If Bran Blackwell was up and running before 12PM on a Saturday, while at Hogwarts, meant it was a Hogsmeade weekend. And the only reason he bothered actually joining the plebes and peasants in such an endeavor, was the fine salon owned by one positively magical creature known as Izola Bellamane. That woman created magic with his hair, and that coming from someone who used magic on a day to day basis. You couldn't possibly think that shine, that bounce and volume came naturally, could you? That, and the occasional shopping, of course. Not that a town like Hogsmeade could offer much shopping opportunities. But, regardless, that was where Bran was currently returning from.

"But they weren't even on discount, Bran! You're going to be complaining about your money purse not a few hours from now at this rate!"

"I don't know what you could possibly be referring to" Bran said with with complete calm, if a little haughtily. "If I can't see the price, everything is on sale" he went on to explain, with a playful glint in his eyes as he batted his eyelashes coyly. "Now, my darlings If you'll excuse me I have values to twist and minds to warp. Ta-ta!" And with a little wave and a kiss blown their way, he took his leave intent on finding either Neely or Jordyn, of whom he had been rudely separated from for his shopping assistance.

Turning the corner to enter the main shopping alley, Bran had to stop in his tracks and stare in awe as one Darian Morgan passed right in front of him, almost as if in slow motion. There were very few people that had managed to make Bran's Most Fabulous list. And when said list counted names such as Monroe, McQueen, Wintour, Chanel, Hepburn, Dior, Westwood, Streisand or Madonna, it came as quite something to be part of that top. And it so happened that Morgan was on that list. Bran's day just went from severely underglittered and depressingly droll to diamonds and new shoes.

Despite having done quite a bit of shopping at Libertine, Bran had never actually managed to get acquainted with the genius behind the label. He'd caught glimpses of him, here and there, but the timing or location had never be in favor for what Bran knew would certainly be a fateful meeting. Bran was sure they'd go together like drunk and disorderly—perfectly.

"Mister Morgan!" he called out to him, and started making his way quickly after him. "I'm sorry to be so rudely disturbing you" he started, with one of his angelic smiles. "My name is Bran Blackwell" he switched his bag to his left, and extended his right hand. "And I've been waiting for the opportunity to express my enthusiastic admiration for your creative genius for what seems like an eternity" he smiled, all toothy and charming, eyes cast down in an attempt at coyness.

"Forgive my brashness, but if you happen to be be free for just a little while, there is so much I would love to ask you..." He raised his wrist to eye level and checked his watch. "If I do say so, it seems to be wine o'clock" he said with a little chuckle and a perfectly sculpted eyebrow quirked slightly. "Would you do me the tremendous honor of joining me? You would be making one of your most avid devotees and shop habitués a truly ecstatic man..."

Darian had not known when he'd visited Hogsmeade that it was the students' free weekend, but he didn't mind much. After he'd spoken with Landis - his primary reason for coming - he walked slowly back through the cobbled streets towards the end of the village, looking vaguely for any other family he might stumble across. With five young cousins in Hogwarts (the sixth adult and already met), he had good odds. Besides those, he had any host of other acquaintances within the school, ranging from minions informants to the staff themselves, that he would not mind running into. Instead, he was hailed by an unknown student. Darian turned, and his eyes lit on a boy.

It was said that people developed a first impression of another in a matter of seconds. In Darian's case, he took one look at curly-haired, blue-eyed Bran in matching teal and black and instantly decided to keep him.

What a well-dressed little darling! The words falling from his mouth were initially a little more easily dismissed. Not that Darian didn't love his fashion groupies, but they were - in a word - predictable. A dashing smile, a sincere thanks, and he could be assured of their further brand loyalty. Already prepared for such an encounter, Darian easily shook the proffered hand. "How kind," he purred, benevolently ignoring the shopping bags hastily swapped from wrist to wrist. But then quickly the boy changed the tone of the meeting. Darian's casual fans, generally, didn't press much. Bran surpassed them by instantly attempting to steal Darian away. He was very charming about it, very self-possessed. Save for the color of his curls, it was almost like looking into Darian's past - and into a mirror.

