whiled away hours

Petty AND catty? How dreadful

The hum of predictable chatter hung as heavily in the air as the smell of the late-bloom roses that served in the way of decorations did. Frankly, the roses had managed to be one of the more interesting things in the heavily populated room and even they were arranged in a woefully ordinary manner and so rather did not draw the eye in any way that was remotely worth the drawing of one's eye at all. The music, if one was to be kind enough to consider it such, was not all that much to speak of either. Or such was the opinions of the two hedonistic gentlemen who were very much wondering if it had been worth the effort of attending the party.

"It does not surprise me that the wine is tragically average," remarked the elder of the two, a moustachioed gentleman of a reputation as clear as his ideas were not, by the name of Lord Henry Wotton, donning a rich maroon smoking jacket and a smug look of self certainly with the same skill, "Our hostess is not nearly interesting enough to serve anything decent."

"And why is that?" the younger asked. Now, he was a young man of an exceptional beauty, hair of elegant spun gold that brushed his shoulders, eyes of sapphire and a charming, youthful flush across his features, a flush of which was exaggerated just a little by the tragically adequate wine of which he had already partaken. Dorian Gray, who comprised his own attire of choice soft blues, delicate laces, the glitter of rings, all of which had managed to do a rather impressive job of making the man look almost doll-like in appearance. 

"Interesting people can risk serving something pleasant because they understand the importance of maintaining their intrigue," Lord Henry explained, pausing to take a sip from his glass all the same, "Uninteresting people know the importance of seeming even more disappointing than they are so they can impress with mediocrity."

Dorian let out a perfectly lovely sounding little laugh behind one delicate, ring decorated hand. One could wonder, and wonder rather correctly, if there had not been a little practice behind the shaping of his laughter to seem as pleasant to the ear as he possibly could make it. But it was not as if there was really any authenticity to any laughter after one reaches a certain level of presence in the public eye. 

 "It is of little wonder then," came Dorian's reply, his gaze lazily scanning the crowd, his attention rather unfortunately landing on a generally pleasant middle aged woman in a woefully underwhelming black dress that was serving as a midway between mourning attire and that of which came after the mourning period reached its end, "That Lady Margaret chose to don much the same frock here as she wore to Basil's last opening."

"Quite," came his companion's indignant reply, "One would think she would use the freedom of new widowhood as an excuse to be interesting. I far prefer the company of widows, their tragedy permits them freedom to be outrageous while the married sort find themselves still in the tragedy and so are terribly dull as a result."
It was of little surprise that the elder hedonist rather enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and, indeed the responses his words could win, and so hardly bothered to keep the remark subtle. In fact, he might have been a little disappointed that nobody had happened to draw near enough to overhear the comment at all. 

"I would hope I do not need tragedy to make me interesting, Harry?" asked Dorian in a thoughtful, yet altogether whispy sort of way. It was the sort of manner that made it difficult to conclude if there was anything at all sincere in the worry behind it. 

"I do not think it would take so very much for you to be interesting, Dorian," came Lord Henry's almost lazily delivered reply, "If anything, I should think tragedy, a real and true tragedy I mean, not those common little tragedies that comprise the modern day, would find you to be quite wholly ruined."

"I would not like to be ruined, that sounds tragic." 

"Naturally, had it been anything but tragic it would not be considered ruin at all, but rather a commodity that would be embraced so frequently that it would rather thoroughly lose the charm of the taboo." A dry chuckle accompanied this comment, though the amusement that twinkled upon Henry's face was that of the sort that found itself heavy with the certainty that what the speaker had said was quite wholly right, and all the more obvious for it.

It was rather by chance that Lord Henry so happened to glance at his pocket watch at that moment. Unfortunately his doing so won him a rather significant sigh as he had only then really noticed the way that the evening had already progressed, and progressed far faster than he had hoped it might. There was not all that much of the wine left in his glass anyway, but even that was quickly reduced to an empty glass with a single gulp to rid himself of its inconsequential burden. 

"I'm afraid while we are on the topic of widows, and I do mention it now before it slips by us entirely," continued Lord Henry after a moment, "Unless my wife wishes to live the excitement of one, I had best be off. It would be poor show to not be seen in her company for an hour or so tonight, it unfortunately being our anniversary."

A well formed but sincere pout crossed Dorian's elegant features at this. 

"Must you?" asked he, a well formed whine in his voice making him seem even younger than he was.

"I must, as terrible as it is. But don't pout, Dorian, it shall tarnish you horribly. Save it for the future when you have grown horrible enough for it to suit you, for not you are too lovely to be seen as anything but." Although the lord was not the sort to admit to habit - habits, he had once claimed, were the uninteresting's attempt at finding something interesting to distract from what they were lacking - there was actually something habitual behind this remark, even if it did come from the place within him that would have served, had he been anyone else, as sincerity. 

Lord Henry's way of farewell came as the stating of, "I shall call upon you at nine o'clock tomorrow evening. Do wear something with gold, I'm sure it shall be terribly dull so there ought to be something worth looking at, even if it is just a decent coat. A poorly performed play is one shame, but a poorly dressed audience is all the worse for shame."

"Of course, Harry." came the reply, the younger watching his elder bow his head in a show of farewell before stalking off to leave Dorian to his own devices. 

Dorian downed the remainder of his glass, and only now let himself grimace. It really was frankly awful wine. Perhaps he ought to find somewhere better to spend the remainder of the evening as well.