He was sopping wet. Hell, it was even in his pair of trainers. His socks were sodden and made an unpleasant squelching sound as he walked. What a pissing miserable day. Just fucking great. And he was in a place which smelled strongly of nail polish and hairspray, sickly sweet and cloying and probably burning a hole in the ozone layer just by existing.

He was squeezing out his t-shirt when a towel was thrust in his direction. Someone he didn't know, the one who had been loitering. "Uh, thank you," he said after a moment, grabbing the towel and using it to roughly dry off his hair. At least it wouldn't drip into his face then. He used it to mop up the excess water where he could although it didn't make much of a difference. "You'd think that they'd give us umbrellas at least."