Show-off, [ she accuses, but there's a note of appreciation underneath the flat pseudo-humor. he could've made this a lot more difficult, asked more questions or said he had somewhere to be or something.

after just a second further, she turns to head out of the shower.

if he manages to beat her to her locker (which isn't so hard, despite her comment about getting out of here soon), she shows up maybe ten minutes later, a towel wrapped around her middle. she's got this routine down to a science, washing the goo off of her undergarments and letting those dry some while she showers the rest of her so she doesn't have to do the whole 'let's not flash my neighbors' song and dance at her locker each round, so the towel's mostly just to get rid of as much excess moisture as she can before she slips her clothes on over them. especially the moisture in the cloth bandaging around her upper thigh, the one thing she doesn't take off in the shower for reasons that would be pretty obvious if she did. ]

We're gonna have to drop by my place. [ is her greeting as she swipes her wrist over the locker panel and it pops right open. the towel's unwrapped, and she squeezes it around the thigh bandaging to soak up as much water as it can for a second before she tosses it into a heap on the benches and slides into her requisite post-jump sweats. ] I'm willing to postpone getting totally smashed by like five minutes in the name of clothes that are actually dry. [ spoken as she pulls a dark t-shirt on over her damp bra. ]