[That depiction of himself earned a laugh. It had him wondering at the treatment the vampire must face if he saw this as so self-sacrificing, what Dorian considered little more than the correct thing someone in his place should do. As they went, he cut a glance over one shoulder to reveal the curve of a smirk.]

Is that what you'd wish me to do? Personally I don't think it suits your tastes. You'd probably prefer if I put up a fight, called you something nasty and forced you to attack, rather than turn over with my belly up. Or am I wrong?

[It might not be in his best interest to strike up a conversation of this nature, but Dorian's stubborn streak extended to his proclivity to sass and backtalk like the best of them. Truthfully, he had about a dozen questions to ask: How do you subsist on blood alone? How often do you require it? Upon consumption, how does it affect your body and your abilities?

None of which were appropriate for the moment, but still pressed curiously at his mind. As did his wonder at the woman he saw in those memories of which did not belong to him - was she a human? Could a vampire be born?

The creature's appearance was almost a heartbreaking picture of graceful, lethal elegance. He had to be the most beautiful man Dorian had ever seen in his life, and he'd seen plenty of them.]

No, I'm taking you back to where I live so that I might be able to clean up this wound. What are you called? Do you have a name?