Chapter Six (Written by Jin Satoshi) MREEE
The room was, easy to say, blindingly white. It bit at Dorian's senses, tantalizing, yet also exhausting. The bright hurt his eyes incredibly, and rekindled his throbbing headache. Vision stayed blurry for a few moments as he blinked open silver orbs, and then slowly, painstakingly slowly began to take form as an incredibly vast space. It was a square room, the walls, floor, and ceiling exactly the same. White. Ivory. Without colour. Boring. Dorian felt his slender brows knit together, and tentatively propped himself up on his shoulders. He was fully dressed, back into his grey suit. How was a large question, as he looked himself over, and then around the room again.
"Argh!" His gaze had instantly been drawn to a painting at the far end of the room, and shudders of pain had suddenly burst from his old wound. The Mina wound. Dorian groaned gently, and rolled onto his stomach, trying to be elegant with his movements as he stood. The pain was slowly subsiding to a mere ache, like it usually did, and he edged closer to the painting. It was, no doubt, his own. The rotten, sadistic and morbid, crinkled and cracked face stared back at him, and Dorian couldn't help but hold back an intense look of fascination. As he stared, arms by his side, in the strange, blank room, the total silence was disrupted by a soft squelch, paddle, puddle, pad, and squelch. Dorian seemed to ignore it, though the sound came closer. Squelch, paddle, puddle, pad. Squelch, paddle, puddle, pad. Just as Dorian had had enough of the irritating sound, a small penguin waddled past, just in front of him.
Dorian couldn't help but stare, eyes wide in shock and confusion, as the penguin continued on it's merry little squelch, paddle, puddle, pad way.
"Eh?" Gray was still watching, as the penguin venture to the wall, not stopping, and instead, disappeared right into it. Dorian narrowed his eyes a little, and was about to move towards the wall, when a soft 'whee' sound came from behind him, and yet another penguin slid past on it's belly, disappearing after the other.
"This is... surreal." Dorian murmured, now beside the disappearing wall, his fingers stretching out hesitantly. His heart thudded at what could be on the other side, and, flinching his hand back, he took a few steps away, and took a deep breath.
Ready...Dorian prayed he wasn't running into a trap.
Steady...He also prayed he didn't run into more of those strange black and white creatures.
GO!With a sudden burst of speed, he launched himself forward, closed his eyes, waiting to slip through the wall and-
Thunk. Dorian collided with the wall, now solid.
On his back, Dorian groaned again, staring up at the boring ceiling. He didn't bother getting up. It was exhausting just to think about it. Of course, he let out a faint whimper of complete confusion as yet another penguin clambered over his belly, slipped onto it's head, and rolled away.
"What in the world is this place?" He said aloud, voice shaking with frustration. Wait, who was he talking to?
"My... palace." An amused, sarcastic, sadistic and moronic voice said from behind him, laden thick with a French accent. Dorian jerked into a sitting position, immediately spinning around to face the origin of the voice. The man was tall, at least a head higher than Dorian, a top hat tilted upon his head, and a thick black cape resting over one arm. A stereotypical, curled moustache graced above his upper lip, steely, emerald eyes staring darkly from beneath tendrils of black. Dorian stared. Said nothing, and stared. The man cleared his throat, shuffling his foot a little and whispering out the corner of his lip.
I love this guy. He's sexy. Must grope. Ahaha. Mine.
"You're supposed to say- 'Who are you?!" He nodded, and motioned a hand to Dorian, who arched a brow, blinked, and sighed.
"Who are you?" Gray muttered in his most bored voice, arms folding neatly across his chest. The other man seemed pleased with that, and let out a bark like laugh, a boom of thunder rocking the room.
"They call me... The Artist!" Another boom of thunder.
Dorian was not amused.
"..." The Artist waited for some sort of reaction, and, thinking Dorian hadn't heard him-
"They call me... The Artist!" Another boom of thunder.
"I heard you the first time."
"Oh." The Artist blinked. "Well, you had the pleasure of hearing it a second time."
"Joy." Dorian continued to glower at the Artist, his nerves grinding, the pain from his gut and headache not making it any better.
"Just hurry up and tell me why and how am I here, and if this is some childish trick from the moronic League?"
"Ahaha! This is no trick, my dear Dorian Gray. This is more rather a treat, on my part."
"You didn't answer me."
"Oh... Well, yes, I know. The bad guys never answer the good guys questions." The Artist was flushed. Dorian wasn't helping at all.
"... How do you know I'm not a bad guy too?"
"Now you're just getting off the subject!"
"I wonder why." Dorian rolled his eyes, quickly glancing back to his painting. "Why do you have my portrait?"
"That? A portrait? Oh my dear boy! You are desperately mistaken. This is pure abstract! Abstract I say! Wonderful, wonderful work."
"Indeed." Dorian shifted his weight to his other foot, growing increasingly impatient.
