The Sun Also Rises

The slate-hued eyes of the man continue to linger upon that vampire before him. Dorian so subtlety observing so much of the vampire in those moments as was his simply nature to do so. His appearance and mannerisms spoke of age while his clothing spoke of wealth, his general neatness in turn spoke of, Dorian thinks, a like for organisation and yet this too was a trait he had seen in others of that vampiric ilk. Age perhaps, inclined one to be ordered, for surely he was the same. Perhaps that alone was why he so often found himself in the company vampires. They tended to live longer than any other species, even his own and age held with it an attraction he could hardly deny. To find others who understood, who had seen the world when it was barely a world to see and indeed whom shared in those seemingly ancient and forgotten values was a difficult task. Dorian so content to linger in the presence of one whom he suspected was aged suitably enough to be of interest to him. It is the way the vampire so eyes that coffee with disdain however that prompts his mention of a place he might prefer in turn. Though truly he wonders at all why the man subject himself to a drink he clearly did not like when there was none here to even appreciate the sacrifice of his tastes save for Dorian himself. It is however not that which he says which the other man chooses to comment on, but his own accented lyrics, a simper tugging at his lips as he so easily identified the age within the dialect of his own words. His head nodded in so assuring the other man he was correct in both that language and his rather ancient age. His words wholly pleasant.

"Yes, very good, Mio Amico. I have just returned from Naples but a day ago, in fact."

How quickly his accent seemed to thicken again even despite spending but a few weeks abroad! Dorian assured he would need work to lessen it once more now that he had returned to the city if only to make his words less potent within that public space. Accents often attracting far more attention than they were worth. He watches then as the man before him takes but a few moments to wipe his hands before standing to extend one towards him. This, Dorian had learned, was an excepted form of greeting within the city. One that had taken the Monarch months to be accepting off if only for so many years spent within his own courts and that distinct understanding that he was not to be touched in any fashion. Here however, the rules were different and Dorian cannot say he does not enjoy them, his own hand extended to meet the vampires in that brisk, formal shake of introduction. It is only now he is given to notice the vampires own accented tones and yet he has been apart from the world so long that his own knowledge of such linguistics is far more limited. This man, he is sure, is from somewhere he has never been. How such curiosity might tease at him! This mention too of antiques and this rank of Mayor so seeing his eyes lift in momentary inquisitiveness before he offers his name in turn.

"Dareios then, I shall remember it. I am Dorian. It is a pleasure to meet you. I must say too, I am very fond of antiques, I should like to see what you have when a convenient time so presents itself."

Dorian, for all his eloquence and politeness held little object in so making his interests known, after all, antiques were a true point of fascination for the man. For all his love of modern technology there was too, a distinct delight in seeing what had survived from his own time and those ages in between he had missed. He is careful however, to omit both his last name and too any mention of his own occupation. Italy had been a veritable circus. Dorian having so quickly come to find his return to his throne and too the nations discovery of his sexuality had turned into public business the world was excited about and in turn so seemed to believe it was their business to know. There had been so many photos, so many interviews, Dorian assured there had not been a magazine or newspaper that had not featured himself and Sebastian and he hardly wished for the world to know he was here now that he had found even a momentary haven from what he had learned was called 'the press' or 'paparazzi'. Dareios himself perhaps one being whom might have understood just that thanks to his own position as the Mayor of the very city, his very words so seeming to echo Dorian's thoughts in that moment as he spoke of his dislike for such events.

"Indeed. They can be draining on ones very soul. Especially when one is so expected to smile throughout as if the world is the most marvellous place."

There is a soft humour to those words all the same before Dareios inquires after the restaurant he himself had frequented with Sebastian, Dorian's head nodded in a simple assurance that such an establishment was close.

"Yes, quite close, I am headed that way myself and while I fear I am poor at giving directions I can show it to you easily enough if you care to accompany me? Come along."

He waits then, for Dareios to arrange himself before heading for that door. A member of staff so hurriedly moving to open it for them, though whether it was for Dareios or himself he hardly knew. Dorian stepping readily out and onto that street now, gesturing further along it before falling into step at Dareios' side. His fingers, so habitually, fiddled with the ring upon his left hand knowing well he should surely feel something any moment now as they made their way down the street. It was hardly a far walk, in fact, no more than a block or so before the Fae King so halted outside that restaurant with its gothic architecture and a line already starting to form outside it. Several people in that line so seeming to recognise Dareios already.

"It is always busy but as Mayor you might well simply walk straight in. It is quiet inside though, even the lighting is so designed to be of comfort for your kind and the tables are well spaced apart, the menu is also very vast for both vampire and non-vampire alike."

Dorian Aragona