Haha, sorry, [he says, genuinely apologetic but still amused that some of it has dripped down to her dress. He can probably get that out, and it'll be good as new.

Ajax grabs some paper towels from the counter, wiping his own face and chest off, his own shirt having become a casualty in this tiny food fight they've had. He rips off some and gives them to her, proudly gazing down at his work.]

Just throw it in the basket and I'll get it washed right away. You know, [he begins to think aloud,] you've got pretty good aim even with a plate of salad, comrade.