There
Dungeons Dorian could handle. He’d had some perfectly lovely times in dungeons before. But this? This was some kind of…Dorian didn’t know, but it seemed designed for company. It was a touch garish, with lots of red and gold, but Dorian loved garish. If the circumstances were different he’d curl up here with a good book. And cocaine. He liked snorting cocaine off books, it made him feel cultured. A favorite was The Importance of Being Earnest.
Dorian’s favorite demon (even mentally the sarcasm was almost palpable) was walking towards the fireplace with Dorian’s portrait. Dorian’s face went white, and he scrambled towards the beast. But no matter how fast he ran, he could not seem to gain any distance. He could only watch in horror as his portrait was hung above the fire. The heat was immediate and intense, but not yet to the point of pain. It did make him sweat rather dreadfully though. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Ezra,” Ezra said, finally answering Dorian’s question. “Call me…Ezra.” The voice came even though Ezra stood totally, and unnervingly motionless. Ezra…raze in anagram. And that’s certainly what Ezra did…raze Dorian’s life to the ground.
“I want him,” said Ezra, pointing at a portrait next to Dorian. Dorian examined it. It was certainly not as well done as Dorian’s portrait, but it was very pretty. Dorian certainly would not argue about getting acquainted with the man, though almost certainly not in the circumstances he was about to meet him.
“Ali Bashir. He is a sweet boy. My sweet boy” Ezra said, and giggled, a sound which would have sent a shiver down Dorian’s spine if he wasn’t so damned warm. “But he has been... naaauuuughttty", Ezra continued, "Bring him back to me".
Dorian sure wouldn’t want to be Bashir.
"Crush his bones... tear at his flesh... pluck the eyes from his sockets" Not really Dorian’s style. “BUT DO NOT KILL HIM! DO - NOT!” Dorian’s heart almost stopped at the awful cry. The noise was horrible, the screeching of a hungry black hole, death rattles through a megaphone. And then Ezra started to cry. Dorian didn’t even know how to react at this point. He had given up trying to make sense of it all. And so he clung to one thing: He had orders. He could get his portrait back. That’s all that mattered.
“Bring him back to me", said Ezra, "And I will return your painting, and free you from this bind".
Dorian bowed as sarcastically as it is possible to bow. “Your wish is my command,” he said. Should be a piece of cake, black forest cake to be precise. Dorian could demolish black forest cake. Except Dorian was a little concerned about his directive not to kill. His abilities were largely fatal, though if he was allowed to…what was it?...‘crush his bones’ he could probably age him up a little. He sighed. Who was he kidding, he knew full well that wouldn’t go over well. This was all on his natural charms now.
Here
“I’m going to leave now to get him…I am not running away. I am not breaking our bargain. I’m going now.”
Dorian went up to the portrait of Ali Bashir. He stepped into the frame, vanishing into the depths. When he stepped out, he should be wherever Bashir was. If this worked. He hadn’t had much practice, and it was always possible that Bashir somehow had some way of making Dorian’s life horribly difficult.
If he got there, this is what would unfold:
Dorian appeared out of empty air crashing down to the ground. He stood up, brushed himself off, and looked for Bashir. “Hello…you no doubt have many questions for me, but there’s no time. My name is Dorian Gray, and you must come with me…the lives of millions depend on it!” Actually only one life depended on it, but Dorian knew his life was obviously worth the same as millions, so he wasn’t lying too much. He wiped his face with his sleeve again. He was so unbearably hot.
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