And truly no one's ever told you how marvellous you'd look on canvas? With your eyes, and your hair, and that glossy Swellow proud on your shoulder! Oh, it'd be a glorious painting, I tell you. I haven't been so inspired in months. The colours would be fabulous, all your easy darkness against the light of dawn...

[Far be it from Tsing to mind his subject's lacklustre responses; his passion overflows him, the endless pursuit of art fueling his constant enthusiasm. He must communicate it to this young man, he simply must!

... Only here is someone else, interrupting with a question about whether or not he is. Tsing nods firmly once.] You are.