She'd been so overwhelmed by the whole place that the exclamation directed her way made her stop short, though that did allow her to pause and gain her bearings enough to observe the paintpots and mess about the place.

Mess, she didn't mind. The owner of the voice - and the shop - she hadn't minded, either, as he'd taught the Society about truffle-making. A bit cheery, in a bright, honest fashion; he'd come across almost annoying go0d-natured. He looked that way again today, with his paint-stained face.

Porphyria was already rather more offended by the paint. Though she had begun to nod at Mr. Honeyduke in brisk thanks for his warning, her eyes had instead trailed up to the edges of the window display and found her head caught at that angle, gaze fixed in utter mystification.

With an unconscious wrinkle of her nose, Porphyria returned her attention to the gentleman. "I can't tell whether you're making it better or worse," she told him frankly, nudging at the purple paint pot with her shoe. The orange was garish, that much was true, so perhaps purple might've been better overall, but them together? Wasn't there enough colour in here, without piling on more?

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