She jumps enough that her hand goes astray and whatever careful lining she's been bent over has been utterly spoiled. The ink blots and streaks where she's run the back of her hand and part of her forearm over the drawing, not all quite dry.

For his part, he remains silent during her tirade, head tilted with interest towards the inventive swears, tucking them away like one does a particularly useful tool.

"The second drawing will be better. Are you done?"