For what it's worth, you wear that grooming handsomely. Not that you didn't already know that. [John shrugs, taking another drink as he settles under the weight and subsequent body heat of Dorian's legs. He turns his head to regard his companion.] I hope you gave everyone directing you hell.

[For the briefest of moments John imagines a child with a fully grown mustache running away from his handlers. The thought is so absurd that he's able to push it out of his mind quickly.]

I'm certain you can tell by my significant lack of both manners and hygiene that I had nothing like that growing up. Or ever. Didn't stop me from my own expulsions though.

[He gestures toward Dorian with the bottle.]

Restrictions are a look best not pulled off by anyone in this room.