It was with a nod of clear satisfaction that the Monarch watched his assigned staff member so immediately seek to fulfil his order as the man all but ran from the small tattoo parlour with clear vigour and purpose. The Fae King so momentarily watched the man race up the street before returning his attention to Harley. The Were-Woman, in turn, seemed inclined to watch his staff run up that street before suddenly querying what it was he had said to instil such apparent haste within the man. Dorian's own features frowned ever so slightly in a loof of momentary bafflement. Did Harley not realise that all his commands were executed with that same vigour? It would be inappropriate, after all, for him to be left waiting. Such a thing would represent failings upon the part of his staff and too- a lack of cohesion within his monarchy itself! That very question, however, was answered with distinct honesty as Dorian regarded his new companion.

"I gave him an order. It is his duty to fulfil it swiftly. My staff are most highly trained."

Several of those security guards nodded in turn- as if they were distinctly proud to be afforded such praise by their King. Dorian so easily fell into step behind the young woman then as she moved to lead him to this 'back room' that was so designed as a work space and the place in which she kept that art more of her own making then those that adorned the walls of the shop floor. That room Harley led him too was small and yet efficient. A large, moveable chair reside within the centre of the room, one Dorian found himself distinctly curious off and yet, as politeness so dictated, the Fae King merely waited within the doorway for instruction on just where she might desire him to seat himself. This, after all, was her personal workspace. The Monarch so hardly desired to place himself in an inconvenient position. That very request of where she would prefer he sit was met with the insistence that he could have the 'prized rolly chair'. That chair in question was abruptly pushed toward him a moment later, rolling across the floor with ease as Lucas stepped hurriedly forward to intercept it. The security guard moved to rotate that chair for the Monarch's comfort before Dorian sat gently within it. Lucas, once more, rotated that chair so as to allow the Fae King to face Harley again before Dorian gestured toward the desk. Lucas moved efficiently once more, the Monarch pushed within that chair to the desk he clearly desired to sit at- a word of thanks offered to his guard before Lucus moved to take up that offered chair within the corner Harley had gestured toward.

Dorian's own sketchbook was placed neatly atop the desk, the Monarch reaching for his favoured white, pastel crayon before resting it atop his sketchbook in preparation. The sudden sound of his staffer returning however prompted his silver gaze to glance expectantly toward the door. The distinctly out of breath man was quick to place that plate of pastries atop the desk, along with Dorian's desired tea within its tea cup. That tea, he so insisted, was what he enjoyed most on those days in which he chose to conduct his art. Harley, for her part, seemed decidedly...taken aback by the sudden appearance of such treats- the young woman suggesting she preferred coffee to tea all the same as Dorian allowed a soft simper to find his lips- his head nodding in agreement.

"In truth, I prefer coffee myself but I have taken a liking to tea. It is the influence of my husband. He is British."

That, Dorian was certain, explained such a thing entirely. The British, after all, were notorious drinkers of tea. Indeed, their very people were nothing if not passionate when it came to the beverage. His Sebastian was assuredly no different. That notion that Harley preferred coffee, however, prompted a ready nod from the Fae King once more. That mere gesture was enough to send the staffer fleeing from the room at speed once more as Harley queried that very act. The woman was evidently curious to know if he might procure anything with such a command. Dorian's head nodded softly.

"Yes, it is his job to bring me what I desire regardless of the hour or whatever the object might be. He is most efficient. Although sometimes I do enjoy doing such things for myself- where I might be permitted to do so. I purchased a sandwich from one of your delicatessen stores once. It was a thoroughly exciting experience. I rarely partake of food but I found it pleasant. I should like to go to a store again one day."

That ready simper so easily found the Monarch's lips again as he regaled his company with that very story. One Dorian was certain had been a terribly grand adventure. Even if he so hardly cared for sandwiches at the best of times. Harley moved to take a pastry from the offered plate then, the young woman slipping it between her lips with clear satisfaction before the sound of the door once more signalled the return of his guard. The once more out of breath man was quick to place that tray of coffee on the bench, each one labelled with the amount of milk and sugar or lack thereof that had been used within them. A word of thanks was offered to the man once more before Dorian gestured towards those coffees.

"Please, feel free to take the coffee you find most suitable for your needs."

It would, after all, be something of a social faux pas for Harley to be denied something to drink while he himself enjoyed his tea. The young woman moved to extend her hand a moment later. Dorian so offered her own sketchbook as he moved to take it, resting it momentarily atop his own before turning to open to that first page. The Monarch was greeted with a...pumpkin cat. How assuredly Dorian felt his eyes lift in clear surprise! A simper of amusement tugging at his lips all the same at the very pun printed neatly below it.

"My brother is terribly fond of puns. One would not think it of him. He is a serious individual and yet these amusing wordings never cease to make him smile."

Tetradore was not the sort of man prone to good humour at the best of times and yet, despite Dorian's own inability to understand, those puns seemed to amuse him no end. Dorian moved to flip to that next page then, the Monarch eyeing a headless horse. What a perfectly obscure thing to draw and yet those details were near flawless, her design distinctly unique and yet perfectly executed. Dorian, for his part, was so hardly opposed to those less traditional forms of drawing even if he so hardly indulged in such himself. Dorian moved to flip to the next page, and the next, Harley's sketchbook a stark contrast to his own. His images, after all, tended to be rooted in reality- while her own possessed a fanciful hold. The woman seemed to adore drawing creatures of all kinds. Some steeped in reality like those drawings of a dog, others so seemingly taken from her vivid imagination. How fascinating. Each image seemed to craft a unique feel. That range of emotion varies from comforting to....rather terrifying. Some images were greyscale. Her use of shading bold and unafraid- while others danced in colour.

"Your sketchbook is so very unique. I enjoy it immensely."

The Monarch offered warmly, his gaze still upon those pages as he turned each over with a clear and ready fascination.

"You work often with grey and black and white and the various shades in between. Do you merely enjoy the contrast of light and shadow or do you see the world in this fashion? As in, do you find the world, for you, is a blend of black and white- with those metaphorical grey areas of indecision in between?"

It was, perhaps, a surprisingly astute question. Dorian so hardly feared speaking directly, if not openly. Art, after all, was an expression of its creator. Dorian so hardly feared to query her motivation behind her choice of a colour as he moved to offer her back her beloved sketchbook once more- opening his own as he did to select a blank page. His favoured white pastel within his hand as his silver gaze lingered gently upon her- his hand moving across the page in short, smooth strokes. His gaze so hardly left her all the same as he worked.

"Perhaps you might tell me of yourself while I draw? I should like to hear of the things you love, the things you hate, of your family and of yourself. Only that which you wish to share of course. Your sketchbook has given me some idea of you but I would like to hear it all the same. If you are not opposed?"

A simper found the Monarch's lips once more, Dorian offering her that very look before, glancing down at his page, several more white lines carefully added before he glanced upward once more in clear expectation.

Dorian Aragona