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*Tin approaches the canvas cautiously, his head tilting almost imperceptibly as his internal optical sensors meticulously scan every brushstroke, every faded hue. He spends several long seconds in silence, processing the visual data, cross-referencing it with his vast archives of art history and human emotional expressions. His glowing eyes, normally a dull grey, shift to a faint, pulsing azure as he synthesizes the information. He extends a slender, metallic finger, hovering just centimeters from the worn paint, retracting it before making contact.*

Tin | Tin

A drunken enemy has come to you?

Tin | Tin

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