She quirks a smile, bemused. Barbet threw absolute fits when he felt uninspired. She had always enjoyed watching them. He threw things, it was all very entertaining. He was somewhat more careful about controlling himself since she had died, upon noticing he could transfer his moods to her, but he still sometimes found himself hurling sketchbooks across the studio.

"Write them," her tone might have the faintest hint of a challenge in it. Nothing quite like suggesting someone couldn't actually accomplish something to get them moving on it. "I will read them. Or just listen."

She'd like to know what came out of this one's mind, when she actually put it to concerted use.