[He's on his feet when a knock comes to the door of his and Larus' suite, and a smile tugs at Dorian's lips at the sound. Quicker than he would have thought. So she's not just curious then, but eager? It's one way to look at it, and the way his ego prompts him to anyway. Dorian places down the mug in his hand, and then crosses the room to open the door.]

My little scholar. [His tone is perfectly fond. Warm. It's good to see her. It always is, he's finding, when she brings with her an endearing kind of sometimes stumbling earnestness, and a mind more than capable of good conversation. Dorian gestures for her to come in, appraising her briefly. It's a compulsion, when what she's come here for is to be taken down the hallway to his bedroom. Dorian leans in and kisses her cheek in a light greeting.] Don't you look like a soft spring sunrise?

[And then, casual and perfectly comfortable, he leads them deeper into the suite. The rooms themselves are bright, colorful, bohemian in the decor, furnished with comfortable-looking furniture, and filled with artful objects and curios of interest alike. Fingerprints of Dorian's interests and aesthetic preferences cover every inch, sometimes coming within striking distance of garish, and the bookshelves he's been slowly stocking with literature he's collected stand in the living room as another marker of a voracious curiosity and appetite both.

Eloise can probably relate there.

But at any rate, the suite also looks oddly like there's only been one pair of hands stubbornly carving a life into it. Turning what started as luxurious but impersonal surroundings into a compelling fancy.]

Can I get you anything? I have every kind of alcohol the city has to offer, along with teas and a few kinds of juices.