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If Dorcas was having chats with non-magical insects then perhaps it was time to cut her off from the wine, not that Dorian expected that idea to go over well with the brunette. As annoying as Dorcas could be, she was much easier to deal with in her current capacity than if he suggested she lay off the drink for the rest of the evening. Theirs was a strange relationship, stuck somewhere between colleagues and almost friends, with a dash of family added on the side thanks to Emily’s and Andres’ kindness and hospitality. Dorian attributed his budding friendship, if one could call it that, with Emily’s insistence on Dorian and Ariel joining them for family meals and essentially forcing them into their family’s welcoming and loving arms. He really rather enjoyed the Meadowes and he couldn’t imagine letting anyone else care for Ariel while he was at work, or drinking with their daughter as it turned out.

“Thank you,” he replied, a little bewildered at her compliment, or to be more specific, at the lack of any innuendo or sexual nature in the tone of her voice as she presented the compliment. That solidified it for the wizard, Dorcas was smashed. Dorian considering leaving his half empty glass of wine on the counter in the kitchen and just sitting in the lounge with Dorcas but he was already feeling the effects of two bottles of wine and he had no niece to look after for the night, aside from the threat of a hangover in the morning, there really was no reason not to finish at least the glass.

Fetching his drink, Dorian moved across the open room into the space designated as the lounge, looking at the floor and chair which ten minutes ago was covered in red wine. Dorcas had done a good job of cleaning up her mess, even the white rug was spotless. He was impressed, though expressing as much might seem offensive to the witch so he bit his tongue. Fitting comfortably in his chair and adopting a rather relaxed position than he would take normally – slouching ever so slightly, his back rested fully against the cushions of the seat – Dorian watched as Dorcas opened the drawer of the coffee table. He opened his mouth to stop her but instead raised his glass and took a decently sized swallow of wine, knowing that telling Dorcas to stop anything would only make her want at it that much more. “If you so desire,” he answered, unsure of how he felt at having her looking through his private photographs but knowing there was nothing inappropriate or blackmail worthy nestled between the covers of his photo album. Mostly it was pictures of his parents and himself when he was younger.

The album had been started by his mum as an adoption day gift – he hadn’t known his actual birthday until just a few months ago when River divulged that tidbit amongst many other family facts. For a while Dorian kept it up, adding new photographs toward the back on the pages she’d purposely left blank for him, but after their kidnapping and deaths he had stopped completely. That is, until little Ariel came along. The last half of the photo album was full of the cherub face of his angelic little niece, soft blonde curls and all.

Dorian slipped into his bedroom and pulled the door shut, knowing that, if given the opportunity, the inappropriate Miss Meadowes would see to it that she got a glimpse of Dorian changing. He was certain there was no real interest in him, there certainly was not any from him in her. She was not the sort of woman Dorian would have dated, even if he had had the opportunity back when he actually considered dating. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, as Dorcas very much reminded him of Paris at times, and he not only had dated Paris but had legitimately fallen in love with her. Paris wasn’t exactly his typical sort of girl, either. He had been known in his younger days to pick up girls at a night club or pub, but mostly he would meet women in libraries and strike up a conversation. Dorian was fairly certain Dorcas had not seen the inside of a library since her school days. That thought made the wizard give a sort of depressed chuckle as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He set the shirt carefully over the railing of Ariel’s cot, making sure the wine-soaked side was facing up. He unbuckled his trousers next and slid them off as well, resting them on the white wood with his shirt. He would need to treat those before washing them if he expected to get the stains out completely.

Opening his wardrobe, Dorian looked at the row of suits. They were organized by color; blacks on the left, then greys, blues, tans, then browns. The hats on the shelf above him were organized in a similar fashion, as were his shoes on the floor of the wardrobe. Everything was exactly how one would expect the Auror to have organized his closet, aside from the little yellow sock that had clung to the back of one of his suit jackets. Dorian gave a slight smile at seeing Ariel’s sock out of place. He reached for it, hearing the crinkle of static as he pulled it away from his suit, and then strolled over to the corner he had dubbed ‘Ariel’s corner’ where her cot and dresser sat. He pulled open the top drawer and easily found the matching yellow sock which he had placed on the side of her sock drawer knowing its mate would turn up sooner or later, as they always did.

He returned to his wardrobe, wondering what he could put on quickly enough to not make Dorcas wait for him, while still dressing appropriately for having company. If he had spilled wine on himself without anyone to play witness at this time in the evening, he would consider just putting his pyjamas on but that was not appropriate when entertaining – even if he was doing so against his wishes. He knew it would be silly to put on a fresh suit, so grabbing on of the few pairs of trousers he had that didn’t accompany something more professional, Dorian threw on a pair of khaki trousers and pulled a dark blue button down from the hanger. Sliding one arm through the sleeve, then the other, Dorian began buttoning the shirt as he heard a door in the other room click open. “Is everything okay?” he called, a little worried what a drunk Dorcas was getting up to in his lounge without proper adult supervision.

