[ It says a thing or two about how absorbed Delsin really is that he doesn't notice her until she taps his shoulder, making some last-minute adjustments on one of the stencils. He half-turns toward her, and then catches sight of the rifle-- pulls away too quickly, landing from his crouch right on his ass, eyes wide for a second before the rest of the details sink in. The lack of fuck-off yellow, for instance, and the fact that she's not currently pointing that rifle at him.
He laughs his fear off, or tries to, shaking his head. Like it's nothing, like his heart isn't in his throat and he wasn't a split second from firing at her there. Good thing he stopped himself before his hand was glowing. ] Uhh, hi?
[ The cans she's sitting by contain white, black, and blue. There might be others in the backpack, of course. ]
Yesssss. ... and to startle the hell out of an artist.
He laughs his fear off, or tries to, shaking his head. Like it's nothing, like his heart isn't in his throat and he wasn't a split second from firing at her there. Good thing he stopped himself before his hand was glowing. ] Uhh, hi?
[ The cans she's sitting by contain white, black, and blue. There might be others in the backpack, of course. ]