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Penny Dreadful AU
Feb. 1st, 2020 10:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capturingeternity[It's late in the afternoon, and the grey skies above London have opened with a wintery mix of sleet and snow. It isn't a very fine day to be out and about, but those whose lives revolve around Spitalfields and its many small shops and trades have no choice but to bare the change in weather. At least those fortunate enough to work indoors are spared from the brunt of it.
Located near the East End, the area is a far cry from the artsy, exclusive district of Notting Hill, dotted with slums and cheap pubs as well as several brothels. However, it's also a crossroads of considerable trades — weavers, carpenters and furniture makers, jewellers and bookbinders. And one small shop tucked on a corner street that specializes in the brokerage of paintings.
Dorian's known the owner for a few years now. One complication to being immortal means that one has to be careful about where they do business on a regular basis. Three to five years is no problem, but frequent a place for too long and people begin to notice that while the fine lines appear and deepen on their own features, that one regular customer of yours has never seemed to change from the first day they stepped foot inside of your establishment. And with London being as big as it is, well, Dorian can give up one shop for the next. But he does have a particular fondness for this one, as he's found a few more interesting portraits sitting amongst the dozens of canvases inside.
His Hansom carriage pulls up aside the shop's front door the finely dressed man exits, raising an umbrella to shield his head as he crosses the few steps it takes him to reach the threshold. The shop's bell dings faintly as he enters, and he spends a few seconds shaking the umbrella off out the door before he closes and leans it against its frame. Glancing about, he finds himself alone (or seemingly so), though that isn't unusual. Mr. Walker is somewhat hard of hearing but he assumes he'll appear eventually, so in the meantime he simply meanders his way to one wall, checking for any new pieces that might be displayed, as well as the vertical stacks of canvases sat on the floor below.]
Located near the East End, the area is a far cry from the artsy, exclusive district of Notting Hill, dotted with slums and cheap pubs as well as several brothels. However, it's also a crossroads of considerable trades — weavers, carpenters and furniture makers, jewellers and bookbinders. And one small shop tucked on a corner street that specializes in the brokerage of paintings.
Dorian's known the owner for a few years now. One complication to being immortal means that one has to be careful about where they do business on a regular basis. Three to five years is no problem, but frequent a place for too long and people begin to notice that while the fine lines appear and deepen on their own features, that one regular customer of yours has never seemed to change from the first day they stepped foot inside of your establishment. And with London being as big as it is, well, Dorian can give up one shop for the next. But he does have a particular fondness for this one, as he's found a few more interesting portraits sitting amongst the dozens of canvases inside.
His Hansom carriage pulls up aside the shop's front door the finely dressed man exits, raising an umbrella to shield his head as he crosses the few steps it takes him to reach the threshold. The shop's bell dings faintly as he enters, and he spends a few seconds shaking the umbrella off out the door before he closes and leans it against its frame. Glancing about, he finds himself alone (or seemingly so), though that isn't unusual. Mr. Walker is somewhat hard of hearing but he assumes he'll appear eventually, so in the meantime he simply meanders his way to one wall, checking for any new pieces that might be displayed, as well as the vertical stacks of canvases sat on the floor below.]
Arranged Marriage AU
Nov. 24th, 2019 12:38 amcapturingeternity[Today is the day that Dorian will be meeting the fiance picked for him without his say in the matter.
If proven a match, it will be one week before he's wed.
One week to feel all sense of freedom slipping away from him bit by bit.
And he is absolutely miserable.
Oh, he had known the inevitability of it, that he couldn't go on living the life of a debaucher forever. But he was just so good at it, was the thing. Some of the royal tutors blamed in on the fact that he had lost his parents so early and that without a proper role-model to take up the slack, he'd been left to drift at the whims of his impulses. Perhaps there was some truth to that, though there was no one cause behind the young prince's dalliances with minor royals and commoners alike other than the fact that he was, actually, extremely beautiful. And he had figured that out along with the power it held over others as soon as he had blossomed from youth into adulthood.
