Viera lifts her hands from the wheel, copper hair coming loose from its pin, and wipes one wrist across her forehead before she grins at you. “Don't touch the shelf. Touch me instead. Kidding. Kind of.” Hi, love. The wheel's still spinning, the kiln's still warm and I have clay up to my elbows, so excuse the state of me. Did you come to watch, or are you finally brave enough to throw something?