I'd have to know what a malt shop is in order to be excited for the prospect, dear man. Am I buying you a sack of grains? I thought you people might be a bit beyond that.

[He can't remain serious forever, especially with his head being turned like that whilst hearing words like those in full view of Prior's kind face. He comes to smile, lifting his hand to take Prior's by the wrist and press his lips to the back of his hand before he rises to his feet. He outstretches his free arm in an "after you" gesture before he starts down himself, keeping his chin up and sparing a few reassured glances his way. If he has a positive attitude, he won't think about his father's exit. If he doesn't think about Prior's father, he won't think about his own father. Surely he can conjure up someplace similar, happier —

But when they step through the door, the wide and empty home is yet again replaced with the rustic, positively medieval south. A tavern, but lacking any warm bodies to make it an outing, and his blood running cold the second he steps through the threshold. There is no double Dorian to greet them — similar to Prior's first experience, Dorian is himself within the moment, speaking the words he used when he first entered the place.]

The place is deserted? Is this normal, or —?

[But when prompted to turn back towards his companion with accusations, he looks back towards Prior.]

I'd rather you never have seen our resemblance. Dreadful thing.