Wine o'clock. Darian's lips parted in a slow smile. It seemed to him the very teenage impulse to appear adult, and it was adorable. He looked at Bran with amused aplomb. "However could I refuse?" he asked lightly, or the better word, resist. It was with an outwards flutter of one hand that he gave a little bow, as if to imply he was entirely at the service of one so very enthusiastic to speak with him. "Please. Lead me where you will."

Bran noticed that Morgan seemed polite, pleased at his introduction and appreciation, but not exactly as interested as he would've wanted him. Which was very. But it seemed he had managed a well-devised save by simply being his fabulous little self. How wonderful! When Darian smiled, he offered a half-smile of his own and when his expression turned amused, Bran offered the face of innocence.

"Marvelous" Bran quipped with a radiant, toothy smile, a hand dramatically flying to cover his own chest, when the designer accepted his invitation. At his next gesture, Bran laughed softly and lazily straightened his posture and with one hand over his middle and his heels touching, he leaned forward in a bow, yet kept his eyes on the fascinating Mister Morgan, cheekily watching through his eyelashes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he thought of his words and decided that he would better not voice out where exactly he'd like to lead him. Perhaps, sometime, in the future...

Straightening his back, with an amused little smile and an arched eyebrow, he subtly offered his free arm to the man. "Then, lead I will" he proclaimed with a soft chuckle, waiting to see if his extended arm would be accepted or not. "There's a lovely establishment right around the corner. They have a remarkable selection of Cabernets and Merlots" he offered conversationally, tilting his chin forward to where the street split into a little alley on the left.

Darian laughed outright when Bran mimicked his bow, a warm and startled sound. He could tell from his smirk the boy was devilish; he knew exactly what was in his wicked little heart. With every gesture, every expression, Darian was reminded more and more strongly of himself. Such motivations were not difficult to read. He almost felt he shouldn't encourage Bran - after all, look how he'd turned out. Horrendous! Terribly spoiled. Darian was debauched to a tee. But the temptation to indulge this one was too strong; there was something very inviting about exploring the younger version of oneself.

He went arm-in-arm with Bran easily enough, his eyes rising to the shortcut. It seemed innocuous - he could even see the end as they drew near. But Darian had had terrible luck in alleys lately courtesy of Jean-Luc. Bran was almost too charming, too lovely, too entirely Darian's type. It was just a little suspicious, though he would never had found it suspicious before, and on his own side where Bran couldn't see Darian kept his hand near his wand as they walked.

"So?" Darian inquired, light as ever. "Tell me all the usuals. Your house, your age..." He smiled, gaze sliding over Bran in a deliberate manner. The boy would want to tell him anyways. He'd want Darian to know. Bran's game was not subtle (though perhaps, to others, it would have been). But would he lie to seem older? He had to know that would lose him points, yet Darian was not likely to fall into that particular depravity of lusting after very young men. He had no need to rob any cradles, nor the desire to.

Bran was decided upon leaving a fantastic first impression on Mister Morgan. Simply by being himself. He wasn't quite sure how he was doing at the moment, but he'd take the designer's amusement as encouragement that it was going relatively fine. He'd bring the big guns later on.

He thought they must be making a very pretty picture - arm-in-arm, fabulously matching in color scheme, exquisitely dressed and ridiculously beautiful. He squeezed his arm a little harder and turned to flash him a radiant, charming smile with a quizzical raised eyebrow as some girl stopped to look for a second. Lovely girl, brilliant tastes.

"Slytherin, of course" he tilted his head back, laughing softly under his breath. "Sixth year" he continued, still smiling charmingly. "Freshly seventeen" he added, a little more seriously, trace of a cryptic smile still on his features and eyelashes lowering a little over his eyes. Now, he was really curious if that was going to be a problem. Of course, he had his ideas and plans, but for the moment he simply wanted to get a glimpse of the wonder that was Darian Morgan and maybe, just maybe, learn a thing or two from him.