Over the next few, all-too-short years he'd managed to make quite a name for himself in the surrounding kingdoms. The 'Satyr Prince' was the moniker he'd already earned, much to the chagrin of the king, to the point where the people speculated that the boy had been born with literal goat hooves. But those rumours were completely unfounded.
Still, Dorian almost wishes it were true if it would prove this entire marriage a farce. Sunk sullenly into his seat at his castle's receiving chamber, draped in fine silks and silver from the mines his kingdom is known for, he stares off at a point towards the ceiling with his face propped against one hand. His grandfather, the King sits aside him as a messenger approaches and whispers to him that the foreign Duchess' escort has arrived.]
If proven a match, it will be one week before he's wed.
One week to feel all sense of freedom slipping away from him bit by bit.
And he is absolutely miserable.
Oh, he had known the inevitability of it, that he couldn't go on living the life of a debaucher forever. But he was just so good at it, was the thing. Some of the royal tutors blamed in on the fact that he had lost his parents so early and that without a proper role-model to take up the slack, he'd been left to drift at the whims of his impulses. Perhaps there was some truth to that, though there was no one cause behind the young prince's dalliances with minor royals and commoners alike other than the fact that he was, actually, extremely beautiful. And he had figured that out along with the power it held over others as soon as he had blossomed from youth into adulthood.
Over the next few, all-too-short years he'd managed to make quite a name for himself in the surrounding kingdoms. The 'Satyr Prince' was the moniker he'd already earned, much to the chagrin of the king, to the point where the people speculated that the boy had been born with literal goat hooves. But those rumours were completely unfounded.
Still, Dorian almost wishes it were true if it would prove this entire marriage a farce. Sunk sullenly into his seat at his castle's receiving chamber, draped in fine silks and silver from the mines his kingdom is known for, he stares off at a point towards the ceiling with his face propped against one hand. His grandfather, the King sits aside him as a messenger approaches and whispers to him that the foreign Duchess' escort has arrived.]
Duplicity PSL
Dec. 20th, 2018 07:13 pmcapturingeternityIt's the night of another city-wide 'fundraising' event. The invitations had gone out to all Dominants and Submissives, especially those participating in the LIES program, with participation listed (as always) as being mandatory for all invitees. Those had gone out earlier that morning, giving those who were already familiar with the experience just enough time to rearrange their schedules and those unfamiliar just enough time to panic over the unexpectedness of it. Or, for others, somewhere in between the two.
The venue is in a building that normally serves as one of the city's many nightclubs, the outside and interior aglow with bright fluorescent and neon lighting. Black lighting is also king here, and the mixture gives the place an alien, futuristic feel and appearance. Multiple levels of the building are accessed by silver and glass staircases, strings of lights set floor to ceiling operating as soft walls and partitions where any number of alcoves lay. It's a slightly confusing and disorienting maze, but the bars are easily located and seem to be generating the most traffic.
And once inside, Dominants are able to leave but Submissives are not. Each entrance and exit is guarded to ensure compliance with the rules. Which seem to be: make connections, sign a contract, or find someone to go home with for the night.
So, same as always.
The venue is in a building that normally serves as one of the city's many nightclubs, the outside and interior aglow with bright fluorescent and neon lighting. Black lighting is also king here, and the mixture gives the place an alien, futuristic feel and appearance. Multiple levels of the building are accessed by silver and glass staircases, strings of lights set floor to ceiling operating as soft walls and partitions where any number of alcoves lay. It's a slightly confusing and disorienting maze, but the bars are easily located and seem to be generating the most traffic.
And once inside, Dominants are able to leave but Submissives are not. Each entrance and exit is guarded to ensure compliance with the rules. Which seem to be: make connections, sign a contract, or find someone to go home with for the night.
So, same as always.
