The Nexus pool was a pleasant novelty for April. Back home, her options were generally limited to the sewers down in the lair or the equally-unappetizing, ostensibly urine-filled water at the YMCA. For someone who spent the better part of her days concerned with giant, anthropomorphic turtles, she really didn't take the time to swim nearly enough.

Fluffy towel hung over one freckled arm, tugging absently at the band of her yellow bikini, she padded barefoot into the chlorine-scented room and then froze, blue eyes gone wide. For an uncomfortably long moment she stared, and then jerked her gaze forcibly away to a suddenly-fascinating crack in the tile.

Should she abort? Should she randomly mention the wide array of swim trunks available in the hotel shop? Should she politely offer her towel?

"Um," she settled on, and winced.