It was fortunate, perhaps, that Dorian was afforded precious little time to so contemplate his companion's disappearance and too that entirely obscure piece of paper he held within his hands before that soft sound of footsteps drew his attention upward. The Monarch neatly folded that piece of paper to tuck into his hand unseen. The Café flooded with light a moment later, Dorian so briefly blinking against that sudden brightness before his silver gaze fell upon that decidedly unassuming-looking blonde fellow leaning against the wall. He was oblivious entirely to all the centuries that had perhaps led up to this very moment itself, to each and every drunken night Matteo had spent so pouring his heart out to the very man whom stood before him over his Mother and himself. That woman he could not marry nor the child he could not openly claim as his own. Dorian entirely unaware of so many centuries and so many conversations already had about him or indeed, just how well this barista knew the French Fae and perhaps himself. Dorian in turn, knowing decidedly little about Matteo's oldest of friends save for those occasional mentions throughout the years. The man before him somehow not at all as to what Dorian had pictured. He was distinctly shorter.

That surprise however so barely lingered upon his face for more than a second or so, the man falling effortlessly into that almost rigidly indoctrinated pattern of manners, his face so hurriedly shifting into a look of polite intrigue and yet that ready inquisitiveness remained somewhere within his gaze all the same. Those words of introduction so poised upon his lips- Dorian determined to at least make a good impression upon this friend of Matteo's whom the Frenchman seemed to value so greatly when the other man abruptly spoke. Boy? It had been but centuries since he had been called merely boy! The Monarch momentarily taken aback at such a state of address, his features frowning slightly and yet he had no true idea of this man's station in any sense. Correcting him might so prove to be a social folly of sorts, the thought of disrespecting this friend of his friend enough to see him disregard that comment for now along with this notion he had been left to Alexanders 'care'. As if he were a child whom needed minding!

"Forgive me, but did he say as to where he was going? I was not anticipating his departure this soon."

He had not anticipated Matteo's departure at all! Why on earth he had been so abandoned to the company of a man whom was a veritable stranger he hardly knew. Dorian not at all used to such introductions and yet he was nothing if not adaptable when so called on to be. Besides, the very walls of this café were veritably filled with all manner of marvellous things! This alone so enough to incline the Monarch to at least achieve some level of pleasantness with the fellow before him, if only so he might learn about that plethora of treasures that surrounded them. After all, was this not Matteo's very best of friends? Surely, he could not be all that bad. A little abrupt, perhaps, and yet the ever-good-natured Fae so hardly found himself off put. That sudden query about Sebastian seeing that curiosity taint his gaze once more. The man wholly prone to forgetting that while others were a stranger to him, he was so rarely a stranger to them in turn. His life, of late, having been splashed all over the media and radio and television about the world. His head simply shaking as one hand lifted to sweep that dark hair from his gaze almost absentmindedly. His fingers fiddling lightly with that ring as had so become his habit at any mention of his Boyfriend Consort, that steady heartbeat so wholly pleasant- though his gaze remained upon the other man alone.

"No. Sebastian is at home this evening. Matteo so insisted on going for a walk alone. He was determined that I might met you. Alexander, isn't it? I have been hearing mention of you for five centuries."

That easy simper settled upon his features. Dorian shifting forward to offer his hand in that greeting he had so learned was now deemed socially acceptable amongst all classes even if he was not assured he so fully understood it. The Monarch offering him that simple, firm shake before returning his hands to himself. There was something wholly...curious about this man. Dorian so beset with a sensation, an awareness of sorts, one wholly similar as to that he had felt in William's company. Matteo had never mentioned his companion was a hunter and yet surely the Frenchman would not have abandoned him to his very death?! Dorian so choosing to believe such a thing even if a wariness of sorts had settled within the back of his mind all the same. His head softly nodding a moment later.

"Yes please. A drink would be pleasant. Do you know how to make caffé con panna?"

Those decidedly Italian words rolled effortlessly from his tongue. This but one of the few drinks Dorian had come to enjoy within the modern world. The Fae wholly oblivious to both how entirely old fashioned and Italian such a drink was all the same. Dorian so enjoying that cream it was often served with. His gaze shifted briefly from Alexander then, Dorian so unable to prevent the way his attention shifted to those walls and those weapons and artworks and curious oddities he simply longed to touch. Manners alone seeing him refrain and yet that utter want tugged at him still, his gaze falling upon an artwork depicting several galloping horses- that simper tugging at his lips before those words fell effortlessly from them. Dorian nothing if not wholly capable of engaging others with a simple ease. His head gesturing briefly to that portrait before commenting idly;

"I suppose it is you I have to thank for my very first horse. Matteo told me once that you gave to him a little carved wooden horse on wheels that you made to give to me in turn. I used to pull it about on a little string when I was small. I still have it you know- though the hair has long since fallen from its tail and I certainly don't pull it about any more."
That soft chuckle of amusement rose readily to hum within his throat at both the idea of that child's toy that had survived all these years nestled within his palace and too- that he was finally thanking someone for a gift given five centuries ago. Sebastian, he was sure, would have been pleased. The vampire utterly obsessive when it came to thanking people. Dorian allowed his attention to shift then to those cakes and pastries behind that counter glass, his curiosity for all things so surely displaying itself as his head tilted.

"Have you always been a....."

There was a momentary pause, Dorian so searching for a way in which to so describe the man's profession in a fashion that did not imply he was a servant. After all, bakers were so often members of the peasantry.

"...purveyor of pastry?"

It was, perhaps, the most skilfully worded attempt to inquire politely into the other man's profession ever offered.

Dorian Aragona