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[barberian]

inbox stone of farspeech / action / misc (silence, soft breathing, followed by a muffled clatter, as if whoever was recording this message accidentally dropped the stone) art credit code credit

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[barberian]

Hmm.

(Honestly, without Caleb here to draw his pretty little string about the place they choose to lay their heads, the security around here has become pretty lax. Mostly because Yasha makes for one hell of a guard dog if anybody gets in during the night. Not that any of this applies to Ren, however, even as Yasha makes a mental note to check the place later for any Ren-holes.)

I'm mostly awake. (More so, now that Ren has mentioned painting her face. Yasha rubs her eye.)

... You were serious. About painting it, I mean.

[catpiper]

Yes. It's very important to you, so I want to help you do that kind of thing.

[It's the whole reason she wormed herself into the room, probably literally, because locked doors are the bane of her existence. She doesn't have anything on her outside of some more traditional paints that she's more than willing to use-ones she stacks in front of her as if plotting to use them. Muffet made them, so they're probably nontoxic.]

I can draw lines very straight now. I practiced.

[barberian]

Okay.

(Hard to argue with that. Yasha's touched, and her gaze has softened exponentially.) I suppose we should put you to the test, then.

(But not with what Ren's brought along. She scrubs a hand up into her hair for a moment, thinking, and then turns herself around a bit, heading for her room once more. She pauses in the doorway, and glances back.)

I'm going to go and get my paints and wash my face. Um... you can look in the cupboards for snacks, if you like.

(She's pretty sure Molly keeps his... substances in his room, so it should be fine. And if Beau hasn't hidden her snack stash by now, well, that's her fault.)