The Sunspire boy peeling a fruit

The damsel appeared to be pleased, and why not. He had been nothing but amiable, complimenting her in his broad manner; and she seemed quite swayed by it. Not once did the dark woman bare her fangs in malice - although, Caravaggio believed even her most agitated scowl would be of some merit; there was beauty in all things, after all. And then her question — but he was charmed himself, listening to the withheld chuckle which threatened to become something more. Yes, what did he want? Why was he so curious?

Then there is room for another. He, once more overtaken by a sense of forwardness, grinned a wide smile up at her. If you grant me access to your mountain, (Innuendo?) I will be your humble servant. And with that, he bowed his head - a gesture of theatrical expression, and brief. In the next moment Caravaggio was lifting his head, trailing his eyes along her features once more, as if enthralled by them.

Ask, and I will do. Even if it earns me only a single night of rest. He did want more - Caravaggio wanted the whole world, he was hungry for it - but everything had to be earned.