Harper
Though the streets are far from empty, the time of day ensures the bustle is at a minimum, leaving Harper - and his puddle - to their peace. As such the sound of running is quite the disruption compared to the background noise, and Harper's mind is far too well-trained to ignore such input. Not that it helps him much, because a sentient snowball is a little hard to predict. He manages to just barely save the main portion of his art piece with a jerked forearm that rises in instinctive defense upon seeing an incoming projectile, but all it leaves him is bewildered and a little damp. And being shouted at by a vaguely familiar voice.
Lifting his head and brushing snow off his paper swiftly lest it sink in and creep towards the paints, Harper gives a genial grin. "No worries, though - why did you throw a snowball at me?" It's spoken in a bemused, but distinctly humored tone. The woman's voice nags at him, but they'd last met each other as birds, so while she is quite pretty her face is otherwise not noteworthy or recognizable.
Lifting his head and brushing snow off his paper swiftly lest it sink in and creep towards the paints, Harper gives a genial grin. "No worries, though - why did you throw a snowball at me?" It's spoken in a bemused, but distinctly humored tone. The woman's voice nags at him, but they'd last met each other as birds, so while she is quite pretty her face is otherwise not noteworthy or recognizable.
I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away
tough enough to drown it away
