He blinks caught off guard, watching the flickering of expressions over Alecto's face. He didn't know enough (yet) to interpret, but he was used to registering those minute movements, considering how they would contribute to the overall whole. He's not accustomed to the leisure of time - his stock in trade was quick sketches, the equivalent of a simple trinket picked up off the side of the road, hurriedly completed before the customer could become bored with the process - and it's a significant adjustment for him to have this kind of security at his disposal.

"I...would be honored," he says, a little breathless, but mostly awkward, not used to this close regard, this sense of being utterly and entirely out of his depth. His brain immediately goes to his own sketchbook, the messy drafts and doodles contained within, his few small works as evidence of skill. "I'll...take my leave then?" He continues, tentatively, half unsure whether he should bow or turn away, or even allow his host and subject to precede him.