Lucy had been watching him intently, loving the way he looked when he was about to draw or paint, but frowned slightly at the realization until she had a sudden thought. "Hold on," she said, digging through the bag over her shoulder, a strand of hair falling between her parted lips as she ducked her head forward. A victorious smile grew across her face when she lifted up a pencil - the tip was blunted, the eraser worn, the yellow paint on the sides chipped, but it was still a pencil, enough to leave a mark on the white paint of the walls. "Do your worst," she said, teasingly formal, and extended the pencil out in front of him.