Dorian turned with the ease of someone who had been expecting company all along.
The warmth in his smile was immediate, genuine in appearance if not in intent. The firelight caught the edges of his profile as he offered the Warden a look of pleasant interest, as though Deimos were an old friend arriving late to tea rather than the general of Halo’s elite guards and keeper of Halo herself.
"Ah—actually," he said, with a low, amused lilt, "I rather think I can help you, Deimos."
His eyes drifted, unhurried, from Deimos’ shoulders to his posture to the faint edge in his voice—reading him, cataloguing the tension, the calculation. And still Dorian stood with perfect decorum: hands clasped behind his back, shoulders relaxed, the very picture of a man who’d brought a solution rather than a threat.
"I’ve come with a proposal. One I think you’ll find…" He glanced upward, eyes wandering briefly to the war maps pinned behind the desk, "timely."
A soft laugh escaped him then—charming, self-deprecating—and he shook his head slightly, as if remembering himself. "But listen to me, prattling on without manners. I’ve forgotten the formalities, haven’t I?" One hand extended, gloved but open in polite offering.
"My name is Dorian," he said, as if it might mean nothing at all. Then, after the faintest pause, he added with calm precision, "Head of the Family."
The warmth in his smile was immediate, genuine in appearance if not in intent. The firelight caught the edges of his profile as he offered the Warden a look of pleasant interest, as though Deimos were an old friend arriving late to tea rather than the general of Halo’s elite guards and keeper of Halo herself.
"Ah—actually," he said, with a low, amused lilt, "I rather think I can help you, Deimos."
His eyes drifted, unhurried, from Deimos’ shoulders to his posture to the faint edge in his voice—reading him, cataloguing the tension, the calculation. And still Dorian stood with perfect decorum: hands clasped behind his back, shoulders relaxed, the very picture of a man who’d brought a solution rather than a threat.
"I’ve come with a proposal. One I think you’ll find…" He glanced upward, eyes wandering briefly to the war maps pinned behind the desk, "timely."
A soft laugh escaped him then—charming, self-deprecating—and he shook his head slightly, as if remembering himself. "But listen to me, prattling on without manners. I’ve forgotten the formalities, haven’t I?" One hand extended, gloved but open in polite offering.
"My name is Dorian," he said, as if it might mean nothing at all. Then, after the faintest pause, he added with calm precision, "Head of the Family."
He'll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
it took you a lifetime to destroy
