(Untitled)

[nobodyneedknow]

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this man said: it's gruesome that someone so handsome should care

[treadingdawn]

When Caspian leaves the hospital it is without cold pack or whatever else on his face. His vanity has taken a blow from the bruise so he isn't willing to look even more ridiculous by walking around with ice strapped to it. Caspian is also a king, a swordsman, someone who has fought on the field of battle. This mark is another trace of that nature within him, the boy who can mount his horse and ride with the cavalry as a man. It's a facet not often revealed to those who live in this world but despite that, it's just as likely anyone who sees his face will think he had a poor encounter with a door or something equally foolish. No matter, he would rather not have to tell people how he got the wound as it's no one's business but his own, that of Peter Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie, and the girls to an extent. In any case, the Telmarine walks through the Square now, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other hand (his wounded left palm) hanging at his side.

this man said: it's gruesome that someone so handsome should care

[nobodyneedknow]

Dorian spends a good deal of his time, lately, in his favorite cafe in the square, watching people come and go. They couldn't make a decent cup of tea if the Queen herself was stopping in, but their coffee was superb. And the view was unparalleled. People never seemed to mind being watched, in this world; a brazen stare was only more reason to act vile, or maybe to give a brazen stare in return. When people noticed that they were being watched, that is. Most of the time they continued by, girls in short skirts, boys in trousers - jeans, pardon - so tight it was almost like skin.

It is Caspian who catches his attention - far enough away that he cannot quite see the details of his face, but he would recognize his twin anywhere. He refuses to yodel at him like a common whore, however, so he stands, places a coin on the table and walks to catch up with the man, approaching from behind and sliding next to him at a respectable distance. "Do you have an appointment?" he asks, not looking at his face right away, but instead straight ahead.

this man said: it's gruesome that someone so handsome should care

[treadingdawn]

Twin? Really? Caspian has yet to consider any siblinghood between them, not the kind by blood or gene (because he doesn't really know what genesare anyway) but by kinship. This isn't the same as saying he would refuse such friendship with the man who shares his face, it simply hasn't occurred to him that they could or should foster any such closeness. Of course, it's a little difficult for Caspian to wrap his mind around brotherhood, rather he wraps his mind around it differently due to the family he lives with under one roof. In any case, his steps do stop when he hears a familiar voice, his own in an even more familiar accent though obviously not his own.

"No, not anymore. Hello," he greets Dorian, slightly apprehensive of his own appearance but that doesn't stop the instinct to turn and face he who addresses him. Looking away or avoiding his face would be rude.

this man said: it's gruesome that someone so handsome should care

[nobodyneedknow]

Twin in terms of appearance, not anything else. Dorian has rather unsibling-like aspirations towards the other man.

Although upon seeing Caspian's face, Dorian can't help but be torn. On one hand - it is his own face, torn up, bruised, looking like someone has beaten it in. Dorian's never seen this particular countenance of his own face before, and it bears a moment of curiosity. Is that what he would look like if someone beat him? It's interesting in a clinical way.

On the other hand - what happened? Caspian seems the kind who angers no one (a trait that Dorian finds almost gratingly hard to ignore) and so Dorian isn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Would it be rude to inquire as to the state of your face? Because I suppose, then, I must be rude." He takes a cigarette from it's silver case, and politely offers the other man one.

you look me in the eye directly, you met me

[treadingdawn]

As agreed upon, Caspian arrives at the courtyard perhaps two minutes late from a quarter of the hour but Dorian will not possibly quarrel over a hundred and twenty seconds will he? On his way the Telmarine hasn't looked anyone in the eye despite the amount of sunglasses piquing his curiosity. Network research might have done him well but meeting a friend is more interesting to him than unlocking the mystery here. So boots pad around the fountain in the center of cobblestone and marble. The Palace is a nice place, sometimes he wonders how its previous owners feel knowing it stands when they do not. At least not in this world.

you look me in the eye directly, you met me

[nobodyneedknow]

Dorian would not give Caspian grief over such a small amount of time wasted. He in fact is just descending from the Palace itself - Dorian is drawn to the building, as though it holds something for him. Perhaps it is the grandeur, or perhaps the wings of paintings, although none of them are his portrait, from what he can see.

He sees Caspian across the courtyard and makes his way across with a sure step. He hasn't met anyone else that day - it's been the kind of afternoon where such things as meetings have not been a chief concern - and so he does not know about the curse, or it's potential ramifications.

you look me in the eye directly, you met me

[treadingdawn]

"Hello," Caspian greets from across the way, bruised still but not unrecognizable for it. And he would recognize his own face anywhere. Steps taken to meet Dorian at the halfmark are not hurried but nor are they slow. "Have you gone on without me," he asks the other brunette, only a joke honestly, as he did notice the man coming down the steps. Brown eyes meet brown eyes because Caspian does believe it is polite to look at good company directly. Perhaps it is a mistake.

you look me in the eye directly, you met me

[nobodyneedknow]

"I've been here for almost an hour, but I always find more places to explore," Dorian begins, and then he pauses, once Caspian's dark eyes meet his own.

