Log; ongoing

[nobodyneedknow.livejournal.com]

When; Thursday, September 24th
Rating; PG-13 simply to be on the safe side
Characters; nobodyneedknow Dorian Gray and worksmart Robert Chase
Summary; A case of mistaken identity, perhaps;

Dorian isn't altogether sure about this City, yet. It's not that he dislikes it - there's too much opportunity to be had here. Things he's never seen and things he's never experienced, but what he dislikes, for certain, is not knowing if his portrait is here, somewhere, or back in his locked attic.

Surely the servants wouldn't try to force the door.

Surely.

Dorian has managed to find a flat - nothing grand, that would have to be seen to - but for a few nights, it would suffice.

He's also managed to come into some money - also provided by the flat, who knew that the coins would be such a ludicrous color? - and so he's now buying himself a tea at the cafe he was introduced to by Rosella, and he is watching the citizens of this very odd place go by, one by one.

Comments

[worksmart.livejournal.com]

He's hardly obsessed with sugar. This fix is his main concession to the white poison, a relatively harmless habit picked up from all-nighters in med school and continued long enough to be something required to keep him sharp and on his feet. Of course, he doesn't usually take it neat, but asking coffee shops to pour half a bear's worth of honey in his cup was in no way worth the funny looks.

Kind of like that one he's getting from Dorian, now. Another sip. "Just sweet enough."

No, he's not offering to let him try. He snaps off half his vanilla wafer and takes a bite before using the broken end to gesticulate as he answers the question. The building he works in is just in view through the windows here. "I'm a doctor. You'd be surprised how much of my job involves asking strange men mildly random questions."

And, because it's at least polite, and he went to the kind of school that instilled a basic level of manners as nothing more than routine, he adds, "Robert Chase."

[nobodyneedknow.livejournal.com]

Dorian realizes the look he's giving Robert Chase and stops, and gives him a smile, as if to say he's been caught. "Well, I'm sure it's fine," he adds after a moment, and nods. "So should I get ill or wounded, I should come to you?" he asks.

Dorian nods at his name. "Dorian Gray, of London," he states pleasantly. "I do have to admit that this place has an odd sort of charm," he says, fixing his eyes to the street.

Of course he doesn't mean simply the architecture. He means the way the women dress, with their legs and arms bare, the way they are not confined by a corset. He means the way the men dress. He's eager to try something out, some part of this fashion, if only to try. However the soaring buildings, the way everything is so clean, and the perfect gaslight - surely it could not be gaslight it must have been electricity - it all made for something novel for a man from 1891.

[worksmart.livejournal.com]

"If you get sick or hurt, you can head to that building," Chase says, gesturing once again, "and someone will see you right."

He's not promising to be a personal physician for anyone, there are few enough breaks in his day as it is. The pay has been excellent, holding down two jobs over three departments, but the work is bloody hard and all too often it feels like he's back working a residency, expected to be six places at once with at least four arms to carry everything.

He casts a glance over his shoulder as if the 'odd charm' mentioned might reveal itself, heaving into view across the street to make Chase wonder why he'd never noticed it before.

Nope, still the same city.

"Maybe if you predate sliced bread. For the rest of us, this place is pretty far from being the best thing since."

[nobodyneedknow.livejournal.com]

"Good to know." Dorian doesn't anticipate needing to see a physician, but there's no need not to give some kind of pretext. While he doesn't know the full powers of his portrait, he does know that it heals him, and that is enough for Dorian to understand that getting ill isn't particularly likely.

"Sliced bread?" There's a pause. Dorian isn't sure what he means. Does he mean bread that one slices? Bread that is baked in slices? He's fairly sure that his maid slices the bread for him, in London, but then he's never paid much attention to the maid's kitchen chores. Dorian has met people from the future; that is to say from times like the year 1998 or 2009, and it's a bit bizarre. But he hasn't heard this expression, and he's not quite sure what sliced bread is, so he assumes he does, in fact, predate it. He shakes that particular saying off. "Well, I think so. At the very least, it isn't boring."

The country was boring. This place is certainly not.