Dorian snorts at that, more dismissive than anything, and while he starts moving toward the Chargers' usual haunt, expecting the Bull would prefer to sit somewhere comfortably, the other man surprises him by moving toward the bar.

He hesitates for a second, but follows the Bull's lead.

"Evelyn offered a bottle or two of wine, pilfered from the good stocks," he answers easily enough. "A secret that I share with you in strict confidence. The Inquisitor didn't bother asking Lady Montilyet for permission, you see."

He may have even had a glass or two, just for a bit of stress relief, but the wine remains largely untouched. Most of his days and nights were spent focused on recreating his work, wishing dearly that he had had time enough while fleeing his father's estate to pack his research with Alexius. He remembered a good deal of it, of course – Alexius had praised him highly for his excellent recall – but it would have been reassuring to have something. Just that little reminder that he was working in the right direction.

The Bull leans against the counter, and he looks convincingly unperturbed. Still, Dorian glances first at he closest stools, then at the nearest chairs, before frowning.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer your usual seat?"