Harper
Hoping another assault is not incoming, Harper brushes the last remnants of water off his paper with a chuckle and a wave of his hand that absolves the woman of any guilt even before she explains that it wasn't an act of malice - but one of mischief it seems. As the snowball reforms before his eyes, Harper snorts an inelegant laugh. First Melita's pumpkin, now this? "What do you have against art, little ball?" he chortles, breezing past the strangeness of talking to an icy sphere.
"No, no, minimal damage at most, and it'll dry. Care to take a look and give any critiques though?" It seems nice to offer, and hopefully will distract the woman from her worries if he gives her something constructive to do. But maybe that's just the teacher in him. "I'm Harper, by the way." He extends a hand as he says it, simultaneously shifting his painting into better view for her to peruse.
"No, no, minimal damage at most, and it'll dry. Care to take a look and give any critiques though?" It seems nice to offer, and hopefully will distract the woman from her worries if he gives her something constructive to do. But maybe that's just the teacher in him. "I'm Harper, by the way." He extends a hand as he says it, simultaneously shifting his painting into better view for her to peruse.
I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away
tough enough to drown it away
