(no subject)

The thing about painting is that it involves preparation. At least, the way Grantaire has been trained to do it: powdered pigment mixed into a binder and a solvent. He hasn't forgotten Tunny's offer to remind him he's short on canvas: hopefully Tunny hasn't either.

So, even as restless and wired as he feels right now, patience is asked for, and with it forethought, which he is happy to entertain in detail about his potential medium. He fills a couple of small vials and throws them into a messenger bag he rescued from a war with the clothes box.

R heads over to the tattoo shop to see if he's around and knocks on the frame. Any anxiousness he might have had has settled into a kind of playfulness, and he's smiling as he leans.