[ A little surprised by the request, she leans back against the stool, watching him dig through the desk. Her tail flicks a little to find a position to relax, her wings still folded in close; her hands grab the seat to keep it from skidding across the hard floor and knocking her to the ground.

He talks over the shifts of paper and shifts of scales across the ground; her claws tap at the underside of the stool seat, expression neutral. Like she's not going to notice a tactic like that... hasn't she told him before that she lives with a Naga?

When he brings the sketchbook her way, flipping to the proper page, she peers at him a moment before turning her gaze to the book. Of course, it's not the prismatic magnificence of the first portrait, but it is beautiful. There's a real sense of Action to it — like her arm really were in mid-motion, and that the sweep of the throw will resume in only a moment.

Here is his compliment: those blue eyes, whose color he worked so hard to capture, are focused on that page — but so too are the eyes that sit above them. Wider set, similarly veined with rivulets of gold like mortar, theirs is a different hue entirely, a reddish purple close to opaque ruby.

She hasn't opened them before him, before now — but she doesn't look at him with them. ]

I'm glad I don't have to deal with all that anymore. [ Something like a joke, a hand hovering over the page, fingers indicating the bars on her tail. ] It's amazing... your memory is really strong, isn't it?

[ A furrow, as she looks towards the ink crossing the page. ]

What do you mean, use it?