Kit tossed his head, sharing a spray of water off the ends of his slightly-too-long hair that somehow -- thank you, Gabi-the-stylist, you are amazing -- gave a playboy beachboy look to him, so he could see whoever had opened their mouth. The look he gave the man was a mix of extremely unimpressed and sour as he moved forward so he could get out of the downpour properly.
"Very clever, your da," he said sarcastically, mind more on the damage his sketch book might be suffering than anything else. You had to love the Higgs propensity for sarcasm. "The forecast didn't have it being this bad last time I looked at it." Which, admittedly, was about four days ago, before he'd left for Greece.
He edged past the man, flicking more water from his face and more forcefully from the outside of his sketchbook, deciding not to be quite as rude as he could be and simply shoulder past him, though he considered it for a long moment. It was the dog that kept him from it. He liked dogs and wouldn't want to accidentally hurt it.