Robin felt momentarily guilty for the egg-and-sugar attack, and did not make any move to stop Marian from pouring some of the finer sugar down his shirt. Added to the flour still down his lower half, he was now a fairly solid mass of powder-- and that was not even to mention the sticky mess in his hair and over his face. He was about to suggest a shower, since they both needed it (and, it would be fun), when she shot whipped cream into his pants.
Weirdly, his first thought was, what's the whipped cream even doing, sitting out? His second thought was that it was a very strange sensation, neither wholly pleasant nor wholly unpleasant.
His third thought, he hesitated to acknowledge, considering how she had tricked him a minute earlier.
"I think you win," he said, voice rather strained, as he tried to ignore that third thought.