The artist found himself half wanting to chuckle at his friends response to his words, in particular the slight show of theatricality that she displayed before flashing back into the manner that seemed to prevail for her today; gentle noble woman full of smiles. Not that a proper noble woman would have ever accompanied an artist to a brothel, or been the one to suggest it. Nic's gaze was fond as he gazed at the woman who appeared outwardly to be a angel but in truth was so very far from it. Though that was all for the best he supposed, angels would be likely horribly boring outside of being good to draw and paint. And such perfection grew boring.<br/><br/>He let Florence pull him deeper into the building, his eyes flashing around them and not missing a thing; it was very clean for a brothel. Another point in the Teahouse's favor. Perhaps he would even enjoy his time here.<br/><br/>It did not escape his notice how Florence brought the red haired woman to his attention but as soon as he saw her he weighed her, found her interesting but not what he was looking for and dismissed it. Three strikes so far, no one here with that particular elusive<em>something</em>that he was seeking for his current project. Or rather, the current part of his project; any of the three of them might well inspire when he was in another stage or looking for something else but he had a particular aspect that had been lacking, necessary for weeks now with no luck in finding the right model. After all young men of good breeding and therefore striking facial structure usually did not particularly like taking their clothing off for other men. And the slums that most brothels called home were simply not environments were he could work.<br/><br/>He knew he was particular, and demanding, in the least expected of ways with his over all easy going personality but his art tended to be like that, transforming him into a demanding task master, a perfectionist, and no doubt a bastard.<br/><br/>Florence at least seemed to not be put off by it, though with him embracing all the many, many sides of her he would believe it only fair. His eyes flickered back to the two seated blonds and then toward the door, clearly contemplating simply leaving; but her he would indulge. "Perhaps Siren, and perhaps not. I doubt the Master of a House would sell himself unless I wished to throw a truly obscene amount of money at him and I have no whim to do that as of this moment."<br/><br/>As if their discussing him had summoned the Master the man appeared, tall, elegant and cold; a business man no doubt and a good one by the looks of the house he had found him and his 'people'. At the greet Nicholas inclined his own head, not bowing but still respectful, a smile tugged on his lips, wry and rueful even as he spoke. "Master Valentine, I am Sir Nicholas Bureck, and this is Lady Florence. I take it that you have time to speak with us, hopefully we won't take up too much of your time for as a artist I'm aware time is money."