@redridcr was definitely moping.
“Accuse me of being decent again and I’ll be forced to perform three horrid capers at your expense. Etiquette demands it.” Magnanimity was a trait of weakness in too large amount, but too small of it painted a man as a tyrant. In polite society (if it should even be called that) one had to be aware of it to control their public image. But the minutiae of it all became suddenly inconsequential, as Red swept him up into plans that he never intended to be part.
“Why would I want to accompany you?” There it is, creasing that perfectly manicured set of eyebrows, the sign that Red had manage to perplex Dorian. He turned to the comfort of ale, a cloudy froth nearly on the bottom of the glass. For as much as he griped, it was better than nothing. Better than most alternatives, even. Yet he shook his head with disapproval as he partook of the last sip. An unseen barrier protects his impeccable moustache from wetting. Freshly hydrated, his ire returns to Red. “The point that you’ve missed is that I don’t want this task. This flower grows in remote locations. Surely, you’ve gathered that the outdoors is better suited to ...” Judgement harshened his eyes as Red was appraised by them, though softened upon finding his appearance tolerable. “...you and your mares. The botanists claim there are nodes in the Emerald Graves, growing along the paths to the former estate of Lord Ramond Maurel.”