As Dorian walked down the halls of his home, humming softly and swinging the jacket he had caught over his shoulder by a finger, he passed the wide array of windows, paintings, and other suitable decor without so much as a glance in its direction. Most of it was for show, truly, for when a guest of the court came to his home it was only proper that it appeared quite regal. However, there were a few things present of personal importance to Dorian. A few things of his own that he had reclaimed after his initial descent. A small section of lesser, lower quality paintings was among one of them.

They would stand out from the others quite easily, though they were not in poor shape, per se. They just lacked the practiced finesse that the other, more lavish ones suggested. The were of scenes and people, all encompassing life in a particular village. Dorian would be shown in one of them, with much longer hair and peasant garb, though it was by no means unclean or very low in quality. It was humble. In the painting, he sat at a piano, smiling in a way that had nearly been lost to him now. It was set in his father's shop, the background of it showing off the windows and front door of the place. It had been a pleasant time, and it showed. The other paintings involved bustling cobblestone streets, people selling goods, and random bits of rather beautiful scenery. Dorian's home had at once been a humble, quiet village that had brought him much peace.

Once. Now as he sat at the head of his dining table, Dorian's gaze didn't even bother to trail over the room before him. He had come from little to so much, so he had put much care into this manor's creation, but now it was lost on him. Dorian took it for stock, compared to his memories of home. Staring down at the plated biscuit and freshly cooked eggs blankly, he let out a soft sigh and instead picked up a glass he'd filled with wine already to start his breakfast. If a demon count were to deal with mortal affairs, Dorian mused, he may as well handle it with some alcohol in his system. Not that this had any affect on him anymore, sadly.

After a few minutes, the cook reared his head curiously from the kitchens, catching Dorian's gaze for a moment. Supposing he wouldn't want to insult him, he nodded in his direction before gingerly picking up his fork and knife and giving the meal a try. He didn't truly have as much of a reliance on food as mortals. It was a rare occasion that he became hungry for material sustenance like this, but he did still take meals at regular regiments. Dorian merely needed the food to occasionally nourish his body, though his existence itself was reliant on another form of feeding. Negative emotions were what demons strove for for a reason, after all. Luckily, the priest he'd finished off the afternoon prior would do well to fill in that manner him for weeks.

Lounging in his chair at the head of the table, Dorian ate slowly, absentmindedly. The taste was good, but he couldn't exactly compliment his chef with any genuine intent, being that Dorian was not finicky when it came to what he needed for nourishment. He'd eat what he needed when he felt like it. It was that simple. Resting his chin in his palm thoughtfully, her wondered whether his house guest would be joining him. Rather, he wondered if the man would be willing to leave his room after all of this had happened. Not that the little prince hadn't demonstrated a certain amount of bravery, already. Swirling the wine in his cup lazily, a part of him thought back to the day prior and all that had happened. It had started well enough, but a part of him seemed to feel that it had ended on a much better note. Then, which was it? Was he happier that his demonstrations had seemed to find weak points in Akio, or that they had been able to somehow shift from the earlier exchanged to some sort of understanding? Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Dorian dismissed these thoughts at once. He didn't wish to know the answer.