An odd sort of benevolence, to be sure but well-meaning.
[The banter was welcome, truth be told, something familiar and comforting to focus on instead of his quickly unraveling nerves. He told himself it was silly as he dressed, something casual by Dorian's standards, in deep purple, and that showed off the curve of his shoulders and the tightness of his midsection and posterior. Feelings or no, Dorian did love being fondled, even if it was only with the eyes.
What liquid courage he had was flagging by the time he arrived at the aforementioned cafe, and when his olive eyes scanned the patrons and found Magnus there, older but just as strapping as he remembered, and just as...well...Magnus, he thought to walk on by, but entertained the thought only for a moment. The man owed him nothing, to spite his protests to the contrary, but it was partially that selfless heart of his that had roped Dorian in the first place. He couldn't just abandon Magnus here. He owed him that much.
The cafe was small, and happened to be one Dorian had frequented in the brief weeks he'd spent more time at Taako's place than his own. That being said, however, it was his luck the barista remembered him. The excited greeting, the dodged questions of 'where have you been', the recollection of his 'usual' hadn't been the means by which Dorian had intended Magnus to "know him when he saw him", but there it was. No backing out now, Dorian Pavus.
His laughter seems genuine as he claims his coffee from the girl, deep and throaty and the girl seems to be flirting even if he isn't reciprocating. He gathers his resolve about himself as he turns to the table Magnus has claimed and takes the man in. He's older than Dorian remembers, and yet it's only been a month since they last spoke. A decade is a long time, even without a war and a mind-altering cosmic fish.
He smiles, full lips curling, as he saunters (it's really the only way to describe the way he moves) over and eases fluidly into the other chair at Magnus' table. His voice is thick, soft like velvet as he describes it, and his words are accented and cultured. Refined.]
And so we meet, as you requested. With no phone separating us, I greet you. [He may just be teasing at this point, a play on Magnus' earlier 'hail and well met'.] Dorian of House Pavus, in the flesh.
no subject
[The banter was welcome, truth be told, something familiar and comforting to focus on instead of his quickly unraveling nerves. He told himself it was silly as he dressed, something casual by Dorian's standards, in deep purple, and that showed off the curve of his shoulders and the tightness of his midsection and posterior. Feelings or no, Dorian did love being fondled, even if it was only with the eyes.
What liquid courage he had was flagging by the time he arrived at the aforementioned cafe, and when his olive eyes scanned the patrons and found Magnus there, older but just as strapping as he remembered, and just as...well...Magnus, he thought to walk on by, but entertained the thought only for a moment. The man owed him nothing, to spite his protests to the contrary, but it was partially that selfless heart of his that had roped Dorian in the first place. He couldn't just abandon Magnus here. He owed him that much.
The cafe was small, and happened to be one Dorian had frequented in the brief weeks he'd spent more time at Taako's place than his own. That being said, however, it was his luck the barista remembered him. The excited greeting, the dodged questions of 'where have you been', the recollection of his 'usual' hadn't been the means by which Dorian had intended Magnus to "know him when he saw him", but there it was. No backing out now, Dorian Pavus.
His laughter seems genuine as he claims his coffee from the girl, deep and throaty and the girl seems to be flirting even if he isn't reciprocating. He gathers his resolve about himself as he turns to the table Magnus has claimed and takes the man in. He's older than Dorian remembers, and yet it's only been a month since they last spoke. A decade is a long time, even without a war and a mind-altering cosmic fish.
He smiles, full lips curling, as he saunters (it's really the only way to describe the way he moves) over and eases fluidly into the other chair at Magnus' table. His voice is thick, soft like velvet as he describes it, and his words are accented and cultured. Refined.]
And so we meet, as you requested. With no phone separating us, I greet you. [He may just be teasing at this point, a play on Magnus' earlier 'hail and well met'.] Dorian of House Pavus, in the flesh.