RP:A Tail Of Sword-thieving

Part of the A Few Fox Tales Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

This is a Rogue's Guild RP.

Summary: Ina, with help from Dezerae, finally gets her paws on Tenbatsu Kaji. Tenbatsu Kaji, however, does not consent.

Sandy Beach, Cenril

Ina allows herself a theatrical grumble, as though she were being weighed down by the oversized sack that was swinging behind her. Only, she wasn't the one carrying it. No, that task fell to the poor apprentice she had 'borrowed' from Lanlan's keep- who was dancing to her tune due to the siren call of 'Extra credit', after a recent mishap with potions saw a small fire break out. Whilst some degree of blame -could- have plasibly found it's way to her doorstep, given that she was the one to suggest 'Dragons breath in a bottle' as a viable teaching tool- well, she wasn't having it. Nor, apparently, was the students back, because upon reaching the beach- the poor fellow spilled over- crashing forward face first with something like a 'Finally'. And then he just, stopped moving, save to awkwardwardly wriggle in place, as though his pale elven skin and blonde locks might meld into the terrain and disguise him from further scrutiny. "Ja foolin' noone. But it's fine. Ja can take a break. Maybe if Ja behave, ya can help me out later if I decide I need a tan." Though, Lanlan would -likely- complain if one of his students wound up jinxed and involved in a fatal freak swordfish accident. And, tanning might not necessarily be prudent, given that she was perhaps even paler then the elf apprentice- something that was readily apparent, given that she was skipping along in what looked to be a one piece swimsuit. And weren't redhead's prone to burning? Sure, there were streaks of black in it, currently, but the point remained. "Anyways. The second trip'll be quicker. Promise." In the interim, the foxkin begins to scooch towards the beach front, twin tails flicking behind her as she looks for...well, something.

Dezerae was crouched in a wide stance, arms outstretched, anticipating. What exactly was she patiently waiting for - a large, golden Labrador retriever, who ironically was struggling to retrieve a thin wooden stick that’d been previously tossed by the feline. She coaxed him with soft hums and praises, attempting to attract his attention from any possible element that made him pause. First a shell, then a rock, then another shell, and that was only three pitter patters forward. Eventually, when there is only a few feet between them, the woman pushes herself up with a soft groan to standing. The sand forces a pause to adjust to the granular shift but she’s then stepping forward to remove the distance between them, exciting the blonde pup even further. He circles once, and sits obediently, panting with stick still in maw. This was still a game of fetch, in a sense, and the feline was the retriever. “Drop it,” she says softly, the furthest from instructive or demanding, but Pillow happily sets the oversized twig on the ground and resumes panting. “We need to get better at this, Pillow. You run, I stay. Not the other way around.” She leans forward, twirling the stick in her betwixt her fingers before gearing to toss it again. Her eyes raise seconds after the projectile leaves her fingertips, so she’s delayed in realizing that it was careening toward two individuals that hadn’t been there before. And Pillow was on the pursuit, right after it.

Ina is a fortunate soul, which is likely what accounts for the manner in which she turns her head in the direction of the whoosh she hears, and only narrowly avoids earning a stick to the face- an outcome which is instead reserved for her hapless minion, whose first bonked by the bounce of the stick, then trampled by the dog in it's pursuits of said stick. And then trampled a -second- time, after the dog retrieves said stick and begins it's excited journey towards it's owner. Only, it doesn't quite get there, because at about the juncture the mutt bounds off the apprentices head, (With an audible groan from the launchpad), it properly takes note of the foxkin, and the twitching tails attached to her. She recognizes the look, even as some internal conflict sees 'Pillow' wrestle with holding onto the stick, or chasing after fluff. "Oh no ja don't." Already, emerald eyes are narrowing, one bare foot sliding back in the side as she gets ready to. . . Well, a quick sideways glance confirms the owners actually nearby, which is less than ideal. Especially when the Labrador decides it can still chase tail while keeping a firm grip on it's prize. "Hey, could'ja-" She slips to the side, as the dog bounds forward, it's nose passing through the air where her tail had been- as though it were a bull, and she the matador. "Call off ja Mutt, pUh-leeze."The elven apprentice, Devon- (Or Maybe Daryll, or Dirk? Hrm) makes some offhanded gesture from his spot on the floor, whether to help, or wave off the dizzines from being stepped on. Before Ina then bounds over onto his back, pulling a pair of tongs out from the sack he's burdened with, and hopping off anew, before hopping off- hopefully before Pillow can re-adjust it's course.

