Given that drying her hair remains such a fucking ordeal, Athénaïs tries to avoid soaking it for anything less than an occasion worth the hassle. She has, therefore, been thorough about her bathing this evening: not just soaping and scrubbing but indulgences such as she hasn’t always got the time or resources for. The painstaking routine she has for her skin, when it’s clean of makeup. Perfumed oils are involved. She has a little robe that hits just below her ass, so it was probably made or at least tailored for her specifically given her proportions—
most of her is hair, nearly black when it’s wet and falling to her hips. She’s two inches shy of five feet, and striking when she arrives at the edge of the larger, heated pool: a patchwork of vitiligo from top to toes, skeletal scarification elaborately worked on her torso and limbs. It’s a rare sight to see her fresh-faced, but it serves mostly to underline the fact that she really doesn’t need her favoured eye-makeup to stand out.
She’d make a terrible assassin. She doesn’t blend in anywhere.
“I’ll share if you’re going to be nice,” she says, dropping her robe and stepping into the water— this, presumably, refers to the carafe of wine she’s also carrying.
baths.
most of her is hair, nearly black when it’s wet and falling to her hips. She’s two inches shy of five feet, and striking when she arrives at the edge of the larger, heated pool: a patchwork of vitiligo from top to toes, skeletal scarification elaborately worked on her torso and limbs. It’s a rare sight to see her fresh-faced, but it serves mostly to underline the fact that she really doesn’t need her favoured eye-makeup to stand out.
She’d make a terrible assassin. She doesn’t blend in anywhere.
“I’ll share if you’re going to be nice,” she says, dropping her robe and stepping into the water— this, presumably, refers to the carafe of wine she’s also carrying.
Bathtime indulgences.