It isn't quite Christmas yet. If it were, Faolan certainly wouldn't find himself out here on the streets at night on a patrol. Most of the faction has other plans for the holiday, family to be spending their time with as well. For Faolan, all he has is the plan to go over to Lancelot's for Christmas, and to spend a few days with him before forcing himself to leave and go back home once more. Home only being across the city, of course, but that was neither here nor there.

He hears the familiar sound of a can of spray paint being shaken and sprayed, just before he turns a corner and runs straight into the painter himself. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn't say anything just yet.