It was interesting hearing about what family Michel had outside of Mobius, not questioning why he was bothering telling her so much. While he was clearly possessive of his uncle (although she wondered if the relationship was oddly one-sided), he didn't appear too emotionally attached to his parents at all, as different from them as she was from her own. He had mentioned before that Mobius was more like a father to him, so it wasn't too surprising to learn why, but she had assumed that perhaps they were dead. "So you live alone now," she observed, understanding why he would rather. As amusing as his father was to joke about now, she supposed being raised by such a man wasn't exactly ideal.
It did make her feel better that having insufferable relations wasn't exclusive to her class, though. Given their very different upbringings, she wouldn't attempt to openly empathize with him on that point. She didn't like to discuss her own family, for various and legitimate reasons these days, but it was at least encouraging that he already resented her for it, so she didn't have to be too careful about what she said. "Bellona really was no different than you'd expect, she was a frivolous spender and vain. But she's the one that insisted that I learned to play the harp, which..." Mabelle trailed off, examining her partially missing fingers. She hadn't even had a chance to attempt playing again, but she wasn't very hopeful. "She said with my plain looks and lack of personality, at least I should have a talent if I ever hoped to get married." Disliking the topic of marriage, however, Mabelle decided not to elaborate. "My father hated my playing, though. Said painting was much better suited for somebody that should be quiet."
"The only relative I ever really liked is my grandfather, but I haven't heard from him in awhile." The thought was troubling, briefly wondering if York was even still alive, but more worrying of what he'd even think of her like this. Would he be more disappointed in her for the beheadings or taking her clothing off for money? Maybe she could try writing him, but it was a potentially dangerous move if intercepted by the wrong people.
Glancing back to the easel at Michel's question, she simply shrugged in response and offered the paintbrush back. "You tell me, it's based on your comfort."