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Dorian’s thinking of Dariax as he speaks to the disembodied voice that had visited his dear friend the previous evening already. As he bargains with it, his mouth moves faster than he can keep up. He’s bluffing, he thinks, when he says yes, yes he would trade the crown, an undeniable danger to the world in Poska’s hands, for his friend’s safety.
Maybe he doesn’t know himself as well as he should because when he searches inside for the lie that should be there, there’s only truth. He’s always considered himself a good man, reasonable, logical, moral… but he can feel the ring of honesty in his words; he would truly rather the whole of Emon burn down (again) than allow something to happen to his friend -friends, he corrects himself.
It’s just that he can’t get the image of Dariax’s eyes gone jet black out of his head. The colour of his eyes are too lovely to be hidden in such an unsettling manner. The handsome dwarf doesn’t have enough self-preservation, or any for that matter. It’s all too easy for Dorian to imagine him falling prey to the crown and to the Spider Queen. Every time Dariax makes to reach for the crown with his bare hands, Dorian can feel his own chest constrict.
If Dariax were to turn into a darker form of himself, Dorian doesn’t believe he’ll have the strength to deal with it in the same way they’d dispatched of Alternate-Fearne. With the crown gone, there would be nothing of that nature to worry about. Dariax could continue to be his stupidly charming and pure self.
It’s beyond frustrating to Dorian that Orym had used Gilmore’s enchanted box just to send away a damned note. More than that, he’s upset with himself for insisting they hold onto the cursed crown in the first place.
Almost from a far away perch, he could see and hear himself snap at Orym unreasonably, time and time again. What makes it doubly worse is that Orym hardly ever responds in kind, doesn’t point fingers or place blame. It never makes Dorian feel better, only guiltier.
He knows it’s his own fault they are in this mess; the only reason Dariax is forced to continue carrying the crown is because Dorian had insisted they keep it. Dorian knows and the whole group must think it too. But all Orym does is quietly observe his outbursts. It’s annoying that Orym can remain so calm even as he confronts Dorian, while Dorian keeps having these hot flashes of anger he can hardly control.
Dorian finds himself to be more irritable as they traverse through the jungle, the heat and humidity of the place getting under his skin. Aside from his frustration with Orym, he eyes Fy’ra Rai with distrust, bristles at Opal’s prodding, and can’t help but grow annoyed at Fearne’s flute playing. It’s irritating when she plays poorly, the sound grating against his patience. It’s bothersome in it’s own way when she plays well, an uncomfortable jealousy prickling his skin.
The only person who hardly gets on his nerves is Dariax.
Partly it’s from a sense of guilt. At Gilmore’s, Dariax had looked at him so earnestly.
“If you want to keep it, we’ll keep it,” he’d said, unquestioningly supportive even when Dorian couldn’t give the group a good reason why. He’d seen how frightened Dariax had been after his dream with the Spider Queen. The dwarf had made an admirable attempt to act as though everything were fine, but it is plain to see that everything is not fine.
There’s something so remarkably straightforward about Dariax, some would say simple-minded. As someone who doesn’t know the first thing about being straightforward, Dorian appreciates that about him.
Where Dariax is earnest and charming, Dorian is reserved most of the time and politely posh at his best. Dariax goes along with anything, easygoing and generous with his warmth. The only thing Dorian is generous about is imagining a generous amount of terrible scenarios that could happen. He can, at any given point in time, come up with more than twenty reasons why something is a bad idea. He’s rational in the worst of ways.
As far as adventuring goes, Dariax has significantly more experience than him. The dwarf is never afraid to wander into the unknown. Dorian prefers to know where he’s going, how long it will take to get there, what dangers there might be, so on and so forth. It’s an effort for him to relax, something he’s had to learn how to do.
It was all learned, Dorian’s charm. Growing up, he hadn’t possessed an ounce of charisma. But he’d practiced until he could murmur polite platitudes in his sleep. He studied others, trying to figure out how people worked. He stood in front of his reflection, training himself to stand confidently, move naturally. Sheltered child that he had been, it had been important to have a certain image.
Slipping into Dorian Storm, a charming bard, was all the easier for it later on.
Unfortunately for him, the awkwardness still comes out sometimes. Dorian is still kicking himself for his display at Gilmore’s. Attractive men made it difficult for him to retain his composure or think straight. He’d gotten flustered again at the pageant, seeing Dariax in the clothes he himself wore everyday.
He should consider himself lucky that he’d managed to remain cool in front of the group for so long. Next to Orym, he’s supposed to be the other reasonable one. Well, the group still likes him just fine and Dariax still looks at him with respect and admiration at the very least.
While Dorian does his best not to read too much into the other man’s words -Dariax is the type to say things without thinking them through- he can’t help but think he’s Dariax’s favourite out of the whole group. Dariax looks to him for leadership, wakes him up after having a nightmare, sleeps back to back with Dorian out of everybody else.
It’s flattering, it’s nice, and it could be why Dariax is Dorian’s favourite.
It’s not the whole picture though. Dorian thinks on how he’d said to Poska all those weeks ago, “If Dariax doesn’t like you then I don’t like you.” Even back then Dariax had had his trust, as much as he’s able to give at least. Perhaps it has to do with the week of memories they’d collectively lost. Dorian doesn’t know how else he could have so much respect for a dwarf that he’s seen with shit in his beard.
As much as Dariax seems to seek him out, Dorian gravitates toward Dariax in turn. It’s impossible for Dorian to be totally truthful about himself, but with Dariax, some foolish part of him wants to be. While the circus Dariax believes in does not exist, Dorian had not been completely dishonest about his situation. It’s the most he’s ever shared with someone.
The thing is, Dorian has never had a best friend before, but if he had to guess, Dariax is the closest thing he has to one. Emon be damned, Dorian’s not ready to give that up anytime soon.