No, he was not going to do this by himself. It would be utterly boring, having to spread liquid colour over the docks without any companionship. Numerous buckets of paint bordered the tall canine’s flanks, each container with a little bit of its contents purposely splattered around the rim to signify which canister held which. Collecting them was a long and painful process, with Leroy only having the ability to transport one at a time, holding every heavy vat’s handle in his maw, the inside liquid tugging downwards as the hound traversed the distance of the barn and the docks, and each trip between the two locations worsening the strain on his spine. Sure, it was possible for the guardsman to enlist some NPCs to aid him in the task. However, he didn’t need some moron dropping a can, potentially harming themselves, or even worse, harming the paint. That’s why he was alone in that step; he couldn’t trust in others’ lack of abilities.

Honestly, he could not see why the docks needed to be painted in the first place. The vulgar words, which were artistically added by some peaceful stranger, were there to remind Tanglewood that they were no more than scum - and he was completely fine with that. All it did was add more sorry souls to the list of enemies, and that was always fun. Knowing Morgan, there was no way out of it, sadly. The pooch had put so much resources into shaping his dream of a better Tanglewood into a reality, and the graffiti present was but a setback in his goals.

Lucky for Leroy, he was given no limitations in this task. Once people showed up, he’d give orders then. For now, he’d announce his presence.

"Come one, come all, an’ help paint th’ docks! We’ve got colours like, red, blue, and, uh, I may be colourblin’ for all I know ‘cause that looks fuckin’ grey."

“Oh wait, it says right there. Grey. G-r-e-y”.

"Glad t’ have ya on th’ work force," he’d requite, a zest of satisfaction present as he shot a wink in reaction to Ophelia’s one-liner. As of late, she had become somewhat of a strong peripheral in his routine, with her being someone for him ”to lean on”, that exact quote from him on that night being a reference to an old song he had heard somewhere. Not that their something of a relationship would get in the way of activities like these, conspicuously when there was another Tangler present - said Tangler being that Renegade chap who changed his name from a longer title a while back. That biting odour paint is known for insinuated into his snout’s circular nostrils, causing him to wince while shoving two pails of the vibrant liquid in front of his chest. ”I don’ got any limitations on whatcha gotta do, okay? EXCEPT, don’ let any paint get in tha water, ‘kay? Morgan got upset enough when some stranger put their spray pain’ inta th’ aqua he’e” he’d instruct, inspecting the waves for any trace of that unwelcome guests’ mischievous pigments. Why any worry about it existed, he didn’t know. Those blueish ripples were contaminated to hell already, were they not? Nonetheless, it would be wise to avoid worsening the problem.

”Use one o’ them brushes, or pain’ with one of ya paws, I don’ care, just don’ make too much a mess, ya dig? I’ll start in a bit, afta some more people show up - if any do.”