She can't help it, at least a little, when he lets her into bathroom - she snoops. Opening draws and cupboards as she gets out of her clothes. Mouthing through the letters in English and - French? Others, that she can't speak. Russian, Greek, from the way the letters looked. Trying to work out by herself what this and what that is. Then putting it mostly back where she found it to the best of her memory.
The shower is trickier, as she heads towards it. Getting out of the clothes he'd given her and her own blood soaked silks.
Which is all very grand until she lets out an undignified yelp when she turns the water up to hot, alright, maybe she would believe him when he said it got warm. Hisses something long and unsavory in Hindi before she lets herself step in again. It's not - right, or rather, it's not a bath and it's not her ladies coming through her hair and rubbing oils into her skin but - it's water and she watches the water run off her body. Looks over old scars and her new ones. Some of that blood was hers.
But he didn't need to know how much that was. The blackwater doesn't leave her neck even now.
Then it's more snooping, into draws and digging through his other clothes as politely as possible. Letting her fingers run over the material, inspecting it idly for it's quality. Well made as what she had been given. A great deal of will not to just lay on that bed for awhile. To just give up for just a minute to sleep, to sleep and not wake up for hours upon hours. But he was being a gracious host to her demands, that she gets dressed and drags herself the rest of the way. Cleaner, now, hair sodden and braided neatly, but clearer without the blood on her face, under her nails. Wagers at least mercy to him, she no longer reeks of blood and sweat and dirt, and that awful tang of stomach bile where she had slashed the Lycan's belly open.
Now just - whatever he smelt like. Whatever it was that she'd found in one bottle on the cupboard. Warm, she liked it she supposed. Even if it wasn't as fine as the perfume makers. It suited him, she fancied. A rulers careful measurement of those around her that tucks that away as well.
When she pads back out, it's on bare feet with quiet footsteps to see where he was. The fatigues looser on her, had to fold them up to make sure they didn't get in her way. Finds him - cooking? "What are you doing?"
no subject
The shower is trickier, as she heads towards it. Getting out of the clothes he'd given her and her own blood soaked silks.
Which is all very grand until she lets out an undignified yelp when she turns the water up to hot, alright, maybe she would believe him when he said it got warm. Hisses something long and unsavory in Hindi before she lets herself step in again. It's not - right, or rather, it's not a bath and it's not her ladies coming through her hair and rubbing oils into her skin but - it's water and she watches the water run off her body. Looks over old scars and her new ones. Some of that blood was hers.
But he didn't need to know how much that was. The blackwater doesn't leave her neck even now.
Then it's more snooping, into draws and digging through his other clothes as politely as possible. Letting her fingers run over the material, inspecting it idly for it's quality. Well made as what she had been given. A great deal of will not to just lay on that bed for awhile. To just give up for just a minute to sleep, to sleep and not wake up for hours upon hours. But he was being a gracious host to her demands, that she gets dressed and drags herself the rest of the way. Cleaner, now, hair sodden and braided neatly, but clearer without the blood on her face, under her nails. Wagers at least mercy to him, she no longer reeks of blood and sweat and dirt, and that awful tang of stomach bile where she had slashed the Lycan's belly open.
Now just - whatever he smelt like. Whatever it was that she'd found in one bottle on the cupboard. Warm, she liked it she supposed. Even if it wasn't as fine as the perfume makers. It suited him, she fancied. A rulers careful measurement of those around her that tucks that away as well.
When she pads back out, it's on bare feet with quiet footsteps to see where he was. The fatigues looser on her, had to fold them up to make sure they didn't get in her way. Finds him - cooking? "What are you doing?"
It's bemused, more than anything.