Nikolai rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent an amused and decidedly fond smile from springing to his face. Picking up a brush, he ran it over the palm of his hand, noting with approval that the dry bristles didn’t stick together, and selected another one to repeat the process. The damp bristles of the small brush he’d just used didn’t leave behind anything except a trickle of grey water, so he deemed it acceptably clean. Once every paintbrush proved satisfactory to his discerning eye, he rolled the brushes up in their towel.
Please. Anyone who would deface your skin with scales should be thrown in prison. There was a strange hint of earnestness to his words, like he might actually believe that his friend’s skin was so special. Glancing over at Ferran again, he tossed a small smirk in his direction while his fingers finished securing his towel-covered brushes with a loose piece of string, resulting in plain bow holding the bundle together. Not professional grade storage, but he could slot them away into their separate drawers in his studio later.