"Good. I'd prefer it if you don't rush," he agrees vigorously, but with an expression that indicated that he thought it rather tasteless of the man to even consider the alternative, despite the fact that he knows that the longer he goes without a new portrait, the hastier his body will begin to show signs of age, deterioration, illness, pain. Mortality. But this was his secret, this inexplicable magic ("Is it a miracle or a family curse? Boh, chissà," his eldest sister had exclaimed once, the very last time anyone ever saw her alive), and it had a steep price.

One that wouldn't be prudent to bring up now.

He waves his hand dismissively, though it's unclear if it's directly at Josh or at his own errant and uncomfortable thoughts. "In the meantime...you're my guest here for as long as is needed to complete your work, Mr. Archer, so do make yourself comfortable. Make use of the estate and my staff as you see fit. I only ask that you refrain from entering the North Wing upstairs."

Alecto ends there, provides no further explanation.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a few things to take care of today so I don't believe I can do a sitting for you just yet." He stands to stretch rather elegantly before placing a hand lightly against Josh's shoulder, notes how his shirt is still slightly damp from the seawater clinging to his skin. "But, why don't you join me for supper? I'd like to take a closer look at some of your previous work and continue our chat."