And which, he wondered, of them were more unsettled over this?<br/><br/>He'd be hard put to answer that; ironic really, usually a whore and a client came together for pleasure. But then he wasn't a client, and Atticus wasn't a whore. He was relieved that the one he wanted alone time with very clearly was not a whore. That made things so much easier, Nicholas hoped. He watched quietly as Atticus moved over to the chaise, wondering if he had sat there before. The way he relaxed into it, and knew the spacial arrangements spoke to it. He must be friends with the redhead. Perhaps.<br/><br/>Slowly the artist' charcoal sketched over the paper, raw shapes making form, Atticus' striking features steadily coming out; his eyes half between the paper and the other man's face. The question earned a shrug of the shoulder. "Talking is fine, I'm not so demanding a man to define everything, besides it gives facial animation and will let me get a better feel for your lips. As odd as that sounds. But then I suppose you see a lot of oddities working here."<br/><br/>A pause there, something in his eyes that was darker, more brooding then he had allowed himself to be downstairs. "I am glad Master Valentine had you; someone strong to protect the others. Usually there's...no one, and its too late. It makes me hope tragedy is less likely to happen here." Ah fool, scars on the heart he didn't want to examine there, memories better left untouched. He cleared his throat, moving onto another sketch, his head tilted slightly to catch a new angle.<br/><br/>"This room seems very inviting."