Unlike everyone else in the bathhouse, April was fully clothed. Like everyone there, however, she was now soaking freaking wet. And she had liked this shirt. But rather than slosh immediately out, she was venting her rage though sitting in the middle of the pool area, arms crossed, contemplating whether dedicating the rest of her life to terrorism against the porter would really be that bad a thing. It would be more work, okay, which was bad. But there had to be some great job satisfaction there. There really did.

"Did no one invent bathrooms on the world yet."