She brought a towel of her own, but it seems like too much effort to dig it out of her gym bag right now. And Rose's towels are all much fluffier than hers, anyway. Fluffy and generous, and they smell like the copious amounts of product Rose uses to keep her curls looking the way they do. (They smell like Rose.)
Rose's highly unsubtle suggestion puts the colour back in her cheeks, just like that. Pearl still manages to call out after her, a weak parting short: "I'm trying to get clean here, you know." Really, Rose is incorrigible. Shaking her head, she pulls the robe around herself and goes into the bathroom.
The robe gets hung neatly on a hook and Pearl steps straight into the shower. She lets out a quiet groan of relief as the caked sweat of the long day and hours of dance practice and tramping around in the snow begins to wash off. Heat, soaking into her muscles, steaming off her skin. This new showerhead is nice. Powerful, a steady torrent. Rose's words come to mind, and with them an image of Rose herself in the shower, all gleaming curves and hair heavy and dark with water, head thrown back. Pearl shivers, hot as the water is. She trails her hands down from her collarbones, over her chest, down her belly and her hips...she wasn't going to take Rose up on her suggestion, this time, but the touch does feel nice.
As she's rinsing shampoo out of her hair, it seems to her that it might be a good idea to try out some of the new settings on the fancy showerhead. Mere curiosity, of course. She detaches it to examine it better, but then a dollop of foam sneaks into her left eye and her hands instinctively fly to get it out -- except that more water just makes its way into her eyes in the process, and then she's losing her balance and grabbing blindly for something and knocking what sounds like twenty bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash off the racks, loofahs and razors and brushes in a great thudding rolling mess, and naturally as she falls she catches herself against the door and it flies open so that water from the errant showerhead sprays all over the tile and thoroughly soaks the floor rug.
no subject
Rose's highly unsubtle suggestion puts the colour back in her cheeks, just like that. Pearl still manages to call out after her, a weak parting short: "I'm trying to get clean here, you know." Really, Rose is incorrigible. Shaking her head, she pulls the robe around herself and goes into the bathroom.
The robe gets hung neatly on a hook and Pearl steps straight into the shower. She lets out a quiet groan of relief as the caked sweat of the long day and hours of dance practice and tramping around in the snow begins to wash off. Heat, soaking into her muscles, steaming off her skin. This new showerhead is nice. Powerful, a steady torrent. Rose's words come to mind, and with them an image of Rose herself in the shower, all gleaming curves and hair heavy and dark with water, head thrown back. Pearl shivers, hot as the water is. She trails her hands down from her collarbones, over her chest, down her belly and her hips...she wasn't going to take Rose up on her suggestion, this time, but the touch does feel nice.
As she's rinsing shampoo out of her hair, it seems to her that it might be a good idea to try out some of the new settings on the fancy showerhead. Mere curiosity, of course. She detaches it to examine it better, but then a dollop of foam sneaks into her left eye and her hands instinctively fly to get it out -- except that more water just makes its way into her eyes in the process, and then she's losing her balance and grabbing blindly for something and knocking what sounds like twenty bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash off the racks, loofahs and razors and brushes in a great thudding rolling mess, and naturally as she falls she catches herself against the door and it flies open so that water from the errant showerhead sprays all over the tile and thoroughly soaks the floor rug.
"Shit!"