"Answer my questions." He snapped, suddenly. The Artist stared at him for a few moments, before frowning.
"Dorian, Dorian... You're questions shall be answered in due time... Right now, however- I must have a request."
"What?"
"I request... no, no... I plead, I plead that you paint another of these fantastic works for me."
"No." Dorian replied simply. The Artist was stumped.
"But... why? Why not?! Dorian! Mr. Gray!"
"Simply... because I never painted it." The Artist glowered at that, green eyes suddenly blazing, his features taking on a look that was far from innocence.
"You lie, Mr. Gray. And I am one to despise liars. You will pay for your rudeness." Dorian was about to laugh in the Artist's face, but was suddenly pinned to the wall behind them. The Artist was fast, he would give him that. The French man stared at him silently for a few moments, and Dorian stared back, before suddenly kicking out. The Artist's movements were a blur, his arm blocking Dorian's knee, and his other grabbing Dorian's wrist before his fist could make contact.
"I told you, you would pay. Unless you decide on painting for me." Dorian narrowed his eyes, trying to pull his wrist away. With no luck.
"I already told you." He grunted, beginning to squirm. "A friend of mine painted it for me, a long time ago. He is long dead."
Basil. Dear Basil. Some days he missed him, some days not.
"You're a liar, Mr. Gray!" The Artist suddenly shouted, causing Dorian to flinch back at the sound. He leant closer, pushing Dorian's leg back, and pinning him completely. He could barely move a muscle. Dorian cringed inwardly- well, whatever was coming, he couldn't be killed. The Artist smirked faintly, and dipped abruptly, lips brandishing Dorian in a hard, punishing kiss.
"Mmph!" Dorian choked into the kiss, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to pull away. No use. The painful kiss was broken, the Artist still smirking.
"I told you, you would pay, Mr. Gray." He whispered, which made Dorian's fingers curl into his palms from frustration.
"Bastard." Dorian hissed, and the Artist leant forward again, lips just brushing Dorian's own in a fervent car-
We now disrupt this program for a Skinner break.
Have a break. Have a Skinner break.
Rei: YAY!!!!!!!
Skinner was still recuperating from the ... escapades with Dorian, but was now able to sit without hissing in pain at his back. And that was what he was doing, sitting, alone in a little room, facing the door, which was open, and deeply indulging himself in a Karma Sutra book. The day had gone by without event. Jekyll was out of bed, Nemo and Mina were discussing plans to destroy Dorian, and Tom... well, Tom had disappeared.
Speaking of the devil, that was when Skinner heard soft mumblings, (which, if you listened closely, was actually 'gonads and strife' muttered over and over, growing louder) from up the hall. He blinked, looked up, just in time to see Tom careen past.
"WHEEEE!" The young American cried, and disappeared just as quickly. Skinner blinked; head tilted, and a loud crash echoed from the end of the hall. Tom had obviously spun out of control, and slammed into the wall.
"Tom?!" Mina yelled from her own room. How in earth had she known it was the American? Skinner blinked, and looked down at his book again.
His peace was not to last for long, for Tom had spun around, and darted back the way he had come. As he dashed past the open door, he shouted again.
"Gonads and STRIFE!" And, a few seconds past, before he peeked in, blinking at Skinner, who blinked back.
"Gonads and strife." Tom whispered, and grinned, when suddenly Mina appeared at the other side of the door.
"Tom Sawyer!" She hissed, and he glanced to her, letting out a little 'eep', and backing off, soon breaking into a run. Mina huffed, lifting her dress so she wouldn't trip, and rushed after him.
I think I was better off with Dorian. A few seconds of thought. Actually, no.
Silence was yet again disturbed, as a fresh Doctor Jekyll bounded into the room, playing a very strange air guitar.
"Gonads in the LIGHTNING! Gonads in the raain!" Skinner tried to block out the queer song, but it didn't stop, and was made even worse as Tom hopped past, singing his part again. Skinner stood suddenly, slamming his book shut, and stalked off to sit outside, leaving Mina to round up the hyperactive men.
We now return you to your special program.
Dorian groaned faintly, feeling as if he had been drugged once more. He went to rub his eyes, only to find his hands had been bound tight, as were his legs. A soft snarl grew upon his lips, everything coming back to him in a rush.
And that's when Dorian vomited.
"Oh my God." He moaned, breathing hard, panic flooding his veins. "Oh dear putrid mocking God." Dorian's shoulders began to shake, and he squirmed away from the rotten smelling vomit. It was then, he realized, he was still in the vast, empty, white room. He pulled relentlessly at the ropes that bound him, but they didn't even tear. Dorian clinched his teeth. Doomed. Doomed. He never would have thought that before, but there he was, lying helpless, his clothes torn, arms and legs tied.
He was doomed.
Basil? Harry? Anybody? ... Skinner?
No one came.
Dorian was alone.
Again.