Tess watches Allison through the mirror when she exits the stall –– she has a fleeting impulse to grab a second towel and drape it over her shoulders, but there's something to be said about keeping cool, resolved. Her future scars are hard to cover: a large but healing debrided wound stretching down the side of her neck and over her shoulder, a gunshot wound on her upper chest. She's a myriad of scars anyway. They are what they are. Tess can own them.

There's no need to be shy when Allison has one of her own anyway; Tess eyes the scar with some curiosity, but she doesn't say anything about it. Not yet.

"Tell me about it, I went from smuggler to custodial," she replies. Truthfully, she doesn't care to transfer. Not that she'd ever say it out loud, but she likes being with Arthur. "Spa's relaxing, at least. I can't imagine half the people on this barge have ever stepped foot in there."