video; cw for mentions of implied suicide

[brushoff]

[ this post is forward dated to the night of March 6. The video clicks on to Dorian, sitting on the floor of his apartment leaning up against his wall. He looks...well, absolutely awful. His eyes are rimmed red and his hair's all over the place, but he's managed to pull himself together in order to make the broadcast. ]

So, the mirages are my fault. Sorry? [ He laughs, though it's more of a tired laugh than anything actually jovial. ] I thought I could change myself, erase some actions of the past. Instead, in typical fashion, I seem to have made everything worse. [ he laughs again, though this time there's a bit of actual humor in that laugh. ] I am Dorian Gray, all my faults included, and there's nothing I can do about that.

I know how to fix it though. Don't worry if I vanish for a few days, that's part of the fixing aspect. And...I really am sorry I caused this in the first place. [ He's sorry if only because surprise, guess who's ALSO been dealing with guilt mirages for the past few days and who's been taking it really badly. Dorian looks up at someone offscreen. Before the camera clicks off, you can hear Dorian mutter ] Happy now, Toby?

( ooc: about an ic hour after this post goes up, the guilt mirages vanish, all at once. Dorian's corpsey body'll hang out in his apartment for another hour or so before getting ported out. FEEL FREE TO KEEP TAGGING THE MIRAGE LOG because trauma can always be backdated.

As a note, this will just get rid of the creepy guilt mirages, it will NOT get rid of the anachronistic mirages that are popping up throughout in-game as part of the overall March plot. great job Dorian, you solved about half of it. )

Comments

[heckblazer]

[ Unfortunately, John is under no other impression but that he utterly, unambiguously does deserve to see this.

He closes the distance between himself and Dorian with a few more long steps, projecting more confidence than he really has. Astra, perhaps fortunately, stays cowering in her corner, surveying tearfully.

You're a mess, John Constantine. You're a fuckin mess, a colossal sinner, a walking rubbish heap that consumes everything in its path. And this is the tip of the iceberg of what you deserve.

He can't bring himself to say "You don't have to do this", or "It was my fuckup, I'll think of some way to con the universe like I always do". He knows how hollow it would ring in Dorian's perfect ears.

His hand and all of its worn skin rests on Dorian's wrist, eyes locked with an intent stare beyond words. ]

C'mon Dodo, awful's what we do. Living balls-deep in sin's better with someone to have fun with, right?

[brushoff]

[ Dorian opens his mouth, like he's about to say something...but then he catches the mirage of Toby out of the corner of his eye. This ghost who's still looking at him with such disdain and such hurt. An ever present reminder of how he fucked up and damned the person who's supposed to be his soulmate.

Even when doing something that's ostensibly for others, Dorian Gray's doing it out of 100% selfishness. He just can't take Toby looking at him like this anymore. Who knows how long it would take for John to find something to fix this, who knows how much longer he'd have to deal with Toby's eyes staring at him.

He should have told him when he had the chance. ]

I'm sorry.

[ Dorian says, trying to be calm, as he yanks his wrist out of John's grasp. ]

You're a good friend, John. Probably one of the best ones I've had here. [ He laughs, a short little hollow laugh, Dorian still trying to show that this isn't bothering him in the slightest! He's not a depressed wreck who got even worse thanks to the hallucination of his dead husband! ] Didn't take you for being this much of a masochist, though.

[ He takes a deep breath. ] You know what I'm going to do. When there's an infestation, remove it at the source. Stabbing my portrait will get rid of all of this.

[heckblazer]

Sorry? Nah, yer' not. Just about ever. But that's why I've always liked you.

[ If Dorian watches carefully, he might notice how swiftly John moves through the grieving stages. Denial, bargaining, anger, depression all travel across his face for a few painfully silent moments, then finally a resolved acceptance settles in. It wouldn't be the first time John's had good friends die because of him, after all. Very far from it, and he knew it would be daft to think he'd escape it in this world. Sure, they all had those handy little nano machines pumped into them that made them death-proof, but destroying the portrait was a much older, stronger spell. ]

In the likely event this is a one-way trip, d'you fancy one more drink? [ His flask appears from a pocket with two cigarettes. ] Not that neither of us are above sinning at all. But s'not right to waste perfectly good brandy, innit?

[brushoff]

It's not a one-way trip, [ Dorian remarks, with a dry little laugh. ] I've managed to come back after my portrait's been destroyed once here, and once back home.

[ granted, the once back home involved Dorian killing three people BUT DETAILS.

As John offers the flash, Dorian gives him a wry little grin. Why not. One for the road. ]

Give me a swig of that before I go. Liquid courage and all that nonsense.

