Anne fidgeted for another couple seconds, and then she sat down, gingerly on the edge of the last cushion of the couch, balancing there like a bird with new wings. A look at the painting, and her fingers stilled. "Well. It's... one of my... well. It's a paper mosaic, really. On a bleached oak backing. I thought I would give it to you. Before I left." She tried not to stare at the tattoos. "Unless, of course, you'd rather not. There's a gallery near here that likes some of my work and, I'm sure that I could speak to them. About it. If you don't like it." She smiled, but not particularly reassuringly. She seemed uncharacteristically awkward.