Hermia's polite interest became full engagement at the mention of art. If she'd had time for another club, she would consider the art club or at least the choir. Hermia was never much for paints, but she enjoyed charcoal drawings, ballet, and music. Hermia enjoyed creation, the work of materializing a thought or impulse in some physical manifestation. Perhaps one is inspired to sing, perhaps her charcoal smudges knew where to go, and maybe she felt less anxious about her long and lean form when she was moving through ballet positions.

"See? You already know your legacy. You must tell me your medium. Olis seem preferable, but are there other things you prefer? Oh, and your subjects - what sort of person do you imagine in your works? It seems a worthy endeavor, regardless." Hermia meant it and hoped he was gifted enough with speech to describe his artwork to her.

At the reminder of her assumed life goal, Hermia scrunched up her nose in disgust before regaining control of her reactions. "Of course I will marry someone, but that is not my life goal. I," Hermia hesitated. She didn't disclose her future hopes easily, especially with a stranger, but Hermia could offer something. "I would like to follow in my family's foreign service tradition or find my own posting in the Ministry."

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