Just why that tale of the microwave seemed to bring Harley such amusement the Monarch had little idea. After all, he had found the entire incident disastrous rather than humorous. Sebastian, in turn, had appeared far more horrified than jovial and yet-several of his staff had appeared to find the incident 'funny'. Hmm. Perhaps it was a matter of modernity that they found his struggle so entirely laughter inducing. The Fae King was so hardly inclined to find that he minded in any true sense even if he failed to understand it. Thatlaughter, in turn, seemed to shake Harley's entire figure as Dorian continued to work diligently at his newfound art piece. The young woman's brilliant gaze met his own then as she queried just what he had put in the microwave that had brought about its apparent destruction.

"Oh, a good deal many things."

He admitted near readily. His words layered within that Italian accent as he frowned slightly, his concentration momentarily absorbed with that leather he worked diligently to mark before glancing upward once more.

"I tried plates and cups and utensils. I tested art supplies, and various plastics and paper and metals. I rather suspect it was the metals it struggled with most. It caught fire. Such an inefficient machine."

That final sentence was very near mused with no small degree of dissatisfaction. The Monarch so clearly believed that the microwave was a rather disappointing invention if its capabilities were limited almost entirely to food. Harley's sudden query on just how old he had been at the time however prompted a lift of the Monarch's gaze. Was the young Were before him truly so oblivious to his age. Ah! How well he had mastered this art of appearing modern! The Fae King was momentarily pleased with himself. After all, it had taken several years before people ceased to ask what century he had been born in (and several more for the Monarch to realise they often asked this ironically, unaware that he was indeed, centuries old). Dorian seemed to consider that question for a moment before his silver gaze met Harleys once more.

"I was five hundred and sixty seven, it was only last year."

He answered honestly. The Monarch, once more, oblivious to the very humour the woman was sure to take from that very sentence or the notion that Harley had clearly anticipated he had been a child when such an incident occurred. Still- Harley seemed nothing short of determined to sing the praises of that very machine as she insisted it almost removed the need for cooking entirely and that it provided a wondrous source of heat for 'leftovers'. That veryword, once more, prompted a frown to the Monarch's features.

"I have never had this 'leftovers' meal, but I do not require food so I do not often eat unless it is a social event. It annoys Matteo endlessly. He has become so accustomed to eating that he believes we should all follow suit."

The Monarch's head shook lightly in an effort to dismiss the notion before pausing to show Harley his work so far. That new medium so clearly delighted him as the young woman offered further instruction on how best to mark that leather with the 'gun'. Perhaps he might craft a flower as well. A rose like Harley's own. Flowers, after all, were a terribly delightful thing. Dorian moved to work with clear focus. His efforts with that gun became more skillful even if he continued to lack but any of the finesse Harley herself had gained from so many years of working with that tool. That image was so readily taking shape now, Dorian once more marvelling at the ability for detail such a thing provided. How readily this explained just how those tattoos people wore so often appeared so fine. His very thoughts upon the manner, however, were abruptly dissuaded by Harley's utterance of his name, the monarch glancing upward once more- oblivious to that growing crowd outside. The young woman's sudden query on a 'fiery soul' so readily seemed to spark his intrigue. A soul....made of fire? How utterly unusual! Dorian assured he had never seen such a thing, much less heard of it. How glorious it would be to see such a thing!

Just what that sou might mean however was another manner entirely and one that was, perhaps, impossible to deduce without seeing the aura connected to it. Fire, however, held a great deal of meanings- including those that were often overlooked. That element was so often aligned with destruction when it also bore an unrivalled ability for purification, for cleansing, for healing. It was a far more balanced element than any truly gave it credit for and it was that notion the Monarch chose to speak upon. A soul made of fire was surely one capable of destruction and yet- of creation too. Harley seemed to consider those very words in turn, the young woman musing upon that notion of destruction and balance as Dorian nodded.

"That would be my assumption, yes. I cannot say for sure without seeing the aura of the soul, of course, but fire has many capabilities. Fire changes depending on the emotions it is fed. Like kindling. It would take a balanced person to wield it successfully."

Dorian nodded once more, the Monarch clearly content with his own deductions even if he could hardly know for certain upon their correctness. The woman quickly insisted her question was hypothetical. A mere wonder of curiosity. One so apparently connected to a certain 'him'. That slip of her tongue was hardly missed as Dorian turned to face her once more, his eye lifting silently and yet, it seemed, this was not a matter she wished to discuss. The young Were, again, insisting all her thoughts on the manner were hypothetical as Dorian so merely regarded her dubiously. Yet- was he but any stranger to matters of secrecy? Perhaps, one day, Harley might feel far more content in allowing him to meet this individual.

"If you should ever like me to hypothetically look at the aura of your hypothetical....friend then I should be most pleased to do so. You need only make an appointment via my staff."

A faint simper tugged at the Monarch's lips once more. Dorian so hardly daring to pry any further before Lukas cleared his throat, the faint sound drawing the Monarch's attention then
Your Majesty, it would seem the populace has become aware of your presence here. The crowd is becoming more difficult to control, it would be best if we exited through the back door and returned home.

"Ah, of course. How unfortunate."

The Fae King frowned once more. Dorian distinctly displeased at having to end his afternoon. How agreeable he had found the company. The monarch moved to add those final touches to his own rose design before offering that gun back to Harley, holding up that leather to display that beautiful crafted rose for her to examine.

"I believe it would take me quite some time to master this skill as you have, but I have enjoyed this activity- and your company, most immensely. Thank you."

That ready, warm simper so easily found his lips then as Dorian moved to stand, stepping back from that desk and glancing out toward the crowd. That singular look prompted a flurry of photographs as Dorian sighed. How he would have liked to linger longer, to practise more with that 'gun'. Perhaps another time.

"Please, feel free to keep this in exchange for your company this afternoon and your teaching. Please also inform Lukas of the cost of the leather and the ink and I shall assure you are reimbursed."

Dorian moved to reach forward then, his own affinity so readily springing to life as his fingers brushed over that leather- the rose he had drawn plucked from the leather itself. That inked image so suddenly entirely real as he held it out for Harley to take.

"The thorns are sharp, so take care. It is....one of my talents."

That ability to bring his art to life was indeed no small gift and yet there was perhaps little time to discuss its implications with the crowd growing ever larger. Another of those security guards hurried forward then to direct the Monarch onward that rear door with the insistence his car was waiting. Dorian so affording Harley a polite nod once more before allowing himself to be guided from the room as Lukas strode forward, the man opening his wallet to reveal hundreds of crisp bills neatly layered within.

"What was the cost of the ink, the leather and your time, Miss Harley? His Majesty would see it repaid"

Dorian Aragona