EXT - The airs near Roesler’s Home; sunset
Dorian lost his wig in the flight, but his papier mache mask was held on yet, He'd flown up looking for an airship whose environs to prowl while awaiting their occupant. After a time he found the right one, the emblazoned roses on it belying their owner. Once he noted the spot he'd camp, midair on guard, wings fluttering every few seconds to keep him aloft, spectral and immaterial as they were with veins of arcane energy fading after phantasmagoric feathers.
The very moment the place's chief inhabitant emerged so too, from some distance did his opponent, and he'd call, "You're a Blackguard!" No matter what anyone else said, that was a truth to the golden-mopped unicorn who ripped off his mask and shed it upon the grounds before flying at his Sidhe nemesis directly, broadcasting with a coiled fist what he intended to punch, and that was a finely featured face, all noble of angle and bent. He'd committed to this action the moment the wick of his heart's flame had set fire long minutes ago upon seeing the kiss in action. The pair were set to clash midair.
Niles was under far too many influences to be thinking clearly. The ring ensured he had a singular focus, waning as it was with the distance between him and Dinah as he fluttered up from the Academy. The drugs and pixie dust kept emotions at a muddled high. Certain things, certain trains of thought still chugged along without issue - namely that he recognized a flying, angry Dorian could easily go after his ship and that there was no need for proper glamour at that altitude.
But where he ordinarily might have backed down or spoken to the man, today he flew straight at that charging, angellic figure to meet him head on. There was only a minute and sluggish attempt to dodge the fist and it failed, letting Dorian feel the satisfying SMACK of knuckles against sharp, high cheekbone as the force of the blow sent Niles twisting in the air. The momentum carried, however and a clawed foot came whipping around to score a gash across the blonde twin's tunic'd chest.
Dorian hadn't thought clearly as far as Roesler was concerned since the day the Sidhe pulled his sister's heart out. Even given his siblings' and the man's own civil behaviors and requests. Cocaine and brandy and rage were powerful intoxicants that didn't help atop pixie glitter that saw a grim smile issue from lips. One that reigned as he dodged backwards away from the long clawed limb in midair. He'd roar again, this time an insensate sound as he charged toward the German once a foot had found purchase in midair upon an invisible ledge from which to launch him forward again. The elder twin envisioned this colosseum as one that had solid ground and used musculature to make it so. He was just drawing up his arms again so that next he moved he'd throw another punch, but he did not, not yet. He needed time to fume and rage, and growl over the hit he'd landed.
Niles was bleeding. His cheek was bruising quickly, a little slit of split skin over the bone where Dorian's knuckles had hit with enough force. Bruising sprawled upward into the orbit of his eye and toward his nose too and for a moment the Sidhe licked his lips and swallowed, rather than spit out the spill of blood from the resulting cut on the inside of his cheek.
"Do you think she'll be pleased?" he asked, tone low and sharp, tinged with more anger than he ought to have. Rather than attack Dorian outright the Sidhe's mind lashed out, projecting the burning sensation of alcohol poured into an open wound to the twin's mind, attempting to set him off guard with the manipulation of his sensory nerves.
Dorian had never faced an opponent with such capabilities, and barely knew what to make of the psychological warfare on two points. On one front he'd call back, without much conviction as he intended, "She'll see you for what you are, soon or late." It had already been late, too late for Dorian's taste anyway. But he already knew bashing the man to a pulp would displease his sister and it took some of the air from underneath him, making his wings beat more furiously for it.
Another snarl followed as he burned from wounds he didn't possess, but felt strongly that he did, and without the keen focus he'd been turning, rather with an animal rage he'd flap forward to bowl into Roesler, with a body shot aimed at that long torso's rib area. The pain was a motivator, albeit a blinding one. This time, he'd not flap back or away but seek to see the colour in Niles' eyes, and maybe the content of the soul and will he'd intended to bash.
Niles touched clawed fingers to his injured cheek as Dorian responded to him. The pain in his voice pulled the corners of his smile a bit wider despite the sting of his own wound. "She's seen enough to make her own judgments," he said evenly, his own speech at least calmed by the satisfaction of having affected Dorian's perceptions successfully. He could tell, too that the simple observation about Dinah's reaction to this had landed. The change in the pace of his wings and in nature of his attacks were clear enough sign of that and Roesler was inordinately pleased.
Not that he had time to act on it. Dorian came in quickly, the vicious blow landing squarely against the left side of his ribcage, throwing him backwards and fracturing bone. It winded the Sidhe and it took a moment for him to recover and catch his breath, wings fluttering rapidly to keep himself afloat. His mind required little recovery however and the pain that became deep ache sprawling through his torso reflected itself in Dorian's own ribs.
Niles had to buy himself some time, trying to stall another attack from the twin while he was recovering.
Dorian recoiled back out of armslength from his foe, feeling the pain he'd just inflicted, and he'd fall several feet before the wings responded and kept him from plummeting. Only the pain was worse, through the lens of truth that Dinah would prefer her own choices, and about Niles she'd made herself perfectly clear. That clarity got muddled through substance use, through substances raging that made the elder twin's wishes more paramount, even if flagging. Clutching himself about the middle, and bent, he'd grumble another guttural sound. His mind was not his strong place, but it was filled with an abundance of feeling that kept him aloft just now.
