choking on your alibi

chapter too: basebald

Four knocks came from the door of Dorian's room. The knocks were rhythmically spaced out so there'd be a beat's rest between the first and the next three; he sighed a short breath of relief.

"Come in, Mama."

Rosalind Creswick opened the door quietly, peeking her head through first before coming in and closing the door behind her out of habit.

Her hair rested upon her shoulders, curls of gold delicately styled into a half ponytail; Dorian was the spitting image of his father save for those same curls' (albeit not cared for half as well as hers) and for the fact he was more than grateful. An elegantly simple green gown hugged the upper part of her bust and fell in swoops; well-made yet without unnecessary flare, just like his Mama.

Dorian smiled. "I've always liked that shade of green. It reminds me of the Japanese Painted Fern."

A warm chuckle escaped the woman. She approached her son, her hands instinctively brushing any folds in his suit and fixing the bow tie he was never quite good at doing. "Which one might that be?" Her voice oozed tenderness like honey, a question asked once before to her 6-year-old son as he spouted nature trivia again and again as he continued to do so throughout the years. She licked her thumb in a quick motion and wiped at a spot of grime on the boy's cheek, which made him instinctively scrunch his nose and bat her hand away gently, a smile playing at his lips.

"It's the ones by the cherub statue in the garden- the one where I tripped and scraped my chin, remember?"

Rosalind laughed. "You were inconsolable- I don't think I ever met a child as dramatic as you were."

Dorian snickered in agreement, letting his mom fix his hair.

"You holding up okay, baby? I know these events aren't the greatest." Her hands swept Dorian's hair back, taming his blond curls into something presentable, regal, even.

"I'll be fine. It's nothing new. Will you be?"

She finished fixing stray curls and put her hands on her hips, heaving a sigh and looking at a point above Dorian's head, lost in thought. "Well, I have to be." She looked back at her son, her world shifting back as quickly as it had lifted, yet that undertone of tired melancholy that always lingered in her eyes seemed particularly unsettled. "Don't you worry about me, kiddo. You worry too much as it is."

Dorian's lips stretched into a small, crooked smile. "I love you, Mama."

She held her boy's face and lowered it down, kissing his forehead. "I love you too, baby. Now get out of here before PR bangs down your door—I've seen them try before."

She left the room, and Dorian took a settling breath. He'd done this a million times before, and he could do it again. A little (big) party (gala) was nothing (extremely important for his and his family's reputations). He could do this.

He stepped out of his room, his safe haven, and into a long, drafty hallway. Along it,, he could hear the tell-tale ruckus of six women getting ready for a formal event.

The gala was fine. He was fine. It wasn't even a party centered around him, this was about that new player, Andreas (the one that glimmered under the sun and moved like sin). He just had to be present, make small talk, and make it through the night. He wouldn't even have to issue a comment to the press. He was fine.

~~~

He was not fine. He had been fine going into the event, surrounded by his family, talking and smiling pleasantly (and reminding himself not to blink during pictures). He had been fine through the formal dinner; it was easy to let himself get lost trying to classify the plants embroidered on the serviettes (perhaps a carnation or a dahlia). He had been fine avoiding the press. He was not fine now.