He had moved over to the table and chair as she finished undressing, but glanced over his shoulder with a grin when she spoke, eyes never dipping lower than her lips. He pushed the pallet away with his foot, having decided he did not wish to paint her reclining. "Could you come over there and show me the way you sit when you are writing?" he wanted to do something more akin to normal life with her as her mind was already extraordinary, the fact that she was a writer had made him wish to paint her as one.
As he waited for her to come and move the chair and sit, he went to open the bottle still on the table and pour a bit into both of the glasses. It always did help, as if he were signaling to the rest of his body that this was work, and that he was to look at her the way he looked at a piece of art or perhaps the way a doctor would look at his patient. He knocked back the whole glass as he had not put enough in for him to sip, he wanted to strengthen his mind's control over his body after all, not get sloshed.