A little R of R | Greta & Remus
honeybadgergreta:
Greta instantly smiled when he laughed. She was a full believer that emotions were contagious, and clearly Remus would be adding to the positivity of her day, not questioning her on whether she’d lost her mind. …Well, perhaps he would, but certainly it would be in the friendly manner with which he asked such questions, and not a legitimate inquiry and judgement on her character.
“Oh, good.” She nodded, pleased to hear he was doing well. When he commented on her own state, Greta chuckled before striking a pose, taking on a vaguely French but also possibly German accent. “Ahh, yes. I am an ar-tist at her work. Zere is no thing better to be than to work on my mas-ter-piece. Observe.” With that, Greta cupped her hand to scoop some cherry red paint from a nearby container. She unceremoniously tossed the handful of paint into the air, stepping (mostly) out of the way as it splattered onto the floor.
The girl presented the floor-splatter with a flourish and a very snooty expression on her face, before taking a grand bow. As she rose from the bow she was grinning, and she walked towards where he stood near the entrance. As she approached, she looked at him with a mixture of amusement and confusion as he gestured vaguely at his head, before the realization dawned on her. “Oh… oh!” Greta gasped, turning her realization into mock horror. “Whatever shall I do? Maybe if I just.. Oh, no. But perhaps I…” Greta rambled on as she put her paint covered hands to her cheeks in shock, running them through her hair, and generally making her head a disaster of bright colors.
When she had finished doing exactly the opposite of making her color-situation better, Greta winked at him. “It’s really quite fun. You should join me!” Greta shifted her weight, hastily adding, “If you have time, of course. Obviously there are tons of things to be doing this weekend.”
Chuckling at her ridiculous accent, he stepped back slightly as he watched the paint hit the floor with a satisfying smack. The splatter of paint spread out at Greta’s feet and the last drop landed mere inches from his shoe. He glanced at her and a raised eyebrow, but his face broke into a grin as she bowed. He applauded and did his best wolf whistle, which wasn’t very good and came in and out. In a far off part of his mind this stuck him with irony.
Remus laughed again and appraised her new paint-covered face. ”The cherry-red cheeks really suit you. Bit of a young school girl look, though. And I dunno about the dried paint in your hair, but I’m sure you can make it work,” he judged as he grinned at her.
Remus kept a small, sly smile as she suggested he join her. “Well…” Remus began, his eyes grazing the room again; the dripping paint brightly gleaming against the white walls seemed welcoming. He distantly remembered his mother giving him a finger-painting set for Christmas was he was small, and instead of getting any paint on the paper it ended up all over himself. Though he wasn’t five anymore, he couldn’t deny messes can be fun.
His eyes landed on Greta and he took in her paint-covered glory. She did look to be having fun. He could use some fun today, he decided. He was already feeling tremendously less stressed than he did moments ago.
“I honestly can’t think of a single thing I’d rather be doing other than this,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. “But I call the green paint!”
