When Jacob comes back around to sit on the edge of his bed, Hellboy levers himself up on one elbow to look over at what he's brought out. The dim light isn't much of a challenge for his eyes; he glances over the handful of drawings with unfeigned interest, even reaching out to take one, with a glance up at the other man's face for permission before he does so.

"Hey, nice," he murmurs, more about the sketches than the idea of strange stars or a city spread out in front of him. His own artistic ability is limited to the occasional scrawl of some arcane symbol or motif, but he knows enough to be impressed by the deft and precise lines.