When they reached the little restaurant, Bran pushed the door open with a little grin and gestured gallantly for Darian to enter. Once he followed him inside, they waited to be seated asking for something a little more private. So they could talk. Undisturbed. He placed his shopping bags on the floor and his hand bag on the back of the chair, then opened his jacket before taking a seat, gracefully crossing his legs.  "I'm not all that interesting" he shrugged a little smiling slyly. "I'd rather hear about you, Mister Morgan." He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table raising his eyebrows expectantly

“Of course,” Darian echoed, amused and musing. Slytherin, what else? “I just met with your Head of House.”

Bran gazed at him under lowered lashes after revealing his house and age, perhaps waiting to see Darian’s reaction to the latter. But the older man’s omnipresent smile was entirely enigmatic, giving nothing away but the little polite pleasure of having his questions answered.

It was a bit odd to let Bran do the talking at the restaurant. Darian’s generally wasn’t the passive role but he hung back, hands gracefully in his pockets, and looked on as Bran asked for a more private table. It was revealing but mostly fairly funny. Bran was direct, deliberate. He’d done this before. Darian was being indulgent with him, comfortable with his own intentions and confident in his ability to direct the situation in less compromising ways, but he knew all of this looked terribly illicit.  It was like Wilde and his rent boys… only not half so classy.

The restaurant was almost entirely empty, which didn’t help the impression. Darian was becoming more interested in the other as they went on, his curiosity finally kicking in. Bran was entirely too poised for one only freshly seventeen. That was the most intriguing thing about him – not that he was charming, but how he became so. Even Darian hadn’t been so self-possessed at seventeen, his own charm and grace coming with experience and building with age. He’d had an exuberance that so far the other lacked – born of his youth and the enthusiasm that went with it – while Bran was more elegant. Where had Bran learned it? Were his manners simply puckish affection or born of necessity? It clearly came instinctively to him to manipulate with his body; atop of that he had his silver tongue. His grace was effortless, evident in the little habits like the breezy opening of his jacket as he sat, but such behavior wasn’t natural; it had to be practiced until it became second nature. Darian had once had to do the same.

This was what fascinated Darian, the unseasonable maturity. Perhaps surprisingly, he didn’t prefer to talk about himself. He was more readily engrossed by the peculiarities of other people. So it was that Darian was rather wanting to know more about Bran, even as the boy insisted Darian tell all; a competition of interest, perhaps, but it had an easy cure.

He glanced over at Bran with an appraising sort of interest, noting his posture, the raised brows, his inviting little smile. Quite calculated for the overall effect. Fascinating. "Oh, I think I disagree," he replied with slow warm humor. "Call me Darian. I wouldn't want to get confused with the other Mister Morgan in your life."

He shrugged out of his own blazer, the heating spells on the restaurant fulfilling their duty prettily, and without turning dropped it cavalierly over the back of his chair. Like Bran, he knew how to pose for effect. He was the picture of leisure lounging in the straight-backed chair, his dress shirt cut to slimmer, more wizarding lines, his tie a flat silver, the subtle slash of his tie pin winking in the low light. And he, of course, Darian Morgan himself! - darling of Diagon, a fashionable tease, lover of half the Hogwarts staff. The perfection of his curls and the dark dart of his gaze were glamours he went nowhere without. But by shedding the jacket he appeared more approachable; drinking wine would be another yet human touch. His posture was relaxed, entirely open. As he gazed at Bran the curve of his full mouth became gradually more and more knowing.

"What specifically do you want to hear about? I'll answer one of your curiosities for each you do of mine."

"Is that so?" Bran responded with an interested smile. Bran couldn't help but be jealous that apparently all the Morgans had been blessed with ridiculously good looks. Well, some more than the others. Wile his Head of House sure had glorious hair and an even more glorious behind, there was something about his rather heroin chic features that could put a damper on things. But, ah Bran needn't worry himself with such things. After all, the librarian was in good, dexterous French hands.

Bran threw his head back laughing softly at the designer's invitation to be addressed by his first name. Well, not so much the fact in itself but the way it had been formulated.When he had contained himself, with still a lazy cryptic smile adorning his face, he raised his hand to his chest, almost dramatically and raised his eyes at Darian. "No, we couldn't possibly have that, now could we?" he huffed for effect. "However, I dare say nobody could possibly confuse the two of you" he added in a lower, more whispered voice, with his head lowered and a smile tugging at his lips.

