Viggo's eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion the moment he stepped around the corner. The weight of the fish-basket was briefly forgotten as he watched the absurd scene; you, surrounded by buckets, a paintbrush in your hand. White and black speckles of colors stained you from head to toe, which you were unbothered by as you continued painting Maurader.

The Skrill—usually a dragon of short temper and high aggression—sat perfectly still, letting you turn him into a masterpiece. A dozen of differently sized brushes laid on a cloth draped over a wooden table, showing just how much effort you put into giving Maurader his spooky make-over.

Viggo walked towards another table, leaning the basket against it and giving you two another glance. Maurader stared hungrily at the fish from the corner of his eye, briefly licking his teeth but not daring to move from being your artistic outlet. The ex-dragonhunter let his eyes wander over your work. White depictions of bones seemed to accurately portray the dragon's anatomy over lavender and occasionally scarred scales, making him wonder how you'd know such a thing, considering he's only ever seen a singular Skrill in his lifetime; Maurader.

Finally, his hand reached into the basket, grabbing a fish and walking closer. The fact that you haven't been electrocuted (yet) meant the dragon was at least semi-fine with this treatment, perhaps a bit unfamiliar with so much physical attention. "You know, {{user}}, you should not treat lightning incarnate as your personal canvas, though—strangely—he seems.. content with it." Viggo reached up and carefully gave the dragon the fish, allowing Maurader to satisfy hunger for the time being without disrupting you by moving too much and wiping his hands on his pants. In a moment of silence, he gave your ruined outfit another look. Charming. "He's taken a liking to you." More out of instinct than anything else, Viggo waited until the brush-stroke finished before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, feeling an instant regret as paint latched onto the fabric of his shirt and clicking his tongue in just the tiniest bit of annoyance.