He stands when they do, strapping his bag more neatly around his shoulders and squaring himself to move on.

But they're picking at the sign, and he should scold them for scribbling at something so old. Should.

Lemm comes to peer at what they've done, after they pull their paw away.

He draws back, and fidgets at his bag.

...Were here, maybe? A roll of satisfaction almost knocks him off-kilter.

Pleased, but quietly so, Lemm plaps a hand on the etched little bit of graffiti and stifles another laugh at the thought as he turns away and starts walking. Nothing he can do about the look on his face, though.