But immediately after, he straightened his back and threw a curl out of his eyes with a flick of his fingers. "Pardon my impudence, but while our Head of House sure is quite dashing, there's only one Darian Morgan when it comes to style" he declared with a little giggle. And other things, but too much flattery never got anyone anywhere. A little, however... Now that was a different thing.

As Darian shed his blazer, Bran watched with rapt attention, leaning his head on his hands, a polite, standard smile on his face. The designer looked relaxed and quite at home, but Bran wondered if he was keeping him on his toes at all. Not uncomfortable, not really, he wouldn't want that... But perhaps just a little wary, a little interested. He hadn't been subtle, it wasn't his style, not in this circumstance, surely. But he was still holding himself back.

"My, my, you drive a hard bargain Darian, but how could I possibly refuse" he batted his eyelashes playfully and laughed softly, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. "When did you first realize designing was your calling?" he asked more seriously, only to be interrupted by a waitress that dropped two menus in front of them. Nodding his thanks with a charming smile, he pushed one of them towards Darian and gestured for it. "Would you do the honors? I trust your judgement completely" he arched an eyebrow, smiling slyly.

Darian hummed and nodded, an off-the-cuff confirmation. He didn't think Bran's mild interest included an actual desire to know more. He would be the first to cattily undermine his own cousin, enjoying dropping maybe-true maybe-not stories in Landis' fascinated students' ears, but he didn't care much for when other people did it. Bran's first response tip-toed the line of Darian's mild displeasure. Fortunately, his second smoothed over any implied offense.

"You're the only student I've heard to describe him as dashing," Darian said, but not in any way that insinuated that he disagreed. There was something coaxing in his tone, something a little impish. "I do so prefer to be unique."

Bran was flirting outrageously - little touches to his own body to draw Darian's attention, his tongue sliding between his teeth, the slow burn of his eyes as he looked to the other. Darian let it play out, neither encouraging nor discouraging. It was fascinating; he was not being subtle, but Darian was coming to believe that was a deliberate choice rather than the side effect of being a less experienced teen. Where had Bran learned it? He wanted more and more to know.

"Completely?" he asked, drawing the word out with interest; amused, almost a challenge. But then he looked away to glance over the menu, making a decision quickly. "The merlot," he declared, tapping the name of the particular brand he wanted on the menu for the waitress' benefit. It was the house merlot - middle of the road, nothing to offend his own fine tastes, but Darian always laughed at those who in restaurants ordered the most expensive wines. While Bran had deferred the selection to him, the boy had recommended their merlots and cabernets at the start.

Once the waitress had left, he turned his attention back to Bran and his question. "Rather late," Darian answered. "Fashion wasn't something I had a strong interest in while I was at Hogwarts. There were other preoccupations to fill my time." He smiled, as if remembering - as if inviting Bran to imagine - how a man like Darian had entertained himself. "After I graduated, I traveled Europe for over a year. I spent some time in Milan and Paris and became exposed to the muggle world's high fashion there. I found it fascinating." He shrugged, an easy gesture. "Ah, things snowballed from there. I began to attend shows and scribble designs, made friends with the designers, coaxed them to explain everything to me. The wizarding world is so lacking in comparison, nowhere near the innovation of the muggle industry. This role came quite easily to me, feeling much fresher and more natural than any of the career options the professors recommend, you know, right after you take your OWLS." He laughed a little. Magical education hadn't prepared him for his career except for his Charms classes; the wizarding world was fairly narrow in that way.

Lacing his hands together he rested his forearms on the table, the smooth line of his back under designer cotton directed forward as he leaned into the company and the conversation. "And yourself?" he inquired, the most obvious question and thus to be handled straightaway. "How did you come to take an interest in fashion?"

