For a long second, Jo stares at the back of Cas' head, and the vague crescents of his shoulders are only barely above the water now, before she moves. Because. Okay. It's weird. And it's weird; she's just going to agree. And weirder than like twelve hundred (or even just twelve) other people watching, in some weird social pact that it-isn't-weird-if-it's-everyone.
Her boots get shuffled off first, careful of the knife in the side of each. Then the others on her have to. Her belt with the daggers and sword, laid carefully on a chair—as she's been well-taught by Ciri; only if she swore to take it seriously—even when everything else ends up in that same pile with her boots—pants, and shirt, and everything underneath.
Focusing more on the clothes and the goosebump-prickle of her skin against the cool air of the rooms and the heat permeating outward from the tub. Then, there's really nothing left but to do it, right? She's already gotten this far. There's a slight hiss when she dips her first foot into the heat, less from pain and more from the less than vague way her body feels like it throbs, letting out even an ounce of the hell she's been constantly ignoring she put it through.
That she doesn't stop doing, even amid acknowledging, because she pushes down to find the bottom, a hand catching on the side, and levering her other in right after, seamlessly this time. Praying she doesn't step on one of his legs or sit on it. There were upsides and downsides to the thick-colored foam obscuring everything beneath it, apparently.
no subject
Her boots get shuffled off first, careful of the knife in the side of each. Then the others on her have to. Her belt with the daggers and sword, laid carefully on a chair—as she's been well-taught by Ciri; only if she swore to take it seriously—even when everything else ends up in that same pile with her boots—pants, and shirt, and everything underneath.
Focusing more on the clothes and the goosebump-prickle of her skin against the cool air of the rooms and the heat permeating outward from the tub. Then, there's really nothing left but to do it, right? She's already gotten this far. There's a slight hiss when she dips her first foot into the heat, less from pain and more from the less than vague way her body feels like it throbs, letting out even an ounce of the hell she's been constantly ignoring she put it through.
That she doesn't stop doing, even amid acknowledging, because she pushes down to find the bottom, a hand catching on the side, and levering her other in right after, seamlessly this time. Praying she doesn't step on one of his legs or sit on it. There were upsides and downsides to the thick-colored foam obscuring everything beneath it, apparently.