As Donovan spoke, going on about Dean and then Aza's 'goods,' the tilt to her blue head was tiny but very loudly said<em>are you done rambling yet? </em>Her attentions were obviously more taken with the clothes. Much like hair, Aza liked clothes. "Yes, Dean is the nondead, corpse filled with the shadows, rapes souls, all that," she said dismissively, already pawing through the contents of the dresser. Towards the bottom she discovered a sleeveless tunic that was thankfully made of a finer fabric than burlap and was a palatable dark gray that would compliment her current coloring nicely. Holding it up for a quick inspection, she nodded and promptly set to work tearing it. "Commands? Yes, many. Are you accepting them, now?"<br/><br/>Donovan got a last glimpse of petite, shapely werefox body as she wriggled the tunic down over her head. Short as she was, the hem fell to just above her knee, with the slits she'd ripped opening up nearly to her hip. "Am I to be trade, then?" she asked almost conversationally as she pulled a length of braided cord free from a pair of pants, ignoring his comment about leaving to check the others. "The drow came for me, I know why." She glanced pointedly over at him, like<em> the drow you fucked on the floor before you burnt the place down, remember her? </em>"But you would give me back... I don't know why." She wound the cord just beneath her breasts and over one slim shoulder, then neatly knotted the ends between her shoulderblades and swept her hair free. It was mildly disappointing there was no mirror to admire the asymmetrical little number she'd just created. It probably needed more cleavage -- most outfits did -- so she popped free a few more threads at the front of the neckline, tugging and tucking the material into flattering places. "What is it you want, that you think a fox can get you?"