He's relieved by her positive reply, settling back in with his pencil. Each stroke is careful, slow, and precise, making sure he gets the structure and depth right before he starts shading in the details.

"I've only met one Klingon before now, ma'am," he says, splitting his attention between her face and the paper. "When I was in the war, there weren't too many human fellas who sat around doodling either. Sometimes art gets looked at as not being manly enough. I think the measure of a man can be judged by the details he notices and the gentleness of his hand, more than the body count he leaves behind."

He makes absolutely certain to get her smile right. It's a nice smile, and he'd hate to do it an injustice.