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.
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.
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.
"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.
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"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.
"It's a surgical saw," he corrects mildly before his hand closes and the blood retracts into him for the time being. There's a definite feeling that he feels better for having it in the right place. To the question, though, he nods.
"On a completely different note, you would do best not to get between me and such creatures in the future. Do you even know what that was?"
"Considering it went straight for my throat, I'm assuming some sort of vampire?" Dorian lightly rubs the spot on his throat where the skal went for it before he sighs.
"Really, the last one I dealt with was quite well behaved. I've no clue why this one's practically bloody feral."
"A skal," he specifies, "a weaker form of immortal though, as you say, they are vampires of a kind. And able enough to eviscerate a normal man or woman in their path."
He looks down at the poor unfortunate victim.
"I would do best to ensure this one does not rise the same way. I've no way to determine the strength of that skal's blood should any of it have gotten into the corpse."
Dorian looks down at the corpse with a frown. He lightly nudges it with his foot, as if that will somehow tell them if the poor bloke's turned or not. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.
"So what? Stake through the heart or leave him outside in the sun?"
"The stake would be less trouble, I think, and far less conspicuous," he says with a wry twist of his lips before he looks into his bag to pull out that very thing. It's a well-sharpened and he'll put it into the skal's heart without further ado. It's clear, however, he does not relish this.
"We would do well to figure out who this is, however, or there will be questions."
Dorian watches, interest on his face, as Reid does the deed and dispatches the poor thing.
"Mmm, there's going to be questions no matter what," he muses, as he looks down at the skal's body. "Questions that I'm sure the police will think about, but not actually say. Every time I'm in the middle of one of these public, messy pieces of work, it's always written down in the books as drugs."
"Do you work with the police?" he asks with a lift of his head and that is an unpleasant thought. To be caught out as something clearly supernatural in front of a police officer is not what he signed up for. Then again, perhaps there was a reason he hadn't gotten his polite nudge. Had he walked into the lion's den?
"What? No. But I know how this works. Buy me a drink sometime and I'll tell you all about how I dealt with this golem in the 1930s. The police weren't too pleased about that."
It's not that Dorian works with the police. It's just that he is exceedingly lassiez-faire about things like this.
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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?"
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"I've taken a room here for the next two weeks. It isn't 'skulking' when you hold a room here."
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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."
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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.
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"I've got a bad feeling about this," he murmurs, looking out to the hallway. "This doesn't feel right."
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"...is this your floor as well?"
No teasing now, this is concern.
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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.
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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.
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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?"
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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“What are you?”
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"Not you, whatever you are. If I stand upright, will you stab me with that thing?"
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Badumching"I'm aware you are not what I am. There are... signs for such things. And you do not exhibit them."
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He looks a little annoyed, but that's it—just a little annoyed.
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"On a completely different note, you would do best not to get between me and such creatures in the future. Do you even know what that was?"
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"Really, the last one I dealt with was quite well behaved. I've no clue why this one's practically bloody feral."
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He looks down at the poor unfortunate victim.
"I would do best to ensure this one does not rise the same way. I've no way to determine the strength of that skal's blood should any of it have gotten into the corpse."
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Dorian looks down at the corpse with a frown. He lightly nudges it with his foot, as if that will somehow tell them if the poor bloke's turned or not. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.
"So what? Stake through the heart or leave him outside in the sun?"
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"We would do well to figure out who this is, however, or there will be questions."
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"Mmm, there's going to be questions no matter what," he muses, as he looks down at the skal's body. "Questions that I'm sure the police will think about, but not actually say. Every time I'm in the middle of one of these public, messy pieces of work, it's always written down in the books as drugs."
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It's not that Dorian works with the police. It's just that he is exceedingly lassiez-faire about things like this.
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SORRY FOR BEING TERRIBLE