"Ah Lacan, you're early!" Cyrene smiled sunnily and stepped aside, twisting her auburn hair out of a braid and flinging it over her shoulder. "Eager to start?"

Lacan shrugged. "As always. Uh...... Cyrene?"

She smiled again, clasping her hands at her waist. He seemed so nervous...... sometimes, over the last two days, she had almost wanted to laugh out loud at his efforts to blend in -- or rather, out of -- the court of Shevat. He was utterly guiless, almost innocent! Completely different from anyone she had met before. Had she not comissioned him to paint her portrait, she may never have met anyone below her 'station'.

Despite obvious differenes between Shevites, and his general appearance...... he seemed to be just what she had been looking for. "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah...... Um, I wanted to make a call to the surface." Lacan set his paint bag down and shoved his fists uneasily into his pockets. "I tried last night, but the system said surface contact was restricted."

"Oh yes......" Cyrene shrugged, and moved to the chair she would be posing in, lifting her crimson robe from its back. "We have had a few security problems lately. Certainly nothing for you to worry about." She pulled the heavy velvet about her shoulders, feeling as if another, invisible weight was accompanying it. "I'm sure I can arrange something for you, as long as you do not spend much time conversing."

He smiled gratefully. "Thanks. I'll try to keep it short." He stood there awkwardly for a moment, tne grabbed his paints and walked over to the easel. A frame of stretched canvas almost half his size rested on it, angled to catch light from the window.

"Are you ready?" she asked, settling down into her chair.

"Yeah, just a minute......" he dug into his bag, pulling out a thin piece of charcoal, a palette, and a tube of paint. "Are you comfortable? I won't be able to change your pose after it's sketched onto the canvas."

Cyrene nodded, flashing him yet another smile, and he started sketching, eyes flickering between her and his work. The soft skritch of the charcoal seemed too loud, to her. **Very business like now. I wonder if he'll be able to talk without being nervous now?** "What is Nisan like, Lacan? What is your home like?"

His expression became thoughtful, but he never ceased drawing. "It's...... peaceful, I guess you could say. I don't think there's any place like it in the world......"

"You know, most people see their homeland in that way. I feel there is not any place as beautiful as Aphel, but if what I have heard of Nisan isn't exaggerated, I could be wrong." She shifted, trying to keep the move as minute as possible. "What would you say......?"

"Shevat is beautiful -- but the feeling is different. Like it's preserved, or something. Back home...... Everything feels like it belongs. Even in my small cottage...... The people make it that way."

"Natural?" Cyrene watched him carefully, fascinated. The very fact that such an insignificant conversation could do that told her she had spent too much time at court. Every day she was surrounded by stuffy, snobbish nobles and Ministers, every one of them vying for her favor -- or her position. "What about your home? This...... cottage you mentioned?" But this man was different. He was untouched by deceit, or even ambition, it seemed.

"The house......?" Lacan shrugged, wrapping the charcoal in a piece of cloth and stuffing it in his pocket. "It's quiet...... We've planted gardens around it, and if we work hard enough, most of our food comes from that." He started fiddling with his paints, mixing pigments. "I love it there......"

Her smile faded at his wistful tone. He was already homesick? **I wonder what made him come out here?** The commission, she supposed. "We? Who else lives with you?"

"What? Oh...... Elly shares the house with me." He was definitely sounding homesick. "We've been friends since we were children. Lately......" He shook his head. "Never mind. You probably don't want to hear it anyway......"

**Childhood friend?** She felt a peculiar, sinking feeling. What chance that they were just 'childhood friends'? "No, tell me." She almost had to force a smile. "I want to know. I may not ever get to just...... talk like this again, after your commission is over. Please go on."

"Really?" he threw her a quizzical look, and picked up the paintbrush. "Alright......"

Cyrene's smile eased, and she shifted again ever so slightly, trying to relieve already stiff muscles. He didn't have a clue...... He thought she was just trying to be nice. Well, she supposed she was. He seemed like such a wonderful person. This Elly was a lucky woman, no matter what type of relationship they shared.

She reverted her attention back to Lacan's words, happy he was finally starting to loosen up around her. A little longer, and perhaps they would even become good friends. She wanted so much to just have a friend....

A true friend.