[It’s been a few days, and Ardyn had not indulged himself in this particular form of communication just yet. But the bulwark of silence must be breached at some point, and he was hardly ever known for being a timid man. And so, his mental ‘voice’ reverberates with the same intonation it might when he actually speaks; flippant, possessing something of a lilt. Supercilious and — to those who might happen to know him — utterly frustrating.]

Well, isn’t this a convenient way to communicate. No mess, no fuss, just thoughts flitting across from one mind to another. But I imagine one must be careful not to spill too much, hm?

[It’s hard to tell if that’s laughter, or just the blossoming of amusement sparking in his mind. Like this, they’re practically one and the same.]

If you can hear this, be so kind as to let me know. I’m not much for broadcasting to strangers, but in experimentation, one must cast their net wide to see what’s dragged back in.

[Ardyn is a lot of things, not all of them good, but some of them flattering. Useful, even, possessing skills that he’s picked up over his long existence. But painting was probably never one of them — though he does his due diligence (mostly) in making these signs for the Flower Festival. Partnered up with someone else, some poor soul that has to deal with his remarks from time to time. Not all of them always helpful.]

Now then, I know these are supposed to be decorative, but that looks less like a flower and more like you’ve just let your brush slip. Surely you can do better than that?

[His grin is wide, a little patronizing, too. He has a bit of wayward paint on his cheek, but what does that matter, really?]