capture_eternity: (Tempting)
Dorian's room is of late, late Victorian opulence bordering on Art Nouveau, and encompasses in its small space a little bit of everything that a gentleman of leisure might keep in his home.

The walls are papered in deep jewel-toned hues and covered with paintings -- portraits from all times of history, but no landscapes or still lives -- there is a small writing desk, a book-case filled with books bound in linen, silk, or leather, two chaise-longues arranged around a small table that, at this moment, only holds a potted orchid but has enough room for drinks, even a small repast, and a rococo bed in the corner, head and foot curved gently as if to encompass those that will rest, or play, upon it. There is a fire in the fireplace, a view of the snow-covered greenhouse behind the rich, purple drapes on the window, and chandeliers to light the room.

Dorian holds the door open for Sinric with his free hand, and bows. "Welcome to my home away from home, sweet Sinric!"
capture_eternity: (Mirror cabinet)
Dorian's room still looks much the same like the first time when Athelstan came up to have a bath.

It looks a little more lived in now -- some books lying around in a half-read state, and some electronic devices, which Dorian seems quite fascinated by. There's another one on his tray with the tea, the paradoxes and the little bowl of awesomesauce, after all.

"Here we are," he says, putting the tray down while kicking the door shut.

He slings an arm around Athelstan's shoulder again.

"Bath now?" he murmurs against the soft, fuzzy dark beard on the ex-monk's face.
capture_eternity: (Mirror cabinet)
Dorian's room is of late, late Victorian opulence bordering on Art Nouveau, and encompass in its small space a little bit of everything that a gentleman of leisure might keep in his home.

The walls are papered in deep jewel-toned hues and covered with paintings -- portraits from all times of history, but no landscapes or still lives -- there is a small writing desk, a book-case filled with books bound in linen, silk, or leather, two chaise-longues arranged around a small table that, at this moment, only holds a potted orchid but has enough room for drinks, even a small repast, and a rococo bed in the corner, head and foot curved gently as if to encompass those that will rest, or play, upon it. There is a fire in the fireplace, a view of the snow-covered greenhouse behind the rich, purple drapes on the window, and chandeliers to light the room when darkness falls.

Dorian holds the door open for Minx with his free hand, and bows. "Welcome to my home away from home."
capture_eternity: (Mirror cabinet)
Dorian's room is of late, late Victorian opulence bordering on Art Nouveau, and encompass in its small space a little bit of everything that a gentleman of leisure might keep in his home.

The walls are papered in deep jewel-toned hues and covered with paintings -- portraits from all times of history, but no landscapes or still lives -- there is a small writing desk, a book-case filled with books bound in linen, silk, or leather, two chaise-longues arranged around a small table that, at this moment, only holds a potted orchid but has enough room for drinks, even a small repast, and a rococo bed in the corner, head and foot curved gently as if to encompass those that will rest, or play, upon it. There is a fire in the fireplace, a view of the greenhouse behind the rich, purple drapes on the window, and chandeliers to light the room.

Dorian holds the door open for Jack with his free hand, and bows. "Welcome to my home away from home."

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capture_eternity: (Default)
Dorian Gray

December 2015

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