The storm had put a serious crimp into his plans. He'd been intending to change into the dress before he came in Jachym's place, but the raid had wet almost everything. And while he loved how wet dresses clung to a girl's figure, Arran had no intention of doing that just now. Too much, too soon. So, instead, he'd just tucked the herbs underneath both the boiled leather breastplate and underarmour - tying the bag's drawstring to his breast strapping - to keep it dry. Which explained the odd gymnastics he was performing in front of his teacher to reach back under his clothes to retrieve it.<br/><br/>It wasn't graceful, but he got the still-dry, brown bag out at the second attempt and handed it to the mage. He was relieved to be done with it. As much as travelling by himself had been exciting, Arran was looking forward to the enjoying a long rest for the last few hours of the day. Well, at least until Jachym told him about the 'admirers'. The transformed brunette counted stop a disgusted look flitting across his face, but nodded once. "Thanks... I'll be back tomorrow." He mumbled and turned back to the door.<br/><br/>Arran paused outside the front door and looked up the slate grey sky, pushed damp locks of hair back away from his face. Getting them cut would be great, but Jachym would just grow it again. Normally, he would have protested and made up excuses. He was tired, he'd just walked for the better part of three days, he was dirty... he just didn't want a guy's dick in him. But his tired mind just wasn't up to it. Instead he started stodging towards the inn, kicking at muddy puddles with his equally muddy boots.<br/>