"Well, hello," I say. "And exactly what is so funny?"

She looks up and blinks at me.

"Your tongue. It's sticking out."

I laugh. I've been told I stick my tongout out when I'm concentrating, though I've never realized in the moment.

"So it is! Is there something you're looking for, my dear?"

"Well," she murmurs, suddenly shy and shifting nervously on her hooves. "I heard you make some really good cupcakes." She looks up at me with her bright blue eyes. "I was wondering if I could have one."

"Hmm." I pretend to give it some thought. "A cupcake? Well, these cupcakes aren't done yet."

Downcast, she drops her eyes to the floor.

"However," I say with a smile and duck into the fridge. "I do have this cake here. Now, you wouldn't happen to like chocolate cake, would you?"

He walked up closer to each of the paintings in turn. The colors of the first canvas were a bit muddied, the fine features of the face lost amongst the color bleed.

"Too soon. Can't put the second coat of paint on too soon," he muttered.

The second portrait's details were well defined. Too well defined. The nose too wide, the cheekbones too angular, and the eyes were practically popping out of the face.

"Don't start with the details. Get the shape down and then add them in."

The third third face beaming back at him looked proportional and had all the right features. But the lines were too harsh and the colors too flat. He could pick out the individual brush strokes.

"Blending. There's not enough blending."

The fourth and final canvas bore the most similar resemblance to its subject. That's not to say the eyebrows weren't a little skewed or that the ears weren't just a touch too big. He still had a long way to go.

"But the eyes," he said, his lips curling upwards into a small smile. "The eyes are beautiful."

The eyes were brown, with just a hint of hazel, and sparkled almost as brightly as his own.

He hummed softly as he prepped another set of canvases with gesso. Wide, even strokes of the white paint would make sure his colors stayed vivid when applied. Behind him the portraits kept watch from their place beside the other paints. No, none of the paintings were perfect, but that was alright. He had learned something from each of them, hadn't he? Each of his portraits after that would be a little bit better for it. Maybe, just maybe, instead of working from a photo, he might ask his friend to sit for the next one.