[ They laugh. It's a coarse, soft noise; neither it nor what's visible of their face suggests any mirth, just as hollow as the stare bearing down on him. There's no pressure in his fingers as they rest and rise against his throat. ]

You sound so sure.

[ They let go of their cane, resting it against their thigh since they're evidently strong enough to support their weight a while without it, adjusting their mask so their lower face is visible. ]

But I've had plenty of people try. [ If Aventurine wants a hand at his throat, what he gets instead is one at his shoulder, the other sliding from where it's held to the side of his neck. A soft touch. A softer kiss against his cheek, then the other, like a greeting. Like a goodbye. They stay close as they speak. ] I ended up winning against them, too. The ones that matter, anyway. So maybe you should temper your expectations.