Blake shifted his gaze to Marissa at her suggestion that he and Nell find a room. He didn't make the tempting retort, but instead just brokered her a blank, glazed over look. The drugs were putting all sorts of things in his head. Fortunately, he'd learned from years of self-imposed retardation to keep his mouth shut on these occasions. His focus drifted back over to Nell, and he pushed his sunglasses back up over his eyes again. A soft smile came to his face as his eyes, now behind the relative safety of his sunglasses, were free to roam around her. He took in the details of her face, her hair, and her body.
She was supposed to be the enemy, but Blake had a feeling that even if Vinross-Yu was an unholy union Nell was oblivious to it all. Then again, maybe she just didn't care. She was the epitome of Nepleslian values. Which, in a strange way, drew him in. That, with the added news of her decision to seek medical treatment for her 'Fortuna-Sneezing Sickness' made him carefully consider just how nice it would be to follow Marissa's instruction.
'No, no, no!' He thought, 'I must remember my duties as an artist, and a thespian first and foremost! I must communicate this idea to the universe, even if they're tired of listening!'
So, he went on his artistic journey. Before he spoke, the drug haze cleared away for numb excitement. His head was buzzing, but suddenly, Blake's mind was sharp again.
"Miss Sarahs, I have a modest proposal for you, one that doesn't involve 'getting a room' in the euphemistic sense!" Blake stated, glancing sharply at Marissa as he quoted her, "Nell, I've decided: I want to represent you artistically. I would like to sculpt you. Would you allow me the privelige, if say, I were to give you two bottles of your favorite whiskey and a pack of your preferred brand of cigarettes or snack food if you don't smoke? It'll be fun, I promise!"
She was supposed to be the enemy, but Blake had a feeling that even if Vinross-Yu was an unholy union Nell was oblivious to it all. Then again, maybe she just didn't care. She was the epitome of Nepleslian values. Which, in a strange way, drew him in. That, with the added news of her decision to seek medical treatment for her 'Fortuna-Sneezing Sickness' made him carefully consider just how nice it would be to follow Marissa's instruction.
'No, no, no!' He thought, 'I must remember my duties as an artist, and a thespian first and foremost! I must communicate this idea to the universe, even if they're tired of listening!'
So, he went on his artistic journey. Before he spoke, the drug haze cleared away for numb excitement. His head was buzzing, but suddenly, Blake's mind was sharp again.
"Miss Sarahs, I have a modest proposal for you, one that doesn't involve 'getting a room' in the euphemistic sense!" Blake stated, glancing sharply at Marissa as he quoted her, "Nell, I've decided: I want to represent you artistically. I would like to sculpt you. Would you allow me the privelige, if say, I were to give you two bottles of your favorite whiskey and a pack of your preferred brand of cigarettes or snack food if you don't smoke? It'll be fun, I promise!"