Dezerae shouts “Pillow,” yet to no avail - he was off. And apparently pouncing and prancing on individuals; where did her learn to be so rude? She hastily trots over to the group, slowed down by the sand and its inconsistency with supporting her footing. “Pillow,” she says again, her voice rising a bit in decibel, but still not achieving a yell status. “I’m so sorry,” the feline also murmurs toward the duo, unfit for this type of interaction or the unique dialect that one of the victims had. After wincing both times the canine steps on the elven company and is ultimately dodged at his first attempt to claim both stick and tails, the redhead grabs his collar as he begins swiveling and attempting to pounce one more. Pillow is delayed in realizing that his owner now has a hold of him, and he make a soft noice in surprise and then finally whimpers at the prospect of being contained, not fully comprehending what led to this. Dezerae holds his collar with both hands, corralling the pet between her legs and attempting to hold him in place with the sheer strength of her short figure. Finally, bloody gaze raises towards both the standing stranger and the fallen companion, a few moments needed to catch her breath before she speaks. “I am so sorry. He’s not usually so…reckless and untamed.” Fingers idly go to cup the canine's maw, which still had the stick, and direct his attention upward, stern and disappointed expression contrasting the minor pets offered to his neck and side of head.

Ina may have let out a bit of an exhale when Dezerae finally contains her canine companion, or at least, curbs it's enthusiasm. And yet, for a moment, her expression remains unreadable- the foxkin briefly caught in contemplation, the felines subdued response almost coaxing her into a bout of theatrics- to play up the severity of events, and measure the response. But alas, she has company, even if it was making an excellent carpet impression, and so- Ina allows herself a measure of gratefulness, "Ja fine. Nothin' was lost. 'Cept maybe 'is dignity." Douglas? groans, even as Ina begins to coil the rope she'd gathered about her arms, substantially more at ease as the dogs' owner establishes control over the situation, "They usually aren't. Doesn't stop it from happening, time n' again." There's a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as their gazes meet, though it's not long before the distance between red and green grows again- the foxkin's footsteps already beginning to take her closer to the shore, "Mmm. But that ain't ya fault, so, thank ya n' all, doll~"

Dezerae watched as the foxkin spoke, her expression also very blank. Perhaps it was the attempts to follow the words that were being spoken and decipher the meaning. Or it could be a social awkwardness coming about once again, the feline not usually interacting with any unfamiliar passerby - thanks a lot, Pillow. But her optics visibly reignite when green-eyed individuals imparts finishing words and begins stepping away, with her companion still faced down. The feline’s mouth was agape for a moment, unsure on how to maneuver, “Ah…your friend.” They didn’t seem like friends. With one hand still (loosely) holding the collar of the canine, the redhead wanders slightly to the fallen elf, “Do you need help?” Crimson orbs turn to the foxkin as well, speaking after her, possibly shouting depending how far she’s gotten. “Do you need assistance? It’s the least I can do with Pillow’s behavior.” Because she was at fault.

Ina stops mid-stride, if only because this happy bit of happenstance aligned quite neatly with the unfortunate inability of her companion to keep up. Without even skipping a beat, she swivels on her heels, her body canting off to one side so sharply, it looks as though she's on the verge of tilting over, back length hair draping over in a chaos of tangles, "Lettem rest. Been a long walk from tha' keep. Don't want him sayin' I'mma slave driver." There's a groan of acknowledgement from the elf, whose arms flounder out a bit further, whether from stiffness or an attempt at relaxing. Either way, she looked forward to the sand angel left in his wake later. "BUT! Far be it from me ta decline tha' offer a' help from a remorseful soul." Which is all the warning gets before a prtion of the rope is hucked Dezerae's way, even as the foxkin resumes padding her way to the beach. Really, she's not quite sure -where- she's going, but, that's why she got an excessive amount of rope. From a ship. That probably needed it for it's sails, or something. She doesn't overly care, really- though, the shipwreck that occurs later tonight may spark a pang of remorse. Because she didn't get to see it. "Anyways, Uh- Jus' pull on this if ya feel a lot of tuggin'. N' dun get pulled in. Easy." That is the least helpful instruction possible, Ina. Which is unfortunate, because within the next few moments, she's abruptly taken a dive.

