transfundere | Open RP

Hmm, where exactly did that man go. He—"Oh Jesus Christ!" Dorian exclaims as he hears Reid's voice from behind him.

He spins around, giving the man a once-over, while also trying in vain to calm his heartbeat, which he knows must be beating loud enough for anyone to hear. Dorian pauses, takes a deep breath, and forces himself back into a less visibly frightened or tense demeanor.

"Must have gotten turned around while heading back to my room—how silly of me." But hey, since tall, dark and handsome is here, he might as well take advantage of it. "Though I do have to ask. Have you heard the rumors about this place? I doubt so, otherwise you wouldn't have checked in."

"Which rumors are you referring to?" he says smoothly, staying in place, not reacting to any of Dorian righting himself. He's spooked people unintentionally as well, and it hardly behooves him to lean in on how intentionally he'd just acted.

"I was given the name of this place by a friend."

All true, for all it hides the truth of his intentions during his stay here.

"The ones involving people mauled to death," Dorian lightly says, as if they're just talking idle conversation and not about again, people being mauled to death. "Rumors and tabloid gossip about someone who stayed at the hotel and then got her throat ripped out is bound to attract the wrong sort of crowd."

He's fully regained his cool by now, adjusting his position so that he's giving off an air of nonchalance.

"And are you the 'wrong sort of crowd'?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, though his tone is even and he continues quickly enough in adding-

"Or the right one?"

"That depends on who's asking." There's a low chuckle in Dorian's voice before he continues, keeping the conversation as light and blithe as possible.

"Buy me a drink and I'll tell you."

"No, thank you," he says as he dips his head once, and moves to walk around Dorian. He still has his bag with him, and he still intends to go to the room he was headed towards. If the man wants to play games, he can, but he has no patience for it. He has a limited amount of time to work and moonlight is burning.

And like a bad penny or a small, needy animal, Dorian just follows Reid down the hallway. This man's interesting. Dorian adores interesting. Dorian especially adores interesting when they decide to play hard to get. And, at least in his mind, Reid is definitely playing hard to get.

"Come on, stranger. The night's still young. The bar's still open. I'm certain you can do whatever it is you're doing and keep me company."

He pauses as he reaches the elevator that should bring him to the appropriate floor and he turns back to look at Dorian. There's a moment where he looks him up and down, gives another thoughtful sniff, and then meets his eyes.

There's no mesmerism to his words but he's focused on the other man.

"Why are you trying to pretend that you're drunk?"

Busted.

There's a small little smirk on his face as he metaphorically sobers up. Dorian's position shifts, he straightens up slightly, and his voice takes on a less performative tone.

"People are more willing to tolerate the...eccentricities of a man with alcohol on his breath than a man without. Why are you skulking around hotel corridors late at night?"

"But far less likely to trust them with their intentions," he points out even as he watches the elevator door open. He'll step in and after a moment, he'll hold the door for Dorian.

"I've taken a room here for the next two weeks. It isn't 'skulking' when you hold a room here."

He gives Reid a little nod as he steps in the elevator, perfectly content to share the lift with the man, if only for a little bit.

Though that information is very reassuring to hear. "What a coincidence," Dorian says, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've taken a room here as well. I suspect we'll run into each other at the continental breakfast—though do try not to get horrifically murdered yourself, I'd hate to be woken up."

"Should I be horrifically murdered, I will endeavor to do it quietly," he says as he watches the numbers. He doesn't look back at Dorian. Instead, he's clearly thinking through his first step, his eyes flickering to his bag as he considers what he might want to do first.

When the elevator dings open, he shifts his sight to take a look at the hallway. And the results are startling. There's nothing that mortal eyes would see but for him? The hallway has bright red smeared all over it.

Though Dorian's immortal, he's only human. He doesn't see what exactly Reid is seeing. But after a hundred plus years of throwing himself directly in the path of the supernatural, he is used to haunted places, places that have seen something terrible, places where great evil's happened. This is one of those places.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he murmurs, looking out to the hallway. "This doesn't feel right."

Reid steps out and he does so with the gravity of someone stepping into a crime scene, his nose twitching as he moves towards the room he's taken. He glances back at Dorian.

"...is this your floor as well?"

No teasing now, this is concern.

Dorian nods. "My room's at the end of the hallway. Right next to the stairwell."

