[ It is entirely selfish - organising all of this. Quartering off this section of their party. But at least she deigned to share this - desperately wanted thing. A memory of a time and place that she hadn't had in decades now. Maybe not quite the same - not her ladies, not often as she liked, no ability to dye fingers after they are freshly cleaned, but when she's - first in, stripped off to her skin and scars and untangled long black hair that she submerges herself all the way down. It might not be the same but after decades and decades slithering through gutters and trudging through mud a filth, and then the dust of the pilgrimage, it's a pure and utter relief that sings high as a hymnal praise.

The only thing that stays on her body, is the long silver chain with a phial around her neck that sits heavy between her breasts.

When she rises her head up out of the water, she's sodden and for once - there is something visibly relaxed to her. Doesn't bother to seek out conversation as she wades her way back to the edge of the pool. Her hair shifting out black tendrils across the water's surface as she hooks her arms against the Sauna pool's edge, tilting her head back, closing her eyes and letting herself drift off. The low fire of her mind is settled low, a steady contentment, the steady breeze through a high up window.

Disturbing her for at least the next ten minutes is at your own risk. ]

[ When she finally gets sick of laying in the wate. She pulls herself up and lays out a towel on the edge of the pool. Happily immodest, her eyes shut, her knees hook one over the other to curl her legs up and over herself, swinging back and forth in a lazy, content doze. The ugly exit wound of a scar on her right shoulder a spider webbed mess of white raised line to match the old bites and scratches deeper across her body.

Every so often she takes a clay bowl and tilts her head into the water so her hair falls into the water - and tips it over her head so it becomes sodden again. Turning her head back, settling more comfortably. Until the next time she does it - the bowl slips from her hand, bobbing across the surface of the pool. She tries desperately to swat for it as much as she doesn't want to lift herself up further than her elbows. So far as the movement just sends it further away - which, with a sigh, she looks up at the closest person, up on elbows, legs curled up, steam collecting on skin. She's still, extraordinarily content. ]

Do you mind getting that for me?