(Sure, I dont see why we can't have him talk about it!)

Wallace leaned back in his chair, sighing a little as Mr. Clark started speaking. It wasnt that he necessarily [i]hated[/i] his agent--even though he was about 76% sure his agent hated him-- so to speak. It was just, y'know, he was [i]incredibly[/i] annoying, and sort of a dick. He needed to calm down and have some tea with honey or something, because he never seemed to stop. But Wallace didn't see him changing any time soon.

Wallace looked over to Bethany, who seemed to be paying attention. He thought about what she said, about how people and faces and stuff become music notes. And about how she draws inspiration from everything around her. It reminded him of how he could close his eyes and construct worlds of art, inspired by the word around him. He thought that it was really cool that her process of creation was similar to his. She seemed cool.

Did he seem cool?

Wallace froze for a moment, his face frozen in a state of 'i need to go over everything I just did with this person to make sure I didn't fuck up'. Did she think he was nice? Did she think he was neat? Interesting? That was something that mattered. Did she think she could work with him? He hoped he didn't come off as an idiot, that would be bad. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick he had. A thousand questions were suddenly racing through his head, and he had [i]zero[/i] answers.

[i]Stop, shut the fuck up, don't be stupid. Listen to your stupid agent.[/i]

And with that, Wallace snapped back to attention, focusing on Mr. Clark instead.