He gestures vaguely down the hallway to where his room is, making sure he's right behind Reid as they both walk down the hall. Dorian's also on high alert, eyes scanning the doors, just waiting to see what exactly is going to happen. Because of course something's going to happen. It always does.

Reid is wary enough for two as well, and he'll pause, putting his arm in front of Dorian as he hears some shuffling in one of the rooms. It sounds just a little too loud for a normal human interaction which is when he turns to the door... and realizes something.

There's no heartbeat beyond the door.

He turns back to Dorian.

"Get back, please."

He's waiting to see if they come flying through, aggravated by the scent of fresh blood, or an Ekon like himself.

"Like hell I am," Dorian murmurs. He stays relatively close to Reid, though he'll happily let the man place himself between Dorian and the door. Whatever might be in there (for there's obviously got to be something in there, why else would that man be acting the way he is?), Dorian wants to see it.

He's spent more than a hundred years investigating the supernatural. He's not going to stop now.

"Which one of us gets to turn that doorknob?"

He will realize that really, truly, he should have mesmerized the man to make him back away but it's not his first inclination and hardly anything he uses unless he's very much planned to. Elisabeth had made fun of him for forgetting half of his toolkit more than once and he's told her that she's right but she doesn't have to remind him of that more often than she reminds him of other things.

Inane thoughts as he doesn't answer Dorian, instead, reaching one hand into his coat pocket for his surgery scalpel and the other for the door knob. When he flings it open, he is both not surprised and horrified.

Because there is a corpse on the floor, a maid, obviously, and atop it? What looks very much to be a fresh skal.

"Damn!" And he's diving forward to do something about the skal and get between him and Dorian.

Reid's efforts don't work. Because at the same time that Reid moves to put himself between Dorian and the skal, Dorian instinctively moves to put himself between the skal and Reid. He knows how this works. If he lets that thing get a hold of him, then maybe the other man can...he doesn't know, shoot it or something.

"Get a weapon!" Dorian yells, taking charge of the situation, almost as if he's done this plenty of times before in his life. "I—"

But the next sentence dies on his lips as the skal lunges right for his jugular and Dorian screams. He lets out a scream of pain as the skal's teeth sink into his throat, tearing away flesh and letting blood splatter all over the room.

He knows he'll be able to heal from this later. But that doesn't change the fact that it really fucking hurts having your throat ripped out.

There is a snarl from Reid as he hears the command, and he's in the midst of pulling out his surgical saw from his pocket. He'd like to tell the idiot that he has a weapon, thank you, but then he's watching the man get his throat torn out and he has his priorities shifted.

The skal? Is going to get slashed a couple of times, until those teeth release, and then he's going to keep slashing, pausing only to knock the skal in the face. It's enough to let him bite in, so that he can get some information, and hopefully the quickest way to end this fight.

The skal goes down easily and it's last thoughts are a mess of confusion. It doesn't know who this man is, what they're doing, what's going on. It was made and then abandoned, left to fend for it's own. It knows how to fight against humans, not any other vampires.

Behind Reid there's a disgusting gurgling sound, as Dorian tries to breathe through his open neck wound. But the gurgling sound starts to lessen, as Dorian's skin, bones, and muscles start to slowly knit themselves back together. He's not getting up from the floor, though—at least, not until he's fully put back together.

Reid is in the midst of turning when he watches Dorian’s skin start to knit itself back together, his bones and blood and muscles closing up and settling back into place, and Dorian will awaken to Reid, eyes focused very much on him, holding a large red spear seemingly made of blood pointed directly at him.

“What are you?”

"Something special," Dorian says, as his neck fully heals. He rolls his head around in a circle, mostly to make sure that everything's healed up properly and there aren't any broken bones. He doesn't try to get up, though. That red spear is certainly worrisome.

"Not you, whatever you are. If I stand upright, will you stab me with that thing?"

"I would prefer not to. Will you attempt to attack me if I dismiss it?" he asks with his fingers shifting a little, the blood flowing a little. It takes a little effort to keep it up like this.

~~Badumching~~

"I'm aware you are not what I am. There are... signs for such things. And you do not exhibit them."

"The only way I can attack someone is if I use my bare hands," Dorian points out. "Even using that odd sword thing would kick my ass. Now, may I stand up?"

He looks a little annoyed, but that's it—just a little annoyed.

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