[color=CD2868][center][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5500451][img]https://i.imgur.com/a2NKAnu.png[/img][/url][h2][b]🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕[/b][/h2][/center][/color][b]//O11 - Deserted Backstreets[/b]

The renovations had went well. Rather, as well as they could go for a group with no capital. The room was rearranged to be more suitable as a hideaway. The merry men were all given enough room to sleep. Talia had performed a blessing to guard the room. It was a strange miracle: one of perverse slight of hand and illusion meant to deceive. If someone had approached from the outside, then they simply wouldn't notice the door. It wouldn't be of mind. The inside of the room was coated in the same illusion. Unless someone overturned everything and happened upon the valuables (though they didn't have many), they wouldn't notice the obvious hiding spaces.

All things considered, it was an unfortunate state of affairs. The capital they had wasn't much. She didn't have any plans to call upon Lastor and his goons. Worst of all, Talia smelled like the city. Her past clawed at her. She had to remove every ounce of smell. Back at the bordello, she would ensure that the salt breeze never lingered on her skin. Flowers, tallow, and ash were all used generously--one of the few pleasantries she had. But now there was only the scent of muck and waste, trademarks of the city.

That meant that she needed to find a place to wash. Of course, her men could fend for themselves. She wasn't their mother. But she needed to get the smell of the city off of her. It was a futile effort sure to be replaced the next day, but it was something ingrained into her. A bathhouse or even a well would suffice.

And then there was the deep call that her heart longed for. The thieves lacked the equipment to brave the abyss, nor did they have the skill and aptitude to steal her desires from others. But that would come later. First, a bath.