Elua er Goltbred began to fit her *very* self-made rope through the slightly reinforced eyelets on the large flat leaves she'd gathered. Making a very makeshift sort of tunic out of them. When it came time, she would be focusing on nothing but her spirit as a sensory method and her physical energy paths… which meant her current defenses - at least around her skin would drop to nothing.
"Don't you have a nice piece of clothing already? That silver dress."
"I do. Yet, I refuse to clean this abhorrent substance off of the garment I married my beloved in. Again. Or to… make another memory of throwing up on it."
The ancient cultivator dipped a small cup into one of the cooling batches and took a slow, deep quaff. Her face remained impressively even despite what Madrigil was sure should be an appalling taste. Considering so much of that particular sense was tied to smell.
'Not to mention the sludge like thickness. I kind of want to try it. But I'm sure I would quite literally die.'
