Her eyebrows lift just slightly, surprise at least partially masked by the streaks of luminescent paint. It's not often her handiwork is appreciated so openly— much less immortalized in digital form— but underneath all her hard-worn habits, she's still a creature of pride.

So, voice painted with slight disbelief, and strained by unintentional sarcasm, Sombra flicks a few claws towards the wall and shrugs.

"Knock yourself out, amigo."

After all, who is she to stand in the way of earnest art enthusiasm?