"Oh, I assure you, I'm not" he laughed softly, ending with a cryptic little smile and a quizzical arched eyebrow. In a boarding school, you couldn't help not notice your professors and the staff, and Landis Morgan was one of the most attractive men they had on staff. And while not many of his colleagues had the... audacity to express their admiration in public, Bran was not one of those people.

He was also sure Darian was unique in more ways than just one... Bran let out a soft amused huff and narrowed his eyes a little as his eyes flitted over the man's features, looking for any hint of something. He was polite, charming, but Bran would wager Darian had a perfect poker face. He'd certainly enjoy playing with him. Poker, that was. Perhaps of the strip variety.  He'd run with the clothes. Of course.

"Completely" he responded, word drawled lazily, eyelashes slightly lowered as he nodded his head, once, curtly. "Marvelous choice" Bran added in a more enthusiastic voice, smiling brightly. It was indeed a fine one, and while he preferred his wines a little more dry, the merlots here were truly fine. And there was nothing quite as red wine or a truly stimulating conversation.

He smiled slyly and chuckled a little at his... initial preoccupations. Somehow, Bran was sure he was quite familiar with such pastimes. One day, however, he'd like to get the full story on those activities. He continued to listen to him almost entranced and he could just imagine how easy it had been for Darian to make friends and strip designers of their knowledge. He was sure there hadn't been much effort on his part. "Yes, I'm afraid wizarding education is quite... limited, in some aspects." Bran agreed, with a displeased little smile. They should teach Social Studies. He'd excel in those. Or—No, best not go there.

Straightening his back he smiled surreptitiously and waited a moment before embarking on his reply. "I have two older brothers, a ridiculous amount of male cousins, and my favorite female cousin is more of a tomboy than the lot of them. Despite all that, however, let's just say that while my older and eldest brothers were off on their broom, kicking a quaffle, I was having tea parties with my three younger sisters" he laughed softly, shrugging a little. "My brothers, mother and father, Elin and, on occasion, even Eira, have horrendous tastes in all things clothes and appearance, in general. As a child I strove to rectify said situation, which was a completely hopeless endeavor, and as such I discovered fashion and realized I am probably ruined for anything else, forever" he  continued, dramatically placing a hand over his chest and sighing deeply.

"I sold my—hmmm, soul for a glorious Hermès silk scarf when I was fourteen and haven't gotten it back since" he added after a moment of silence, smiling cryptically as he raised an eyebrow. "I don't regret it" he almost hummed, smile spreading into a lazy grin. "What are your inspirations? Both in your creations and you life, I suppose" he asked then, composure back and polite expression on his face.

Now, for the first time, Darian outright grinned. It was an expression entirely of the older-relative familial glee, less elegant and more genuine. "Oh, tell me more," he demanded with catching good humor. "He's so bloody fun to tease. Don't worry - " Darian winked - "I'd never give away the names of my co-conspirators under even the direst of threats."

Perhaps saying that he'd never heard a student call Landis dashing was a little white lie. Neely sang his praises often enough, but that was just the darling girl's way with any well-dressed man over age 25.

Bran came from a large family, something Darian could sympathize with. The dramatization of Bran's account made Darian smile. "Tragic," he agreed. "But speaking on behalf of the paltry half dozen wizarding designers, fashion is glad to have you."

"I sold my—hmmm, soul for a glorious Hermès silk scarf when I was fourteen and haven't gotten it back since."

Darian was surprised. He'd expected a longer chase to get the information he wanted - it was why he'd suggested they exchange questions. Bran volunteered what he'd wondered about so easily. "Oh, I see," he said, examining Bran with new eyes to his practiced behavior. It didn't change his judgement of the boy any. Merlin knew Darian had used such means to get in with the fashion crowd in his aforementioned youth; Bran was merely more directly consumerist than he'd been.

He smiled slowly, a lazily conspiratory affection. "Well, I hope that's not what this is partially about," he drawled. "I'm far too young to be anyone's sugar daddy. I always thought of that as a peculiarly middle-aged phenomena." It was more direct than Darian's usual, but he was interested to see if Bran would drop any of the flirtation. Clearly the other was genuinely interested in fashion, and in Darian as a designer - but beyond that? Darian didn't go about delivering blazers like love notes.

