You storm into the small bathroom and immediately spot Dash. Both of you freeze—locked in a trance as you appraise one another. The first thing you notice is that the tightness in your chest relaxes, despite the situation there was nothing seriously wrong. Dash is ok. The second thing you notice is that she appears to be in the process of drying the floor with a towel; why it was wet you have no idea. The final fact the unusual scene revels is that she’s just as messy as the room she’d obviously spend most of her day in. Her mane was frazzled and protruding in all sorts of directions. Cyan feathers on her folded wings broke symmetry with their neighbors, a common side effect of excess friction.