Why people so continued to say things they didn't mean he hardly knew, nor why any use of the word crash in any fashion might somehow have come to mean the standoffish blonde haired woman might so desire a place to stay. This information merely sees the man stare towards his Fae companion for several moments as he merely works to process such a thing, his head nodded but a moment later in simple acceptance of this even despite his lack of understanding on it. The momentary discord that so seems to have come about between himself and the witch is no doubt picked up upon by Samantha herself, the girl moving to very near place herself between them as if she truly believed he might be inclined to so break his carefully treasured decorum and so seek to upset the white-haired woman whom poked at him with her pointed questions. Even despite all the years he had been away he was still distinctly used to dealing with people of a less agreeable nature and as such merely refused to be in any fashion annoyed with the woman. She was most undoubtedly of a lower class and perhaps not the sort of lower class that had been agreeable as Malek had, this woman seeming to enjoy her all-together sharp attitude and yet once more Dorian sees little need to comment upon it as Samanthas fingers so grace his arm in muted affection.

The room however, still seemed almost oppressively warm to the man- Dorian unable, truly, to work out why neither woman seemed even remotely alarmed by that rise in temperature that seemed to exist within this space alone. His gaze moves to cast itself back to Samantha ever-so briefly, the woman seeming to have grown nervous all over again, even the witch seeming to have picked up upon this abnormal changes in the Fae Queen and yet in truth Dorian suspects that is is the witch herself that might be the cause of this anxiety. After all, had not things been well until she had shown up? Was it truly wise to allow a woman they hardly knew to exist within their home? This was most decidedly why reception rooms and guards were so employed. Undesirables could easily be escorted out and those visitors that so caused distress could be left in the company of some minor lord or lady while the King or Queen retired. Still, he supposed, it would seem as if Samantha seemed determined to keep the company of the woman, Dorian attempting in the least to answer this question upon his age, although as to what sort of question it was he hardly knew. The ancient Fae instead seeing fit to ask after the woman's truly unusual hair, if only for its likeness to another man he had met.

The Vhalla was not entirely serious in her questioning of just who wore their hair better is utterly lost upon the Fae King- the man believing such a question to be asked with the very intent of an answer and yet once more he found it a distinctly bizarre question all the same. Why should a woman wish to compare her hair to a man? More so, why did his opinion on her hair matter at all? Hair was yet another thing no modern beings so seemed to wear with any measure of correctness to the extent Dorian had given up trying entirely to correct them on it.

"You do, in fact, wear it in a similar fashion though his own is not nearly so long as yours. Unkempt I think, is a common style. I do not know why you should be disappointed though that another has your hair colour. White, I think, is decidedly rare and yet within the expanse of the world I am assured a number of people probably have it. I suspect it has to do with which country your blood comes from."

That he had so evidently missed any sarcasm the woman might have presented him with was surely clear. Dorian too only just having begun to catch up with the modern worlds understanding of countries and genetics and bloodlines- his books affording him a plethora of new information he so delighted in. His mention of Frost, however, had seemingly resulted in Samantha returning to her state of nervousness, Vhalla's comment on her nails seeing his own gaze narrow.

"Samantha! We have discussed this many times. One does not bite ones nails even when one is distressed. You seem very unusual this evening."

His features soften upon her once more, one eye lifted slightly in a silent inquiry before his attention returns to the witch.

"How long, might I ask, will you be gracing us with your presence?"

Dorian Aragona