Roughly fifteen minutes later, Alastor steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and another over his head, wrapped around the base of his horns to over his hair. His wings are still dripping slightly, evidently having been lightly patted dry at the most. No wonder, really, given how soft that membrane is even dry.

He barely glances over at Lady at the pool table before heading for the small fridge in the corner of the room.

"Everything sorted?"