[img]https://i.imgur.com/x3jSusj.png[/img]
[h3]Meisa Amorette[/h3]
[hr]

It was a rather boring non-answer, but Meisa let it be for the moment as she watched Camille select his brushes and paints. The movements were natural, with the practiced ease of a painter in his element. Firenze, with her experience in spy craft could tell it wasn’t fake—and Meisa, who had far more experience in sitting for paintings had a similar impression even if he didn’t compare to the elven painters of her memories. Nobody did, in this era.

Meisa nodded at Camille as she went up the ladder, dismissing his request in her mind. As she did so, Firenze decided to make herself comfortable, finding something nearby to sit on as the painter continued to set up. Most of the words and terminology that came out of Camille’s mouth flew well over her head, but she continued to preen at the attention and pleasure of being able to sit for a painting instead of her mistress. It was Meisa who had a proper court education, and although some of the developments in art were past her time, it was something that she understood well enough. Assuming she didn’t discover a serial killer’s lair upstairs, the golden-haired elf was actually feeling excited to talk to the man. He still obviously lacked culture given how she’d been ignored, but at least he knew his art. 

A man with that sort of artistic fervor could start a cultural revolution…

The second floor was actually sort of cozy, with the bed, big bright windows, and a large, if haphazard library of old leatherbound books. Meisa ignored the bundle for the moment as she stepped towards the books, taking a few and flipping through them while looking at the others’ spines. The topics were remarkably archaic and dense –for a human in this era. While they might not have been typical reading even in her time, philosophy, ethics, astronomy, and the other sciences were all studies of a learned man. If this was what Camille read in his free time, then he was a remarkably civilized and learned person. From how worn and dust-free they were, she wondered…

Maybe this frivolous painter could make a good ally to her cause. The house wasn’t so bad, either. 

Finally overcome by curiosity, she peeked under the blanket, expecting old paintings—and got old paintings. Curiously, they were of an older woman. There was an obvious progression in age of the subject and in the increasing skill of the art. If anything, it was an interesting window into the man’s artistic career. Carefully replacing the blanket the way she found it, she picked out a book on cuisines of her lost kingdom, and returned downstairs. 

[b]“I wouldn’t say those are dusty tomes at all,”[/b] she said, waving the culinary book she chose. [b]“If anything, it’s remarkably varied! I haven’t seen some of these dishes since the kingdom fell.”[/b] She had a nostalgic, almost wistful backing to her otherwise chipper tone, glancing between the artist prepping and her supposed paladin enjoying herself in front of him. She gave a beaming smile to Firenze. [b]“Firenze, dear, maybe you can help make some of these dishes again to return the favor to ser Moissan?”[/b]

She bullied right on even as her purple-haired companion began to look cross.

[b]“Ah! Right. I couldn’t help but to overhear part of your conversation. I may not be the subject today, but I used to sit for many, and paint, too. I was taught in the classical school in my youth, though it’s been a while… It’s not often I come across a man of culture in this day and age. What inspired you?”[/b]