The very noises that seemed to reverberate from that outdated laptop tore the artist from that tranquil inner world of lines and colors. Those ideas that had once flowed so easily down to the tip of that pencil seemed jarred at the audible noise of those computer fans, even if Alistair strove to merely push those thoughts from the forefront of his mind. That soft, stammered apology earned the young woman but a soft grunt from his lips as his emerald irises returned to the page in front of him, a new direction so seemingly captivating his very attention. How very easily that graphite pencil found the page in front of him, those letters were so carefully drawn with an almost gothic flare as the very sounds of that computer seemed to fade into the backdrop of the Bakery itself, accompanied with the steady tapping of the young girl's fingers on the keyboard. It was easy to fixate upon the drawing in front of him, those lines so unfolding with such neat perfection before him that even Alistair found himself terribly pleased with the outcome. A small, self-satisfied sort of simper toyed with his features as those gothic lettering came to life. He was oblivious, in that very moment, to how the rhythmic tapping of those keys ceased, much less the young woman's gaze that landed so heavily upon his hunched over figure. It as only after the creation of that last singular letter that Alistair found himself pausing, the touch of his pencil far lighter now as he toyed with several ideas to go above his meticulous creation and yet, any progress he made came to an abrupt halt at the sudden sound of the young woman's soprano voice.

Alistair leaned back into his seat, that subtle simper had altogether vanished as he placed his pencil down. That inquiry, however, was hardly brushed aside as he truly considered the depths of her question. That vague explanation that her characters were anticipating that marriage, however, only further baffled the artist as he brought that cup of tea to his lips, only to scowl at the very temperature of the contents. That once hot liquid had now turned tepid, the very taste if it hardly as alluring to the man as it had once been. His emerald eyes shifted from the beverage in his cup, however, at the further explanation he was offered, prompting his eyebrow to raise ever so slightly. "Programmed?" Alistair questioned, the use of that very word quite as perplexing as her queries thus far had been. What sort of story was she writing? Did it have...androids...or something? He listened as she insisted that the woman would know more of her new husband then he would of her, as if she was somehow capable of studying him. Oh God, it was one of those damn feminist books, wasn't it? What had he gotten himself into? "I see..." Alistair commented simply, the artist choosing to appear political neutral rather than voice a word of the patriarchy he had grown up within, much less that he had too been taught to expect. His gaze turned back towards the page in front of him, the artist's interest quickly lost by the young woman and her book and yet, she seemed ill-inclined to release him to his work now that she had so hindered the very flow of his art.

His gaze flickered upwards slightly as Piper spoke of those girls trained to become the ideal wife for their husbands. Oh. So it wasn't a feminist story. "Like the Stepford Wives." He responded, so revealing his own knowledge of books in that very moment. Although Alistair would hardly consider himself a book worm in the slightest, it did, on the occasion, help to get lost in those made up worlds of words than the sometimes bleak reality of his own life. He watched as the young woman pushed a stray lock behind her ear, only to continue her elaboration on the very differences between her story and that well known one he had mentioned. "Oh," Alistair uttered simply as she finished the very premise of that book, that novel at least distinct enough to separate it from the classic thriller. Whether or not it was enough to warrant the novel being published was a different matter entirely. His own shoulders lifted ever so slightly, that shrug mirroring her own. "I guess it could be interesting." Alistair offered, it sounded like one of those teen romance fictions his sister would have once read. More like...Stepford Wives meets Hunger Games....only, he suspected it was without all the fighting....which was rather unfortunate, really, now that he considered it. The artist reached for his pencil, his gaze shifting downwards back towards those logos on the page in front of him. "Good luck with....all of that." The boy commented offhandedly, entirely unsure of what else he could contribute to her novel. After all, it sounded like she had quite her work cut out for her if her main characters were only just now meeting and he....he still had to discern the difference between those wands he intended to place on top of that Wizarding World logo.