"It's a weird old spell," she agrees, picking at the flaky pastry and popping a bit of it in her mouth before turning in her seat to better watch Phin draw. "I'm sure there's some meaning behind that, too." Her voice drops low and dramatic at that meaning. Like, oh, yes, absolutely the sort of thing you write a treatise on.

There's something soothing about watching a person draw. And eventually, she's putting an elbow on the table so she can rest her cheek in her hand. As those caricature sun glasses come together, her smile ticks up. Nia pops her own dark specs up and away from her eyes with a flick of a finger.

"Nice," she says, grinning, volume dropping to a whisper. Not that it's necessary, but Nia thinks library volume somehow feels appropriate when you're talking to someone who's drawing. "That is speaking to me."