[As if everything in his world could be distilled down to colors and shades. There’s a certain poetry to it, certainly, but Sylus finds it more amusing than anything else. The artist’s mind seems to be a maze of metaphors, each twist and turn reflecting something deeper, something hidden.

Sylus can’t help but let out a dry chuckle. The thought of making such a pedestrian complaint in a place like this is almost laughable, but there’s a glimmer of truth in it. Sylus is used to getting what he wants, and if the wine they keep bringing isn’t up to par, well, that’s something that can be fixed.]

I was thinking of a more direct approach, [he says as he sets the glass down, swings his legs off the day bed to sit.] I’m more curious if they’re hiding the good stuff, or if this really is the best they’ve got. I don’t trust other people’s tastes, especially when it comes to something as important as a good vintage.

[A tip of his head.] You're welcome to join, of course. [It's not like he has his explosives with him or anything.]