Oh that— is absolutely the question I would be asking, dear Aether. [ He nearly laughs, though he's quite serious. Even as he's lead down the hall Bricks lets himself get distracted by soaking in the atmosphere of the place while conceptualizing it into something he does understand. ] I suppose it's not all that different from the ghost field, where I'm from. A um, a sort of intradimensional space where ghosts and spooks and spirits and all manners of supernatural and arcane energies traverse in and out of.

...This though is much nicer. Much. [ An understatement. He thinks it's incredible, especially if this is supposed to be as big of a teapot. For once he manages to put aside any further curious conjecture about the potential applications of such a pocket dimension when he's patently reminded, pertinently, a private space to clean up is very much one of them. He's appreciative. ]

Let's get cleaned up, shall we? [ He looks to Aether for silent approval/permission to leave his tattered soiled clothes on the changing room table before proceeding to strip out of them. Despite their state he still neatly folds everything into perfect squares and leaves his shoes neatly together underneath them. He's able to do a more thorough self check and really the only things to note are the still cloyingly sweet smelling gobs of nectar spattered across his skin, some more in some places than others... and that he's still half-hard. He shouldn't be embarrassed after all that just happened but Bricks still modestly tries to angle his lower body away from Aether, or hide himself behind his hand.

The only article of clothing he hesitates with is the eyepatch. ]