"Undressing," Dirk said to Briar without pausing in his actions, "you covered me in ale that I rinsed away. I would however, prefer not to sit in wet armor, so I will let it dry while I continue to eat." He didn't see why she had such a sour tone. What was wrong with wanting to get dry?
"What is your complaint this time?" He did not hesitate while he waited for her answer. Armor, cloak, and boots off, weapons at his feet, he was now standing in clothing, made of a thin, beige fabric. The shirt, a short sleeved tunic, laced up the sternum to his clavicle, was snug against his muscled chest and biceps. The rest of his arm, up to a few inches from his wrist were wrapped in strips of the same fabric. His short pants, had a drawstring at the waist, and also tied a few inches below his knees. The rest of his legs and his feet were wrapped in the same strips of fabric as his arms, leaving only his toes exposed. Wet, as they were, the fabric of his garments clung to him completely, in a not unattractive way. It was also apparent, with the way the pants clung to him, that he was amply endowed, so Briars taunts were unfounded.
A quick stretch was all the pause he gave before he moved to begin unwrapping his hands. He had no plan to stop.