Dezerae nods, obediently, the behavior that her pup should learn from. “Sure, happy to help. Let me know what I can-.”Sentence is broken quickly as a rope is thrown to her, forcing her to release the collar for the moment. She quipped a quick “sit” command to the Labrador (though it was not effective earlier) and he responds by dropping his backside a bit too close to the fallen elf’s outstretched arm. Dainty fingers flex around the rope, clenching and unclenching her grip to prepare her self for the task. Her gaze remained on the rope as the foxkin provides what could barely be called instructions and the final statement “pulled in easy” forces her eyes to raise. “What?” She mumbles before the stranger - how does she still not know her name - runs into the crashing waves and disappears beneath the vast sea surface. The feline is again left stunned, not sure what to make of this situation until she realizes the rope is slipping away at an unreasonable fast speed. Dezerae grips a bit tighter, allowing the rope to still flow, but at a controlled pace, and digs her heels into the sand. Pillow watches the situation unfold and barks incessantly when the foxkin disappears, forcing the feline to make a soft “shush” noise that goes disregarded.

Ina was already getting into her usual tricks by the time the sea had swallowed her form, the lithness of her vulpine form shed in favour of something more fitting for her undersea adventure. Specifically, if there's anyone currently on the beach front going for a dip, they might get a rather unpleasent surprise- given that the shapechanger has introduced a brand new species of shark to the waters- red, where the shark might be white, and black where it's habitual greys would be. Hence prepared, Shark-toothed Ina chomps down on her end of the rope and begins to descend, entrusting her current journey to the currents, and whatever fickle feeling consumes her attention at a given moment. It'd be fine. Only. . . Just- how far -was- it to Cenril's harbour from here? And how long was the rope?

Dezerae had allowed the rope to slip past her fingers for a moment, the soft brush against her palms both sensorial and irritating. She’d frequently glance behind her toward the slowly decreasing supply of rope, and make a soft noise of concern as the rope continued to pull away. Elven companion was still down for the count and Pillow had moved on to playing with his stick once again, so the redhead was on her own. Catlike gaze reflects light in the moonlit night, the surface of the dark waters clear despite it being evening. With those sensitive optics, she’s able to catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar fin, and she utterly panics. How did throwing a stick get her here? After a quick huff, she turns to the elf, “Um. Excuse me. Your friend is out there in waters and I think there’s a shark lingering around. Should I pull her out?” No response. Is he dead. That was not her concern, as she could only focus on one life at a time. With the remaining rope dwindling, the feline reaches her resolve with a loud exhale. She’s dug her heels even further into the sand, if that were even possible, and crimson gaze glint intensely against the reflection of the water before she closes her grip around the rope. It scrapped her palm for sometime, a foot worth of rope slipping past, though losing traction. Putting into context, Dezerae was 5 feet, 2 inches and surely the shapeshifter on the other end had more force and strength. Still, with determination and probably a bit of naïveté, the feline continues to clench the rope, wincing at times when the rope splinters her skin.

Ina continues to glide forward, her form slipping deeper and deeper within Cenrils deceptive depths, navigating those waters which had served so many boats before. Waters which even now housed a different sort of prize, one which lay slumbering- just as the cities residents did, unaware in their homes. "Duh Nuh." There's a strain upon the rope, a brief flicker of something as it gets caught upon a rock, before a brusque pull sets it free. "Duh Nuh!" It's with the passage of a cloud that the glint of something truly precious catches the foxkins eyes- the hint of steel briefly illuminated by a flicker of celestial light, before it fades from sight again. It's enough. "Duh Nuh, Duh Duh, Duh Nuh~" Her body heaves down now, regardless of what resistance the feline provides, threatening not just to tease and torment her palms, but to drag Dezerae into the shallows, and possibly further still- if the hint of treasure proves more elusive still, more profound then it might have seemed. Because the Foxkin needs room, an ample amount- so that she might fling her form about the item in swirls and knots- to see the slender treasure coiled in rope, knotted tighter then the panic that might be swelling in her unwitting accomplices heart. Derrick? is tat this juncture -grateful that playing dead is panning out for him so well, if only because of what he briefly sees when his head lifts up. Perhaps, some withdrawn portion of his brain considers speaking, to offer up some form of warning. And yet, his sheer disinterest in becoming involved quells it, removing the imperativeness from his words. "No. Stop. Don't do it." The extra credit had better be worth explaining all later.

