He watches the Helmsman roll up his sleeves, curiously, then walks closer, face cleared and refocused, like it truly is a rite he's preforming.

He touches his hands to the Helsmans arms, just beneath the sleeves, but rather than dig in, he marks them both with indigo right down to the wrists. Then he places each palm end to the Helmsman's, and takes from him the yellow already bleeding there and leaves more indigo in it's place. It's not much in terms of painting, but it will do.

With golden fingers he kneels back down and goes back to work with painting, smiling, pleased. He spends a long time in silence, working away, before asking, idly, "I imagine at him to know little else of I; that to be incorrect, Helmsman?"