[Closing his eyes, Judas lowers his voice. It's another case of walking the line of what cannot be said.] Left entirely up to me, I'd stay out here with you for ages.
[Dorian feels it, understands it without letting it become words, extends his hand to Judas's hair to twist a strand between his fingers. The gap must be preserved, crossed only with touches that cannot speak in concrete terms.]
I don't think so, you know how I spent several years living, and with who. ...Plus if you can't drive me crazy on a regular day, then... [He offers a small grin.]
[He lets the lock of hair untwist so he can sink his fingers in, brush through Judas's hair, as if that touch can make up for the other distance he is keeping between them.] You would have to look after everything. I don't have wilderness survival skills.
I know. [He smiles, just a little, and if anything, it's a bit sad. But he shakes his head.] Although I hear there's going to be a fire or something there? Maybe another city would be better.
Don't worry. [With a hand on Judas's face, he thinks he might change its mood.] If I did turn into salt, it would be but a momentary event. You could sell off whatever salt was left and buy another field.
[So good that their terrible sense of humour can be relied on.] What, you're going to kill yourself right after I turn myself to salt even though I come back? That's a little unfaithful, wouldn't you say?
[Judas raises an eyebrow, that smirk threatening to return.] Are you trying to compete with Jesus now? Well, I guess that is more the Devil's territory.
I'm merely pointing out that my resurrections are more convenient. You'll also note that I haven't retained holes in my hands or a big gaping wound in my side. I heal completely.
In theory. In practice, that image of me is so mangled and disgusting that it is nearly impossible to make out any distinct wound. Poor, wretched thing.
[As usual, Dorian speaks of his portrait with a lover's fondness and a monster's cruelty, adoring it with infinite tenderness and relishing in its misery at once.]
Ah, right, you've destroyed your whole body before, haven't you? I guess after a few of those, there's not much to see. That's...lucky. Maybe you can use that as leverage to keep out of Hell.
I don't intend on staying out of Hell. [Dorian splits the last of the wine between their two glasses, then drinks his as quickly as possible. He balances the glass beside the bottle. And he pulls himself to his feet.]
[Dorian gives Judas one of his sweetest smiles.] I don't think about peasants. [And he's off, climbing up through the branches with little attention to what it will do to his clothing.]
Ah, of course. [Without missing a beat, Judas gets to his feet and tucks the loose parts of his robes into the belt. Then, he follows. His height makes it a little difficult in places, but he's not afraid to jump for it.]
[Dorian doesn't normally have a height advantage, and he has his recklessness, but it's strangely heartening to see Judas taking risks. Perhaps it shouldn't be. Perhaps he shouldn't mistake recklessness for confidence. And yet, yanking himself up from one branch to another, throwing himself onto the mercies of luck, he still smiles.]
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My dear Judah. I would drive you quite mad.
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[A little fib, but that doesn't matter.]
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[better than jesus]
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[As usual, Dorian speaks of his portrait with a lover's fondness and a monster's cruelty, adoring it with infinite tenderness and relishing in its misery at once.]
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Think you can climb to the top?
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