When the Inquisitor emerged from the bathroom attached to her room it was in a cloud of steam. She was dressed down, of course, not willing to struggle back into her usual gear with her hair down and in the way and with her skin damp. No, instead she was in a blue tanktop with the words 'shit happens' on it and a pair of bright red cotton pajama pants.
Her hair was still down, of course, with a towel draped over her shoulders and down her back attempting to keep the long mass of brown and grey from soaking her anew from behind. It was a lot longer than it looked like it ought to be when it was all braided and bound up, and having it down softened some of the hardness of her appearance, even soaked as it was.
The stump of her left arm was exposed, the skin around the socket for the bar was gnarled and scarred, with traces of those scars going up and over her elbow and bicep like lightning bolts captured in flesh.
And that hand, somehow, remained covered. Now sporting a fuzzy, soft, cheap and stretchy glove she'd gotten somewhere for absurdly cheap. Something that could be pulled on with her teeth despite the damp skin, and something with a texture that didn't drive her too crazy...
Okay, it itched and was uncomfortable as hell but, like hell could she pull the soft leather back on before her skin was truly dry. Especially with only her teeth to work on it.
She opened the door to her room and peered out, wondering if Dorian was lurking on the upper floor or not.
no subject
When the Inquisitor emerged from the bathroom attached to her room it was in a cloud of steam. She was dressed down, of course, not willing to struggle back into her usual gear with her hair down and in the way and with her skin damp. No, instead she was in a blue tanktop with the words 'shit happens' on it and a pair of bright red cotton pajama pants.
Her hair was still down, of course, with a towel draped over her shoulders and down her back attempting to keep the long mass of brown and grey from soaking her anew from behind. It was a lot longer than it looked like it ought to be when it was all braided and bound up, and having it down softened some of the hardness of her appearance, even soaked as it was.
The stump of her left arm was exposed, the skin around the socket for the bar was gnarled and scarred, with traces of those scars going up and over her elbow and bicep like lightning bolts captured in flesh.
And that hand, somehow, remained covered. Now sporting a fuzzy, soft, cheap and stretchy glove she'd gotten somewhere for absurdly cheap. Something that could be pulled on with her teeth despite the damp skin, and something with a texture that didn't drive her too crazy...
Okay, it itched and was uncomfortable as hell but, like hell could she pull the soft leather back on before her skin was truly dry. Especially with only her teeth to work on it.
She opened the door to her room and peered out, wondering if Dorian was lurking on the upper floor or not.