==== October 10, 2013
==== Aife, Donatien
==== Aife and Donatien get to know each other while sharing a drink.

Who Aife, Donatien
What Aife and Donatien get to know each other while sharing a drink.
When There is 1 turn 0 months and 6 days until the 12th pass.
Where Baths, Southern Weyr

Aife12.jpg Dien1.bmp


baths.jpg

Baths
The steamy fog of the baths could be an entirely different world, transitioning from the well-lit brilliance of the inner caverns: a different world entirely, one wrought in dreams and humid fog. Steam lifts from hot waters, obscuring those who bathe within, drenching any who dare enter. Well-maintained, well-stocked, the baths offer pre-netted portions of soapsand in various scents, fluffy towels in orderly rows, and five separate spring-fed pools, all of differing temperature: from scorching hot to soothing chill.



After a long day spent in the infirmary, it’s easy to find Aife here at one of the pools well into the night. With a towel wrapped about her and sitting at the edge of the pool, she’s lost in activity of bending forward and running fingers through the damp curls of her hair. Her bathing tools are set beside her and her tanned skin glistens from a recent dip.

After a long day spent making boots, Donatien is intent on one thing: a bath, and a drink. Okay, that's two things, if we're sanitary about it. But still, he has a bottle of rum in one hand and a bath towel in the other and as he enters the bathing room, he doesn't much look around before heading to the second hottest pools, setting the bottle and a handful of soapsand next to the rim of the tub, and then the towel and Dien's clothes are tossed onto the bench before he slips gingerly into the pool with a soft 'ahhhh' of relief. He notices a mass of curls sitting on the bench nearby and cocks his head around, trying to see the owner's face. "Hello?" Just in case there's someone else with curly hair that colour running around.

When Donatien enters, for the moment Aife doesn’t yet look over with her head bowed the way it is. It’s only once she hears the noises of someone nearby – and nearby her, for that matter – that she whips her wet hair back at his familiar voice. There’s a familiar grin in recognition going his way, straightening up as she watches him in the pool. “Donatien, hey,” is her easy greeting, running both hands over her hair that’s sticking to her head. “Working late?” Her gaze then drops toward what he brings, lingering on the bottle before adding wryly, “And taking a sheet from the hidebook of all things Aife?” alluding to a previous conversation as she nods toward the bottle.

An easy grin stretches across Donatien's face as the hair moves and reveals Aife, "I had a few unexpected appointments," he replies with a nod. Same thing. The soapsand is scooped up and Dien starts to work on his arms and hands, cleaning away sweat, lint, and the other troubles of working in a Weyr but he eyes the bottle fondly and laughs, "Sort of - thought I might have a relaxing evening, maybe share if there was some pleasant company…" and his voice trails off as both arms relax into the water to rinse off the soap. "Are you just getting out?"

“And what would be considered ‘unexpected appointments’ for a cobbler like yourself?” Aife has to ask, a brow lifting at him. She’s not modest enough to not avert her eyes from him washing himself, neither, his response on the bottle’s presence bringing a quirk of lips with a knowing look from the healer. Boldly, “I think I am considered pleasant company,” she states, pulling her legs from dangling into the pool and getting to her feet with her tools in hand. She approaches his pool as she says, “At the very least, spare this poor, weary healer a drink or two.” She settles down and sets her legs into the pool he’s at now before answering his own query. “Just getting out,” she echoes his words with an incline of her head. “Long day. So long that I came in here and didn’t bring a bottle of my own. How fortunate am I that you should come along. This must be making us fast friends.” There’s a flash of a grin as she kicks her legs a little in the pool, making small waves on its surface.

Another handful of soap goes lower under the water, Donatien raises himself a bit out of the water to scrub the rest of everything clean, talking all the while: "Oh, people who walk in without knocking, tell me they need shoes right this moment, and so on…" Dien's tone isn't aggrieved per se, but still, "I imagine you Healers have that as well… though much more serious." Sinking back into the water, the cobbler watches Aife's approach with an indulgent grin. "I would definitely call you pleasant company," he says, and picks up the bottle, uncapping it with his thumb, then holding it in Aife's direction, "Fortunate indeed. I think this stuff is mango-based, but it's quite good." Alas, Dien's reach is just a liiittle short, but he holds it out, watching Aife's legs kicking.

Snorting in amusement, “Maybe they’re like me and wait until the last minute when their boots are falling off their feet before it’s suddenly an emergency,” Aife remarks on shoe emergencies, shaking her head. “And yeah, it’s tough the infirmary way, too, but I don’t mind it. So long as they’re letting me actually help fix whatever problems come in, I’m good.” She eyes that indulgent grin with a crooked one of her own, her hands planted to her sides as she leans forward when Donatien takes up the bottle. She looks pleased that she is considered pleasant company, and once it’s held out, “I happen to like mango,” she states right on the heels of his comment. Of course, his reach is just shy, and so she has to scoot herself forward just a little more off that edge with her hand reaching a little further. She gives him a look that might suggest she knows what he’s doing. Maybe. If so, that doesn’t seem to be stopping her, though.

