Still having a luggage to collect from the lobby, she naturally fell behind in the group’s voyage to the designated hotel room. Perhaps last to enter the place, however at least she would thankfully get to use the bathroom first. Upon her arrival, her eyes glanced across the admittedly spacious looking area reserved for her group’s temporary lodging. The others didn’t seem to mind it, but Heather would hardly call it a suite, rather a large room. Not particularly an interesting place, really. Thus, it was up to its guests to render it more enticing. “Wonderful.” She uttered, clear satire in the soft tune of her voice. Despite all, she was indeed happy to be under a different roof than the airport’s high ceiling, glad that she no longer had to listen to the grumble that surrounded the front desk.<br/><br/>The view outside the window, towers and terminals in the distance, blurred by the ongoing storm outside, it acted as a mockery to her eyes. A reminder of her current stranding. Things could have been surely far worse however, more uncomfortable to say the least. She closed the curtains, and turned around to note the whereabouts of her hopefully patient companions. “I’m going to the bathroom.” Heather announced. A pair of trainers and short socks, what was left of her as the woman disappeared behind the bathroom door. Eager the wash out the trouble of today’s chain of inconveniences, she stripped down to enjoy the warm sprinkle of droplets on her bare form, cozy wandering of water stream over her gentle contour.<br/><br/>Once done, leaving a subtle mist behind her, she stepped out of the bathroom. Her outfit didn’t change. Now makeup free however, her glances were not as sharp, natural beauty of her visage drawing a more composed, serene image of herself. Like any other hotel, the hairdryer lacked the power to dry her hair fully. Now having them loose, her dark locks were still moist. The immediate vicinity of the sofa seemed to host a small art gallery, new works still being unfolded atop the table and ground. One bed was occupied by the charming flight attendant. Heather sat on the edge of the other, already feeling more relaxed. Enough to remain quiet for the moment, other than the mild noise of the hairbrush she held in her hand as she idly patted the back of the object against her palm.<br/><br/>Orientation and farness of the blonde’s drawings made them vague for her as Molly rearranged her portfolio, working she presumed. Constance was busy being cheerful as usual, and drinking. Inspecting gaze of the woman next shifted to the youngest member of the group, whom she thought to be more suitable for a small favour. “Riley, was it?” Heather called out. Instead of complaining about a lack of privacy, it was better to think about the advantages of not being alone. “Would your care to untangle my hair, dear?” Heather offered the ornate brush she held in her grasp.