All he could do was call upon his suppositions once he had breath for them again, and he'd accuse, "So it is true, you want her. I fucking KNEW it." And though there was blame in the voice, it came from the wellspring of understanding; from wanting her himself. Something he wasn't truly willing to say aloud, given society's mores as they stood, and likely always would unless anyone went backward toward the Egyptians.
Niles slid an arm around his own torso, testing the stability of those ribs with slight pushes before being satisfied that he could move without causing any full breaks. Where Dorian suffered from the cocktail of chemicals external influences affected his mind Niles was emboldened by them, inhibitions removed in favor of emotional responses. When he came at Dorian he didn't punch but instead reached to wrap both hands around his throat, fully intent on squeezing hard enough to restrict airflow if he managed to grab him.
"I appreciate her," he corrected. "Who and what she is. As a friend and as whatever else we become." Roesler's eyes narrowed as he leaned in, bloodied face and swollen cheek close to Dorian's own unblemished features. "And what will you do if she wants us to be something intimate? Would you deny her, dear brother?"
The images that he projected into Dorian's mind were technically rather intimate... but put together could very well be damning without the context of time in between each instance. Dinah on the chaise on his airship, laid out for the creation of her tail. Their kiss in the hermetics classroom. Dinah supported by his arms after her first landing with her wings, curled against him at the Masquerade...
Dorian was buffeted by feeling and fact and took a long several moments of his Adam's apple trying to bob against hands to consider both. He'd loll for a moment of not knowing what was right, drugged haze leaving his instincts duller for those moments of engaging in feelings. Still the will to Dinah was strong enough that he was able to pull strongly at the arms bent on encircling his throat and while they were paired up close enough for butting, he'd use his coconut of a head for what it was best at, if their father was to be believed, a head-butt of going on the offensive once more.
Niles took the solid hit from Dorian's noggin right to the front of his face, bone shattering in his nose and adding to the discombobulation that was blunt head trauma and pixie dust and wine together. He toppled over backwards, losing altitude quickly until he managed to reorient himself in space. Wings flapping, the weight of his body lifted a bit by telekinetic power rather than the physicality of his wings he stalled the fall. He did not close the distance again. Instead his voice whispered to Dorian's mind. << What will you do when she wants to heal me of the injuries you've caused? >> he taunted, the psychic's influence trying to worm into Dorian's mind as his eyes remained locked on the blonde above him. << How will you stop her from giving her blood for my recovery? >> The compulsion worked on Dorian's already strong desires to rip the man apart, goading him on, attempting to compel Dorian to put a fist right through his abdomen.
Dorian would gladly give Niles what it seemed he wished. He'd come bearing down fist first at the long narrow abdomen that was such a wonderful target. One he'd dreamed of pummeling. All of that and his strength went as did the singular will before the flap of xanthic wings propelling him to commit to just the blow he was broadcasting. The psychic assaults went somehow past the intoxication to be perfectly clear as the will to destroy. Dorian hated himself for causing hurts that his sister would mend, that she'd offer herself to as she clearly had to the villain in his tale. They both knew he never would nor could stop his twin doing as she wished. All that left a desperate man was a hope for destroying the distraction. Dope-blind he'd reach for that hope soaring down to the kill, despite the possible repercussions.
Niles smiled wide when he saw the golden blur that was Dorian's descent. The pain was unsurmountable - blunt-force trauma delivered with enough force to burst through skin and muscle layer on entry and exit. Dorian found himself buried to the elbow in the Sidhe's body, his fist through his back just to the side of his lumbar spine. Intestines bled on either side of his arm, torn muscles of his abdomen spasming as Niles reached to dig clawed hands into the meat of Dorian's upper arm. He pulled him deeper in with a sickly squelch before giving the blonde a fierce telekinetic shove, attempting to free himself so he could plummet away and toward the ground below.
Dorian punched straight through the Sidhe and for a moment there was wild triumph in grey eyes, and almost a smile too. That all went away though when Niles pulled the arm on through. It was a discordant dissociation that stopped him from doing any other thing until he was flung free from his adversary.
Dorian hurtled backward some dozens of feet tumbling arse over teakettle backward, but laterally. By the time he was in charge of his own actions again he was looking downward, upward, side to side for a foe that just wasn't there any longer. So, in spite of the covenant or any other bloody buggery thing he'd let loose another roar from where his eye-laden wings flapped.
From there he'd survey for a moment, a few heartbeats, but seeing no one, he'd turn after some time toward the wilds: a place where he could land and walk his way back into town. He was pretty sure he'd mortally wounded his foe, all that would be left would be to find a place to walk it off. The forest would put him a significant distance enough from home for his taste, were he to land there.
Niles: It was all he could do to slow his fall enough that the landing wouldn't be debilitating. Niles hit the sand of the coast with a dull THUD, immediately staining the coastline red. Normally, it might have been a peaceful place to simply lay and bleed and begin to repair. But the fog and the dead put tension in the air and Niles was reluctant to linger. The call to his staff went quickly - one to move and hide the ship and the other to send that personal craft down to collect him. Until then, he moved himself into the shade of the cliffside and shut his eyes.
Dorian would have to rip his tunic off to clean his arm up as it was, covered in red rage's leavings. He was facing a long walk to anywhere, bloodied and shirtless, but... it would not be his first nor his last walk home in such a state of shame. The way he felt just now though, all the last clinging agonies of his battles leaving him in the cold embrace of sobriety also gained from the cold facts Niles pulled upon, it was to be the final such time. He was getting too old for this. Far too old. Dinah was going to be so angry. Afterall, he'd never seen Roesler taking her from the house.