[He glances at her, fingers still working at his shirt idly. Jaskier’s soon-to-be-borrowed clothes are too neatly folded for him to remark on their style, and so he only nods.]
I won’t be long.
[When Ciri takes her leave, and after the bath has filled with steaming water, he’s conscious enough to be fairly expedient (if not very through) where removing dirt and grime is concerned, soaking in the tub just long enough to reflect on the day and not terribly longer.
Getting out, drying off, and getting dressed is just as straightforward, though when he catches his reflection in the mirror, he finds himself pausing for a moment in a surreal sort of assessment. Purple trousers. Any kind of frill at all.
(He reminds himself, again, that beggars can’t be choosers.)
Sephiroth returns to the common area, seeking out Ciri, a hand tugging at the length of his sleeve.]
no subject
I won’t be long.
[When Ciri takes her leave, and after the bath has filled with steaming water, he’s conscious enough to be fairly expedient (if not very through) where removing dirt and grime is concerned, soaking in the tub just long enough to reflect on the day and not terribly longer.
Getting out, drying off, and getting dressed is just as straightforward, though when he catches his reflection in the mirror, he finds himself pausing for a moment in a surreal sort of assessment. Purple trousers. Any kind of frill at all.
(He reminds himself, again, that beggars can’t be choosers.)
Sephiroth returns to the common area, seeking out Ciri, a hand tugging at the length of his sleeve.]
…don’t laugh.