Silence crawls for a stretched moment, Caleb not moving nor speaking, gaze fixated on century old stains of burgundy upon silk fabric. He is like a statue, frozen in the way that he ceases animation, true to the nature of something that should be, for all it is worth, dead, and six feet under. But inside, there is movement. Thoughts race as fast as he can move when he wants to, and suddenly he is standing directly beside the Russian prince. "We can create red." He looks at nothing in particular.
As there is more silence again, as it stretches wide between the two of them, Aleksei spends a moment eyeing his own spawn. The one of the two sons he has, that always comes back when he runs. Aside from that filthy stain on his pride that never seems to want to go away. But much more than the mere fact that Caleb always returns, gives the Russian King pride in his child. He resembles him, in bits of pieces, creates chaos flawlessly. And although their name is not shared, as it looks in this very moment. The word of his fatherhood is spreading like wildfire. " Create red..." Aleksei repeats with a silent hum, drawn from his lips as if instinctive. Although completely improvised. " Creating red, sounds like good entertainment. But we'll have to travel. "