[He's silent for a long moment, the weight within the air so stifling, that if Eridanus were to swallow, surely the sound would be heard. His own gaze is unwavering though, meeting those golden eyes with silent challenge, until finally—he exhales a long-held breath.]

Then I will practice every day. [Eridanus sits straighter as he says it,] however long it takes — years, decades, centuries — I will be worthy of a mark upon the canvas of your face.

[And then, he raises his glass to his lips once more, swallowing an indulgent mouthful. When he pulls his drink from his lips, and sets it aside, he takes a moment to slide one of his frontline pieces forward.]

Then... I guess fucking you wouldn't be so bad.