Mr. John's unassuming tone does help Violeta relax a little. Made her feel like less of an intruder barging into his bubble. She was still careful not to overstay the merciful welcome.
The first few weeks had been admittedly rough on her. She was so far removed from her village, everything and everyone she knew, and Western society was cutthroat and unwelcoming to outsiders most days. She struggled without having a community to fall back on. No safety net.
So when Mr. John selflessly offers her clothes and a shower without prejudice, she's thankful she's learned to keep her emotions measured. Otherwise, she might have cried.
Yet she couldn't help but smile when he mentioned the lack of a bathtub. She didn't have one of those growing up either. A few homes had a shower, but most people bathed and washed their clothes in the river. Running water wasn't exactly widely available in the sky forests.
"Thank you, Mr. John... you are kind."
She also thought him to be incredibly strong. Not everyone who was in pain could have half a mind to still care for others. No, as a healer, she knew how selfish the mind could become when threatened, how personal worlds shrink when there was pain or suffering. It had to; the brain was wired to survive above all else.
It took a special kind of human to reach beyond one's personal suffering.
She nods in understanding as he walks after Silky, looking around and taking in her surroundings before taking another step into the space. Like a cat. Curious, cautious, and quiet. She peers into the small closet he gestured to, finding it to be a cramped bathroom after all. Not that she minded the tight space at all.
She gingerly places the borrowed change of clothes on the sink, taking another peek outside before soundlessly closing and locking the door shut.
She peels off her wet clothes, lamenting how dirty they've gotten before washing them off in the shower by hand. She wrings them as best she could, places them aside, and finally gets around to cleaning herself off. She lets out a long, tired sigh before turning off the water. Much better.
She towel dries as best she can, staring at the hair dryer the whole time. She's never used one before. But she's seen Mrs. Dillon use one. Noisy things. She didn't like them. But she figured she should at least try to use it.
She puts on the white button-up, rolls up the sleeves, and scoffs in humor when the shirt looks more like a dress. Mr. John was huge. Pulling off the khakis would take a miracle. Or a belt. Violeta had a chumbi.
Violeta wrings the colorful woven sash over and over, trying with all her might to get rid of the last of the water. She flaps her hands after so much effort, her eyes landing on the hair dryer again. She was going to have to do it, wasn't she?
It's fine. She's brave. She's Wari. She can handle a hair dryer.
She plugs the device into the socket, squaring her shoulders with determination. She turns it on.
She's very diligent. Focused, she waves the warm air over the sash, drying it out a little more. Focus. Focused... dissociating. Focus!
She bears the noise for a whole minute. A god-awful 60 seconds. She couldn't stand it any longer than that. Reminded her too much of planes. She runs her fingers through her wet hair to ground herself, trying to ground the whirring that didn't seem to go away even after she unplugged the hair dryer.
She looks in the mirror, her brows furrowing when she realizes she's paled from the whole ordeal. Yikes. Pinching her cheeks for circulation, she uses her mostly dry chimbo to secure the oversized cargo shorts that reach past her knees.
She realizes she must have taken an eternity in Mr. John's shower. She can hear it's still raining outside, though.
After cleaning up after herself and gathering her damp belongings, she pops her head out of the bathroom. It was noticeably darker outside now.
She practices the sentence in her head a few times before fully stepping out, "Thank you for letting me use your shower, Mr. John."
She places her wet clothes on the back of a chair, rolling up the sleeves a little more. She smiles, very aware of how silly she must appear in oversized clothing.
"I can get started on dinner now. What would you like? Mushroom soup is an option, but I can make whatever you're in the mood for, if you have the ingredients."
Her English seemed to flow so much easier now, her mood noticeably better. She was more confident. She knew how to cook. This, she could do. The kitchen was her domain and element.
She smiles at Mr. John with a glimmer in her eyes, raring to go and eager to please.
