Dorian wants to say it's a relief that the Bull doesn't take the comment and run with it, doesn't turn it into the obvious joke it well and truly should be – but it isn't. He frowns for a moment, wondering if maybe his distraction hasn't been as successful as he had hoped. They both need to keep their wits about them, of course, but there's a difference between remaining aware and wallowing in— whatever in the world this is.

"Ah, well. Something that emphasized my devastating good looks and my magical prowess, I suppose. Or else something that talked about how soundly I beat my enemies into fine powder. I should hope there would be a few lines about how my fine figure was haloed in golden sunlight.

"I expect you would want something ribald that would fit comfortably in a tavern. The bawdier, the better?"