Bellamy focused on the painting, and for the next ten minutes or so he didn't say anything else. If Alistair Darrow was growing increasingly uncomfortable, Bellamy didn't really notice — he was annoyed every time the man moved even the slightest amount, but he wasn't paying enough attention to his expression to see whether he was shifting on purpose or if it was just the natural way people tended to move when they stood still for too long. After some amount of time passed, the sun moved behind a cloud again and the glint from Darrow's hair disappeared.
"It's going pretty well," Bell informed the man as though he would be encouraged by this news. "I'll try to get your face sketched in until the cloud moves. Look at me," he instructed, setting one paintbrush down and picking up a small nub of a pencil from the edge of his canvas. "Right in my eyes, alright?"
"It's going pretty well," Bell informed the man as though he would be encouraged by this news. "I'll try to get your face sketched in until the cloud moves. Look at me," he instructed, setting one paintbrush down and picking up a small nub of a pencil from the edge of his canvas. "Right in my eyes, alright?"
