tushanshu | I. What I want is information: not useful information, of course; useless information. (Video)

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I. What I want is information: not useful information, of course; useless information. (Video)

[For a man of his era, Lord Henry has picked up the basics of the computer with surprising alacrity and ease. Perhaps he has been motivated by the understanding that it provides him with a platform of unprecedented scale.

So behold: a well-bred Englishman in his mid- to late-forties: if his good looks are a bit worn around the edges, he is still quite handsome in a way that suggests he cut a truly rakish figure when younger. His voice is exceptionally pleasant and musical, and when he speaks, his words are accompanied by graceful—though not excessive—gestures of his slender hands.]

I am given to understand that this device offers a podium to rival the pulpit at Westminster Abbey. Capital—although I assure you that I shall not bore you with a sermon; I can't abide a man who makes of himself an amateur curate.

Allow me to introduce myself—Lord Henry Wotton, late of London, which is not nearly so exciting as the vision of Moreau in which I now find myself. There are many questions with which I'm rather concerned at the moment, but most importantly, where does one find a tailor in this city? And, tiresome though domestic matters are, I suppose I must enquire after a valet. There are many indignities a gentleman may suffer in silence, but not an inadequate selection of poorly-pressed shirts.

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[Dorian's laughter is the sort that can bring light into a decaying hotel room.] You'll find I've had some practice in it. I have been to many people what you were to me.

[But that brings him pause. He remembers the last person. Simon. And he remembers what Simon asked of him. Dorian frowns, eyes flickering to Harry's graceful hands and his cigarette. He removes his arm from Henry's touch.]

Anyway . . . if you'd like, we can head out now. [He makes himself smile.] At the least, we can find something to drink.

[Remembering his resolve, Dorian Gray is unbalanced. He does not know who he wants to be or what he wants to be doing. But Henry has always been so good at directing him to the answer for both.]

[It is telling, especially for one as perceptive as Henry: the movement away after what you were to me. There is pride again, but mingled with that faint and unwonted sense of injury that Henry does not quite know what to do with, and which is thus quickly thrust aside in favour of a fond smile.]

I find myself shockingly free of engagements. That too is a novelty. [He rises to his feet.] Allow me to fetch my coat and let us be off, then—we shall find a place for a drink, and you shall tell me more of your adventures.

[He has pointedly not asked about his own future, save for the sardonic comment about his divorce. There will be time to enquire, and besides, he is not entirely certain yet that he wants to know. This will require further thought and analysis.]

[Even if Harry were more obvious with his emotions, Dorian is too much caught up in himself to notice. But there is time yet for that. Dorian stands, reacting to Harry in forgotten but engraved habits. He grabs his own coat, taking the lead in heading out.]

My favourite place to dine out is nearby. It's easier in this city to walk where you need to go. [As they head out, he briefly touches Harry's elbow.] The natives aren't . . . entirely warm to us. My hope is that last week's events bought us good will with them, but it still serves to err on the side of caution.

['Err on the side of caution,' says Dorian Gray to Lord Henry Wotton.]

[Henry follows Dorian's lead, somehow without seeming to defer. The comment about "last week's events" elicits a curious expression and a raised eyebrow.]

And what, may I ask, constituted the events of last week? Don't tell me I've missed some fascinating entertainment; please tell me it was something tedious and political.

The turtle dove under the ocean and reanimated corpses attacked the living in the hopes of consuming their souls.

[Dorian's tone suggests that the entire thing is very normal.]

[Congratulations, Dorian; you have actually given Henry pause. He stops in his tracks and latches on to the one concept that he is at all comfortable getting his mind around.]

I beg your pardon—turtle?

[Dorian stops and turns. The amount of satisfaction Dorian takes in every opportunity to catch the unflappable Henry Wotton is perhaps a little too much. But it's Harry. So forgive him that bright smile.]

Didn't anyone mention? This city rests on the back of a giant turtle. 'Tu Vishan,' I believe he is called. And a very pretty one, too. The shell glows brilliantly at nightfall.

[Henry takes in this information without a word, with no more than a slight pursing of the lips giving away the fact that he actually feels vaguely and inexplicably offended by the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation.]

The—what are they called? kedan?—who brought me to my quarters left out that particular interesting fact.

[He shrugs, gestures to Dorian to continue and resumes walking.]

It sounds rather like one of the horror tales of that American fellow, Mr Poe.

[Dorian is still in too good a mood to be bothered by Henry's expression. (But then, Dorian's moods have been so mercurial since he saw Henry on the communicator, who knows how long that will last?) He is about to speak, before he realises that the majority of his references would be beyond Henry's time.]

Taking horror stories as a point of reference will probably be helpful, with a little contribution from Eastern mythologies. And I've acquired a few kedan poetry books if you're interested.

Edited 2013-01-29 04:24 (UTC)

[Henry permits himself a small snort at "Eastern mythologies", and gestures at one of the fire fountains as they pass it.]

Whistler would faint dead away at the sight of that out of sheer envy. I suppose I would be glad to sample some of the local literature—one must pass the time somehow.

You must admit that it is beautiful. More care seems to have been put into the design of this city than most. The Wood Sector was a little too late 18th century for my tastes [translation: "oh no, nature"] but the statues of the Earth Sector are marvellous, and the Fire Sector has aspects of nearly every kind of sensation I have ever known, and several that were entirely new to me.

If you can declare a sensation entirely new at this point in your fascinating life, it must be novel indeed. [He still sounds as flippant as ever, but there is a hint of weariness in his expression.] By the time I was thirty, I was quite convinced that I had experienced every emotion and known everything. Nevertheless, even I must allow that I have indeed seen nothing like this before.