Dezerae : The rope wasn’t stopping, or at least with the little strength Dezerae possessed. She wasn’t made of muscle and she was barely made of magic. Fingers continue to grip at the rope and attempt to slow its velocity, while her eyes dart about. Attention falls on the stone wall encapsulating the area and the ornate design - not for aesthetics but for function. The gaps and grooves may be able to serve a purpose. “Pillow.” The pup perks at attention and runs to his owner, stick still in maw, and panting excitedly for this next command. Knowing that her grip was not making dent on the pace of the rope, the feline releases with one hand, takes the stick from her furry friend and exchanges it for the end of the rope. With less than a few some odd meters left on the line, the feline only could rely on adrenaline and hope her estimation of next steps was accurate. “Fetch.” The stick is sent careening toward the perimeter, soaring well past it, thankfully and most importantly garnering a quick pursuit from the blonde pup. Dezerae trails behind his headstart with dexterity only a feline could have - a few obstacles were jumped over - allowing the line to pass through her fingers, and only stopping when she reaches the stone hedges. With now bloody palms, she takes hold of the rope from her canine friend with minimal struggle, weaves it intricately in the gaps and folds of the wall and pulls into a tight knot. Time was thankfully one side, as once she is done, the rope runs out and is fulled taunt, creating tension between the foxkin and the stone structure. With all the effort she could do done, the redhead falls onto her behind and exhales repeatedly, Pillow coming over to give his owner a few cheek kisses at their assumed success.

Ina reaches the end of her rope- rather literally as it winds up pulling tauter then Leo's nerves after an evening of her antics. There's a moment where she takes in the sight of her handiwork- the curiously deft loops and knots that bound what looked to be a sheathe to the blade still moored within. It'd suffice. Hopefully. It'd be awkward to go this deep and do it all again. Which left the final and most important part. Scaring the living daylights out of Dezerae. With one brusque jerk to the rope given, in an effort to signal the feline on the other end, the foxkin begins her ascent to the surface. And yet, the little horror show she has prepared isn't something as simple as the cresting of a a sharks fin to a target that might not be anywhere near proximal enough for it to cause a true upset. Oh no, the gag here will be in the altogether dramatic fashion in which Ina finally reveals herself, for as the surface begins to come in sight- so too does her guise change one last time. To the fragile form of a foxkin, limply floating to the surface on her back- adrift in the waves that carry her to shore.

Dezerae elbows at the canine idly, taking brief breaks from the continuous kisses that he provided. Eventually, the taut rope that the’d both innocently forgotten loses its tension, which signals that the foxkin was most likely on her way back. The feline grunts softly as she stands and palm makes contact with knee, her scraped appendages pouted towards before she wanders back toward the water. Pillow drifts beside her, bumping occasionally into her legs but not enough to knock her down. Again, feline optics are able to perceive in the darkness and she notices that end of the other side attached was a bobbing bundle of fur. And Dezerae knew a native transformation when she saw one, despite not having one of her own. But guess who reacted faster? Pillow darts forward, noticing the limp form of Ina and most important the two tails that’d evaded him earlier. The redhead goes chasing after him, tripping at times and wincing when her hand hit the sand. But she was no match. “Sit.” Completely disregarded. Instead, Pillow runs over to the foxkin and hovers over her, head tilted in curiosity of her stillness. Nose then nudges the lifeless creature, before Pillow falls into a stance that is leaned down with bottom in the air and commences hopping around the foxkin to stun here awake. Dezerae eventually reaches them both and grabs Pillow’s collar once again - how nostalgic - and attempted to shoo him away from what she perceives to be there injured stranger.

Ina had -thought- she'd managed a perfectly adequate prank. Here she was, with the perfect opportunity to relax and soak in a moonlit night as the gives a perfectly good stranger a mild panic attack. Only, it isn't the -stranger- that reaches her. No, what the foxkin is left dealing with is the mutt- canine inquisitiveness making a fine mess of her vulpine wiles. She -tries- to keep the charade going, to resist budging when he pokes it's nose into her, but as it's attempts to help only intensify, and bring it further into contact with her own jinxed nature, she finds herself floundering into a state of uprightedness- nearly headbutting Dezerae in the process as she pulls Pillow back. And honestly, it makes for an awkward moment, because the look of concern, and the detail of abraded skin aren't quite lost on the foxkin. "..Uh." She splutters a little, before she flails one arm up, the other folding across her chest as she's once more left to pay the price of shifting faste rthen any form of clothing can keep up with. "Eyes up here, 'n all that." There's a part of the foxkin that hopes the feline might stay off-balance. If not by virtue of the odd circumstances, then perhaps by the new playmate pillow has found, as it's subtle shift in it's fortunes sees it discovering an altogether cross crustacean. Hopefully -something- would contrive to pop up and mask the brief crack in the foxes good spirits, as she offers an almost chastened, "Thanks."

