The towel nearly slipped off when she bent down to pick up the holster of her cleaver and the arm-harness of her gun, both of which she had previously discarded in front of the bathroom door.  

“All yours,” Zelsys said as she sat on the other bed, shedding her towel to use it as little more than a sitting mat while she nonchalantly took to rolling up the bandages she had used to wrap her chest.

Zefaris just mumbled an absent-minded “Uh-huh…” as she continued to stare at her back, the muscles so clearly defined that even the rusty-brown cloak of hair clung to their contours. Her gaze wandered downward and she felt her heart pounding in her head, until she finally managed to snap her eye away, standing from the bed as she walked towards the wide-open bathroom. As she passed by she couldn’t help but look again, a brief moment of annoyance piercing the veil of red fog clouding her mind. The source of this annoyance was twofold - first was the insufferably smug smile that stared back at her, and the second was entirely based in one of her own insecurities.

“How are they the exact same size and shape?!” a frustrated, envious voice shouted in the back of her head, only to be silenced by her own annoyed vocalization of “Do you have to sit around stark naked?”

“It’s fine, we’re both women, no?” Zelsys smugged at her, continuing to roll up the bandages, obviously taking care to keep the glistening prize in plain view. She found herself entranced by the rhythmic motion for a few seconds, only for that goddamned smug grin to clear her head for long enough. “Fuck you,” she said before turning away and walking into the bathroom.

Before she could close the door, she heard amused laughter and an exclamation of “Fuck me yourself, coward!”

Zefaris stripped off the clothes she had been relying on for months, which had been collecting filth and which had only been washed sporadically and using only cold water, and still she had to wait for the remaining bathwater to drain away. She waited, stewing in hot steam that smelt nearly exactly like that smug muscle-woman, unable to distinguish whether her body was burning up from the heat of the room or some inner source.

The tub was finally empty. She set the heat dial to thirty-eight, opened the valve, and stepped in, allowing the hot water to wash away her building frustrations. The tub was more than big enough for her to comfortably sink her entire body up to the shoulders.

By the time it was half-full, her eye lazily floated over the many different bath salts on the ledge. One of the phials held fine, green-tinted grains. She reached for it and popped the cork, only for the powerful smell of concentrated Viriditas to hit her nose. It couldn’t be more than half a shot glass of essentia in the entire phial, but the salt and wet air amplified the smell to an intoxicating degree. Or was it intoxicating because of who it smelled like?

Zefaris didn’t pay it much mind as she dumped the entire phial into the bath. Alongside physical heat, a revitalizing warmth washed over her skin as the Viriditas-infused bath salts dissolved, causing dead skin to slough off and scars to fade. The Emerald Salts were an Ikesian specialty, one that reminded her of home, among other things. It didn’t surprise her that, outside of Ikesia, it never caught on due to the side effect of increased hair growth - regardless of whether this hair was above or below the neckline. As an Ikesian, Zefaris had no reason to worry about such things, as body hair was rare even among men beyond barely-visible peach fuzz.

This was part of the reason why she rarely found herself attracted to foreigners - they were all. So. Hairy. Those who went to the lengths of removing such barbaric growth were more often than not far out of her league in terms of social standing. 

She managed to busy herself for a few minutes with thoughts like these, recalling utterly inane details for the sole purpose of distracting herself from those four jokingly-said words. But every time, her train of thought returned to that challenge. Zefaris took to meticulously scrubbing every inch of her body with the provided sea-sponge, shaving down half of the soap-stick in her attempt to cleanse the filth that had doubtlessly seeped into her skin over the months she had spent in the Exclusion Zone. 

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Soap. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub… Chest, arms, shoulders, neck...

A bright-red flower petal floating on the water. The realization that she hadn’t untied her hair. A frustrated sigh, untying the piece of cord that held her hair in place, leaving the poppy flower in her hand, sans one petal. That half-joking challenge on her mind, she began to pluck the petals, one by one. At first glance she thought the poppy had five petals remaining, and subconsciously began with the outcome she wanted, as if to simultaneously place the responsibility of choice on an inanimate object while still getting the desired outcome.

“Don’t do it…” she thought when the first petal came off. 

“Do it…” came the second petal.

“Don’t do it…”  the third petal said.

“Do it…” said the fourth and final petal.

Her senses were misdirected by the roiling, herbal-smelling steam that filled the bathroom, and she had miscounted. Somehow, she didn’t mind this outcome. She thought herself clean enough, and looked around the bathroom for a towel. 

No towel. 

She didn’t mind this either.

Water still pouring from her, she forcefully opened the door, met with the sight of Zelsys lazily splayed out on the bed, Tablet in hand. Her gaze flicked up from whatever she was reading to meet hers, and even though the lower half of her face was obscured, Zefaris felt the grin spreading over her features.

Zelsys reached for the crumpled-up, damp towel that lay beside her as if asking if to toss it over.