Darrian listened to the account of the 'fight' (which he knew was very much a one sided thing) sympathetically. Unfortunately for them, the hierarchy of kids in the alienage depended very much on how good you were in a fight, and neither of them ranked very high in that ranking.
The boy blinked at the compliments about his drawing, immediately turning wary. When people were too nice it generally meant they were going to ask for favours, or trying to lull him into a false sense of security, whereby he'd be used to do dirty work or have a trick played on him.
Davin wasn't like that, though, he reminded himself as he looked at the kid, who was looking almost as if he were trying to pick a fight, setting his jaw like so. Besides, drawing was his passion, and there could surely be no harm in it. He glanced down once at the sketches he'd made and back at the boy in front of him. "What do you want me to draw?" he asked, curious. Most people didn't seem to show much interest in whatever he drew. His father in particular had told him time and time again to stop wasting his time on nonsense and instead try to acquire skills that would actually help to place food on the table.