Chapter Eight (Scribbled by Jin Satoshi) Yaygo
"A little to the left, Dorian. Ah! Perfect! Now- no, don't move! You've just how I want you." The young painter beamed from behind his canvas, glancing to the other youth across the room, who was leaning against a pillar.
"But Basil-"The young man protested. Locks of sun-touched russet curled against his cowslip cheeks, pink with a tad of frustration from his friend. Blue eyes continuously flicked towards the window- longing not to be stuck in the dusty study.
"No buts, Dorian. Please- indulge me, just a few more strokes."
Dorian knew what that meant. It meant that he would be standing there for hours more as Basil Hallward perfected those few strokes.
"But Basil. I'm awful tired of standing here. I wish to be outside in the sun. Can't we please go out for a while? Then I promise you I'll stand here again- all night if I must."
Basil sighed a little, running a hand through his dishevelled black hair, strands falling loose from its leather-bound ponytail. Small pale nose crinkled as he peeked over at Dorian, who was still staring content out the window. Another sigh, and the painter placed down his instrument of beauty- the paintbrush, and stood.
"Alright, then, Dorian. I don't see why not. Although I'll take you up on that 'stand there all night' remark."
"Do you really mean it? Ah! Basil! I love you!" As innocent as that comment was, Basil couldn't help but feel odd jitters inside, and grinned as Dorian darted from his position, down the stairs, and swiftly out the door. The young artist rubbed his chin, peering out the window as Dorian waved back, motioning for him to follow. Premature lines of stress stretched as he smiled, eyes revealing such a small speck of sadness.
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Dorian groaned again, having been slipping in and out of unconsciousness. He shifted a little against the now warm floor, which was stained softly with his own blood. One tired, cobalt eye opened, staring blurrily at a pair of feet, crossed at the ankles, before him.
"What... did you do to me...?" Dorian's voice crackled from his parched throat, arms still bound tight behind his back, his shins tied to his thighs. The owner of the boots chuckled faintly, and slowly closed the book he had been reading, crossing his legs in the other direction.
"Ah, good Mr. Gray. I see you're awake." The Artist chuckled, having recovered from the earlier goings on.
"Answer me!" Dorian's voice grew louder, his other eye opening to add to the glare.
"Shall be answered in due time, Mr. Gray. In due time. But only if you answer my question." The Artist nodded a little, and flicked back a bang hanging before his peripheral vision.
"Bastard." Dorian murmured softly, the feeling of vulnerability twisting his stomach painfully.
"... You are such a tease, Dorian." The Artist replied simply, and leant back in his chair. "Now- answer me this. Why will you not paint for me?"
"Because I can't paint!" Gray suddenly burst, sounding almost desperate as he made a furious attempt to sit, only to collapse onto his back.
"You lie, Mr. Gray. But... I will not mark you again. No, you're far too beautiful for that."
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"You're far too beautiful for that." Basil laughed, Dorian explaining how he would enjoy becoming a dangerous pirate, battling the seven seas with the painter at his side. The young man pouted a little, and sat down with a plop in the grass beside Basil. Dorian's friend smiled brightly to him, lying peacefully, propped up by one elbow.
"You compliment me too much, Basil." Dorian smiled back, just faintly.
"Basil Hallward speaks only the truth."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, really."
"Lord Henry says everyone lies."
"Lord Henry lies too, then."
"He makes me feel strange."
"I hope that isn't a good thing, Dorian."
Dorian blinked quietly at Basil, and then contented himself with chewing on his lower lip, staring off over the small field.
"... Dorian, listen to me. You can't trust Harry. He'll change you." Basil slowly sat, laying his hand against Dorian's shoulder.
"Why would he do that?" Dorian whispered, slowly bringing his gaze back to Basil.
His friend could find no words to reply.
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"Let me go..." Dorian choked out fervent sobs, fumbling weakly with the bonds around his arms.
