For several moments Dorian finds he is rather pleased with himself, his vampire companion readily admitting there was little to fault in his logic, an easy grin dancing upon the fae man's features with a ready amusement. He was used to being right, to an extent, precious few ever willing to dare to tell a king he was not and yet Dorian hardly minded the occasional tease of words all the same. It is the taste of the liquor upon his tongue however that rapidly obliterates all other thoughts, Malek bursting into a riotous laughter at the evidently shocked expression upon Dorian's features. He has never had any drink this potent before, modern alcohol far, far more concentrated then any fermented wine he had ever had within his own home. It had been years, hundreds of years, since he had truly indulged in the pleasure of any alcohol- much less this liquid that seemed to burn his throat. The taste it left in its wake however, was not entirely unpleasant, Dorian willing enough to offer such an admittance as Malek slammed his own glass down with far more force then Dorian truly believed was required ( a modern custom perhaps?) before two more drinks appeared. Perhaps this was the idea of the game, to drink as much as possible within a short space of time and yet truly Dorian is not entirely assured he has recovered enough from the first drink to begin a second so soon, the fae moving to finish the whisky all the same before reaching for the next glass. Attempting, if anything, to merely keep up with his newfound friend.

"Where I am from the alcohol is not near so strong and it has been many years since I have tasted any. It has changed, I see, while I was.....away."

He chooses the last word almost carefully, entirely unsure as to how best describe his own situation when so few ever seemed to understand it at all, head shaking softly as if to dismiss it of thoughts he should not desire to indulge in this evening. Malek's words draw his attention once more, silvery eyes drawn back to the man with the smallest of frowns at his mention that he was 'not exactly' from England as Dorian had suspected. Perhaps England no longer existed. Dorian having not yet taken the time to quiz Samantha on exactly what facets of geography had changed outside of the discovery of several countries Dorian had not known had existed until very recently. Perhaps by that same standard wherever this man was from was simply a place outside of Dorian's ability to know. This however, is not something he chooses to question further- simply nodding in acceptance as social custom dictated.

He lifts his drink to his lips once more- the manner in which Malek's own accented tone had seemed to shift to something a little more antique was hardly missed by the fae, even despite the slightly hazy edge that had crept so smoothly over his thoughts in the wake of the whiskey. Malek, he thinks, is reasonably aged himself and yet how old entirely Dorian remains unsure. There was something oddly contenting, however, in keeping the company of someone else whom understands how it is the world had once been. There is a familiarity to the vampire, a contentedness Dorian finds in his presence, one that exists beyond the powers that had so efficiently coaxed the fae into his company to begin with. Malek laughed freely and often and Dorian finds it almost refreshing. Just as he finds his second drink going rather quickly to his head, the fae shaking it slightly in some effort to clear it. It would be decidedly improper, after all, to appear inebriated in front of company.

"Hmm? Oh, I am from Naples. I was born there and lived there for all my life until....very recently. "


He pauses once more, seeming to consider his own words, another frown touching his eternally youthful features before he moves to finish his second glass. His tongue brushes lightly across his lips again. His words perhaps a little freer now.

"There were bandits.... Wait, we are mistaken, you do not call them bandits anymore. No. Dark Hunters. This is what I am told they are called. There were many of them. They were nearer the castle then I anticipated. I should never have gone outside."

He shakes his head once more, lamenting upon perhaps the first truly poor decision he had ever made within his very long life. If only he had never gone outside. Stormy grey eyes lift briefly to Malek's own once more before Dorian's head merely tilts softly to the side, gaze drifting downward now and towards the floor before rising to meet his companions gaze again, a lopsided grin touching his features.

"You are very tall. Are you aware of this?"

Someone....is getting a little bit drunk.