Splash!
A flying projectile hits the back of Cloche's head. It explodes, soaking her whole body as she lurches forward from the impact, which is not quite strong enough to cause any lasting pain. She pauses for a moment, then slowly turns around to face the perpetrator.
Garson is smiling obliviously at her inner demons, and laughs at her misfortune.
"Ha! Got you, Cloche!"
Cloche runs her fingers through her now-wet hair, which stretches down to her waist. Her voice becomes quiet. "That was you?"
"Man, I thought I'd never be able to sneak up on you! I bet you didn't hear a thing, did you!"
Cloche stays silent for a few seconds.
"Uh, Cloche? Are you okay? You seem…a little bit more annoyed than I thought you were…"
Finally, she can take no more of this boy's nonsense and explodes.
"You inconsiderate scoundrel!" she yells, shaking. "Do you realise what you've done?"
Garson looks to be taken aback. "What—"
"You wet my hair! It takes hours upon hours for this mass of keratin to dry out properly, and does it look like we're near a hair dryer anywhere? I trusted you, Garson! I trusted you! And you had the sheer nerve to go behind my back and soak me! I should take you to court for assault!"
"I'm sor—"
" 'Sorry' isn't going to cut it here, Garson!" Cloche steps closer to him, glare intensifying. "What you have done to me is completely unacceptable and condones cruel and unusual punishment, but since I'm a forgiving girl, I'll let you off with one last warning. Do I make myself clear?" She hisses the last sentence right up to the pale-faced Garson.
"Yes, ma'am!" Garson squeaks.
Cloche spins around, causing her waterlogged hair to follow after, slamming into Garson's face like a sledgehammer. He stumbles backward, disoriented.
"Owie…" Garson mutters. "Are those rockets, mommy?"