Dezerae again secures the pup by the neck, this time using her fingers to crook around the collar so that palms do not need to make contact. She’s seen a naked person post-transformation, so she wasn’t perturbed in any sense. But what she does notice is the lack of injury or any sense of struggled on the foxkin, opposite of her own injuries. “Don’t worry, I understand how transformation work and I’ve seen the naked form before, rest assured.” She stands upright, and performs a gesture toward Pillow, resulting in the canine lying down between her legs, nestling his head on paws. Dezerae idly stretches and curls her fingertips, as she squints toward the foxkin, making sure her eyes remain ‘up here’. “I tried to tug on the rope but I wasn’t strong enough. You have quite the force for someone of your size.” Of course, the feline wasn’t aware that the shark seen out in waters was of the same variety as the stranger before her, and for the foxkin’s sake, it’d be best to keep that bit a secret. “I hope you found what you needed in the water. And your friend is still here.” Finally, once the last bit of gratitude is offered, despite her own injuries and negative experience, the feline offers a soft, slightly pained smile. “You’re very welcome.”

Ina, were she normal, probably would have been feeling some degree of relief at the altogether well-adjusted manner in which Dezerae acclimates to the situation, but what she's left is something closer to a sense of being disarmed. There's very little of the awkward hesitation that had led the other woman into this situation in the first place, only a surprisingly measured quietness. "Yeah." It was uncomfortable in a manner she wasn't quite prepared for, and saw her alreadystepping towards the rope that led beneath the waves, "That makes sense. I- Oh! Oh. I jus' let the shark do the heavy liftin', 'n focused on tha' not drownin', n' dyin' part." There is technically no lie in this sentence. if you squint. "But, yeah. I got it. Jus' gotta reel it in, if ya wanna stay 'n see the goods." It seemed only fair as an invitation, given the surprisingly profound wells of patience the feline had displayed. "Sooo." At some point during the process of pulling on the rope, she forgoes any semblance of modesty, using both hands to tug on the rope and slowly heft up her prize- confident, at least, that her semi-long suffering minion of the day was still reclining on the beach. "I shoulda probably got a name from ya, huh?"

Dezerae should be mad, angry or at least a bit peeved. But first, she had her sweet angel nestled between her feet and his energy was contagious. Secondly, albeit the injuries from the rope, in her mind none of this was the foxkin’s fault as well. That ‘shark’ is the true blame here. Lastly, she threw the stick that led to all this. The feline nodded quietly toward the invitation, not truly interested in what the treasure would be but to crosscheck against it and whether it was worth her injuries that she continued to hover in the air. She’d need to go to a medical center after this. “Ah, Dezerae is my name. I’m surprised we’ve gone this long without introducing ourselves.” She teeters onto one leg, gesturing toward the canine that started this all. “And this is Pillow.” In hindsight, Dez would most likely be most frustrated with him but he was too easy to forgive.

Ina squints at the dog again, but without much animosity this time around. Her and mutts didn't really get along- but as long as it's proximity was rooted to it's owners vicinity, it was a tolerable, "Pillow?" Her grip slackens in her confusion, and the rope starts to slide, culminating in a rather frenzied onset of tugging, "I mean, I ain't judgin'- I called my big guy Lump- but I gotta wonder, ja make a habit of nappin' on 'im?" There's a moment where she dwells on this exchange, before her mind doubles back and focuses on the other element of note that had been offered up. "Dezerae? ...Huh. Snappy." As she begins to step backwards, with the rope in tow, her tails flick about her person, their dimensions having seemingly glutted with time, as though they'd soaked in water like a sponge. Enough, at least, that her lower half was adequately dealt with. "Ja can call me I-" She catches herself, and grimaces, her focus returning to the rope as the first hint of her prize bobs to the surface, "In a bit. Jus'." With a splash, the mess of rope is dragged over towards her position- and with it, the black sheathed blade, whose finely lacquered handle still glistens, as though it had not spent years beneath the weaves. "Trish." It's a fine prize, and one that she's eager to further examine, her fingers moving to take hold of the hilt and draw it free from it's scabbard. Only, that turns out to be a -miserable- idea, given the rather abrupt burst of -something- whcih emerges from the blade. A localized ripple of energy which gives off a simultaneous sense of sacredness...and fervent disapproval. Something which sees the foxkin tilting over to one side, a frazzled, sizzling mess. "Bleugh."

