"I like to discuss art, but not the way the professors do. Too much logic and junk." Nonsense that you didn't NEED when really looking at art, though Paris did enjoy learning about other artists as it helped to feed his own talent, and let him know there were more people out there that were like him. Kinda like Hogwarts.

While he strummed, his main focus was on Thorton. No, he wasn't sketching the boy now, but he could later from his memory when he needed another idea. "Your mum sounds cool. Mine just teaches at home." Really boring, compared to his and Maddie's mums. "What does she do now?"

Thornton found himself humming a random melody along with the strumming as the image of the phoenix started to take shape. He did not answer Paris' question right away, focusing instead on getting the beak juuuuust right.

Sitting up straight, he let his brush rest on the table. "She gives lessons. Cello and piano." He paused, wondering if he should add the next bit. It felt braggy and Father had scolded him for being overly prideful. But Paris HAD asked. "She'll... still do concerts when they need a soloist, though. Magical Orchestra of Wales." The wizarding equivalent of the National Orchestra of Wales, clearly. He sometimes wondered if Mother would play with a muggle orchestra if given the chance. It seemed a larger audience, but he wasn't sure.

Thornton gave the paper another look and took up his brush again to spend some time on the peacock. "Do you think my sister will like it?"

Paris was so patient, he waited while Thorton worked on his painting and strummed along carelessly. "Did she let ya pick cello or did she do that bit for ya?" Because Piano might have been Paris' pick, had he the choice. Which he did but still. "That's cool." He didn't know of the Magical Orchestra of Wales, because that kind of music wasn't his thing. But Paris still found it to be pretty cool.

"You're painting?" He considered the question, and wondered if Thorton's sisters were anything like his own. "Does she usually?"

"My choice," he answered, looking over to Paris. "I wanted something I could take places." The cello was not exactly easy to transport, but it did mean he could practice outside. No such luck with a piano. "I like it," he shrugged, dabbing some purple on the feathers of the peacock. "I haven't been practicing a lot, though." He frowned. He'd been trekking to the room of requirement, because he didn't want to disturb people in the door, but that was tedious. He really needed to find a new practice space.

He scrunched up his face, looking at the birds/constellations taking shape. "Well, she's six." Thornton laughed. "I guess she likes everything. Or, she did when I left for school." It was odd not seeing his sister every day. Letters from home said little about how she was, how any of them were, and he felt like he was missing things.