The other claims his cultured nature and Dorian drops his hand, placing them both on his knees, laughing softly at the others reaction, enjoying his ability to play along. Yet suddenly things take a little bit of a drastic turn and his chuckle wilts before he gives the other quite the look, his brows furrowing as he listens to the rather intent description and reference to his plants. There is a long pause, Dorian holds it longer than needed because it might all be a joke, a man with a good sense of humour but it came all out of left field. Keeping his eyes on the other man a hum catches his throat in thought, flattening out his gaze and pursing his lips before he inhales and begins to speak, leaning forward, his hands pressed on his knees, shoulders straight.

Amusing crossed between unamused but highly disturbing.

"A cultured man would never bury a man in his own garden, you'd ruin the plants. If you are who you say you are then use your creativity better than that." Deadpan was his voice before he leaned back and gave the other one more glance before taking his finger, touching the tip of the trowel gently and allowing to exert the smallest amount of mana along the handle, frost catching on it. "Come on, Tal. You wouldn't lay a hand on me, would you?"