[The artist immediately flinches enough that he has to catch his hammer to keep it from dropping to the ground. The green eye slides open first, joined by the blue as his fingers flex and clench. They both flick toward Nisha, and the very brief displays of anger seem to flicker out of existence as if someone had licked their fingers and clamped them over the flame.

He looks almost bored.]

Hold on, wait wait wait-- hang on. I don't think I heard you properly. Obviously I didn't, since its gotta be perfect like your's truly, and I'm not about to move this ass of mine that I've had planted for close to two fucking hours to check. I'm going to have to take your word for it here--

[He clears his throat and moves his chin just a bit, despite what he had said -- enough to perch it on his curled knuckles, white with frustration. The artist has gone still, looking from the nose, to Nisha, then back to Jack.]

Anyway. Run that by me again, sweetheart.