[Great, the new plan is to murder the sun. No, Palamedes is completely normal about this, but it still makes him smile to know with certainty that Viktor is getting a break, as it were.

Plenty of things are making him smile tonight, it seems - all of this in a row, Viktor's health and his immediate answer, that's— well! Well. Palamedes' touch doesn't leave his arm, as if perhaps the moment will end prematurely if he moves away, a thought that feels desperately like the worst possibility. He says:]

So am I. I'll be— looking forward to it.

[—And then he wonders in earnest what he should be doing with his hand, which still rests on Viktor's arm. Politely, he should move it, but like the numerous times in the bar, he doesn't really want to, and so - there is that. There is also the pervasive urge to pull him in close again, to quite literally hold onto those words, but they will never get to see the big bloodstone that way.

It winds up being the same path his hand charts, anyway, up Viktor's arm to his shoulder and this time to settle between his shoulder blades, moving a half-step closer to him and nodding towards the just-visible towering structure of The Red, up the street. Compromise, or something like it.]

We'll start here; how about it? And you know, we missed the opportunity to toast to your health— or is that too much?

[Maybe they can toast with some milk or whatever, at home... Viktor's mysterious sweetmilk.]