Yes, yet another upload. I'm on a roll, people.
DISCLAIMER: Rigel says that I own him, but I'm not so sure if that's appropriate. However, I'm certain that Hellboy, BPRD, and all other comic and movie merchandise aren't mine. ^^;
Cleaning up, it seemed, involved not only a butterfly bandage over his tender, slightly swollen nose, but a warm shower. Rigel was led down yet more hallways to a kind of shower room, given soap and shampoo and told to leave his clothing outside the shower stall. The teen, curious and just a bit suspicious, had inquired why.
"Wait." He'd said quietly. "What's going to happen to my clothing?"
Hellboy simply chuckled. "Have you looked in a mirror, kid? Yer covered in blood an' yer clothes don't fit ya. We'll get some new clothing for ya."
Rigel blinked. "Oh…thank you…" With that, he'd stumbled into the stall and removed his clothing, leaving it out in an almost-folded pile. Though he was happy to be finally rid of it after five year's worth of wear and tear, he couldn't help but feel a small swirl of uneasiness. Along with his flute, all Rigel had carried during his wandering journey was the clothes on his back. Now that the flute was gone, all that remained from his life before, and during, the Call was his clothes. And he was about to get rid of that, when he didn't know what the BPRD would do with him. Oh, yes, they were to be trusted--he'd never been wrong about a matter such as that before--but judging by the woman's look of intense interest, he wouldn't be traveling for a while. Rigel remembered the laws here; no minors on their own…
It took a few moments to get the water running and at a suitable temperature, but finally he got the hang of it. Rigel analyzed where the water was landing in the stall and nodded to himself. Quickly, he opened the metal door a crack, peering out. No one was there, though he did hear footsteps down the hall. The teen snaked out an arm and snatched up the pair of moccasins, setting them down in a dry spot and closing the door with his foot. At least he'd have that one artifact while he flew headfirst into the unknown.
The water was nice, clean, and warm; a far cry from the river-water or rusted hotel-tap water he usually bathed in. Rigel would have liked to soak for as long as possible, but this wasn't the time. He scrubbed the dried blood off himself and lathered up his hair. It rinsed out two shades lighter then he thought it normally was. Slightly amused, Rigel turned off the water and poked his head out of the shower. His clothing was gone, excepting the moccasins, of course, and in their stead lay a folded towel and some kind of uniform. Rigel wrapped the towel around his head. He picked up the clothes and stood in the still-damp shower, shivering in the sudden draft of cold air. Putting them on, he noted that the shirt had the same emblem that was on the floor when he'd walked in--that was the BPRD's symbol, wasn't it? The pants were black and had very deep pockets; they'd be great for carrying things in, if Rigel had had anything to carry with him. Both shirt and pants were made out of some kind of thick cloth material, and fit him rather well. Rigel pulled on the moccasins, none the worse for their time in the shower stall, and walked out of the shower room. The teen noticed a mirror as he strode towards the door and paused to examine his reflection.
A wiry, tanned face stared at him from the polished glass-and-silver. It moved closer as he leaned in to take a closer look at his nose, which was purplish and about twice its normal size under the bandage, a bruise in the middle of his head. Two grey eyes rimmed with premature crows feet blinked as a crop of matted hair stayed plastered to his skull like crushed, sun-bleached wheat. Rigel hadn't really looked in a mirror much for the past five years--why would he, when there were farms to be watered and towns to help?--but now that he was doing so, he couldn't help but be hypnotized by the strangeness of his own expressions. Did the corners of his mouth really twitch that much, or was it some trick of the mirror? Was he seeing himself correctly?
"Hey, kid. You done?" The rough voice outside snapped Rigel out of his reverie. Somewhat ashamed and frightened, he picked the towel up from where he'd dropped it by the mirror and skittered out the door.
"I'm here. Thanks." Rigel smiled, grateful for the chance to clean himself up. The towel dragged a bit on the floor as he closed the door behind him.
Hellboy eyed the bit of wet fabric. "You can leave the towel inside."
"Oh--okay." Rigel nudged the door open, folding the towel and leaving it on the floor in front of the mirror. He walked outside for the second time and pulled the door shut.