death incarnate & night triumphant

Andras is so deep in his thoughts her barely registers the padding of feet in his direction, though as they get closer, he closes his eyes as his head is tilted to the stars, entirely ignoring the approaching men, their scent wafting into his nostrils. He was content on disregarding them until their steps slow and then halt altogether. Andras almost, almost stands to walk away; but he's hopeful they continue along. It isn't until one set of footsteps begin again to approach him and beginning speaking to him in an entirely familiar language to him. It had been centuries since he had heard the lure of that said language.

Slowly, but surely, Andras tilts his head into a righted position, opening his eyes and turns to look at a vaguely familiar man standing several feet away from him. His mask is cool, calm, entirely void of any emotion as he regards the stranger briefly, before a small simper touches his lips, though that smile doesn't entirely meet his eyes. Still, he keeps his arms draped across the back of the bench, a leg crossed so casually across the other, as he tilts his head at the fellow faerie. He had yet to meet another faerie since his time in Sacrosanct, though he was bidding his time to form his court again, he eventually would have sought out faeries within the city before long, it just so happened luck was on his side, at least for tonight.

Andras doesn't have to answer before Dorian, his name suddenly coming back to him in those brief moments, uses his first name a bit hesitantly, questioning if he was truly the same faerie from all those centuries ago. He debates on lying to him, sending the man away with a flick of his hand, yet he's curious. He had heard rumors that witches had imprisoned the royal family just after he left to defend his own people; that curse had lasted centuries, far longer than any curse he had heard of in his lifetime. He was distinctly surprised witches could summon that sort of power, he would be wary of witches while he was here building his court again. Noted.

As he regards the man before him, he removes his arms from the bench, leaning forward, to rest his elbows on his knees, a hand cupping his chin nonchalantly. A simper still graces his lips as his eyes dart back to the men guarding him, brows raising in question at them before his attention is claimed again by the King. "It's been centuries since I've seen an Aragona," he muses, "The last time I saw you, I was vying for an alliance with your father," Andras states simply, those memories racing back through his mind, a bit of pain and sorrow threatening to rise in him, but he keeps it well locked away. He had already mourned for his destroyed court, it was pointless to dwell on it now.

"Dorian Aragona, King of Italy," he states with an easy shrug, "I'm only assuming, I can't imagine your human of a father has lived this long unless you turned him into a faerie as well," another shrug as he leans back into his chair, arms folded across his chest. Eyes flicking back to the men standing behind them, that scent of shifter wafting off them, his nose wrinkling a bit in disdain at their smell, "Is that really necessary?" he asks, eternally bored as he drawls out. Still, his hazel eyes flick back to Dorian, noting at how young he still looked after all these centuries. Every immortal aged differently he supposed.

"I heard a rumor that your family pissed off some witches," he prods, wanting to learn more about the curse, "What did you do?" he asks, a bit of humor coating his lyrics. He pauses for a moment, before Andras stands, drawing himself to his full height, his clothes entirely unrumpled, clean and without a speck of dust on his attire. Even then, he picks an imaginary speck of dirt off himself and flicks it away, as if Andras hadn't a care in the world, he did, at the very least, indeed have as much time as he wanted. Letting his hands slide into his pockets, he watches the boyish faerie, a thought suddenly racing through his mind. The king of Italy could very well make a good member of his court, he would have the influence of an entire country. Another note he tucks away into his calculating mind. "Perhaps we will take a stroll?" he asks rather than assumes, "There is much I would like to hear as to what happened after I left your castle."

Andras Steinhello darling