#theandycopper

MIRTH TUGGED AT THE CORNERS of Rachel’s lips, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes as she sat nearly nose-to-nose with her fellow Red. A loaded paintbrush balanced betwixt colorful and sure fingers was poised merely a breaths’ width from Andy’s cheek, her elbow resting against the tabletop to steady her hand. She was nearly finished with her task, a controlled flick of the wrist leaving a darkly painted line in her wake and bringing her that much closer to completely her masterpiece.

                                         ″ I’m almost done. . . ″ The words came out in only a murmured breath, careful not to move too much in the fear of smudging still-drying paint.

Rachel had been glad, eager even, to lend a hand at one of the carnival’s face painting booths. She wouldn’t say she was an EXPERT, but she certainly knew her way around paints—though she was learning quite quickly that painting on skin required much more patience and skill than more level surfaces. ( She found it brought her thoughts to the more permanent body art of another particular Red she knew, and she made a mental note to express her curiosities the next time she spoke to him. )

Throughout the day, she found herself painting more fanciful things on the faces of eager children, as was to be expected from such an occupation; she couldn’t complain, of course, as seeing their awed expressions and giddy smiles simply made it worth while. However, there was something as equally gleeful in painting the faces of her fellow adults, and she was more than happy to paint Andy’s friendly and familiar face. Now she was nearly done, putting the final touches on the whiskers of the feline mask before sitting back and giving the other a grin of satisfaction.

                  ″ You look paw-sitively purr-fect, m’dear. ″

Kristine Hyland: Was that an insult?

Adri Nieves: Kinda lacked punch.

Andy Copper: The Three Musketeers were cool.