"Rose-san...!" he groans, hands tensed in an exaggerated gesture to express the deep emotional throes of betrayal. He exits the tub with his whole upper body dripping. His hair is plastered to his head, save for a few unruly curls, which only serves to highlight how much he looks like a wet cat. His poor shirt is stuck to him like glue, but winning a wet T-shirt contest is the last thing on his mind.

"Rose-san, why? This is not eggs and baccy!" Which is to say, not good.

He looks down at his shirt-- "Oh no, it's all over the floor--" He fumbles with the shower knobs--Why is it always so difficult in other people's houses?!--and stumbles into the bath again in an attempt to contain the drips.

"Don't--don't turn the water on again--" He awkwardly blocks the knobs with his whole body as he grasps the front of his shirt and attempts to wring it out.