A few seconds later, Jakob Jostein opened the door.

"Are ya alright, Miss Bradshaw?"

She pointed a trembling finger toward the corner.

"There's...there's a..." The mouse moved and she could barely keep from shrieking again.

"That's what you were screamin' for? A little mouse?" He began to chuckle.

"Just get it out of here!" Why can't these people just do their jobs? Why do they have to take time out of their day to irritate me? She remained standing on her chair, waiting for him to get the mouse out of her dressing room.

Jak went to the corner and picked it up. "What, are you scared of it?" He held it out toward her, and she leaned as far away from it as possible.

Take it away! Get it out of here! "Aww, come on, it's just a little mouse." He grinned evilly and held it closer. She shrieked again, and he rolled his eyes and left the room, still chuckling. She continued to stand on the chair for a moment, then sat back down, making sure none of its dirty little friends were in the corner. She turned back to the mirror, and sighed. That just ruined my hair. She began to brush it out again, then started to pin it up, when she realized that Jak was in the doorway, watching her.

"Can I help you?" she asked coldly.

"Don't suppose it ever occurred to you to say thank you, did it?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh, yes, thank you." she replied airily, as though she wouldn't have thought of it if he hadn't said anything. She turned back to her mirror to examine her hair. She sighed. It was presentable at least. She reached for another pin, to get that one stubborn strand to cooperate-

"Could I paint you?"

Anastasia looked at Jak in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. "Paint me?"

"Well, not paint you, paint a portrait of you." he explained. She had known that, of course.

She turned around and looked at him speculatively. Of course he would want to paint me. It isn't as though there are any other women around here that would make good subjects. Personally, Anastasia thought the men around here were getting rather desperate...just look at that street rat that Mr. McKay had for a girlfriend. And it was only natural that they would focus on her or Emily. Besides, this appealed perfectly to her sense of vanity. "Yes, you may paint me."