The Sun Also Rises

Women, Dorian had decided, were as wholly unusual as they had always been with their conflicted emotions and frivolous feelings. Samantha was, he was assured, keeping something from himself in regards to just why she seemed so distraught tonight and this guest too- seemed distinctly out of place. It was unusual, in any sense of word, to have a woman Samantha seemed to barely know be so invited to stay within their home, the man finding a distinct discomfort in that- one that perhaps exceeded even his discomfort within this overly heated room. He allows Vhalla to move effortlessly around him and out into the whole, the Monarch assured he might never understand how it was so women were allowed so many freedoms without escort- the witch surely unmarried as well- and yet for now at least he is content to be dismissed of her company. Witches were a displeasing species and the source of far more misery in his life then he cared to recall, her presence unsettling to him along with her overly shrewish demeanour. It was unbecoming on a woman. Though these days it seemed very few woman so displayed any true care for how they might be perceived by their peers. It takes only several moments to so say his goodnights to Samantha, dismissing himself from her room but a moment later to return to his own, some furrow of concern still pressing upon his brow as he opened the door to the black and gold splendour of his own room, one hand reaching for the light as he had become accustomed to doing.

The sudden shock of a figure seated upon his bed, one decidedly not Sebastian- the only being Dorian might so welcome within his sheets, sees a sudden sharp intake of breath drawn into his lungs, his own affinity so readily called to life without any true thought on his part. Those shadows swirl like smoke about his right hand, twisting and snaking before morphing into something decidedly solid- the gleaming ebony blade appearing within his grasp within mere seconds- his grip firm upon it now before his silver-hued eyes so seem to make sense of that white-haired woman. His form relaxes noticeably, a wave of his hand seeing that blade disappearing into shadow once more and yet his gaze remains narrowed all the same, displeasure tugging at his youthful features as he regards the pretty, slender young woman in much the same way as he had regarded those beneath him for several centuries all the same. His voice, when it comes, is polite and yet that note of dubiousness exists within it still. Witches were untrustworthy creatures- of that he is sure.

"Forgive me, but it seems you have wandered into my own room by mistake. I have little knowledge of where you intend to sleep but within my bed is, I assure you, not the place."

One eye lifts ever so slightly, almost anticipating the woman's argument. She had, after all, so far proven to enjoy a verbal joust on some level and he was not nearly foolish enough to believe otherwise. Dorian remaining beside the door now with every intention to so see the woman out. To think, a woman so placing herself in the room of a man! It was scandalous. How bold these modern women were!

"Unless you intend to explain to me why Samantha's room was a veritable furnace or indeed the very nature of the reasons behind your uneven temperament I do not think, sadly, I have much to offer you tonight I fear."

He was hardly foolish enough to so dismiss those waves of heat that had existed in his companion's room, nor the almost bristling demeanor of the woman now seated upon his bed though whether to two were interconnected remained to be seen. Dorian was, if nothing else, highly curious by nature, his mind sinfully swift when it chose to be and as such these obscurities had hardly escaped his notice despite the air of innocent bemusement he had so maintained within the room. One eye lifting slightly now towards Vhalla in an unspoken question.

Dorian Aragona