She sets the others aside on the ledge behind them, and opens her own jar up. It's a pale blue, with little flecks of sunshine glimmering inside the paint when the flames inside this place catch a certain way.

She's considering the pain when suddenly cool wetness is on her throat, tugging her focus back to him. She'd not been entirely sure of its uses until those on the streets of this district hinted to ideas she'd never considered before. Things she would like to do with him, maybe.

Definitely, when the look in his eyes shifts. But he makes no motion to do much else, save consider the paint on her... so she shifts on his lap and begins drawing on his chest. First a 'D,' then an 'a,' and so on and so forth, patiently she reaches for more paint, her touch light, as she spells her name across his chest, looking all too pleased with the end result as she lifts her finger to her lips to suck off the last remnants of sweetness to the paint.

"I saw some with designs on their faces and chests." Frowning, she only now realizes some of the paint's on one of his scars. "Oh Jon, I'm sorry, I didn't think about..."

Your scars.