It is like looking into an odd kind of window. Perhaps this is why people have been wearing spectacles, and perhaps Dorian should have heeded their fashion choice, but the man who Dorian sees behind Caspian's eyes is not one to be trifled with. There is no darkness, but something dangerous, something that is pure royalty about the other man's soul. A mirror image of himself that he could never be, because he does not possess that resilience.

Suddenly the realization is startling, of the curse, of the implications, of what Caspian might see reflecting back at him, and he turns away quickly, but not quickly enough.

our aspirations are wrapped up in books // our inclinations are hidden in looks[

[shiningdown]

Yvaine is awake early again, much to her slowly dimming upset. After night upon night of waking before sundown, she has almost become accustomed. Almost. Not quite. This particular evening, the one after dark glasses and too many half truths and soon-to-be truths revealed, she has come to stand outside of the City library with some consternation written clean and clear across her features, slender arms folded and mouth quirked to one side. The picture of a person who faces something they seem to be debating upon facing another day instead, she only adds to it by turning away and turning back again. Indecisive. But there isn't anything else to do, she reasons, and she does have a reason for having come here at all. Having been asked if she enjoyed books, having found herself incapable of saying, she prefers not to stay a passive creature and assume that things will come to her. Experience does not happen so complacently, even with literature--or maybe, some would say, especially not with literature

our aspirations are wrapped up in books // our inclinations are hidden in looks[

[nobodyneedknow]

While Dorian has not yet found his portrait - an important, vitally, terribly important errand - he had not forgotten Yvaine. It is not that he feels his reputation or his honor is so vital, something perhaps his lookalike would, but because he recognizes the need to have allies, friends, people who will look out for him. And women, like men, have their uses. Dorian can tell that in a way Yvaine is unhappy, and while he has long outgrown the need for books to keep him company, it is a way to endear himself to a girl who has perhaps not had a great deal of human company. And the fact that she is a star, well.

It was intriguing, if nothing else.

Dorian has a very nice copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, an adventure story if he ever read one. It's bound in leather, with slight gold leaf, and he sees her when she enters from his viewpoint on one of the staircases. She's much more beautiful in person, even if he knows that her tongue is laced with razors. He approaches her carefully, not wanting to surprise her too terribly

our aspirations are wrapped up in books // our inclinations are hidden in looks[

[shiningdown]

Turning to the sound of a voice nearer to her than she expects, her eyes widen, surprised by his image, and for a moment, she falters with a pause of silence rather than a stammering of the wrong name, for it only takes her another moment to understand acute differences in carriage alone

our aspirations are wrapped up in books // our inclinations are hidden in looks[

[nobodyneedknow]

Perhaps it would be too obvious to mention her current state - that is to say, the slight and persistent glow that she is shedding, soft and just enough to illuminate. Dorian finds it almost poetic; the girl that glows and the boy without a true soul. He tips his head as she takes the book into her arms, a polite enough nod.

"I enjoyed that book very much, when I was still an avid reader," he explains to her, not wanting to say when I was a child, if that were to offend her. She is prickly, this star - perhaps annoyed that returning home is only a pipe dream, or perhaps annoyed at the early hour, although it is evening now. She does not wake gracefully but that is nothing that Dorian has not encountered before. He too, can be quite intolerant before he's had his early morning tea.

"When you finish it, I hope you'll tell me what you think," he tells her, fingering the other books on the shelf, his long fingers moving across their bindings just enough to ghost a touch.

the smell of your skin, the glittering lights of Hell, I'm missing sin

[treadingdawn]

They say socializing is when the real fun begins, but Caspian sees it as time to talk with friends and enjoy good wine. Well, in that sense what the Telmarine prefers to do can be interpreted as fun too. It is. His companion is dressed to the purple nines--a source of his earlier displeasure but certainly even Peter can erase thinning lips for a smile with friends, right--looking quite handsome for such a color, and Caspian himself is dressed in the richest hunter green fabric that might shimmer in the light when one looks this way instead of that way. In his hand he carries a single glass, moderate in volume and only a third of the way down from its original serving. Caspian has no intention of getting drunk on wine, at least not on the premises. That would be rude. You know what else is rude though? Not saying hello to a person one has promised to introduce to the other

the smell of your skin, the glittering lights of Hell, I'm missing sin

[oshutup]

