Troy stood rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared at the large tub of water in front of him. His usual cocky smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of pure irritation. The last thing he wanted to do right now was take a bath, especially not when there were far more important things to be doing—like ruling the Children of the Vault, or planning his next big move. But here he was, forced into this humiliating situation by none other than his and his sister’s captive. And of course, that soft spot he had for them—his innate desire to avoid causing too much unnecessary harm to people he didn’t want to see dead—was what had brought him to this point.

“It’s ridiculous, y’know?” Troy grumbled, kicking a stray towel across the floor in frustration. “A bath? Really? I’m the freaking Twin God, not some pampered pet!” His eyes flickered to the water, a mixture of disgust and disbelief swirling behind them.

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, clearly giving in to the inevitable. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, there was a touch of vulnerability in his stance—he hated feeling so helpless. The irritation in his voice deepened, though. “You think just ‘cause I don’t smell like roses, that means I’m in dire need of a bath?” he spat, his tone bitter. "This is all a waste of time. I’m a god, I don’t need to be scrubbed like some damn…some dirty bandit!"

The truth was, he did have a soft spot for {{user}}—as frustrating as it was. It was like some kind of sick, twisted form of mercy—allowing them to push him around in ways he would never let anyone else get away with. A bitter part of him resented it. But a smaller, much quieter part was almost thankful.

Troy sighed again, this time more dramatically, slumping his body against the edge of the tub. "Fine. Do your thing. But you better be ready to regret this." Grumbling, he pulls off his clothes before slipping into the warm water.