Well - thinking of Tapendra - maybe he did. But Tapendra was rather a special case who needed wooing. Lots of wooing. Darian wasn't going to think too hard about how close to the bottom of his barrel of techniques that man had reduced him to scraping. The answer was probably "too close" and also, "depressing."

Bran's next question was one of epic proportions, which surely he had to know when he'd asked it. "Do you mean for this past season?" Darian asked, laughing, "Or entirely? You'd really like to sit through all that?" The line of his mouth was wry but a little pleased; he was watching Bran warmly.

"The heart of Libertine Ltd. is its luxurious dandyism," he said a beat later, that beat full of the intimacy of their little table - some significant moment passing before Darian decided to divulge.  "You know that, I'm sure. Very Cult of Beauty, Wildean stuff." He'd explained this before, though rarely to an audience he felt likely to really understand or enjoy it. He spoke with a casual sense of engagement, shaping his words with his hands, but kept the explanation short and without specifics. "Most of my inspiration comes from history, of various time periods. Occasionally art or literature as well."

Finished, he pressed immediately, "What sort of things do you have in your collection?" It would be a revealing question in a number of ways. It went without saying that the scarf couldn't be the only thing Bran had gathered.

With a dark little chuckle he raised his eyebrows whimsically and looked around aimlessly. "Maybe" he hummed almost melodically. "Maybe sometime in the future" he said, with a little toothy smile. "I'd like to see what's in it for me, if I become an informant" he looked at him through his eyelashes, letting out an amused little huff. Information - and yes, gossip was information - was power, and as much as he adored Darian Morgan, he was the King of Gossip and his services did not come cheap.

"Très tragique" he acknowledged, with a dramatic little sigh that spread into a little smile soon after. He feigned a pretty little blush at his next words and bashfully turned his gaze downwards. "You flatter, kind sir" he batted his eyelashes playfully and let out a little chuckle. "And I simply adore it." He grinned brightly, a glimmer in his eyes. Who wouldn't? Such praise, from such a fantastic character.

Darian's response to his... revelation, gave no worry to Bran, but he thought it had hit its mark. He couldn't guess what was going on in his mind, but if not now, maybe he'd  havethe full reaction sometime in the future. Bran hoped to many repeat experiences. Bran watched him with big eyes, and lips parted in surprise, as he expressed his worries about it, however. He couldn't help burst into laughter, once the shock of it had passed. "Certainly not" he said, almost scandalized but in good humor. "You are far too attractive,  rather young, I suppose and socially... successful to be in any need of my—company." Because services would've been in rather bad taste. Age didn't really factor, however, people were lonely regardless of their age.

Truth was Bran would actually enjoy sitting through all that, but he merely smiled and arched a curious eyebrow. "Generally?" he offered with a little shrug. When he started talking, Bran listened with rapt attention, both fascinated and ridiculously smug at hearing that his deductions had been right on point. He grinned brightly and decided he should poke him more about it at a later time.

His question was a rather complicated one to answer. He looked deep in thought for a few moments, interrupted by the arrival of the waitress and their order. Once his glass had been filled, he thanked the woman politely and extended it to Darian, offering a cheer. "If we're talking actual items... My friends seem to think I have a ridiculous amount of blazers and jackets, especially floral patterned. Slippers come as a close second, in terms of quantity. I say you can never have enough of either of them" he declared seriously, with a little smile.

"If, however, we're talking the origin of the items, I have a predilection towards muggle fashion houses. Paul Smith, Westwood, Gaultier, Helmut Lang, Costume National, Dries Von Noten, Etro, even Burberry are some of the more common labels you'll find in my wardrobe. However, it's McQueen, Balmain, Galliano and D&G that are the more prevalent names" he paused a little, smiling lopsidedly. "And of course, quite a few Libertine numbers" he grinned brightly, taking another sip of his wine. What could he say? He got around...

"What's your crown jewel, in terms of pieces you've designed?" he asked curiously, the best critic was oneself in some cases.

For a moment Darian was surprised at Bran's slyly demure refusal. He sat back in his seat torn between grudging admiration and disappointment. Really, he should've known.

