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“Sordid!” exclaimed Michelangelo. He supposed their past life marriage was considerably more sordid than anything they were doing in the present. The most sordid it got was Michelangelo once asking if Brielle wanted to pick up where they left off, so to speak.

Dorian's gaze flicked between Michelangelo and where Brielle perched herself. Watching the way Michelangelo interacted with other people and the way other people responded to him was something of a fascination, too. Dorian had a different impression than most, though the more he watched, the more he wondered if he should reconsider his stances.

Brielle was pleasant enough, at least.

“Well-” okay, pleasant to a degree, “I was basing it off the trends of Milo,” his gaze flicked to Michelangelo directly.

Michelangelo snorted. “He's not wrong about the trend,” and he had no shame about it. “Sorry if that bothered you at all, though,” he would have shame about bothering a guest if she was.

… Though she didn't seem to be, which kept the grin on his face.

“It sounds as if the party you two are planning will be more innocuous than the last one?”

Michelangelo glanced back toward Dorian. “Look, you didn't need to know what that was about. You asked me yourself.” Dorian rolled his eyes, but he didn't deny that part.

Michelangelo's grin widened at Brielle’s commentary, while Dorian groaned quietly to himself. Perhaps, Dorian should change his approach. Maybe he was … gassing? Was that the word? Michelangelo up a bit by his open questioning- “Oh, yes, he does that often,” Michelangelo snickered, “or at least comments on it.”

Whenever Luke (and Safira, sometimes) came over, it almost felt Dorian's goal was to fluster Luke. Perhaps it was-

“Fair, fair. He didn't have to ask, but he does live here.” The acknowledgement that he lived there and not continue to call it an inn was a more recent development. Michelangelo didn't know if it was a good development, but he'd take not being called the innkeeper anymore. “To know if he wanted to be involved, anyway-”

“I didn't.”

“I know.”

Dorian leaned back in his wooden chair with a roll of his eyes again. Whatever. He was there to help plan Michelangelo’s next party. When Brielle said minors, he about blanched at the concept of the party being less innocuous, but mentioning the marriage made him consider needling Michelangelo again.

After all, Luke was-

Drinks? There might be drinks at this party? A party Michelangelo was running?

“I agree! Perhaps I can get my parent to be a bouncer to keep the minors away. Or I'm sure we have others willing in our ranks. We can get some wristbands for the ones old enough that won't detract from the dress.” His gaze shot over to Dorian directly.

“You won't get one.”

Dorian slumped, the light in his eyes dimming. “... Aye, innkeeper.”

And there was the nickname again. Michelangelo pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can play some games or mingle with the guests, I'm sure. Which–” he turned to Brielle once more, mild frustration leaking out of his body as if it was never there, “party games. What do you think about that?”

Dorian felt an element of shame at being called out for his excitement. He didn't feel he had any pride left to lose. After all, there was nothing to truly be prideful about. He was a somehow immortal man with no people left to ask for his protection. There was nothing for him to live for.

And yet, for a moment, he felt like his husband where he sat, facing himself, telling his husband to stay away from the drink display. It was an odd place to be.

His gaze drifted back to Brielle and Michelangelo. Perhaps, he should needle Michelangelo more. It was about as good of a distraction as he would get, here-

Michelangelo's brows rose at the mention of another spouse of hers. Or … her last life’s spouse. Another element of the alien senshi, they lived long enough to see themselves before. “An alien who was married to your past life would likely have memories of who you were, at least.”

Dorian was willing enough to gossip about Brielle's life instead. “Aye, I remember a bit about her as well.” He shifted in his seat. “Not as much as a spouse might have, though.”

He was always interested to know more who were like him – alive, despite logic, despite everything. Which spouse was still alive, and did he know them? He was at least within one connection to them, which was a bonus.

“It is a masquerade,” chirped Michelangelo, as Dorian delved into his own thoughts about things, thankfully, not his husband. “Guessing games are a favourite, especially guessing who other guests are if they would be willing. Though perhaps guessing what mystery food or drinks are.” He snickered. “Best dressed contests, of course, or perhaps best mask. If we'd like a fighting element,” he tapped his chin, “perhaps knife throwing?”

Dorian tuned in for a moment, “Aye, Milo,” at least it wasn't innkeeper, “I attended parties with a similar element. May be appreciated.”