"Fair enough." She pulls on the scrub bottoms, and they're way too loose around the waist, but that's what drawstrings are for.
She's checking another locker for something long-sleeved and/or a clean pair of socks when the guy drops the phrase 'third-rate hell dimension,' which earns him a startled sidelong glance. That seems... melodramatic. Not that she's been to any hell dimensions (or none that she remembers, ha), but she'd expect something more impressive than a criminally understaffed hospital - even in a 'third-rate' hell.
Before she can decide whether or not she wants to ask for clarification re: his hell dimensions rating system, she's distracted by the discovery of a cardigan. It, too, is a little too large for her, and she can't say she's a fan of the dull cream color, but at least it's another layer. She's just finished shrugging it on when the guy casually yanks a combination lock off one of the lockers, and she starts at the noise.
"Superpowers?" she repeats dubiously. If he's referring to her vision, she'd beg to differ. So far, it's only proven to be weird, not useful. She rolls up the cuffs of the cardigan and edges a little closer to him, peering at the broken lock in his hand. "I don't..."
... Oh. Okay. One of her scars is glowing. She stops in her tracks and stares down at her chest, brow furrowed. What the hell is this? It doesn't hurt, nor does it seem to be putting out any heat, though it does sort of hum against her fingertips when she cautiously pokes at it. "This... doesn't seem super," she mutters as she continues to prod at it experimentally.
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She's checking another locker for something long-sleeved and/or a clean pair of socks when the guy drops the phrase 'third-rate hell dimension,' which earns him a startled sidelong glance. That seems... melodramatic. Not that she's been to any hell dimensions (or none that she remembers, ha), but she'd expect something more impressive than a criminally understaffed hospital - even in a 'third-rate' hell.
Before she can decide whether or not she wants to ask for clarification re: his hell dimensions rating system, she's distracted by the discovery of a cardigan. It, too, is a little too large for her, and she can't say she's a fan of the dull cream color, but at least it's another layer. She's just finished shrugging it on when the guy casually yanks a combination lock off one of the lockers, and she starts at the noise.
"Superpowers?" she repeats dubiously. If he's referring to her vision, she'd beg to differ. So far, it's only proven to be weird, not useful. She rolls up the cuffs of the cardigan and edges a little closer to him, peering at the broken lock in his hand. "I don't..."
... Oh. Okay. One of her scars is glowing. She stops in her tracks and stares down at her chest, brow furrowed. What the hell is this? It doesn't hurt, nor does it seem to be putting out any heat, though it does sort of hum against her fingertips when she cautiously pokes at it. "This... doesn't seem super," she mutters as she continues to prod at it experimentally.