear it.