[The drying-off is efficient, if not as quick as it ought to be; but at least his hair is manageable like this, if likely to stay damp for longer. Kratos is squeezing the water out of the braid when Yuan returns, but the towel gets hung up and the clothes accepted without a word.

[The clothes are soft and embroidered, but aren't silk, despite their looks. For all Yuan's airs, the clothes he prefers are made of simpler fabrics, a nostalgia for a simpler and less technologically advanced time -- just like the city in which he'd been born. Kratos knows they're Yuan's because they fit nearly perfectly, except across the shoulders where the shirt is just a touch too tight. It's ... familiar, nostalgic, wearing Yuan's clothes like this. Kratos had been born into something finer. He prefers these as well.

[Getting into the clothes is a slightly longer venture than it should be, also; but when Kratos is dressed he picks up his boots and his belt with its accoutrements -- the only personal possessions he has left now Yuan's seen fit to abduct him. He leaves his torn clothes for Yuan's staff to take care of.

[Then the difficult part: getting to the door. Unfortunately, while the hot bath has soothed Kratos's sore muscles, it's also paved the way for tiredness; he gets about two steps away from the wall when he stumbles, the dizziness returning.]