As soon as they were able to separate, she quickly got back to her feet, nodding as he peered out the window, muttering an extremely rare "sorry about that" before speaking up; "Good... hopefully we can catch a gods-damn break for a little while. Hell knows it'd help," she replied just as softly; save for their voices and rather quiet footsteps, everything seemed to be in the clear-- at least for the time being. "I'll be damned if I know," She admitted as she began creeping about the room they currently occupied, nodding in agreement at his statement about them being in a shop. Judging by the furniture and dim lighting, it was definitely closed for the night.
"Why not?" It was a rhetorical question: not only would it be nice not to go around in dirty, recently-torn clothing, it could help with the whole "laying low," thing. After all, any guards that might have been prowling about might have been given a vague description of what they'd been wearing. Curiosity getting the better of her, she ventured deeper into the building, stopping every now and again to examine some of the displays. If she had to guess, they'd found a rather large general store: along with furniture, scarves and other clothing, her circuit around the room revealed a table full of toys, the odd small basket of dried herbs, shelves lined with linens, crockery and other household goods.
However, a bit further back, something peaked her curiosity even further: a door and two corridors leading from what she assumed was the main shopfront. Lifting a finger in the gesture of "hold on a second," prowling quietly on the balls of her feet, she crept toward the closer of the two doors. If it didn't lead to either a storage area or changing room, she wasn't entirely certain what to expect. Drawing Pain and keeping that dagger close to her side, she used the toe of one foot to push at the door; which swung open slowly, with a soft creak.
Waiting for a few seconds, she pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. What she came across wasn't the shopkeeper's residence, but as far as she was concerned, even better: it was a work-room, complete with toy-making equipment. But what caught her eye was the table, strewn with a deck of cards and five or so bottles of booze. Definitely a room worth revisiting.
Making her way back toward where she'd last seen Amaya, she called out quietly: "The work-room's damn sure worth looking into, later." With that, she made her way back over to the display of women's' clothing. It took a little searching, but after looking through countless dresses, skirts and bright, ornately-designed shirts, she finally located something that she thought would be comfortable and accommodate ease of movement: a fairly simple sleeveless, rust-red shirt and black pants that were gauzier than what she was used to, but seemed comfortable enough. Not knowing if the shop had a washroom or not, she shrugged, unfastened her waterskin from her whip-belt and with little care or modesty, stripped down and changed; wetting her old shirt so she could scrub most of the dirt and grime from her skin without getting the floor wet, grumbling and cursing under her breath whenever she located one of her injuries; finally dragging an exquisitely-crafted comb through her hair.
All in all though, it didn't take more than maybe fifteen minutes to make herself presentable; her old clothes tucked into a rucksack she'd located on one of the many displays, cautiously continuing her exploration of the shop once again; satisfied that there were no traps she'd end up triggering, no guard-dog sleeping somewhere, just waiting for a hapless intruder.
