The flickering marker, hanging against the darkening sky, gave away that someone was approaching long before Maxwell could make out who it was. Lowering his hand, he waited, knowing it was possibility that a curious stranger could be drawn in, or someone hoping to be crowned a Victor - if he were particularly unlucky. But still, he held his position on the roof peak.

Waiting, and hoping. ...And breathing a long sigh of relief as Dorian came into view.

Thank the Maker.

Maxwell was prepared to remember his place - what he was - but not to lose him again, to the Capitol, to this game....

Crouching, he leaned toward the ledge, meeting Dorian as he jogged to up the house. Mouth twitching gently as he took in the man's getup.

"The castle's never empty," he replied, joking as lightly as he could. "There are always blood-thirsty raiders, or angry spirits, or something else just waiting kill us." And doubted the Capitol's castle, looming in the distance was any different.

He glanced at it, then back at Dorian.

"Nice wings."