( Color isn't among the first things you'd attribute to Jace Herondale; prefering to stick to darker shades, with the occassional splash of white tossed in. That's been tossed completely upside down. The meaning behind today's race might have done very little to sway him; but there were two very distinct reasons he couldn't stay away. Numero uno? Clary. Saying 'no' to her is a talent he's yet to master. In a lagging second place was competition itself. Something to scratch the itch that shadowhunting usually sated.

By the time they've both cleared the finish line, he's nearly unrecognizable. Complimentary shirt long since abandoned. He's a painting of swirled colors; beads of perspiration marking his body, leaving the powder to trail down his chest in streaks, covering most of the runes. To really tie the look together, there's a bandana keeping his hair back, one that would have made Axl Rose pround. Red seems to be the color he's been imprinted with the most.)

You look good. Not as good as me, but close.

( Light, teasing words spoken breathlessly. What about Clary is so infectous? Her beaming smile has found a match in his expression. Unhooking the waterbottle from his shorts, the contents are dumped over his head, instead of quenching any kind of thrist. Of course Jace pushed himself as hard as he could during the 5k. Stepping closer, he follows a trail of yellow powder down her clavicle with a finger )

No one would ever believe you talked me into this. You know that, right?