Dorian caught sight of the unmistakable smile on his half-brother’s face at the mention of their sister. That was a comforting sight. Dorian had not known River long – only four months, which was a travesty unto itself, but in that time he had learned that everyone who met her thought on her with a smile. Dorian certainly would have, had he not been filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt knowing that he could have somehow stopped the attack that killed River and Bert, and left their daughter an orphan.

As Julian spoke, Dorian could not help but notice the eloquent turn of phrase that so easily rolled from his brother’s lips. It was not a rehearsed sort of ease, but an innate adoration for imagery that painted a picture so clearly that Dorian knew there had to be something of an artist to this man that sat before him. A writer, perhaps. Or maybe an actor. He was certainly giving a spectacular performance now, though it remained to be seen whether Julian’s tale of misery and forlorn was legitimate. Try as he might, Dorian struggled to keep his skeptical Auror mind at bay. The more his brother spoke, the more possibilities seemed to be developing. Dorian wondered how much of this was a well-laid plan and how much was genuine. For Ariel’s sake he prayed the man was pure of heart but Dorian could not help but that they were only moments away from a solitary tear running down the man’s face, for emphasis.

How much experience with young children Julian had was unknown to Dorian. River had not said much about Julian’s mates, other than the unseemly lot he fell in with at school and, of course, the werewolves he had run away with after his attack. The specifics were lacking, so he could have found himself surrounded by children and thus explained how Julian seemed not only so comfortable with the little angel playing happily with her crunchy octopus, but also keen enough to go through the minor hassle of dusting off the toy after it had fallen to the ground before passing it back over to the babe. Someone without exposure to children might have reacted slower in fetching the octopus, and would certainly not think to ensure its cleanliness when not obviously soiled.

“Ariel deserves her uncle,” Dorian retorted calmly, still mentally dissecting this man. In Dorian’s eyes, Julian had no choice but to make it up to the sweet baby girl sitting between them. It wasn’t so much a matter of will, but of how. “Your lifestyle, however…” Dorian tensed his jaw, keeping their discussion coded from neighboring ears. “River explained all about it. You’ve not been a very stable person in River’s life. Ariel needs better.”

Dorian inhaled and sighed noticeably as Dorcas made a comment about her bum, but he didn’t pull a face as she was probably expecting him to do. Typically, whenever Dorcas was too over the top – which was several times a week for the poor man, Dorian would respond with a stoic silence, tensing his jaw and looking away instead of reprimanding her as he really wanted to do. It occurred so frequently that others began to refer to the expression as “the face” and once he was quite certain he had overheard Dorcas calling it “Dorian face”. He didn’t much like that term but pulling the face was better than being rude and he found this is was his natural reaction to covering those emotions in particular. Slightly intoxicated – oh hell, he was a bit more than ‘slightly’ intoxicated, he was in the early stages of full on drunk, Dorian did not seem to have the same reaction as he normally would. There was still no need for such talk, in his opinion, but he did not feel the urge to scold her for being so inappropriate in front of him and thus there was nothing for ‘the face’ to suppress.

Dorian’s eyes lifted from his glass to gaze at Dorcas’ face as she spoke about finding entertainment anywhere. Making it was more of what she did, she entertained herself with being outrageous and making other uncomfortable and there was a long period of time when he wasn’t sure if that was her end goal or not, to make others uncomfortable. With enough observation and first-hand experience, he had grown certain that it was, indeed, her ultimate goal. If there had been any doubt in his mind, which there hadn’t, then Dorcas’ next statement would have cleared things right up. “Is there a reason you find so much joy in irritating me?” he asked, a slight chuckle in his throat to tell her he wasn’t completely offended. He did not spend enough social time with Dorcas to know whether or not she acted this way with everyone she met, though she was professional enough in the office, so he doubted it was the literal ‘everyone’. “Is this something you did with all of her boyfriends or am I a special case?” Dorian knew Paris didn’t keep many boyfriends before him, she was what her friends referred to as a ‘wild child’. Most of them expressed shock at finding out Dorian had been dating her, and while he never asked explicitly he was quite certain they would be shocked to find out they had waited so long before becoming intimate. Several of the stories told at Paris’ wake involved some drunken night of partying and an outrageous ending and while he had received a few sympathetic pats on the shoulder at people who thought he wouldn’t care to hear tales of how his girlfriend had been with other people before him, it actually made Dorian happy to know she had had such a happy and fulfilled life.

