"We think it is ridiculous, to be honest. We could not even sit on it!"

The silvery gaze of the Fae moves to rest upon the woman beside him, Samantha having struggled for several days to convince the man that he would surely enjoy Game of Thrones. It had taken several episodes for Dorian to achieve any true knowledge of entirely what the show was about and yet it had taken the man only moments to declare this Iron Throne they all seemed to desire to possess an utterly ridiculous piece of furniture. One he himself would be incapable of sitting on and one that, in many instances, was decidedly impractical as a method of furniture at all. His own throne had been far more comfortable and decidedly easier to move about, why this one seemed to be worth waging countless wars over he hardly knew. Even so, it was by Samantha's request that he continued to watch the story, the ancient creature frowning slightly at several historical inaccuracies along with the thoroughly incorrect method by which several supposed Guardsmen held their swords. They would be fortunate, truly, if they did not manage to lacerate themselves with technique such as that! It is only when the scene shifts to something far more violent that the Fae seems to pay attention once more, eyes widening at the slight of one unfortunate individual being beheaded with the single swing of a sword.

"It is much harder than that to remove a head."

It is little more than a murmur beneath his breath and yet this insistence alone seems to alarm Sam entirely enough to declare they hardly needed to watch any more of the show today. Dorian rather relieved in that regard. He had seen these things, all of them, with his own eyes and truly there was little joy in reliving this carnival of carnage that had once been his very existence. If anything could be said for the modern world it was that it was decidedly less bloody in most instances. Dorian finds himself easily reclining upon the couch in the absence of Samantha and the television, his thoughts, as they so often did, seeming to linger upon one particular individual. A simper moves to work itself easily onto his features, Dorian entirely content to play over much of his last encounter with Sebastian within his mind. Ah, but how he enjoyed to revisit such memories! The very goal of his game, surely, had been to leave Sebastian wanting with the anticipation of next time and yet it seemed such a plan had backfired upon himself. Dorian found himself very near captivated with the thought of the other man. How ridiculous he had become and yet his thoughts over and over seemed to return to this single individual he so desired to see. Indeed Dorian had very nearly considered seeking the vampire out himself- despite how decidedly out of turn such a thing was. Yet he had come to the realization that he....missed his lover- in ways he surely shouldn't and yet he found himself desiring even Sebastian's company.

The sudden arrival of a letter, tossed so haphazardly onto his chest by Samantha as she passed momentarily saw Dorian pause in his idle daydreams, the man sitting upright once more, fingers brushing over the ivory of the envelope and decidedly ornate printing of his name across its face. A look of sharp inquisitiveness finds its way to his features, Dorian moving to open the envelope with due care, slate-hued gaze resting on the neatly printed card, decorated with swirls, that fell into his hands. He knew decidedly from who such a thing had come and yet the address upon the card was unfamiliar to him, curiosity seeing his head tilt ever so slightly before the man moved to make his way upstairs. The card and envelope are placed upon his bedside table, features softening slightly at the sight of them, Dorian rather determined to keep them if only because he simply desired to do just that- the man appreciating the evident thought that had preceded such a thing. His gaze lifts briefly to the clock upon the wall, assuring him he still had several hours before nightfall and yet it would take him several hours all the same until he surely deemed himself presentable. That manner dictated he wait a day or so since receiving the invitation was decidedly unimportant, Dorian, this evening, choosing to forgo protocol. After all- could not the King of Naples defy the rules if he so chose?

He is, he fears, perhaps a little too early. Dorian finding himself outside a rather impressive estate that very same evening, the sun having set barely a half hour ago and yet the man had hardly known how long it would take him to reach this address from his own. For several moments he allows his gaze to brush over the home with clear intrigue before he moves towards the front door- doing as he is assured is the modern custom, raising his hand to knock. He feels almost like a mere boy again, how foolish it is that such a thing so simple as the mere anticipation of seeing someone should reduce him to this and yet- he hardly thinks he would change such a feeling....

Dorian Aragona