You’ll never make a living with those, her father had said disparagingly when she had gleefully received her first decent set of oils from her aunt so many years ago. It’s a pastime, not a profession, she recalled, feeling unimaginably smug despite the general apathy she tried to maintain whenever thinking about a member of her family, because it was a profession and she flourished her brush along the canvas in a fit of expression, giving texture to the smooth shoulders of the lady before her.

“Are you comfortable enough? I think we've still a way to go before it's finished but it's coming along very well."

Or it would do if her subject would speak a word to her to cut through the awkward silence. Normally she didn't mind the quiet as it aided in her concentration but with some people it felt pointed and she did prefer to get the measure of somebody if she was attempting to commit them to canvas forever.

Averill, despite how selfless her actions typically were, rather enjoyed splurging on things that would benefit her self esteem; a portrait was no exception. She had sought out the witch artist and arranged a sitting, though dreaded remaining still for such a lengthy duration. Still, the preparation before had rendered the spinster quite frustrated as she, for the life of her, could not locate her wand. It was highly unlike Averill to be so forgetful, however she just could not find the damned thing and was forced from the house in a huff.

Upon arriving, she greeted the woman with a kind smile and took a seat, positioning herself to the artist's liking. She was unsure if she could actually speak lest it screwed up the painting, but such a thought had dissipated upon Mrs. Carlisle's question. As Averill tried her hardest to clench her jaw, she answered "I am, thank you for asking. It's a pleasure to have a painting done by someone who has quite an admirable skill." She complimented the witch, closing her mouth once again to maintain her original pose.

Roisin smiled to herself as she witnessed her sitter being ever-so-good about keeping still and momentarily thought of letting her carry on. It was strangely endearing to see somebody being so well behaved for such a length of time – more so, she had found over the years, when they were children - but after a pause in which she flicked her brush against a cloth she turned her smile on the Miss Wellbeloved.

“You can sit a little more at ease if you’d like? I’ve finished your face for today.”

Carefully Roisin swapped her paints, picking out something that did not require quite so much finesse in the application as she sought to get the measure of her subject. She seemed a pleasant enough sort, well-spoken and perhaps a year or so older than her, but that was hardly a complete picture of a person, even if it was a promising start.

“And the only reason I have this skill is that I’m quite terribly at a number of others,” she smiled ruefully at the other woman as she ran her thumbnail across the canvas to create a line, hoping to inspire a confidence. “My mother nearly broke her heart trying to teach me the piano but I was terrible.”