The very notion that the Monarch himself might have desired a tattoo seemed to bring about no small glimmer of surprise to his youthful features. That he might ever be permitted to obtain such body art was almost laughable. Parliament would surely have a veritable field day. The question of whether or not he desired one was perhaps entirely moot withinitself. His desire so hardly mattered. Rather, the expectations of his people far outweighed any idle whims upon his own part. The Fae King's entirely formal response seemed to catch the raven haired woman off guard as she regarded him with no small degree of perplexity- only to query why, as King, he simply could not do as he pleased. That very question so readily coaxed a soft simper to the Monarch's lips as Dorian's head so merely shook.

"I fear it is perhaps one of the most misunderstood aspects of any Monarch. I cannot simply do as I please, at least, not in that aspect. I represent my country and its people in all things. A tattoo is uniquely personal is it not? How could I adorn myself with something so personal when, from the moment of my birth, I was destined to spend my life in service of my nation? My wants, my desires- they come secondary to my people. There is no one tattoo that can represent my entire country and everyone within it. As such I cannot adorn myself with any such bias."

It was, Dorian had come to find, one such misconception of his position he was given to encounter with great frequency. The belief that he could do anything he wanted or desired at any time. If only such a thing were true! His position,perhaps, afforded him the money and means to do a great deal of things he desired within his private time and yet true privacy was rare. His every action was judged with sharp scrutiny. A tattoo on his skin would see every newspaper in the world critique his decision and its meaning. It would reflect upon his country, his people and his husband. Yet.....how very nice it was to at least....imagine how such artwork might look upon his skin. Even if he was certain he might never be able to decide. It was, however, that very topic of art that had brought the Monarch into the parlour today. Dorian was hardly uninclined to share his personal sketchbook as he passed it gently to the young woman beside him, allowing her to see his own artworks and sketches.Those human portraits, however, featured most strongly within his work. Each being afforded a singular page. Each surrounded with a glowing aura with none at all alike any other. Each so distinctly and notably unique. The young woman took her time to turn through each page, her compliment prompting a bright grin to the Monarch's features before she queried whether or not he could see her aura this moment. Dorian's head bobbed softly.

"Yes, I have been able to see it since the moment I walked in."

That warm simper upon the Fae Kings lips so hardly faltered as Dorian raised one hand to point to the first of the drawings within his book. The Monarch proudly declared it to be his housekeeper, followed by the gardener, his butler and even Lucas himself. The security guard stood a little straighter in clear pride at having his personal portrait examined as the young woman continued to pursue that book with a clear intrigue. It was a true rarity, in any sense, that Dorian so found another interested enough in art to desire to see his work. His events, after all, were so often obligated to afford him praise even if he was certain it was undeserving. A stranger, however, was not required to do as such. The young woman before him,if her aura was indeed correct, was not at all being prone to lying. If she did not believe his work held merit-she would surely be inclined to say. Her insistence that he could surely make 'a killing' as a tattoo artist who specialised in portraits however seemed to prompt a glimpse of surprise to his features.

"What medium does one do tattoos in? Is it ink? I do not work with ink very often. Do you merely paint it on the skin?"

How those tattoos worked was something of a mystery to the Monarch even despite the multiple markings that adorned his Father, grandfather and even brother. Dorian so hardly had taken the time to query exactly how a tattoo was applied. The young woman beside him had paused upon one page in particular. Dorian's silver gaze shifted to eye that very portrait only to insist it was his father. Matteo's image awash with color far more complex than most and still distinctly....unfinished. The Frenchman had refused to stand about any longer even despite Dorian's protests. How difficult Matteo was at times! Just like his aura. The Were womans insistence that Matteo and himself looked akin to brothers so readily coaxed another grin from the Monarch as his head nodded.

"Yes, I have been told we look quite alike. Though I am also told that our shared appearance is largely where the similarities end. We are...rather different in other ways."

Matteo, Dorian was certain, was rather difficult in just about every way. A trait the Fae King had strived to avoid within himself with what he hoped had been much success. His companions' query of why some people were hard to read however seemed to coax a renewed frown to his features.

"An aura depends upon many things-or so I have learned. It represents personality, it reflects experience, it can be shaped by situation and yet, at its very core- it shows someone's soul. Aura's like my Father's are difficult to read because they are very old. They have experienced a great deal many things, they display colours I do not truly understand because they were gained though experiences I have never had. They are complex beings. The truth of their souls is often hidden between layers of colour. The aura of a child however is often terribly simple. An infant might be only one or two colours but to look at a child is to his true aura, before life and experience intermingle and add other colours to the mix. It is fascinating to me- to read the colours of a life."

The young woman moved to hand back his sketchbook then, Dorian politely taking it from her before closing it softly. His attention, in turn, returned to her atwork that littered the walls. The Monarch content to query her on it and the inspiration behind it. The mind was a truly wondrous thing. To create and imagine as it did. Even more so to gift a select few with the ability to convey that imagination to paper. How terribly splendid! The woman was quick to insist the drawings had been fun to make and yet,in most cases, they were her effort to interpret the desires of another uponskin-rather than reflective of her own experience as her personal art was. Dorian's own head tilted slightly, his hand gesturing to the wall of tattoos before them.

"Which of these is your own personal art? I also think I should ask your name."

How curious he was to see what she herself might choose to draw without the expectation of another. That question upon his own inspiration prompted a nod of his head.

"Yes, I find auras very inspiring though if I am truthful it is because I find them beautiful- and I adore to draw lovely things. If you should like, I would be most willing to draw your aura."

Dorian Aragona