That Dien's view of Aife's legs isn't being obstructed in any way? He just thinks that's wonderful, and steps forward just a little so Aife's fingers can brush the bottle. So very, very close. "I bet some patients can be damn frustrating like that, though…" That's not so much a wink as Donatien's eyes blink slowly, "I promise to be a very good patient when I'm in there next." If Pern had honey, his tones would sound like that, but then Dien stops teasing and moves closer to put the bottle in Aife's reach, "Well, mostly good."

If Donatien is close enough, “Are you trying to make me slip right into this pool, getting me all wet again?” Aife asks right then as her fingers – her nails, even – scrape at the bottle. “And you, a very good patient.” She pauses on that long enough to look him up and down – what she can see of him, anyway – her head slightly tipping to the side as she considers him. “Hm. Something tells me that you’ll end up being a hand-full. Men like you usually are, with your promises.” Honeyed promises at that! Aife is at ease in returning the playfulness of his words right back at him, and once the bottle is within reach, she takes it up and briefly tips it in his direction in thanks before she lifts her head and drinks. Only once she’s done, “I do believe you owe me a story,” she suddenly states, her legs crossing. Whether he really does or not…

Donatien blinks innocently at the very thought he'd do something like tha… okay, maybe, his boyish grin belies, "Would that be so terrible, getting extra clean?" he asks teasingly. The Healer has caught Dien in his lie, and the Weaver shrugs unrepentantly, "I've been known to make light of my own situation in the Infirmary," he says smoothly, as if laughter is the best medicine. Once Aife has the bottle, Dien moves a little closer (yeah, he could have made it easier, but where's the fun in that?), leans against the rim of the pool and chuckles, "A story, huh? What about?" As if that's not a sign of evasion, he continues, flicking a little water at the Healer, "The one with the three firelizards?"

Aife is definitely onto him and his ways, that much can be seen in smirk she sends his way. She must have no problem with any of it, either, since she hasn’t put a stop to any of it. “Terrible? No,” she answers that one with a little shake of her head. “It would just mean I would have to go out of my way to return the favor in some way. It might not be to your benefit, either, cobbler.” A playful warning, laced in with suggestion as she takes another drink before finally passing it back towards him now that he’s much closer. As for his behavior in the infirmary, there’s laughter for that before she answers back, “Well. I promise to be a sweet and gentle healer when you come in there with your hand split open. Mostly.” Mischief is almost there, and it lingers even through his last on stories – lifting a hand from that flick of water before leaning over to flick some back as she answers, “What does three firelizards have to do with you, Donatien?”

Donatien raises eyebrows and affects surprise, "Vengeance, then?" How being wet with lovely company can be considered vengeance is beyond him, but Dien still smiles as he takes the bottle of rum back and takes a swig, "Ahh, my apprentices are more likely to fall prey to splitting their hands open than I am. I would come for… other therapies," and he raises his knee out of the water; not actually joking, but there's a making light of, at least. That Aife would be sweet and gentle instead of spicy and so on gets a smirk hidden behind the bottle in Dien's hand, but he doesn't try to avoid the water droplets coming at him - he's here to get clean after all. "Three firelizards? Oh, just some old joke I heard once. Three firelizards fly into a bar. Ow." And Dien is chuckling at the absolute absurdity of the joke, taking another sip of liquor before handing the bottle back in Aife's direction

With a roll of her shoulders, “What, you think you can handle anything thrown by me? I can be very creative.” Aife snorts and flicks a foot his way. “I haven’t forgotten the challenge at the beach. This doesn’t count as it, by the way. Therapies, huh?” Eyes drop to that raised knee, humor lacing with curiosity coloring her tone. Going more sober now for just a moment, “Come on by sometime and I’ll check it out. Doesn’t even have to be official. You find me, or I’ll find you.” She returns to the story though, the joke getting just a loud, “HA.” Taking the offered bottle, then, “I don’t know any jokes off the top of my head,” she admits, “And that had nothing to do with you. Something tells me what does is far from funny, though.” Slightly sober at the end, tipping the bottle back to drink from it as her leg idly swirl waves in the pool.