[heckblazer]

[ Dorian will find that it's his favorite vodka, although John pulls from the flask longer than he means to. He'd like to believe that his mate will come back. But then, he believed he'd save Astra. He believed he'd keep his sister, Cheryl, safe. He'd believed he could keep his niece the hell away from all that which had consumed his own life.

But just this once, Constantine can't bring himself to rIle up the very pretty man or bruise that ego of his. ]

Mate, I know they bugger our memories sometimes when they send us back. But all the same, if you see your own Lucifer, give em hell for me.

[ Somehow, behind him, he can tell the horrified look that little girl must be giving them. ]

[brushoff]

[ Taking the flask, Dorian takes a long pull of the vodka and then gives John a wide grin. He still looks awful: his hair's a mess, his eyes are rimmed red with crying, and there's a weighty sadness in Dorian's expression. But for that brief moment, he looks more like the Dorian that John knew, that reckless immortal who didn't give a damn, instead of the depressed, beaten down man that seems to have taken his place. ]

Oh trust me, if I see the devil I plan to fuck him over as best I can.

[ The mirage of Toby raises an eyebrow, as if to say 'yeah, you try that.' As he offers the flask back to John, Dorian turns towards his portrait, screwing up as much courage as possible, hand still grabbing tight on the knife. ]

Last chance to leave.

[heckblazer]

[ In one hand is his flask, from which he pulls liberally one more time, savoring the sensation of liquor and smoke together in his mouth. The other rests firmly on Dorian's shoulder, feeling the professionally-cleaned cashmere as if it's his last chance. ]


I can take it. Not letting you do this alone. Not even you deserve that, mate.

[ In one final hurrah that sounds so much like "fuck it", John pivots Dorian back around and leans into him. For a horrible moment, it seems they might repeat their mistaken, aborted romance attempts from Christmas Eve. Until John tilts the other man's face downward, his kiss instead landing dryly and prudently on his forehead, pressing into his soft hairline. ]

Showtime, then?

CW PRETTY MUCH SUICIDE & REALLY GROSS BODY HORROR AGING BITS

[brushoff]

You bastard, I knew you wanted one last shot at me before I left.

[ It's said in a tone equal parts teasing and resigned. It was an oddly platonic sort of kiss compared to what Dorian's used to but hey, if he can make fun of Constantine a bit, he'll take it.

Turning towards his portrait, Dorian takes a deep breath. This is needed. It'll hurt like a bitch but then he'll be free of this, free of Toby's glaring eyes, and...not entirely free of his guilt. But he'll be closer. He casts one last look behind him...but not at John, at the mirage of Toby, whose glare has softened somewhat.

Walking towards his portrait, Dorian stabs the thing in one swift motion, tearing a large rip across the canvas from corner to corner, practically slicing the painting in half. The changes happen almost instantly. As the wounds, sins, and traces of age fade from the portrait, they appear on Dorian. His skin grows more and more wrinkled by the second. Wounds spurt open, burn marks crawl across his skin, his hair starts to fall out in clumps. Dorian's wracked with pain. He lets out a wordless cry of pain though gritted teeth, still defiantly trying not to look at John or Toby. Dorian attempts to bring a hand to his head, something to steady himself, but instead he slumps forward, propping himself up on trembling hands.

His whole body is shaking now as the sheer weight of sin and guilt seems to weigh him down. Dorian's once tailored clothes hang looser on his now withered frame. He can see the liver spots start to appear on his hands, he can feel his bones grow more and more brittle. And he knows there's a horrible sneer in his eyes, his beautiful eyes that are growing cloudy with age. He can't see it, but it's there. After all, it was in the portrait.

The whole process takes less than a minute—fifteen or so seconds, at most. The changes finish as Dorian falls with a thud, lying dead on the ground underneath the eye of his portrait, which now looks as young and as fresh as the day it was first painted.

And then, as if they were turned off by a switch, the mirages of Toby and the little girl blink out of existence, leaving behind John, the portrait, and the corpse, so twisted and warped by age and sin that it barely looks like Dorian in the first place. ]

[heckblazer]

[ Well, John thinks with an odd calm as he watches the heap of tattered flesh and bone hit the floor. That... certainly doesn’t seem like something to come back from.

Which is the last thing John remembers before shock kicks in. The lavish hues of Dorian's apartment go black, and the one sensation that keeps him grounded in reality is the rawness in his own throat from screams.

About time someone he liked kicked it, though. It was getting too comfortable. Nice streak while it lasted, Constantine. ]