Will's shoulders unbunch a little at the revelation that he has more time than anticipated. He might not finish all the shading but will certainly have the most important elements down. After all, his work isn't hyper-realistic yet. There is time enough to set down his pencil intermittently. He lowers the notebook from its propped angle and transfers his pencil to beneath the fingers of the opposite hand.
The laugh is a wonderful, transformative thing on Cassian and Will wishes he were more skilled in order to capture it on paper. "It must be a nice change from where you were before." The boy says, thinking of how serene Preya seems to people with trauma. "I'm new, I guess. I haven't been here long enough for me to find half the stuff worth exploring. I know sitting on a train isn't helping that but it's good for people watching. I didn't used to but I draw from life a lot now." A brief silence to catch his breath (for he is not accustomed to speaking at length) descends. Then he asks, "Are you from some... um... future time?" He knows there is more than mere centuries being garbled here but does not fully understand the breadth of it. Will is only an eighth-grader, after all.