Mohini could have ended up looking like a thirty-year-old albino dolphin, honestly. One never really knew what they were getting into with a changeling.
But, for all intents and purposes, a Mohini looked like a slightly damp and vaguely knotted mess wearing a too-small crop-top and a too-large pair of jeans. An Indian one. Mostly.
"You found her," she volleyed back easily, finishing the absentminded hairdrying session and leaving the towel to drape over her shoulders. "Though she's way more concerned with your lack of knowledge in regard to the Addamses as a family unit than your less-than-stellar understanding of Russia as a nation."