Welcome to Gaia! ::

Indeed. The robed reaper's clothes clung so tight it was almost suffocating. Mot sputtered as he surfaced, coughing and wiping water from his face and throwing his hood back with a thick and heavy sound. "Oh yes. I feel splendid. Thank you so much, Damien." Mot said with a short laugh, ringing his long hair out.

We clothing was very heavy. Wet clothing and a soaking wet poncho-cloak was nearly debilitating. "I do not feel I needed help with my laundry today." He laughed again, struggling to pry the soaking garment off his back.

It was rare to see Mot too upset. He tended to take things in stride. Usually. Flustered though? That was easy to accomplish.

Mot went silent a moment as Damien tried to help, his comment causing him to think over his problem. "I... I think I may just... require a bit more help." He wasn't really stuck, was he? Oh gosh... He was. He was stuck in his soaking wet poncho. It was so soaked through it weighed a ton and clung to every inch of his upper body.

"Any ideas that do not involve harm to the cloak?" He kind of favored it, after all.

"You just had to wear that here, huh sheriff?" Damien noted dryly, inspecting how badly the garnet was stuck on. and stuck on it was. It was indeed a moment to frown and think, careful deliberation that had his ears flicking around madly while he weighted the options.

"I could just sink my teeth into it and shake you out, but no." he paused, and began to lift mot's waterlogged arms. "Or I just peel you out of it, bit by bit." he stated, grasping at the cloaks hem and began to pull it over the boils head.

It was like dressing and undressing a petulant scareling.

except bigger and much more whiny. "Like so, see?"

Mot was asking to just get the wet cloth turned into a gag and shoved in his mouth. "If you die, Foofoo can be carried over to the nurse's office where he will find you, Mot. stop panicking." he insisted, bopping the boil on the head as he went about peeling the flaps of soggy material off. "But Foofoo would get along well with my group of foxfires, if you ever need a puppy sitter."

and mot just got thinner and lankier as he went, It was like looking into the mirror before fitness club. "You need to work out some more man." and for good measure, slapping the boil across the chest, for impact, of course.

It was always nice to introduce minipets to one another. and damien could hope that Mot would stop carrying the lone foxfire like a cheerleader would in an oversized purse. "We can set up a playdate for them, see how it goes, if you want." he offered the idea up, in case Mot was interested in it and socializing the minipet.

the fact that most of the flaps were picked up, albeit heavy, was a great relief, barking at Mot discomfort with his frame. "Training, how so, maybe you need to change it." he continued to ask, and distract the gunner while he began the arduous task of lifting it free of his neck.

It really was a two man job, one to yank the cloth off and the other to keep Mot breathing while the other does its job. "Sweet jack, come on you stupid little.." there were more barking and growling of irritation being made alongside Mot's complaining .

"well you can use your harmonica to help you remove this cloak from yourself, strongman." damien countered back, barking at the boil and his nonsense.

there was a lot more tugging and by Jack, he was going to force Mot's top of before this was over.

What's that? Damien was unable to pay attention to anything. the force of the release of mot from cloth was jarring, causing the hound to yelp and fall back into the water.

And get dragged down into the depths of the water from the cloak. Just what the Jack did Mot keep in them, anvils?

Zar in all the commotion had defty done what Zar tended to do best, and that was to fade into the background, sidling as far away from the splashing and ruckus, he'd hunkered down in the water and tried very hard to find a calm place, his tail looping around him protectively. It was progress enough that he'd come out here and actually dared to enter the water in the first place, he didn't feel like he had to start pushing things.

It was still bizzare to miss the resistance his wings used to offer against water, an experimental flap yeilding nothing but a sweep of bones. He'd been hoping he'd learn to fly rather than glide someday, but apparently amityville academy's field trips thought otherwise. He was probably just lucky to be alive, if a little damaged and probably chipped with some hunter tag still.

He kept thinking that he should thrive in these conditions, scantily clad people all around, steam and water, every instinct he had should feed into it. But it was all reigned back by conditioning, every desire to relax and join in was fettered by long term conditioning.