Xi smirks faintly, finishing her wash and wringing out the last of the rag.  "Not if it's good mead."<br/><br/>She turns and stretches, bowing at the waist and extending every knot of muscle, preparing it for work.  Her assembly of armor-- thicker on the left for defense, lighter on the right for agility, composed of the remnants of at least four kinds of splint, chain, and leather-- is heaped in one corner next to her weapons-- a rack of shortspears and a handaxe with tabbard, a handful of caltrops, and a massive flail.  Whatever she could salvage from the fallen heroes of a dozen armies, though the spears and shield are handmade.<br/><br/>Once Aredhel is dressed, she's no reason to linger, so she completed the process with the casual speed that comes from familiarity.