[Dorian, who time and again is exhausted by the loss of new sensation, feels great sympathy for Henry, attentive to the finer shadings of his friend's moods as he rarely was in his youth. This time, the hand he places on Henry's arm stays there.] You, my friend, have done no such thing. When you are immortal, truly so, that's when a person will try anything at least once. You are near to that now and have new opportunity. You must seize.

[Oh, he has learned well, hasn't he? Henry puts his hand over Dorian's for a moment and smiles.]

Believe me, dear fellow, I have every intention of doing so. If I must live in a city on the back of a turtle, I am not so great a puritan as to not take advantage of every opportunity on offer.

[Through some rapid, oblique association, he is abruptly reminded of something the kedan told him as they escorted him to his rooms. Something he had been avoiding thinking about.]

I am told, incidentally, that one is required to work here.

[Oh, right. Dorian had almost forgotten. It is hard not to smile at the thought of Lord Henry working, but Dorian tries to be helpful.]

That is so. I can look for something that suits your skills, if you like. Art criticism, perhaps? I don't think there is a career to be made out of charming dinner conversation, but we could search. [What else is Harry good at? Corrupting people?]

[Dorian stops as he considers the idea of Henry running a brothel]

[Sorry, Harry, but your protege just started laughing very hard.]

Edited 2013-01-29 21:41 (UTC)

[Nothing makes Harry peevish like being a figure of fun. He was about to inquire if there are any arts in the city requiring curating—well within his talents, and as close to his usual manner of idleness as possible—when Dorian starts laughing.]

I am delighted that the situation causes you so much mirth, Dorian. Laughter is the only correct response to absurdity, after all.

[So much irony. So very much.]

[Dorian covers his mouth with his hand, forcing the laughter back until it is just an amused expression.]

I'm very sorry, Harry. Only I just imagined an occupation for which you are most unsuited. [He ducks his head in contrition, and lifts it when he can give Henry a charming boyish smile, the sort he learned to use to get away with things only after Henry revealed to him the power in his looks.] Please, tell me what you would like? I'll find it for you, whatever it is. I can't stand the thought of you doing anything beneath you.

[The peevishness has worn off somewhat, thanks in no small part to that smile. Henry is still entirely susceptible to that look, even though he knows Dorian is using is quite deliberately.]

Are there no galleries, no libraries? In a city of so many wonders, there must be some ordinary refinements.

[Subtext: Henry is happy to do anything that is first, largely idle and second, not mercantile. Handling books or curating artwork is a gentlemanly sort of meniality, but Henry has the real horror of handling money of which only an aristocratic second son his capable.]

Edited 2013-01-30 13:17 (UTC)

[Dorian's version of apology is to give Lord Henry his full appreciative attention with that frank, wide-eyed air of one who considers his interlocutor the object of unquestionable admiration—in other words, to flatter Henry's vanity in a very different way than Henry often flatters his. It is not, to Dorian, dishonesty or manipulation. The attitude is still harboured in the multiplicity of being that composes Dorian Gray, and to highlight an aspect of himself is no more dishonest than to throw a waterfront into moonlight for effect. It is art, and so it is beyond morality.]

There are a few across the districts. Perhaps we could make a day of visiting them and picking out your favourite?

[Henry knows exactly what Dorian is doing, but knowing these things and not being vulnerable to them are not always mutually inclusive. Particularly where Dorian is concerned. The unspoken apology is received with the equally unspoken acceptance that is Henry's fond smile.]

That will do. I am sure there must be something suitable.

Doubtless there shall. [He hooks his arm in Harry's and thereby turns them in through restaurant doors without in any way seeming to steer his companion.] And it will be quite a pleasure for me to hear your take on the varieties of art the kedan have explored.

Yes, and about the kedan—

[He follows Dorian's lead as invisibly as he is led, and also drops the volume of his voice—not whispering, exactly, but being discreet.

We—those of us who are not native to the city—we are outnumbered by them, are we not? What are they, exactly? Those who brought me to my rooms were entirely civil and well-mannered, but you say that's not true everywhere one goes.

Edited 2013-01-30 23:22 (UTC)

[Oh, right. Henry wouldn't be used to dealing with other species. Dorian had forgotten. He speaks at the same volume, though with a lack of concern.]

Aliens—that is, extraterrestrials. Is that term in usage yet? It's hard to remember. Anyway, they are probably from another planet, or something like that. Dwelling over the technicalities of alternate worlds is a bit too much for me. Their culture is different, but their essential natures have been very like those of humans.

Edited 2013-01-31 08:47 (UTC)

Perhaps it is amongst the tweedy young men of Oxford with thick spectacles and lank hair who are constantly peering into their telescopes. [Even though the term is new to him, his grasp of language is sufficient to figure out what Dorian means. That is actually less interesting to him than the comment about "essential natures". He is content to let Dorian negotiate the business of getting them a table while he considers this.]

There is of course nothing so interesting as human life and human psychology. That even the ancient Greek and the modern Londoner have passions and desires in common is something I have often imagined to be true, but how much more interesting to think that such elements would be common amongst different races—not in the sense that fool Beddoe means, of course, but in the sense of which you speak.

[Dorian does so, getting them a quieter table which, he suspects, will suit Henry's desires in that it allows one a fine place to observe others, but also meets Dorian's desire for a certain amount of privacy.]

I haven't made a study of it, but experience so far indicates that it's so. [There is a certain disinterest in that statement. Dorian has never wholly taken on his mentor's interest in psychology, though he has had phases in it.] Shall I order for you?

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