you ever heard of a finger roll? + wt, painting the docks

"Glad t’ have ya on th’ work force," he’d requite, a zest of satisfaction present as he shot a wink in reaction to Ophelia’s one-liner. As of late, she had become somewhat of a strong peripheral in his routine, with her being someone for him ”to lean on”, that exact quote from him on that night being a reference to an old song he had heard somewhere. Not that their something of a relationship would get in the way of activities like these, conspicuously when there was another Tangler present - said Tangler being that Renegade chap who changed his name from a longer title a while back. That biting odour paint is known for insinuated into his snout’s circular nostrils, causing him to wince while shoving two pails of the vibrant liquid in front of his chest. ”I don’ got any limitations on whatcha gotta do, okay? EXCEPT, don’ let any paint get in tha water, ‘kay? Morgan got upset enough when some stranger put their spray pain’ inta th’ aqua he’e” he’d instruct, inspecting the waves for any trace of that unwelcome guests’ mischievous pigments. Why any worry about it existed, he didn’t know. Those blueish ripples were contaminated to hell already, were they not? Nonetheless, it would be wise to avoid worsening the problem.

”Use one o’ them brushes, or pain’ with one of ya paws, I don’ care, just don’ make too much a mess, ya dig? I’ll start in a bit, afta some more people show up - if any do.”