Dorian had, as he had anticipated, woken up entirely alone sometime within the early hours of the morning. A brief glance towards the clock on his wall assured him it was little past 4am, the rain still falling in a manner the man would normally have found peaceful and yet that morning it had merely served to add a certain bleakness to the day. He had not truly expected Sebastian to stay, it would be improper and impractical to do so. Yet -his gaze finding that single red carnation upon his bedside table even within the dark- the Fae King found himself almost befit of something akin to a loneliness that was all too familiar to him. Maybe, one day, he might convince the vampire to share his bed a little longer. Alone and within the darkness it is entirely permissible, he is sure, to allow his own thoughts to do as they pleased unchecked- Dorian laying himself back down once more, pulling the blankets up and over himself to keep the chill from his form. The fae allows the faintest of simpers to touch his lips at the realisation his sheets still very much held the scent of whatever cologne it was Sebastian wore. For now, such a thing would have to be entirely enough. There was, after all, still a 'next time' to be had.

It is this single thought that so manages to find itself at the forefront of Dorian's mind during many of the days that follow. It had occurred to Dorian during one such consideration that he had no true method of contacting the vampire outside of merely showing up announced at his home- something that was, quite simply, not done. He was unaware that such a thing in this day and age was perhaps far more permissible then it had ever been within his own time and yet Dorian is still very much bound by his own culture and an understanding that there was a way in which absolutely everything was done. Within his own time, requesting Sebastian's presence or announcing his own intentions to call on him would have merely required the use of a servant to deliver the message- something Samantha lacked the employment of entirely and as such Dorian had been left with only one true option in this regard. Writing to Sebastian. It had been several centuries, truly, since Dorian had possessed any need to write to anyone and yet his skill for such a thing existed still. It had taken several days to locate both the correct paper (a parchment style off-white) and envelope, everything, after all, from the colour of the paper and matching envelope to the thickness of the paper itself held importance. Locating a pen with which he was capable of writing had also taken more time then he anticipated, the unfortunate Samantha dragged about the city until a calligraphy pen could be located. Modern pens, after all, seemed very near useless to the ancient King.

While the actual letter itself was not terribly long, merely informing the vampire of the date and time he intended to call on him- Dorian was content to take his time with it all the same. The entire letter was penned in flawless French calligraphy and, as had once been the custom, the borders and lettering decorated meticulously in various patterns with all manner of colours. The envelope done to match. Such a thing taking the fae a number of hours and yet everything from the decoration, to the style of writing to, the words themselves, took due care so that exactly the right thing might be said in exactly the right way. It was simple, in the end, yet there was a certain affection laced within the words all the same, announcing just when he planned to arrive, exactly 3 days from today, and that he truly did look forward to having the vampire accompany him for the evening. It is only when this task is completed that Dorian tucks the envelope within his jacket, making his way out and onto the sunny street, past the newly rebuilt bar that had been the sight of his first meeting with the man and towards The Witchery that Sebastian called home. It was a terribly odd name for an estate and yet for now at least Dorian pays it no attention, striding instead towards the servant seated at the desk within what he can only assume is the receiving room. Sebastian's home really did make little sense.

The letter was handed easily to the woman with the instruction to assure Mr Ellington received it tonight on his way out, Dorian turning easily to leave, halted only by the servant woman's sudden exclamation- his silvery gaze turned back to her. Her fingers brushing over the decorative envelope. Oh, this is beautiful! Is this hand-drawn? A rose?

"It is a carnation."

He corrects her simply (a rose, even a drawing of one, would have been decidedly audacious, silly woman) before moving to make his way back out and onto the street, content now, that Sebastian had been given the correct three-days notification of his intent to call on him. It is, unfortunately, three days longer Dorian is required to wait. There is however, a far more pleasant sort of anticipation in this, Dorian entirely content to let his thoughts wonder as to what this time might bring- the man finding himself more often than not enjoying these idle daydreams that seemed to intertwine themselves with his own memories of things both chaste and....less so that he remains content to relive. Ah, but he had only more ideas he would surely try if Sebastian was willing to allow him. It is with some relief that the night itself finally arrives and the Fae King finds himself waiting within the lobby of the hotel (though truly he believes it to be the reception room of Sebastian's house). The serving girl had, several times, attempted to serve him cups of tea while he waited, the woman blushing outrageously every time she came near and yet truly Dorian was near oblivious to her, a nervous anticipation having settled within him and yet years of practice assure such a thing is controlled as he waves off the girl politely once more. He was, after all, waiting for only one person.

Dorian Aragona