"Fine...Fine..." Dorian said weakly at first but managed to come back with that all-important composure, his voice a little bit graveled like he's inhaled sand, but he took the napkin anyway with a strained thank you before attempting to get himself in order.

"Yes, I'm certain you keep your neighbors awake at night. I'm perfectly fine being left in the dark on that score," he didn't want to know, he really didn't want to know. And for a moment or two, he fidgeted with his coffee, the awkwardness of the situation not lost on him...though maybe it was needless. No one else seemed to be coming off as awkward, why should he? Perhaps it had to do with his dignity being entirely offset with this particular situation.

"Meat and potatoes, yes?" Dorian said coming out of his silence, "If you're wondering what happened anyway, I had one glass of incredibly potent champagne, I'm certain I did and said things that are...regrettable. Bull brought me here, put me to bed, I fetched up in your toilet and here we are. Glorious morning isn't it?"

By the tone of Dorian's voice, it didn't sound glorious, it sounded like he was on the verge of nursing a blinding headache.