Pickman is still new as a suckling babe to Baedal at this point, and as he wanders the marketplace, he bears the expression of a man not just not upset by the whole situation, but actively loving every minute of it. It isn't the Dreamlands, no -- but that just makes it more exciting.

His camera didn't come with him, and he doesn't have funds enough to obtain anything of the sort here. (And, honestly, probably won't for a very long time.) That hurts. But his freshest sketchbook did come along, and that will have to do. He's taken up a perch on a jut of wall a modest distance from a food vendor (that is to say, far enough away that his smell doesn't drive any buyers away), and is scribbling so hard that you might wonder whether it's graphite or smoke coming off of the paper.

The broad splash of red that Hellboy presents inevitably draws his eye, and he lets out a chirp of delight, pushing himself up onto the balls of his feet (never mind how his feet protest, this is worth it) to try and get a better look at him.