Taking the paintbrush and idly twirling it in her fingers, she didn't bother instructing him how to adjust the easel. It was rather straightforward, and a man that could repair instruments shouldn't have too much of a struggle with something far more simplistic. He didn't seem to like being told anything too obvious, which was well enough because she didn't like explaining the obvious either.
"The weather man!" she exclaimed with a sudden burst of laughter, the chair wobbling again although she had no problem keeping herself balanced. "My father hated him. Your father. Alisander would get so angry, the one time that he refused to believe it was going to rain. Then came home soaking wet that evening." Despite the enjoyment of the memory of her father's tantrums, Mabelle frowned, not really thinking about him since the execution. But she didn't regret it at all. "My mother died when I was a lot younger, I don't remember much about her, I was raised mostly by the maids. I probably would have beheaded her too," she admitted with a shrug.
"Ah, the one with the dark eyebrows and the..." Mabelle contorted her face into a very seriously dignified scowl, doing her best impression of her father, although her own softer facial features resembled his none at all. "There was one of the three of us, from when I was five. The... largest in the foyer. He was wearing that hideous wig," and Mabelle ran her fingers through Michel's hair lightly, leaving off any comments about how she preferred that he didn't.