lisa frank's lsd fun house [Falling to blank-minded panic at the slightest shred of despair and horror is not typically a feature in Dorian's wheelhouse of emotion. If it was, he would never have survived a life within the Imperium, let alone the magical war halfway across the continent which closely followed.
And yet there is no better description for what it feels like when he comes to buried beneath glittering crystal with nothing but his own disoriented awareness in the dark. Dorian's heart slams in his throat and he takes a quick mental inventory of his physical state -- in one piece, thankfully, not chewed to bits or in any fatal condition. When he finally manages to crawl his way out, scored in a few places by the sharp-edged crystal, he's breathless and flushed, but at least he's quieted that panic into a corner of his mind.
Better there than at the screaming front of his rational consciousness.]
i. a [Some time later, Dorian comes to a stop on the ridge of a rocky pink dune as he overlooks the empty landscape. The sharp prick of the sting is all that alerts him to the next harrowing nightmare event: he sees the crystal-bug and swats it away with a little yelp, but the damage is done. The hallucinations come down upon him in drugged waves -- as soon as he thinks it's begun to fade, the next one hits fast, stronger, until even walking has become a laborious chore.
What he sees is difficult to describe, never quite seeming real within murky black shadows and strange, geometric patterns in the colorful vista around him. Anyone who runs across may find him attempting to shake the stubborn illusions with -- yes, magic. Bladed staff in hand, Dorian blasts a fire spell into a nearby towering pillar of crystal.
Mind your distance.]
Kaffas!
interstellar action force assemble ii. g [Cramped is an understatement. Dorian is none too pleased after the miserable day he's just experienced, and so when he arrives to claim his half of the bunk bed, his expression is cranky and severely unapproachable.]
Excuse me, kindly mind your edge of the bunk, will you? It appears we'll be packed in here like a fresh litter of Mabari puppies for the foreseeable future.
[The sickly-sweet perfume of the fruit has only just touched his nose, so all it does is make him a bit keener to lean all of his weight into one tucked corner of the bunk and curl legs up toward his chest, struck with sudden fatigue. He'll be glad once he does start feeling drunk.]
iii. h [For his own part, Dorian goes along for the ride without too much verbal complaint (all right, enough to annoyingly numb someone ear's if they happen to be nearby, but he can hardly be blamed). Every jolt and bump has him cringing, teeth gritted, jaw aching by the time they reach their destination.
While most of his attention's consumed in making sense of what he's seeing -- buildings that climb unimaginable heights and gleam like glass in the sun -- he only notices he's the subject of interest when he hears his name. Name, age, height, weight... well, nothing to be ashamed of. He smells wonderful for a day gallivanting across an unfamiliar planet. He doesn't bat a lash even at sexual frequency (estimation: regular), although he's hard-pressed to see how it's anyone's business, but...]
No, I'd rather not strip and have you all prodding around my body like an animal, thank you. [Dorian backs up, directly into the individual behind him. Dryly:] Ah, perhaps you'd like to go next. They're eager to inventory you as a new and shiny specimen, no doubt for their own research.
iv. wildcard [Whatever your heart desires! Come talk to me, if you'd like.]
dorian pavus | dragon age
[Falling to blank-minded panic at the slightest shred of despair and horror is not typically a feature in Dorian's wheelhouse of emotion. If it was, he would never have survived a life within the Imperium, let alone the magical war halfway across the continent which closely followed.
And yet there is no better description for what it feels like when he comes to buried beneath glittering crystal with nothing but his own disoriented awareness in the dark. Dorian's heart slams in his throat and he takes a quick mental inventory of his physical state -- in one piece, thankfully, not chewed to bits or in any fatal condition. When he finally manages to crawl his way out, scored in a few places by the sharp-edged crystal, he's breathless and flushed, but at least he's quieted that panic into a corner of his mind.
Better there than at the screaming front of his rational consciousness.]
i. a
[Some time later, Dorian comes to a stop on the ridge of a rocky pink dune as he overlooks the empty landscape. The sharp prick of the sting is all that alerts him to the next harrowing nightmare event: he sees the crystal-bug and swats it away with a little yelp, but the damage is done. The hallucinations come down upon him in drugged waves -- as soon as he thinks it's begun to fade, the next one hits fast, stronger, until even walking has become a laborious chore.
What he sees is difficult to describe, never quite seeming real within murky black shadows and strange, geometric patterns in the colorful vista around him. Anyone who runs across may find him attempting to shake the stubborn illusions with -- yes, magic. Bladed staff in hand, Dorian blasts a fire spell into a nearby towering pillar of crystal.
Mind your distance.]
Kaffas!
interstellar action force assemble
ii. g
[Cramped is an understatement. Dorian is none too pleased after the miserable day he's just experienced, and so when he arrives to claim his half of the bunk bed, his expression is cranky and severely unapproachable.]
Excuse me, kindly mind your edge of the bunk, will you? It appears we'll be packed in here like a fresh litter of Mabari puppies for the foreseeable future.
[The sickly-sweet perfume of the fruit has only just touched his nose, so all it does is make him a bit keener to lean all of his weight into one tucked corner of the bunk and curl legs up toward his chest, struck with sudden fatigue. He'll be glad once he does start feeling drunk.]
iii. h
[For his own part, Dorian goes along for the ride without too much verbal complaint (all right, enough to annoyingly numb someone ear's if they happen to be nearby, but he can hardly be blamed). Every jolt and bump has him cringing, teeth gritted, jaw aching by the time they reach their destination.
While most of his attention's consumed in making sense of what he's seeing -- buildings that climb unimaginable heights and gleam like glass in the sun -- he only notices he's the subject of interest when he hears his name. Name, age, height, weight... well, nothing to be ashamed of. He smells wonderful for a day gallivanting across an unfamiliar planet. He doesn't bat a lash even at sexual frequency (estimation: regular), although he's hard-pressed to see how it's anyone's business, but...]
No, I'd rather not strip and have you all prodding around my body like an animal, thank you. [Dorian backs up, directly into the individual behind him. Dryly:] Ah, perhaps you'd like to go next. They're eager to inventory you as a new and shiny specimen, no doubt for their own research.
iv. wildcard
[Whatever your heart desires! Come talk to me, if you'd like.]