[right][h3][b][i][color=7d6c00]Dr. Swamp[/color][/i][/b][/h3][color=7d6c00]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color]
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] Shadowell Manor: Seat J -> Shadowell Manor: Front of Manor Outside
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Skills:[/b][/i][/color] Dexterity
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Hit Points:[/b][/i][/color] 4
[color=7d6c00]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color][/right]

	[color=7d6c00]"With your permission, of course."[/color] responded Dr. Swamp as he put graphite to paper. He began directly where he had left off, at the one grey arc he had made before securing her say-so on the matter. It was a curious sensation for him, wishing to be within one's presence [i]and[/i] taking steps toward not offending. Concerning such matters of giving offense, the good and charming Doctor would ordinarily lead others out to a grand field, wherein one might grow a bountiful crop of Fucks. Yea verily, he might call upon said people to gaze upon the field, and see that it was barren. Nary a Fuck to be had; nary a Fuck to be given. Such was the nature of Dr. Swamp. Why this occasion was different was fully beyond him, but he considered it quite the anomaly.

	The lines continued to accumulate across the paper, even as the great machine began moving the newly formed bench up the iron rails and toward the manor proper. The initial jerk of the engine's startup took the Doctor slightly by surprise; while he was able to lift pencil from paper before his image was ruined, he did shift to one side, making unintended contact with the lady to his side. [color=7d6c00]"Pardon."[/color] he said coolly, readjusting himself in his seat. He spent the remainder of the time on the seated, steam-driven mechanical whirligig putting lines to paper, smudging as necessary for effect, and giving the occasional glance in the direction of his sketch's model. He did not even notice the proximity of the main house until the machine came to a stop, such was the attention to detail of his work. 

	As fate might have it, he lifted from the last stroke a split second before the sudden jerk of brakes took hold. Dr. Swamp had the forethought to set his leg at a braced angle, anticipating a stop that was at least as eventful as the start. Not that he wouldn't mind colliding with the woman to his side, but it would not look right for him to accidentally run into her a second time. He took the moment to review his sketch. Dr. Swamp had really outdone himself this time. Really. There was a depth to the image that seemed to capture the not only the tiny details, but the emotion of the moment, and put it all in a relatable, favorable light. For artistic purposes, he had captured a glimpse of the woman's [i]soul[/i], and committed the image to paper. 

	After the thin man spoke from the stairs, announcing the intent of the Master of the House, Dr. Swamp spoke quietly to the lace-steel masked woman who had served as artistic muse, [color=7d6c00]"Would you like to keep it?"[/color]