[ Lucius watches Eridanus, and though it had been with the intent of seeing his reaction to the wine, he cannot help but notice the little details Eridanus might hope he overlooks. The hand at his thigh is one thing; quite another is the way color floods his cheeks at the slightest, chastest touch. His eyebrows arc as he gives the hair already twined around his fingers a deliberate twirl, as if daring Eridanus to react, and his own ears perk as he watches the unfamiliar language of Eridanus' pinning tight to his skull.

But, if nothing else, Eridanus seems appreciative enough of the drink. Lucius lifts his own glass to his lips as he listens to the other man reminisce, entirely aware of the idle pattern that finger traces atop his thigh. ]

And how many wars have you fought in your little life, Archmage? [ Lucius allows the lock of hair to slip from around his finger, and as he continues to study Eridanus' face, he brushes the back of his knuckles against his jaw with careless intimacy. Of course, with the question, he thinks back on the memory Eridanus had so unwillingly shared atop the dream bird; was that dreadful siege long before the war he speaks of now, or part of it? ] I would tell you my score in return, but I'm afraid I lost count by the time I was a century old. Such is the way of things.