[Once he's waved inside, Dorian notes his host's socked feet and pauses to toe his shoes off by the door. He's dressed more simply than usual, having had the need to throw something on in a hurry, in a soft long sleeve shirt in a muted jade color and fitted brown trousers. A small smudge of dried blood on the bend where neck meets shoulder sits as the lone imperfection marring his appearance.

Unusually, the lack of color and personality in the suite feels like a color of its own kind when he knows the occupant is who he is. He figures that all of the ingredients, chalk, and everything else for regular magic use must either be hidden or locked away somewhere.]

Should we go ahead and get right into it? [He rests a hand on a hip as he turns back to Grayson.]

In the interest of a clean reading, I haven't had coffee, or anything else that might alter . . . energy. [Except the one thing, but he isn't seeing colors burning with passionate purity or beauty everywhere anymore, so he's pretty sure it's worn off.]