This is Dorian Feenix's handy dandy 'How's my driving post'. If you have questions, concerns, would like to offer criticism regarding his characterisation, or want to plot, feel free to contact me via IM/Email (info can be found on the profile page) or leave a comment here.
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The dolls are scattered across the ground of his trailer - put there by Stella upon discovering them. The echoes of her hysterical screams are still drifting across the grounds even though the source has fallen silent again.
Trapped between the floor and Dorian, his hand clamped over her mouth, blood dripping from the cut on his forehead - her aim has improved - onto her pale face, she passes out. It's just as well. If she'd been awake, the sight would have killed her.
Gods roam the earth. In other parts of the world you could spit and hit three at once. Some were interesting like the bespectacled kid that couldn't hold his liquor - Eddie, was it? Others, well, they were others. Here, however, there is only one that is acknowledged, adored, worshipped, feared and loved. God, father, order, everything. The presence of all the others, while being noted, is easily dismissed - all of them, save one.
because
And then Snow White is gone and he wonders if it's something his brother has done or if she has simply grown tired of this. He doesn't think less of her either way. He writes two words on a white sticky-note - take care - and folds it twice before he burns it.
Green and peach and blue sticky-notes are stuck to the underside of his bed today. Dorian doesn't know they've wandered there, assuming that whoever stuck them to the side of his trailer has removed them. The sticky-notes giggle in their very sticky-note way: silently.
He sits on a crate just outside his tent and peels an orange. Slowly, thoughtfully, licking the sweet-and-sour juice that spills out off his fingers every now and then. It's a very ripe fruit.
The breakdown in communication - if you could call it that - occurs very early. Stella is screaming incoherently at the top of her voice and hurling everything she can get her hands on at Dorian. He catches what he can and ducks when whatever is flying towards him isn't worth catching.
One word manages to dig itself out of her word vomit: PUPPET plus an extra large and extra bold exclamation mark. Eventually, she calms down and their pocket of the carnival falls silent again. For the rest of the day, Dorian radiates quiet contentment - which, of course, is only noticeable by those few who know him well because it doesn't look that much different from how he normally looks.
Met one at the first unmarked grave I dug up and was kindly informed I had the wrong pile of bones. Happened another ten consecutive times; always after I'd dug deep enough to break the coffin lid.
Hers weren't there. Someone took them several years ago to use them for a potion of some sort. Haven't seen hide nor hair of her since Halloween. Coming back tonight. Alone.
No practice today or tomorrow. I have to take care of something.
[Private] Something is strange about this place. The shadows move. The air weeps. The ground quivers.
I hear her voice at night, whispering, hissing, venting, sighing. I feel her hand brush against my skin in the wee hours of morning. I see her face from the corner of my eye all day...
Death by sausage is a new one, I give her that. But she knows I don't eat deformed meat, especially not when it's stuffed into intestine tissue so... what the fuck?
Grand finale and then it's off to Philly.
Stella's going to take care of packing so I can help you with the Ferris wheel later, Toby.
[Corvina] Do we have something to discuss, Snow White?