"What are you drawing?" Bellamy asked as he turned his head to try and get a glimpse of his back over his shoulder.
Clarke pushed his face a little to get him to look forward again, smearing a bit of excess paint onto his cheek by accident as she did so. “Hold still. It’s not like you can see your own back anyways.”
"Exactly. You could be painting anything," he pointed out and a small smirk formed on his lips as he teased, "What? Are you drawing a big sign that says ‘Property of Clarke Griffin’? Or maybe ‘If found, return to Princess’? Somehow I don’t think that would make good war paint."
The entire camp was filled with energy and anticipation of the fight to come and many had started to draw war paint onto their faces and chests. Bellamy, on the other hand, had agreed to let Clarke do his paint for him. When he’d agreed, he hadn’t been expecting that she was planning on painting on his back, but he wasn’t going to stop her.
"You wish," Clarke muttered. "But no."
Bellamy was starting to get a little impatient as she walked around to face his front so that she could paint across his chest. But as she began again, his curiosity was peaked and he ducked his head down to watch her as she concentrated on her work.
At first he couldn’t tell watch she was doing, but he eventually realized that she was painting surprisingly detailed looking body armour onto his chest. Clarke’s inner artist had let loose, resulting in him having war paint that seemed to be inducing a fair bit of jealousy in the others, whose own paint jobs were much more basic.
As she finished painting the armour vest, Clarke realized that Bellamy’s war-paint had gathered quite a bit of attention from the rest of the camp and there were a few people who had just stopped altogether to watch her work.
She wasn’t done yet though. She thought his arms looked a little bare, so she switched to some black paint and drew a few swirling lines along his arms, making it appear as if they had tattoos curling down their lengths.
She took a step back to admire her handiwork, along with her canvas. She decided that she was almost done, but she still had one last touch to add to her artwork.
"Give me your hand," she told him.
He stuck it out obediently and she quickly painted the finishing touch onto the back of his hand.
"I like the armour," he told her. "But I’m not sure how effective the tiara is at making me look tough."
Clarke smiled a little to herself as she set down her paint.
"I thought you wanted to be marked as my property."