The slight weight of Julian’s hand on Dorian’s shoulder was unsettling. Dorian did not know this man, not really. He had been told a number of wonderful anecdotes about how lovely Julian was but for every story that made River smile as she told it, there would be a side note of something displeasing. Julian was a ne’er-do-well; he ran away from his problems causing his family worry and grief, then would return out of the blue with the promise of reforming his ways. Dorian had seen in River’s eyes how her heart broke whenever she spoke of Julian’s wastrel tendencies, her sad smile when Bert would approach and rest his hand on her shoulder and speak words of comfort to his wife. When Julian didn’t respond to any of Dorian’s letters following River’s and Bert’s deaths, it only confirmed all of the Auror’s suspicions about his brother. Ariel would never thrive with a man like that, and then to add to it the curse of being a werewolf… Julian could not have a proper job, not one that would allow him to support himself and a child. Dorian did not know where his brother was staying now that he was in town, but he could not imagine it was anywhere too luxurious. Meager means did not make you an unfit parent on its own but what would Julian even do with a child every month during the week of the full moon? Despite this awkward encounter, Dorian knew things had worked themselves out for a reason and Ariel was the only thing that mattered now. He hoped Julian would agree.

The couple at the door were sufficiently charmed by Julian’s soothing tone and they little the men pass into the café without much more hindrance. Dorian noted how easily Julian slipped into a lie without batting an eye. He had clearly had practice. It was difficult to keep an open mind about his brother when the man was practically writing a list for himself of all the reasons Dorian should be wary. There was a pang of guilt rising inside Dorian as he watched Julian clear a little path between the tables so that Ariel could have a view of the window to look at while the two men spoke. This was his brother and for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger. It was unfair to Julian for him to be so distrusting when presently the man had done nothing to hard Dorian nor Ariel. Dorian was so used to putting up walls that he needed to actively stop and remind himself that whether or not Julian was a good man was yet to be seen, but at this moment he was Ariel’s uncle and a link to her family that Dorian could never be.

Getting Ariel situated at the table was rather easy. She had a little stuffed octopus which made a crumpling sound if she gave one of the legs a good squish. Dorian kept the toy attached to a little chain of plastic links which he attached to the side of the buggy; if the toy fell it wouldn’t hit the ground and get dirty. Ariel usually loved her crinkly octopus but she found the leaves blowing in the wind out on the pavement enthralling. Satisfied that she was comfortable, Dorian took his own seat and looked to his brother as Julian broke the small moment of silence with a directness that Dorian appreciated. “There’s no need for small talk,” Dorian replied, returning the sure look his brother was giving him. “River spoke of you fondly. It’s a shame we could not meet under better circumstances.”

There was no reason for her to be so insistent on keeping him company – without actually saying she was doing as much. It was a trait she had clearly shared with her cousin, Paris, and it was that precise unyielding determination to pull him out of his comfort zone that led to Dorian asking Paris out on a proper date. It was the beginning of their short-lived relationship, of their love. It hurt to see the similarities between the two women, knowing it was no longer possible to be with the one he loved. He couldn’t tell her as much, though. Knowing Dorcas had an irritating habit of making deeply sexual innuendo out of the most mundane tasks with the express purpose of getting under his skin, he wasn’t about to give her more ammunition. No, Dorian knew better than to add fuel to that fire. She had already once shown up drunk and trouserless on his doorstep before, and slept nude on his sofa – thank Merlin he’d given her a blanket to cover up with. One would have thought she might have settled down now that Dorian had his orphaned niece to look after but even still Dorcas would suck on her fingers in a most erotic manner right in front of her parents at Sunday night tea. He was growing immune to her pestering him but it was slow going and she seemed to find new ways to push his buttons as soon as he began feeling comfortable.

Topping off his glass before he returned to the lounge, Dorian finally admitted to himself that he was lonely. If he was comparing Dorcas to Paris, then he was assuredly lonely. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the whole of England to make him ever think of Dorcas in the same way he though of Paris. Not only was that beyond tactless and inappropriate, he simply did not fancy her in the slightest, but the wine paired with her false ignorance that he was trying to get her to leave did soften him ever so slightly to the idea of her sticking around for a drink. Just the one.

“You’re amazingly like your cousin, you know that?” Dorian stepped out around the kitchen counter and into the lounge, heading for the chair that sat facing Dorcas on the sofa. “She pretended not to notice that I was disinterested in socializing as well. You are not as tactful as she was,” he pointed out, setting his glass on the side table and carefully shrugging off his suit jacket before he sat. The black fabric of his jacket was in stark contrast to the light colors of his furnishings and made it even more apparent that Dorian was not quite all there as he casually folded the jacket length-wise and set it over the back of his chair, as opposed to taking it into the bedroom and putting it with the rest of the wash or hanging it in the wardrobe. Dorian sat finally, crossing one leg over the other and retrieving his drink from the small table beside him.