It's difficult to remain patient as Saoirse shuts her eyes, but Greta manages it, if only because she's acutely aware of how unhelpful any further fussing would be. One of them has to keep their head. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait too long before there's a familiar white glow, and the head on her lap abruptly reconfigures itself into a more familiar shape.

Greta blinks her eyes back into focus as the light fades, and then has to press her lips together to forestall a squawk. Oh, dear. Saoirse's hair really is very green, isn't it? She gives the girl's head a tentative pat, lips twisting into a sympathetic wince. No wonder she didn't want to be seen like this, the poor lass.

"Hello, yourself," she replies once she's certain she can maintain a level tone. Now that she knows panic-induced shapeshifting is a thing, she doesn't want to spur a reprise, so she keeps her voice gentle as she asks, "What brought this on?"

Maybe it was just an adolescent whim. But Saoirse has never expressed any displeasure with her hair before, and this is a rather marked departure from her usual interests in cute clothes or nail art. It has more of the flavor of a-a dare or something, though she's never known the lass to be particularly susceptible to those, either.