She's well into that second bath by the time he comes round again. He staggers out of the chair and toward one of the many mirrors that serve to make some of the rooms look bigger than they actually are. He peers blearily at his own reflection, unnerved at the blood caked in his mustache, but satisfied that he's still alive.
Slowly he unfastens the gauntlets and eases them off his only slightly shaking hands, then peels off the gloves worn under them. He looks at his hands for a moment, at the slight burns on the back of each and the odd, faintly glowing lines under the skin. He really has been using those things far too much.
Azwel rests his fevered-feeling head against the cool glass for a moment, then leaves the room. Far from going upstairs again to bother Rip further, he makes his way along the quiet halls and down into the lower level. This opens into a vast chamber filled with laboratory equipment of all descriptions. He slowly walks past all of that, though, to a door at the other end. Beyond that lies a small bedroom crammed full of books and a soft bed, and off of that lies a small bath chamber.
Carefully, Azwel places the gauntlets on a shelf, then proceeds to remove the elabourate robes he's wearing. He gives a soft moan of relief once he's removed that heavy belt and his knees nearly buckle. This has exhausted him worse than any other fight or all-night work session combined, and it worries him a little. Still, he reckons as he goes back to unfastening layers, it's probably because he got so emotional. Like as not, it probably interacted badly with the connexion he has with his weapon. He'll have to meditate on that. But later. Right now, as he unfastens his complicated footwear, he realises he simply wants to rest.
Finally he strips down to his smallclothes and even removes the gold-coloured circlet from his head, letting his long, wavy hair fall around his face. He ponders bathing--he's a sweaty mess. But he's simply too tired to do much more than wash his face and hands with cool water before collapsing onto the bed.
He's forgotten, however, that every door between Rip's suite and this room is unlocked.
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Slowly he unfastens the gauntlets and eases them off his only slightly shaking hands, then peels off the gloves worn under them. He looks at his hands for a moment, at the slight burns on the back of each and the odd, faintly glowing lines under the skin. He really has been using those things far too much.
Azwel rests his fevered-feeling head against the cool glass for a moment, then leaves the room. Far from going upstairs again to bother Rip further, he makes his way along the quiet halls and down into the lower level. This opens into a vast chamber filled with laboratory equipment of all descriptions. He slowly walks past all of that, though, to a door at the other end. Beyond that lies a small bedroom crammed full of books and a soft bed, and off of that lies a small bath chamber.
Carefully, Azwel places the gauntlets on a shelf, then proceeds to remove the elabourate robes he's wearing. He gives a soft moan of relief once he's removed that heavy belt and his knees nearly buckle. This has exhausted him worse than any other fight or all-night work session combined, and it worries him a little. Still, he reckons as he goes back to unfastening layers, it's probably because he got so emotional. Like as not, it probably interacted badly with the connexion he has with his weapon. He'll have to meditate on that. But later. Right now, as he unfastens his complicated footwear, he realises he simply wants to rest.
Finally he strips down to his smallclothes and even removes the gold-coloured circlet from his head, letting his long, wavy hair fall around his face. He ponders bathing--he's a sweaty mess. But he's simply too tired to do much more than wash his face and hands with cool water before collapsing onto the bed.
He's forgotten, however, that every door between Rip's suite and this room is unlocked.