"Why do you let yourself brush with death?" Grass-Green beryl stared at him. Curios.
"I like to paint." A cryptic answer by any standard. Confusion.
"I don't understand! What does almost dying have to do with drawing?!" She was clenching her fists now. Annoyance.
"I said I like to paint, not draw." He was correcting her smallest mistake. Anger.
"Ugh, whatever. So what does it have to do with almost dying?" She rubbed her temples. Control.
"I like to paint. Brushing with death gives me inspiration" She was blinking at him. Confusion.
"Oh...I see..." The young child got up and started to walk away from him. Boredom.
The young boy sighed and walked away.
She completely missed the joke.