Social events are not Peter's thing. They never have been and never will be, whether eighteen or eighty, but a friend is a friend and Blair, though not exceptionally close to him, has been kind and in a word, magnanimous with her own presence at his birthday some time ago. He knows well enough that it would be ill in behavior not to return the gesture, and in spite of his often stoic nature on the matter of gift giving where girls are concerned, any females at all, he happens to be quite good at it. This can easily be attributed to having two sisters, and having had them, technically, for decades. He has had, in short, plenty of time to practice, and though there is nothing special about jewelry to an extent, the necklace in a velvet box is nice enough to be confused as an admirer's gift rather than that of only a friend, but Blaire Waldorf is shrewd, and he can tell this too. She will know the difference between a token of affection for pursuit and a present of particular worth because she is someone who would appreciate it

the smell of your skin, the glittering lights of Hell, I'm missing sin

[nobodyneedknow]

Dorian has, to his credit, waited for Caspian to introduce him to his fair-haired and fresh-faced friend, instead of approaching them. It was a simple matter of courtesy - it is always easier to be introduced to, than to introduce oneself, but Caspian's choice of company is so lovely that Dorian could not have helped but notice. Dorian notices pretty things, which makes his particular party more than just a little distracting. Blair certainly has a taste for beauty

the smell of your skin, the glittering lights of Hell, I'm missing sin

[treadingdawn]

Fine he says, fff. "You won't regret it," Caspian insists as they make their way over.

Yes you can blame him.

So shut. Up.

Honestly, a little shimmer is no different from the gold-toned threads in brocade tunic over skirting over loose trousers and has Peter forgotten that exquisite diamond pattern on sky blue? That was embossed by only the finest Telmarine looms. Learn to appreciate. Fff

And now he lives inside someone he does not recognize;

[nobodyneedknow]

The mirror had never lied to Dorian before. Narcissism had created this particular monster, the monster that looked like Dorian. The monster that later, much later, after a drink and a moment alone with his rotting portrait, Dorian would irrationally blame on Basil, as though it was Basil who had created Dorian and not Henry Wotton.

But for now Dorian's mirror image, Dorian's shadow stalks the streets, his cane hitting the sidewalk of the streets just as the sun begins to set. It had been surprisingly difficult to pull the real Dorian into the mirror, and now he wants something, someone to do.

It is Caspian's misfortune that Dorian's shadow, that Dorian spots him just then. He stalks the Telmarine carefully at first, but once Caspian moves towards a more secluded place, he moves in faster, lifting his cane so it stops tapping on the ground.

"Hello, Caspian." The reflection's voice is smooth, identical to Dorians, but perhaps a touch crueler.

And now he lives inside someone he does not recognize;

[treadingdawn]

The sun is setting but near darkness doesn't keep Caspian from visiting his horse, to bring Destrier out of the pasture then into his stall. It's a common courtesy for a companion. Since this morning the Network has been stirring with activity about mysterious shadows and reflections, things Caspian hasn't seen firsthand, at least not in the way they mean. Nevertheless, he knows to exercise caution while out today. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone alone but bringing one of the girls was out of the question and the boys...well, boys will be boys or so they say. So Caspian has put his horse away for the day and left the stable on foot. That he has been followed doesn't completely occur to him. Normally he can be observant but the one who shadows him is a master of secrecy, of ensuring nobody really knows. It's with very little deliberation at all that Caspian decides to make his way towards The Blue Light, hoping to catch his friend who is more than a friend on his shift. Even managers work and certainly there are many who still work with

And now he lives inside someone he does not recognize;

[nobodyneedknow]

There are reflections and there are reflections. In some strange way, Dorian is Caspian's mirror image; perhaps Caspian's muscles are more defined, perhaps Dorian's face has just the slightest touch of age (as though a year means anything, although some do argue that a year can mean everything, especially a year like the one Dorian has just experienced) but they are so similar, alike as twins. But Dorian and Caspian do not reflect one another. Dorian is not so good, not anymore, and this particular version has never been.

He moves in swiftly, however, his hands moving to Caspian's sides to push him back, moving him into an uncrowded, unseen corner of this City. He doesn't know why his reflection held back from this. He knows that Caspian is stronger than he looks, because he is, as well, his hands firm but not overly tight. The silver head of his cane hits the wall with a metallic toc, as if announcing that it's there, a reminder to the reflection of the suggestion of violence

And now he lives inside someone he does not recognize;

[treadingdawn]

Being mirror images one might assume they know best to protect each other from harm. It doesn't occur to him that just because he hasn't been attacked by his own reflection then Dorian hasn't either. How ironic. For now, Caspian thinks he at least has a friend to walk with towards The Blue Light.

"It's good to see--" He starts, beginning to make that very same suggestion until caught in his mirror image's grasp.

The push from open sidewalk to rough brick is a fast one. The sun masks their presence in shadow but it doesn't keep Caspian from talking. Note, not shouting, not yelling. Not yet. His brow furrows over the suddenness of this man's action's and brown eyes glance aside to the sound of metal against wall. It's instinctual of him to look, judging if this is a weapon or not. Most importantly though, Caspian wonders why. His dread may not be all that far off.

"What are you doing," he asks, gaze returning to the one that so mirrors his own.