"Well if you're going to be mercenary about it," he said, grinning. "I do have other informants. If you don't want to gossip with me, really, Bran, I'll survive."

He dismissed the matter with an airy wave of his hand. Bran was too expensive for someone so tight-lipped; he thought he was worth more than Darian would want to pay. Still, all work and no play was very tiresome. Darian hoped he wouldn't hit such a brick wall in every turn of the conversation.

Bran was clearly surprised by Darian's question, which he'd approached and continued to treat in quite an insouciant manner. "What a relief!" he laughed, careless and bright. "Yes, I rather thought so too, but isn't it good to know?"

The boy obliged him even more than he'd asked on not only the brands in his closet, but his most preferred types. Blazers and slippers. No man should live without them, and yet so many sad individuals did. "Mmm," Darian said musingly. "You have excellent taste." It wasn't spoken in any particularly complimentary way. More, rather, as a realization - just plainly, a fact. Though he said excellent taste Darian might as well have admitted what he really meant was similar.

"I'd be more inclined to say that I have a favorite collection," he answered instead. "Spring/Summer of '08. The one with, hmm, you probably know, all the gold embroidery." Some of those robes could practically stand up on their own, the fabric was so heavy and richly embroidered. It didn't matter that they were less than practical, or that they hadn't been the most progressive of Darian's collections. They were like Kubla Khan incarnate, and he'd worked his fingers to the bone on them. He laughed. "Those garments were so complicated I have to love them."

Then he went quiet to consider, as it was his turn. He'd intended to chase down the threads of Bran's behavior, but Bran had solved things for him so easily he was left without a subject to pursue. Finally he shrugged. "Tell me more about your family." It was a revealing topic and an interesting one. Maybe he'd return to fashion in a bit.

"Very well" he responded with an air of nonchalance, followed by a pleased little smile. "If you change your mind—you know where to find me" he batted his eyelashes sweetly and let the matter rest. The other... matter was soon let to rest as well, and Bran merely nodded his agreement with a polite smile.

"Yes, I quite do" he replied to the comment with no sense of modesty whatsoever and a bright toothy smile. There were many things where Bran's preferences and skills could be questioned, but fashion was in no circumstance one of them. And to have it noted on by Darian Morgan, was only a reinforcement in the belief. He listened to the designer's response with rapt attention, nodding enthusiastically along the words.

"Yes, that's quite my favorite, as well. They're quite exquisite and true works of art" he said dreamily, thinking of the one robe from the collection he owned but never quite got to wear. "That isn't to say that the rest of your creations aren't just as exquisite" he laughed softly and tucked a curl behind his ear.

"Hmmm" he said in preparation, thinking of an answer to quite an unusual question. It came as a bit of surprise. The only ones that asked about his family were... other family members, usually. "Surprisingly, I come from a big, loud but very close family. We've been around for a bit, and the entirety of our members could probably populate a small village" he laughed fondly and rolled his eyes. "My mother is a muggle" and he raised his eyes to Darian as if to dare him to comment on it "and my father comes from an old welsh wizarding line"he shrugged casually. "I have two older brothers and three younger sisters—identical triplets" he sighed tiredly. "We're apparently very... fertile" his nose twitched a little.

"My oldest brother is the pastry chef at a cafe on Diagon—Alohomocha? Maybe you heard of it..." Bran raised a curious eyebrow. "My older brother... he had the misfortune of taking after our mother, in the non-magical sense. He's an art student. He has issues" he said curtly, lips tightening. "And my sisters, while surely the most adorable seven year olds in the whole wide world, can be ridiculously exhausting and my mother oftentimes accurately calls them demons" he chuckled softly, because he had also gotten that nickname as a child. He still did. "And I have more cousins, uncles and aunts than I care to remember, but it's Blythe, my better half and one of my first cousins, that is the sole one worth mentioning. I don't care what the facts say, we're actual twins" he grinned brightly, heartwarming gaze in his eyes.

"What of your family? If I'm not being too presumptuous, of course..." he asked with big, innocent blue eyes.