In the time that it took Nikolai to complete the sketch, Anastasiya was quiet, studying at the man curiously as his eyes flickered between her and the page. It was a strange feeling, being intently examined as if she were something to be understood and then recorded. 

"That's very good, Nikolai." Anastasiya smiled as he showed her the drawing. In ways the sketch was much more than the oil portraits painted of her and her family - simple, but only capturing the essence of the subject and unfazed by a myriad of details. "So you're a man of many talents." And so far proving to be much more impressive than the previous 'matches' her parents had pressed her to consider. She could see why her father had been [i]enthusiastic[/i] to say the least, when he brought up Nikolai.

"And what of hungry men? What will demotivate them?" She pressed on an earlier subject. The prospect of conversing on this topic with someone was an exciting one for Anastasiya - her father did not deem it of importance and her mother wished she would speak more about the fashions of Paris and London. Nikolai ought to be learned on the subject, from what she's heard, and Anastasiya was interested in digging his brain. "These socialists, their supporters grow by the day. They're mostly peasants on empty stomachs, lead by idealists filling their minds with ideas from film machines in darkened rooms. People start to think they have much to gain from overthrowing the Tsar and - while that sounds far-stretched, who is the Tsar going to lead if there is no one left willing to be led?"

Anastasiya sat a little straighter in her chair, speaking with a passion and urgency her mother often wished she wouldn't show for such crude matters.