"Maybe it won't." He agrees, with very little faith. Tybalt is now weaponless, which was probably pretty stupid of him, but there's nothing particularly new about that. If Imogen could have his back while he darted around in time and space in the air, why shouldn't it be the same on the ground? He trusts her, and, (wrongly) his own ability to punch out any vines that came his way.

"...I think we might've painted over this. For Aesthetic Magic. Weird." More than. He remembers the initials associated, but they don't quite match. LS and PA. That's not these two boys. More puzzle pieces that don't fit.

"And fuck it, actually." He isn't one for hesitance, and just grabs Mr. Potkin's Paintbrush. If it blows up in their faces, so be it.