[ic] (Hector) Some people have weird eating habits, just saying.
After dealing with the disgusting task of scrubbing the floors of the room Hector and his dead friend must have been having some Texas Chainsaw Massacre style fit of amusement in, there was only one dire need on Lacroix's mind; a shower.
Getting used to the fact that he was stuck inside unless Hector let him leave, knowing there were rooms in the place behind doors hidden in walls that he hadn't figured out how to open yet, and being denied any contact with the other people who lived in the building was difficult; but having sludge and unmentionable nasty bits of corpse remains sticking to him was not tolerable.
Maybe he was still too sensitive, Hector seemed to think so.
But he decided not to worry much about it; by the time he had stalked to his bedroom, mindful to keep too much sand from ending up in the hallway because he would have to clean that up later, the shower was practically calling to him.
It took all of two minutes for him to shrug off his stained clothes and empty the pockets of his jeans to retrieve the rubber ball Hector had worked that magic trick on earlier; the clothes went in the trashcan beside the bathroom sink and the toy was dropped on the bedside table in passing while he headed to the closet to find something clean to wear.
Everything gathered and then tossed on the marble bathroom counter, faucets opened and the rest of the world outside the confines of the bathroom; he finally relaxed with the first douse of water across his shoulders.
Hot water was so sinfully wonderful, almost enough to make Lacroix forget that said water was drenching his sticky hair and making that mix of smashed eye fluid and blood drip down the back of his neck. The notion made him shudder and scrub harder, the almost-too-sweet scent of his mint shampoo in excess was still better than the lingering copper-laced smell of blood.
After three attempts to free his hair of the remnants of slime Lacroix was finally satisfied and made quick work of the rest of his shower, with his luck the water would randomly turn cold and he wanted to avoid that unpleasant shock.
A few moments latter he was dressed in his standard jeans, t-shirt and arm warmers, rubbing his hair with a towel and padding across the bedroom floor bare-footed. Feeling more human again, thankfully, he stretched and gave his hair another rub-down with the thick towel before he returned it to the closet in the bathroom and made a quick check to be certain Sigmund was in his cage before he headed back out into the hallway.
His thoughts less distracted once his clothes and the rest of him was clean and free of the events of the evening, Lacroix was still a bit shaken up but feeling far better. Running fingers though his still-damp hair to smooth some of the stray bits down while he tried to locate Hector, uncertain if his mentor was even out of his own bedroom yet.
The only logical thing to do was check all the rooms, or at least the rooms he could get to; if Hector was lurking in one of those secret locked rooms he was just going to have to find a spot to wait for him to show up.
Getting used to the fact that he was stuck inside unless Hector let him leave, knowing there were rooms in the place behind doors hidden in walls that he hadn't figured out how to open yet, and being denied any contact with the other people who lived in the building was difficult; but having sludge and unmentionable nasty bits of corpse remains sticking to him was not tolerable.
Maybe he was still too sensitive, Hector seemed to think so.
But he decided not to worry much about it; by the time he had stalked to his bedroom, mindful to keep too much sand from ending up in the hallway because he would have to clean that up later, the shower was practically calling to him.
It took all of two minutes for him to shrug off his stained clothes and empty the pockets of his jeans to retrieve the rubber ball Hector had worked that magic trick on earlier; the clothes went in the trashcan beside the bathroom sink and the toy was dropped on the bedside table in passing while he headed to the closet to find something clean to wear.
Everything gathered and then tossed on the marble bathroom counter, faucets opened and the rest of the world outside the confines of the bathroom; he finally relaxed with the first douse of water across his shoulders.
Hot water was so sinfully wonderful, almost enough to make Lacroix forget that said water was drenching his sticky hair and making that mix of smashed eye fluid and blood drip down the back of his neck. The notion made him shudder and scrub harder, the almost-too-sweet scent of his mint shampoo in excess was still better than the lingering copper-laced smell of blood.
After three attempts to free his hair of the remnants of slime Lacroix was finally satisfied and made quick work of the rest of his shower, with his luck the water would randomly turn cold and he wanted to avoid that unpleasant shock.
A few moments latter he was dressed in his standard jeans, t-shirt and arm warmers, rubbing his hair with a towel and padding across the bedroom floor bare-footed. Feeling more human again, thankfully, he stretched and gave his hair another rub-down with the thick towel before he returned it to the closet in the bathroom and made a quick check to be certain Sigmund was in his cage before he headed back out into the hallway.
His thoughts less distracted once his clothes and the rest of him was clean and free of the events of the evening, Lacroix was still a bit shaken up but feeling far better. Running fingers though his still-damp hair to smooth some of the stray bits down while he tried to locate Hector, uncertain if his mentor was even out of his own bedroom yet.
The only logical thing to do was check all the rooms, or at least the rooms he could get to; if Hector was lurking in one of those secret locked rooms he was just going to have to find a spot to wait for him to show up.