Being around Guns is for Coyote what seeing the light at the end of the tunnel is for most people, only gods don't take kindly to feeling as if they're at the edge of death, and he doesn't want to go anywhere and he's seen this light before and he knows there's no heavenly choir on the other side, so he's doing the mental equivalent of scrambling backwards on his hands. He does what he'd told because the obvious result—going unharmed—trumps the possible consequences, but unless Lela can offer him the same threat on life and limb, he's not necessarily going to be on a roll of good behaviour. Once Guns has cultivated enough interest in everyone but him, Coyote relaxes a mite and his muscles stop bunching up, sliding back into place under his skin, and he grins like a used car salesman at the goddess he's been assigned to. He smells of blood and treachery.
There are so many things he could be doing, a lot of them involving Raven's new bird, that having Guns there to shine the spotlight on just one is a grounding experience. Coyote turns his focus on Lela, and it's narrow, bright, burning behind his eyes, a curl to his lip that lets her know how cruelly amused he is that she's been saddled with him. 'The other missus' makes her sound like one of his many wives.
The jar is too small to put his hand into, and he's not content with using his fingertips or, Ahea forbid, a paintbrush for what could be such a hands-on activity, so he solves the problem without having to resort to his wiles; he leans down and drives the top of the jar into the floor, sprinkling broken crockery and paint, but making the opening much bigger. Eager to get started, the jagged edges catch on his skin as he reaches in, drawing new lines of god-blood down the back of his hand, which mixes with the red of the paint. It's red, because while he's not a full-time warrior, he is a trickster, and lying about what he does comes with the territory. He comes away from the jar red-handed, and he's trying not to laugh, a feat made that much easier by the still frightening presence of a distracted Guns at his back. "You heard the man," purrs Coyote, worming easily into the role of teacher's pet. With his clean hand, he reaches forward and takes hold of Lela's wrist, pulling her towards him with one hard jerk. "Let's not be shy." His other hand starts at knee-level and comes up her bare leg, streaking it scarlet in what isn't the most traditional of patterns.
She's not a warrior either, but he doesn't care at this point, too busy wondering if all the colours turn Rainbow on.