Benedict meets his gaze incredulously, but then smirks; ah, he caught him off-guard. That's fun.
"You know, whatever's in the room," he shrugs, "or out the window. Flowers, rubbish like that." He darts his gaze to the table, willing Kit to play his cards. "I painted all over my bedposts as a child, but then Mother had them replaced. So I don't do that sort of thing anymore." He sounds completely unbothered, like he was convinced that it was common sense to remove something unsightly.