Dorian's silver-hued gaze continued to linger upon the fellow before him. This Brennan by far one of the most intriguing fellows he had ever met- if not a slightly obscure one. He had an unusual demeanor to be sure and yet even despite his species, warlocks by far the Monarch's least favoured, he hardly perceived the fellow as a terribly great threat. Truly the Irishman appeared near as baffled as Dorian himself over the whole scenario they had both so unwittingly found themselves within. Perhaps Brennan did not know how to change a tyre? Yet he appeared to have the build for it, robust, muscular- the sort of person not afraid to dirty his hands in a fashion that made Dorian scowl at the very thought. His attention briefly shifted then from his own internal observations of the Irish as a breed at the warlocks near teasing inquiry as to just what sort of a being had servants and guards outside of the King of England. Dorian so allowing one eye to arch upward then. Had this man truly no idea of whom he was? Not even when this Darby fellow had readily recognised him? Perhaps Brennan merely held very little understanding of modern royalty, after all, England had not had a King in many years. Dorian afforded that near unspoken question a simple answer then. His lyrics as polite and formal as always.

"I am not the King of England, no. I am the King of Italy. I am also the Duke of Athens, Count of Barcelona and Overlord of Monaco. That is why I have guards and servants."

It was quite simply what he was, such a sentence holding decidedly little grandeur despite those titles. Dorian so hardly concerned with affording Brennan the knowledge the rest of the world already held and several patrons within that bar had surely already recognised. This, Dorian was assured, a perfectly logical explanation for the presence of Lucian and the guard and manservant whom still waited outside with that car. The Monarch content to share that story off his own more alcoholic adventures in spain of late in near the same breath- at least before he was so invited to take a seat upon a stool that, frankly, was of questionable hygiene and safety both. Still, that very politeness of sorts was near ingrained within him. Dorian nothing if not a man of both his birth and breeding, the Italian Fae taking that seat and offered drink from the highest shelf. Brennan's insistence there was wine seeming to prompt that look of consideration to his eternally youthful features before that query on it's quality quickly saw him dismiss the idea. Really, if one was to engage in wine it was surely better done properly.

Still, that very pause in conversation so allowed the Monarch to offer that very preposition. Dorian largely oblivious to Brennan's belief that the request was for something else entirely, the very mention of the 'glock' beneath the bar prompting the Fae's curiosity as he eyed that surface near wraily. As if he might be able to see that very weapon beneath the polished wood. At least, he suspected it was a sort of weapon. That baffled look upon his features prompting the Warlocks further efforts to explain it. Guns a relatively new discovery for the man. Just how they worked still something of a mystery to him. Why on earth any sort of gun might be 'packing heat' seemed a wholly ridiculous idea and yet this was perhaps a topic better not strayed down. Dorian merely inclined to nod his head as if Brennan had made perfect sense.

"Quite."

He offered simply, watching as the Warlock was served another drink. Dorian quite wholly curious of the notion that this Brennan was clearly so well know in this establishment that the barkeep seemed to know what 'the usual' was. Frankly the Monarch was hardly sure whether or not such a thing was an achievement. His request over that tyre only further seeming to amuse his new companion. Really, he was almost certain no one had ever found him quite so funny as Brennan had and yet, he supposed, it made the man more appealing then the rest of those gathered within the bar. Especially the man passed out several stools down whom apparently owned a body shop, whatever that might be. The Irish, as a people, were a fascinating collection. They were by far some of the loudest, rowdiest beings Dorian had ever met and yet they appeared as jovial as they were drunk. Brennan very near taken aback at this idea he had hardly met an Irishman before. Dorian allowing his head to shake.

"No, I have not. At least not directly. Sebastian has not taken me to Ireland yet."

In fact, Ireland was one of the few places they had never discussed. Perhaps Sebastian disliked it. After all, his history books had informed him off those wars England and Ireland had held and indeed, much of that animosity still in existence in one form or another. He would query his husband over it later. His own drink was pushed easily toward Brennan then, Dorian assured the warlock might appreciate it more then himself and yet he was decidedly unsurprised at that very notion that Brennan was entirely willing to be of service- for a price. Ah, but money was still the language of all men it seemed. That very language hardly having changed since his own time some six hundred years ago. Dorian quite assured that he could, in the very least, offer the warlock a suitable sum. At least until he insisted he was after something more particular. That near wary look returned to the Monarch's own features then. More particular than money? Did he desire some sort of autograph? Dorian having become used to people, to a certain extent, asking curious things off him and yet he quite suspected he might well be about to be asked for something decidedly unique from a man such as this. Brennan's voice dropped several octaves then, the warlock near whispering that desire to obtain information on demons. Dorian's own features near paling at that very utterance.

