<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c4/a2/eb/c4a2eb3622a5fd5f4149b8e094a22fa3.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Danae Vine-Lott (https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/13428552/mqOlTT)<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Asylum - interior<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Stripped down<br/><strong>Content: </strong>Bath time<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Aloisa, Medb, Open<br/><br/>"Quite," she agreed with Aloisa's assessment on the sanatorium uniforms.  "I haven''t worn petticoats..." her memory strained for recall, "for so long as I can remember. It would at any rate be unbecoming of a soldier. We must do what we can to please our guests within reason though.  I suppose we shall only find answers when we speak to the Doctor.  The sooner she agrees to see us, the better."  She stripped down with the brisk, unselfconscious pragmatism of one accustomed to making the most of fleeting luxuries.  "Madame Lorimer can enjoy the tub, all I need is a pail of water and some soap.  This is no different to bathing on campaign, and a fair sight better since we have warm water."<br/><br/>She took pride in the battle-scars upon her pale frame: the sabre blow that had nicked her between her breasts, the jagged goblin spearpoint that had almost sliced her thigh open when she charged on horseback.  The tavern maids and the stable girls pretended to be fascinated, and urged her for stories, but she knew their curiosity was tempered with fearful revulsion: the savagery and brutishness of a soldier's life was laid bare before them, and with it the titillation of being before a dangerous woman, who had left many bodies on the field of battle.  Aloisa, Faelyn, and Medb would doubtless understand.  As for Corinne, she seemed more sheltered.<br/><br/>Seizing a bar of coarse and fragrant soap, a pail of hot water, and a sponge she briskly scrubbed herself down: thoroughly, but without any indulgence.  She rinsed herself down twice to wash the sea-salt out of her skin, and from her hair.  Was it uncouth by Dementlieuse standards that she sported with pride an untamed spray of silver between her thighs? A wry smile drew across her lips and thought of the absurdity of a woman of arms fussing over such matters.  The decadence of other realms had yet to come to Mordent.  Hers was a country of good, plain common sense.<br/><br/>She crouched low again to scrub herself a second time, and to Medb she said, "You were kind enough to tend my wounds before.  Tell me, how does my back fare? I fear I cannot see."  The steam from the water had taken to condensing on the tiled walls, drawing menacing patterns.  Was that a mocking, demonic face, staring at her, or just an unfortunate aggregation of droplets.  To be nude was to be vulnerable, but at least she knew Faelyn's elfin shortsword was close.