[ He hesitates, trying to plumb the depths of the old-timer's gaze—glimpse whether he can live with a piece of himself hanging over some rich asshole's fireplace—but not for long. Definitely not long enough to frame an objection. Depositing the charcoal on the bedside table, Jimmy shifts forward in his seat and takes the paper.

The suggested pitch meets with appreciatively raised eyebrows, sweeps away any lingering reservations. ] That's not bad. [ Would he say that regardless? Of course, but as it happens: it's not bad. Jimmy raises the picture up, holding it at arm's length—all the better to imagine some sucker's admiring gaze and open wallet. ] Not bad at all. [ His voice veers into movie-trailer solemnity as his free hand does a little ta-da in the air: ] Fallen Ellethia: a Last Look. Spin 'em a story.

[ Tossing a look at the other man: ] I can handle that part, but if you've got any authentic tidbits I can sprinkle in, it would not go unappreciated.