The Sun Also Rises

He was distinctly unused to this sort of woman. The very sort that, in his time, would have been heavily frowned upon not only for her state of dress, but too her unwomanly actions, her etiquette and indeed her general demeanour. A woman of this calibre would never have held any hope of finding a husband- at least, not a decent one and yet he supposed, if what Samantha said was correct then women these days seemed to care very little for that sort of thing. After all, a good husband was no longer the only way a woman might so secure her position in life and that of her children. Woman nowadays seemed far more capable of caring for themselves- such an oddity that was. The look the snowy-haired woman affords him in those moments in which the blade disappears are hardly acted upon, Dorian instead content to position himself beside the door all the same- eyeing the witch in a distinctly critical manner and yet one his features moved to conceal in the way any member of the Courts surely could. After all- he had long since played this game of falsified pleasure and politeness- his features remaining now decidedly neutral of not faintly curious even despite the inbred wariness that so danced upon his skin like faint fingers. She moves then, crossing one leg over the other to reposition herself upon the bed- a small frown touching his face. A well-bred woman never crossed her legs in that fashion, though for now he refrains from mentioning it, instead offering his attentions to the woman's words.

"Yes, we are very good friends. I have lived with her for a long time now. I am her best friend."

Those accented words are offered easily enough to the woman, Dorian rather pleased with his status as Samantha's best friend- the man never having been afforded such a title before. The Fae content to honour such a thing as he believes it should surely be honoured before his attention returns in full to the woman still lounging upon his bed, his silver gaze lingering upon her at this mention of Samantha's fear. The very fear the woman had been living with for some weeks now despite her efforts to hide it. Dorian so readily understanding this fear and yet even he had never caught even a glimpse of any of these women that so haunted his companions dreams and waking hours all at once. Vhalla so seeking that information however sees merely the softest shake of his head.

"It is not my story to offer you- outside of myself I do not think she has told any other. In the interest of her safety though I know there were three of them, that they made Samantha what she is and that they have returned to this city in search of her. They believe she belongs to them and wish to reclaim her. I have not heard of this behaviour in my own species but I was born as I am and perhaps there are different....impulsions for those whom were made."

Fae, even as Makers- at least to his knowledge were hardly compelled to linger beside those they created, much less look for them. Dorian frowning ever so slightly once more, pushing away whatever thought had lingered there before the woman's own demeanour seemed to shift once more- her sharp words abrasive against him, her tone hardly appreciated. Ah, these women! This mention of witches sees a tightness of sorts press upon his own features, Dorian shifting ever so slightly in discomfort, his own words tight now.

"I have met a witch before- it was the most unpleasant meeting of my life. As for what I think happened I cannot say. I suspect it is your affinity and yet to make rash judgements is not in my nature."

After all- any such ability may well have been just as likely to be Sam's as to be Vhalla's the man entirely assured both would be capable and indeed given Samantha's emotional state the Fae had, wrongly it seemed, suspected such a thing to be more upon the side of his roommate. Whatever bitterness the witch seemed to hold towards him however was all-too quick to fade, her eyes moving away from his own, refusing to hold his gaze and yet Dorians remained near steadfast upon her own until that soft admittance passed from her lips. One silver eye lifting slightly at her assurance she would have burned the home down.

"Our affinities are often tied to our emotions. That is when they are at their most powerful and.....explosive, or so it would seem. My own gifts are not the same as yours but as a being whom has spent many centuries being angry I might be able, if you would desire it, to teach you the control of your own. I do not wield fire as I said, but I suspect the principals are the same. You are impulsive by nature, just as fire and heat is, it suits you and yet it is useless to you in the fashion it exists. If you are content on being Samantha's friend though then I would rather you did not incinerate her. I can teach you to control it. Perhaps."

Dorian Aragona