That distinctly unpleasant salty taste has once more found its way to his lips in the wake of his assault by the ocean, Dorian scowling slightly in disdain as he passes the back of his hand across them in a final effort to rid himself of this most unfortunate of tastes. Since when the ocean had decided to become this salty he hardly knew and yet, eventually he supposed, he would learn to keep his mouth closed in its presence. The sudden sound of a distinctly masculine voice however manages to ensnare his attention, Dorian peering upward, silvery eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun as he briefly eyes the being before him. This man- too, seeming to have taken some humour from this incident. How much the times had changed. Within his own era no one would gave dared to laugh at the misfortune of a King and yet now it seemed the majority of the beach seemed to find his predicament worthy of entertainment. It is the man's words however that so saw Dorian frown. He moved to lean forward easily, pushing himself back up and onto his feet, brushing his sandy hands against his damp jeans- noting for the first time how much taller this man was then himself. Pretty too- for a peasant, though for now Dorian fails to entertain such thoughts. Affording his companion with something of a quizzical expression.

"We- do not know what you are trying to say."

English was hardly Dorian's first language and yet he had prided himself to a certain extent in having very near mastered it in most regards- this sentence perplexing him still. That the other man had perhaps failed to recognise Dorian's own language pattern, one that had died out centuries ago, had failed to occur to the sodden Fae in any sense of the word. Dorian merely assured it is the other man whom is confused rather then himself- those silver eyes narrowing slightly.

"Are you attempting to, how you say? Make a joke?"

Modern day jokes, in any sense, also seemed to pass the ancient Fae by on most occasions though he was beginning to perceive them- even if he often failed to understand them. His tone hardly impolite, indeed there is a distinct note of question within it as he regards the man before him. Affording him a chance to answer before he decides whether or not this being was deserving of a more pointed glare. He shifts once more, plucking at his wet t-shirt- yet another invention he is not entirely assured he enjoys. Samantha having gone to the trouble of buying him several shirts- the sort without collars or buttons, under the belief he might enjoy this modern clothing and yet truly Dorian merely feels underdressed. He attempts, several times to re-arrange it upon himself, making some effort to at least slightly obscure the perfectly symmetrical bite wounds that existed upon his neck, well on their way now to being healed though the shadow of them still remained. Another thing for which these so-called t-shirts were decidedly useless. It is only after he has made some effort to look presentable once more that he allows his attention to return in full to the man before him, gaze passing smoothly over him, Dorian hardly used to hiding such a gesture- the faintest of simpers touching his lips all the same. This man not totally unappealing it would seem- before his slate-hued gaze finds the others own. Perhaps this individual might be of some use to him, in fact, he is rather assured this man is not human at all- Dorian rather apt at recognising his own species when he sees them.

"It is not so often, within this city at least, that I find one like myself. Our kind it seems- is rare here. Tell me, where are you from? Then perhaps you might tell me what that is?"

One hand moves to point towards the very rock pool he had been inspecting before- this time his attention held more firmly upon the waves least one dare to rush at him again. The star-shaped rock he points too clearly holding his curiosity. Starfish, after all, are yet another oddity to the man whom clearly, it would seem- is perhaps not entirely from this century.

Dorian Aragona