From what he'd learned of humans, their throats connected in one long tunnel to their anuses, likely lending to the term shits and giggles in the first place. Real need, of the kind they spoke of now, dwelled somewhere else, he thought. "Perhaps it's a different sort of need. One not tied to the digestive tract, then." Dorian remarked, lifting the glass stem to the light with a touch of theatricality. The red liquid inside danced in the warm glow, reminiscent of blood—a detail not lost on him. With practiced finesse, he swirled the contents expertly before raising it to his lips but holding it just shy of his mouth, as if tempting the glass to beg for his touch.
Smiling suggestively at the Maverick's words, Dorian nods as he takes a slow sip of the wine. The taste, though new to his senses, carried a certain familiarity, a paradox of experience in this borrowed mortality.
Indulgence and wine painted his smile as he nodded at Danta's words. "No? What a shame. And here I thought the Dusklight was meant to trade in difficult-to-find things," he tutted playfully, savouring another slow sip of the wine.
Smiling suggestively at the Maverick's words, Dorian nods as he takes a slow sip of the wine. The taste, though new to his senses, carried a certain familiarity, a paradox of experience in this borrowed mortality.
Indulgence and wine painted his smile as he nodded at Danta's words. "No? What a shame. And here I thought the Dusklight was meant to trade in difficult-to-find things," he tutted playfully, savouring another slow sip of the wine.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
But we had names more intimate
