Behind the folding screen, Calladia pulled toiletries and pajamas out of the backpack. The blue onesie covered with a rubber duck pattern had been a gift from Themmie, and since it was warm but too ridiculous to wear in normal life, Calladia had put it in her camping supplies. The previous night she’d fallen asleep in her clothes, but it would be nice to wear something clean and comfortable after her bath.
Astaroth would probably give her shit for it, but whatever. She could put him in his place even in baby pajamas with a butt flap.
Calladia stripped and undid her braid, wincing as her fingers met tangles. She did a set of push-ups, crunches, squats, and lunges before rinsing the sweat off in a quick shower. She missed her morning workout routine at the gym. Her brain was restless even at the best of times, and tiring herself out first thing in the morning was the best way to maintain an even keel the rest of the day. Not that her version of an even keel was particularly balanced, but at least the exercise took the edge off her temper and anxieties.
Once the top layer of dirt was washed off, Calladia plugged the tub and let it fill. She dipped her feet in, hissing at the hot sting. Her feet and ankles turned cherry red, and she whimpered when she plunked the rest of her body down in the water. Pain was fleeting though, and besides, she deserved it after nearly hooking up with the demon who had tried to hurt her best friend, so she sat and endured the burn, waiting for her skin to acclimate.
“Everything all right?” Astaroth asked.
“Stop lurking,” she called back.
“Where am I supposed to go? We’re practically in the stratosphere.”
She shook her head at his absurdity and started slopping water over her arms and shoulders. Then she ducked underwater, holding her breath while the heat sank into her scalp. Her hair drifted like seaweed, and her racing thoughts began to slow.
Calladia unfortunately didn’t have gills to stay under indefinitely, so she surfaced and set about shampooing and soaping. Once her hair was slick with conditioner, she grabbed a combat magic textbook from her backpack and settled in to refresh her memory on spells that could be useful in the days ahead.
She read for a while, but the excitement of the last few days was catching up with her, and as warmth relaxed her muscles, Calladia’s eyelids drooped. When she nearly dunked the book in the water, she gave up on reading and tossed it aside.
She’d just rest for a few moments. Astaroth and her mother and the stresses of the outside world could wait.
Calladia must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew, she was sneezing and coughing up soapy bathwater. Her eyes watered as she shoved herself upright, and water slopped onto the floor. She swiped the hair out of her eyes, cursing up a storm. So much for a relaxing bath.
A cleared throat came from the other side of the bathing screen. “Battling the Spanish Armada in there?” Astaroth asked.
Calladia glared at the screen. “Are you still eavesdropping?”
“It’s hardly eavesdropping when you’re that loud.”
“Ugh. Go take a long walk off a short branch.” She started untangling her conditioner-slick hair with her fingers, grimacing at the pull on her scalp.
“As delightful as plummeting to grievous injury sounds, I prefer to stay here.” There was a long pause, during which Calladia scrubbed and stewed over her ruined bath. “Do you need anything?” Astaroth asked.
“Sure,” Calladia said sarcastically. “A stiff drink, a quesadilla, and a new set of lungs.” She coughed again, spitting out the last of the water.
Astaroth didn’t respond, so Calladia dedicated herself to finishing off the bath. Near-drowning or not, exhaustion or not, aggravating text from her mother or not, she was going to squeeze whatever small amount of relaxation she could from this situation. She grabbed a loofah and scrubbed militantly until her skin stung.
All right, maybe she wasn’t the best at relaxing. But by the time she was done, her skin was squeaky clean, her hair was wound in a wet bun on top of her head, and she smelled like sweet orange and lavender essential oils. Her self-care techniques might be aggressive, but the results were what mattered.
Calladia drained the tub and toweled off thoroughly. Through the window, the ruddy light of a dying afternoon had melted into the purple hues of twilight, and Calladia felt the urge to curl up under a blanket and let the lingering heat of the bath lull her to sleep. She put on clean underwear and shimmied into the onesie, buttoning up the front and that ridiculous butt flap.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she hardly recognized the woman looking back at her. The duck pajamas were part of the effect, sure, but there was something else she couldn’t put her finger on. An extra rosiness to her cheeks, maybe, or a luminosity to her eyes. It was as if some invisible tension had been lifted from her skin by the hot water. She looked . . . soft.