"Blood magic."

The words were offered with no small amount of vehemence and disdain. The near ancient fae quite clearly holding either some knowledge or indeed some experience with that very thing Brennan sought and yet- it had quite clearly not been a pleasant one. Nor one Dorian wished to engage himself within in any fashion again. How he had suffered the last time he had encountered a witch whom toyed with those very dark arts! The very sort of potent, terrible magic that summoned demons and darker ideals. The very creatures the bible itself warned off!

"You would do well to avoid such things. I promise you. That sort of magic is...unholy."

He had seen its power first hand and indeed the very consequences to be suffered for it. Such a thing, surely, was better left avoided. Had not Brennan's own kind warned him away from such things as toying with demons and whatever else lingered within such practices? Perhaps not, if no one had ever informed him that his hair was surely in need of work. Brennan insisting no one had ever complained before readily admitting that it was always about a woman. Dorian inclined to frown but slightly once more in that silence that followed. The Fae perhaps inclined to feel at least some small notion of pity for the man before him even if he so hardly knew whatever tale it was that had led the man before him to be as he was now. Still, to play with that very sort of magic that had so resulted in his own misfortune and too- prompted that very fear of warlocks and witches in general was surely one he could be talked out off. Brennan insisting he was a cursed man. His gaze meeting the Monarch's own near directly as Dorian near readily glanced away. How well he knew what it was to be a cursed man. How alike he might well be with this Brennan! Yet how foolish it would be to ever involve himself with such things again. He had made a life for himself, he had Sebastian now and he would hardly risk such things to become involved in the problems of witches once more. Dorian's own words wholly quiet then.

"That is all that ever comes from that sort of magic- destruction. Did you try to bring someone back? A woman perhaps? I have only ever seen such magic bring death, not life and yet I would fear to ask what the price one must pay to return another to life must be. I hold little knowledge of the workings of magic but I am told payment must be equal to that which you desire. If you returned someone to life then the price you paid this demon must well have been terribly great."

A price, it seemed, he might well still be paying. Dorian hardly assured whether or not Brennan had found such misfortune in the way he suggested and yet if he had already suffered such magic why on earth should he desire to seek it again? Had he lost a wife? A girlfriend? Perhaps it mattered little. The warlock insisting women had always been his downfall. Such a sentiment as this prompting the smallest of simpers to the Monarch's features. His shoulders lifting in that easy shrug.

"This is why I married a man."

That soft chuckle found his lips all the same and yet the Monarch hardly allowed such amumsent to linger long upon his features. Dorian so seeming to debate that next action for several moments before his hand so reached out to rest against the warlocks forearm in a touch so designed to offer the fellow some measure of comfort perhaps. His gaze meeting the man's own now.

" I.....once suffered a curse too. One brought about by blood magic, the very magic I am quite certain is tied to these demons you speak off. I do not know what you have entwined yourself within but I will not involve myself within it again- I am sorry. I have several books, centuries old, that you are welcome too though I know not what you might find in them. I read very little of magic- but that, I fear, is all I will give you by way of help. It took me five hundred years to have my life returned to me, to pay that debt that was owed, I care not to risk it again."

How readily he sympathized with such a man and yet...how terribly he feared to be drawn into that world all over again. Indeed he quite simply refused. Perhaps, within those centuries old books within his library that had sat untouched for so many years might exist something to break that very curse and indeed Dorian found himself near hoping it would, yet he simply could not allow himself to become ensnared by offering any further help.

"There are terribly few beings in this world whom possess the power to walk that line between life and death, such magic is better left to those with specific gifts. Perhaps you need to find such a being as that to help you."

He cared not to admit that he himself held such a power- in a way. That very affinity for life kept entirely between Sebastian and himself and indeed he intended for it to remain as such. In the very least it was not worth the price of a tyre. Dorian's hand so lifted from his companions then, the Fae readily capable of that kindness when he so allowed those barriers or sorts to shift and yet they had so seemingly returned readily in that moment. One eye lifting slightly at Brennan's explanation of that bar.

"The bar's I am used to I fear are not at all this....energetic. As for Fae, no, we are not all so fancy and reserved. Believe me. You are fortunate to meet one who is. The rest of my kind are very.....ridiculous is the word that comes to mind."

Ah- but he surely had one other Fae in mind with such a word. Such a thought prompting that simper once more to his lips.

Dorian Aragona