In all, Mikkel wasn't yet sure how he found the young man. Surely, he had done well to amuse the surgeon, and that he presented a rather attractive sight for Mikkel's trained eyes didn't hurt matters either. All that was, of course, rather superficial in the great scheme of things. Outside of the gallery, he might well bore the older man after a night or two. Plenty of others had disappointed him in similar fashion before, and although he wasn't easily heartbroken - if such a thing was even possible - he tended not to enjoy losing invested time on uninteresting subjects. A nagging thought in the back of his mind, however, did well to persuade him that Quinn was worth more than a second glance. So onto the sculptures they went.<br/><br/>Mikkel followed a step behind, which was not unusual for him despite his largely dominant personality. Some men thrived on leading for the sake of appearances and although he valued appearances, he had little care about leading for leading's sake. If anything, he found Quinn's swift strides and confident direction telling. It spoke of a man who knew what he wanted, of a man who took steps to get there. What was more, it told him that Quinn saw him as an interesting but altogether unthreatening presence. All the better. He greatly preferred when his chosen subject didn't see him coming.<br/><br/>The younger man slowed to a stop near the west wall, where a trio of sculptures greeted them with their decayed flesh, their gnarled, extended hands. Mikkel likened them to an assortment of Peruvian mummies he had seen only months ago at the Met, set apart only by the grotesque protrusions of rebar jutting from their mottled bodies.<br/><br/>But they didn't look alive. Not like Trichotomy. Certainly not alive enough to satisfy Quinn, who found them charming but not visceral. The notion brought a half-smile to Mikkel's lips, a low chuckle from the pit of his throat. "Is it lust to have an appreciation for that which gives us life?" he queried, idly folding both hands behind his back. "A body without blood is an empty shell. You can live without a great many of your organs; the vestigial appendix, a lung, a kidney, even a lobe of your liver. But blood? Less so."<br/><br/>Mikkel raised a shoulder in a half shrug. "I suppose it could be that paint is a more vivid medium. Often more effective at conveying life." A thought occurred to him then, one that prompted him to look to Quinn and lean in, muttering lowly in the tone of one sharing a deep, dark secret, "Although... it could also be that they're simply not fresh enough for your liking."