[You're kind of paralyzing him with choice, Dorian– and this is a guy who very recently had to make a decision that could've completely changed the course of human evolution for the foreseeable future. But after a few moments of wordless self-deliberation, it seems that he comes to a decision and he waves both hands gently, as if in mock placation – no no, anything but bringing that guy back!]

No need to make those kinds of threats. [Who really ought to threatened here, though: Adam or the alien? His tone's wry, but that really doesn't answer the question...]

Guess I'll try my luck with you. Not really much of a robe guy myself, though.

[Or a much of anything that isn't black and gold guy, really. Probably too much to hope that there's a well-tailored trenchcoat somewhere among Dorian's pickings – the absence of the main staple of his wardrobe has been keenly felt over the past month.

Either way, he'll find out soon enough. Indicating Dorian with a nod, he shoots him a questioning look: go on, lead the way.]