[Ardyn was about to make a remark about how he’s studied law, not art, but he’s cut off by her exasperation. He takes the paper pushed in his direction, picking it up lightly between his fingers.]

If you say so. Don’t laugh at the result, however, when I show it to you. Pretend it’s a Picasso.

[But a small part of him looks forward to making the design more personal, even if he’s not sure where to start. Ardyn chuckles at his own words (as he’s prone to do), and shifts his weight in his seat, digging into his pants pocket for something.]

Oh, by the way, I did bring you something.

[Out of his pocket comes a little vial of black nail polish. He tosses it lightly to her, and it sweeps in a gentle arc, aiming for her lap if she isn’t quick enough to catch it.]

For you and your nails, as requested. [He grins, looking utterly pleased with himself, the smarmy bastard.]