"Rather kind is nice, but Cael will do," he answers, releasing the mug when he feels the weight lift in another hand. "And other compliments besides, as they come to you."

Having left it in worse places since the giving, Cael neither tuts nor acquiesces to the dismissal, only dismisses in turn: he's an efficient (lazy) creature, so it suits him just fine to put the shawl around Dorian's shoulders as he moves back to his own seat, rather than mount the stairs to find something.

It frees his arms to wind around the frame of his lyre, if some benefit must pass both ways. "Rather kind of you to be a human coat rack, now we're even." Punctuating the matter with a plucked string, he tilts his head to the sound, then turns the knob a little more. "How fresh are you, from the water?"