Cue Jack tossing the ball he had been turning around in his hands for most of the conversation toward Cherry. Catch!
Cherry has a staring problem. Under most other circumstances, she'd be locked on to her conversational partner's face, masked or otherwise, with dark, unblinking eyes. Now, she buffs her nails as she speaks. Like a cat showing its belly, it's a sign of comfort. Of trust. Periodically, she pauses to examine the work and check for further rough spots or inconsistencies in shaping. The smooth, balanced arcs don't mean much when her nail polish is so chipped. "So that's when I said to the guy—"
A tingle at the back of her neck warns her to be more aware of her surroundings. She chooses, then, to peek in his direction just in time to see the ball heading her way.
The buffer block is launched up into the air to make way for the incoming missile. "What, are you testing me?" With narrowed eyes, she catches the ball, then tosses it up again in time to catch the buffer. Ball, buffer, ball, buffer, from one hand to another. She's juggling.
"If you're looking for a show, keep throwing stuff at me." Even with her throaty chuckle, it sounds more like a warning than a suggestion. "Kinda rusty, but I can handle a lot more. This is kids' stuff."
