Oh. Alistair didn't know how to respond to that. He had been so hopeful that Mister Echelon would pack up once the sun moved away from that spot he had been so picky about before. He tried his best not to sigh but it slipped out anyway. "Well, I am hungry. I haven't had supper yet," Alistair said. Did Echelon even eat or was he fueled by artful fervor and sustained by his paint fumes alone? He had to eat sometime.

"I don't think I was made to be an artists model. I can't sit still for hours." He sounded almost apologetic about it without meaning to.