Dias, for his part, more or less ignored Maya when she came into the room. He had more pressing matters to deal with; getting out of his soaked - and, thus, quite heavy - clothing, or at least such clothing as could be removed while observing the minimum of decency, was first on the list. He draped his dripping cloak over the back of a chair(wooden, but as it was Not His Chair, it was also Not His Problem), pulled off his gloves, gave Maya one brief, speculative look as he debated as to whether or not she would mind, then decided she was close to falling asleep anyway and tugged off his shirt as well. It wasn't as if sleeping in rain-soaked pants wouldn't be bad enough without a wet shirt to top it all off.

Dias really would have preferred to keep his shirt on, if it had been practical. It wasn't just that stripping down to just his pants while he was rooming with a young girl might look questionable; more than that, he knew his torso wasn't exactly going to win any medals for attractiveness. He was fit enough, but he was also on the thin side, and he had enough old scars that from some angles he looked like he'd taken a roll in a bed of blades. And, of course, there was the one scar which he preferred never to talk about, the one that looked nasty enough that people who saw it almost always asked about...theoretically, you couldn't fault people for natural curiosity(it was only theoretical because Dias damned well could and did fault them for it, quite often), but that didn't make it any less sore a subject.