Dezerae stepped back as the foxkin continues to pull, dragging Pillow back in synergy with her movement. Her gaze narrows and head remains shifted to one side even as she responds, distractedly. “Honestly? Yes. I nap on him a lot. He’s very comforting.” She retreats even further, almost stepping on the fallen elf in the process. A thought crosses her mind that along with the shark, her anger should be directed at him as well. Attention falls back onto whatever is being pulled out of the water and the feline begins to tip toe about to get a better view from the distance she’s created. “Trish. Lovely name.” is all she says in response to the information provided. The energy from the new relic caused a tinge of discomfort, enough to make her wounds pulsate. Which was odd. The feline looks down at her hands for the moment as the foxkin continues to struggle, before raising her gaze once more. “This…is what you were looking for? And oversized sword?” Color her unimpressed, and not at her own fault. The feline was more magically incline (or at least trying to be), so the blade just felt massive and cumbersome. And not worth her injuries - but she’d keep that comment to herself.

Ina flops on the ground for a few moments as she tries to sort out the ringing that's going through her ears, that's set her fur into a hackles, and has her wondering if she's reached next tuesday. A state of affairs that is, somehow, not enough to prevent her from trying her hand at touching the sword again. "BLEGH!" There's a moment or two where she squirms like an eel out of water, but the moment soon passes- leaving her to stagger to an upright position. One that has her fumbling for a few odd moments, and then nearly taking hold of the sword for a third time. "Ow." It's not sacred energy that gets her this time, however, but something closer to the ethereal wisp of a hand, one which smacks her own away in almost chiding manner. Which is an improvement, but only by degrees of failure. "It's not oversized. Well, it -is-, but jus' cause it ain't -me- size." Though, that's why it had made such an interesting piece to pursue, no? As she plucks at the rope and marionettes the blade closer, her other hand reaches over to Dezerae, a wiggle of her fingers meant to inquire for one last bit of aid, in an attempt to find her way back to her feet. And, perhaps, one last prank- one that might hopefully find a home this time, as the jinx seeks to acquire at least a sliver of fortune out of this whole endeavour.

Dezerae remarks the obvious, “It doesn’t seem to like you.” Anyone could tell with the pain and expression the foxkin continued to exhibit that sword was rejecting her, so why continue to pursue it, the feline wondered. Fingers are wiggled in her direction, and as much as she’d love to her (she didn’t), with the injury in her palms, the feline would have to retreat away, unable to aid. However, Pillow was more than happy to take the place of his owner. “Up, up.” The feline remarks and gestures towards the foxkin, while looking down at the canine. Thankfully, ‘Trish’ was almost in prime napping position, so he was accustomed to raising Dezerae at least upright in those moments. The blonde pet trotted over, and squeezed his head and neck below the foxkin’s mid back to provide support and strength so that she can rise to a standing position. Once up and running, the canine strolls back to his owner and circles between her legs, eventually abandoning both of them to search for that stick. During all this, the wounds on her palms began to ache, ignited by the disperse of energy, so the feline prepared to take her leave. “Trish, it’s been…something. Good to meet you but I must be off to the clinic.” She glances over the fallen elven, who’d not once left his perch, “Please make sure he is still alive.” With that, the redhead begins to depart, side stepping and maneuvering around the golden Labrador that just wanted to play.

Ina may have missed the chance to prank the feline (moreso than she already had), but poor pillow would do in a pinch. Though, once again, she was left feeling a slight pang of -something- indecipherable, in the face of the sincerity she was being offered. Perhaps that's why she ensures what contact had only lasts as long as it's necessary. There was, after all, a lack of any real malice meant for the woman, "Catch ya 'round, maybe." Except, why would their paths cross again? And so Ina turns her attention to her companion, who- was still wiped. Dissapointing. "Fine, I'm just gonna tan, or something." From the sack on his back, a small chest full of spare clothes is rummaged, alongside a towel. Everything one would need to get a Tan. Now if only it wasn't the middle of the night.