"Please... I'm telling the truth... I never painted it... Please..." Why couldn't he break them? He was so strong, always, always so strong. Why wouldn't they break?
The Artist sighed, and shook his head, slowly standing.
"Everybody lies, Dorian. Everybody."
"I don't!"
"Ah, but you do. You lie to all your 'friends', all your 'team mates'. You- my dear lad- are a consistent liar."
"I... I... but... why would I lie about this?" Dorian found himself struggling back tears of anguish and frustration. What was wrong with him?!
"Dear boy, dear boy..." The Artist slowly knelt down beside him, and placed a hand against his head, stroking the vein behind Dorian's ear.
Dorian Gray's eyes widened, panic flooding his blood-system, causing his heart to beat faster and faster.
"I'm afraid I'll have to kill you if you do not deliver." The Artist continued to stroke, and slowly, his hand moved to a knife by his belt.
"Oh God... Oh God... Basil... Basil..." Dorian murmured, eyes closing, unable to pull away from the cold steel that was skimming against his cheek, moving towards where the Artist's fingers rested.
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"It's too late, Basil." Dorian stared at his once friend.
"You're mad, Dorian." The other replied. "It's never too late. Dorian... please, can't you see what he's done to you?"
"Quiet, Basil. Quiet!"
"This obsession of yours! It's going to kill you!"
"I can't die, Basil! I'll stay like this forever."
"... You aren't serious."
"I am."
"... 'Though your sins be as scarlet, yet I will make them white as snow.'"
"Stop it, Basil. Those words mean nothing. You lie. Like Henry said. You lie."
Strange, Dorian thought. Why was Basil bleeding? Why was that crimson liquid spilling from his tender mouth. Why were his eyes rolling up into his head? Why could he no longer hear his heart?
Why was he holding a bloodied knife, pressing it deep into the vein behind Basil's ear, thrusting it repeatedly into it, hatefully?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Blood on the carpet.
He should clean it up.
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"Get yer dirty paws off him." A new voice said. It sounded so familiar. And oddly comforting. How funny. The steel was drawing soft drips of blood now, and Dorian could do nothing more but lay there, weak against the floor. The Artist blinked, and looked up, blazing emerald gaze resting against...
Nothing.
"What?" He snapped, and pulled the blade away, slowly beginning to stand.
"I said-"A sudden invisible fist connected with the Artist's face, sending him sprawling back against the pearl white floor.
"Ugh!" The villain hissed in pain, scrambling to stand.
"To get-"Before the Artist could stand, another invisible fist connected with his gut. "Yer dirty paws-"Another fist against the Artist's face, and he was slumped against the wall. "Off-"A kick to the chest. "HIM!" The Artist groaned, darkness taking over his mind, fogging up his senses.
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Skinner dusted his hands off, staring silently down at the unconscious body before him.
"Guh. What a waste of breath." He muttered, and turned towards Dorian, who was staring at him wearily with one eye.
"Come to finish it off, eh?" He coughed a little, lips tilting in the faintest bit of a smirk.
"Unfortunately, I'd love to. But-"Skinner sharply kicked Dorian's side, rolling him onto his stomach. "I've been given orders to come get you. And no matter how much I loathe your smarmy face, I don't exactly wanna kill you when yer not at yer best ability."
"How noble." Dorian muttered, cheek pressed against the floor as Skinner worked at untying his bonds. It took a while, quite a few curses from the thief, and Dorian telling him ways to try and untie it- until the rogue became fed up and stalked over to the knife, slicing the rope away, and leaving some good deep cuts in the immortal's flesh, as well.
"Learn to shut up." Skinner snapped, and repeated the process on Dorian's legs, glad that the other was still wearing pants. Dorian grunted a little, and forced himself to stand, swaying for a few moments. Skinner slid one arm around Gray's back, just as the other's legs gave way.
"C'mon, walk or I'll molest you." Skinner grumbled.
"Really?" Dorian feigned hope.
"Oh just shut up."
Dorian snickered, and received a good slap.