Donatien lowers said knee back into warm, comforting water, and shrugs, "Oh, I have no doubt of your creativity," and there's no pause of insinuation, but Dien is still grinning as he eyes the foot flicking in his direction, ducking any water. Therapy talk gets a small shrug and the admission, "It's a touch of arthritis. Early onset." But even that won't turn his grin into sad-face, as he takes back the bottle and drinks from it again, then drapes his arms over the rim of the bath, the bottle of rum dangling for the hand closest to Aife, "Sadly, I think all of my jokes are bad… Groaningly bad," And perhaps that's an apology before Dien asks, "So, are you going to the Hatching, whenever it may occur?"

“I might have something for it, if the stiffness is getting to you,” Aife offers on his knee, it being easy to slip in and out of being a healer. “Just let me know.” She releases the bottle back to him then, smirking once more on his remark about his jokes. “You can’t be worse than my brother,” she notes breezily. “When he even jokes, it’s pretty bad. You don’t have to tell me a joke, you know. I’m just trying to get to know you, is all.” She reaches and takes the bottle from his hand, drinking from it first before answering his last with one of those half-nod-half-shrug moves. “Don’t have any trips beyond I need to make anytime soon,” she says, passing it back to him. “Thought a little bit about visiting home, but, I think it can wait. Rather get myself situated here, first, and that’s going to take some time, I wager. Still, it’ll be the first hatching I’ve ever been to,” she openly admits. “I’d want to see it. What about you?”

Donatien grins briefly at Aife's offer, nodding despite snapping his jaw shut quickly, "I may come in when I've got a few minutes, then. The hot water and warm weather help a lot here, but I've heard the rains can be bad in the winter-time." He answers Aife with his own shrug, "And likewise," he replies smoothly, "But I imagine you like laughing, and a nice smile is always encouraging for a man's ego." The upcoming Hatching gets a little ripple of shoulder muscle: "I'll go to watch," he says, "I haven't missed one since I started getting posted to Weyrs. They're good for business, you know." A sigh and a sip of the bottle he receives from Aife, "And there's something about watching that first bonding."

“Good,” Aife is quickly lid that topic on bad knees, sensing that perhaps it might be an uncomfortable subject for him. “Warmth does help with that, but even the south has its share of rains and cooler weather.” Donatien’s response on jokes and getting to know each other brings something less saucy and more genuine in her grin that comes forward. Her head ducking just a bit, “There isn’t many men I’ve met that would work to make a girl smile, unless boot-knocking’s attached to the end of it,” she remarks in her own amusement, perhaps to make him smile. “But I do like to laugh. Haven’t done as much of it until I came here. Sort of odd, even.” Pause. “How many hatchings have you been to?” To hear that he’s been to more than one, her interest sparks the question. “I’ve heard so many stories. It’s really worth seeing? First bondings and watching those hatchlings run all over the sands…”

Donatien grins and is happy to leave his knee issues for more interesting subjects, "Well, that's nice and all," Dien is grinning modestly, "But if that's the only reason a man's talking to a woman, that just strikes me as… desperate." A sad, sad time for those desperate men, and Dien pulls a sad face and shakes his head. And yet, Aife's admission earns a grin, "Well, I hope to help you with that." The question of hatchings gets a momentarily distant look over Aife's shoulder and he responds, "Oh Faranth… Ten? More?" They all seem to blend in. Aife's last question draws a chuckle, "Oh, I imagine it's even more fascinating for those on the Sands, but watching those boys go from terror to adoration?" A little sigh, "I just wish they'd stop Searching my apprentices…"

Laughing to something said, “You can be surprised the sort of men I’ve met, then,” is all Aife says to that, smirking a bit at the sad face Donatien pulls on her. To his offering her to help with keeping a smile on her face and laughing, “You’re already on the right path,” she answers back on that with a lopsided grin. Brows lift when he admits around the number of hatchings he’s seen, echoing, “Ten? And you’re….how many turns? If you don’t mind answering,” because she’s so good on asking personal questions, in case he hasn’t noticed. She chuckle on hearing about his taken apprentices, but it’s to something else that she asks as she watches his face, “You ever wonder about you life if it had gone differently? You know…gotten searched yourself? Had been out there on the sands on your own, finding a lifemate of your own like that?”

"I must confess that, in an earlier life, I could have been one of those men," Donatien confesses with an embarrassed shrug, but the idea that he's doing something right now is cause for a smile and a soft correction, "My close friends call me Dien." A nod in Aife's direction, "I'd be honoured to be called that by you as well." The question of age doesn't make Donatien squirm so much as sigh gently, "I've bounced around a bit from Weyr to Weyr, depending on who needs new boots," and that garners a wry grin for some unexplained reason, "But I've 45 Turns." Dien looks puzzled for a moment and a wry grin, "Forty-six, today. Huh." That he never stood for Candidacy himself gets a shrug, "No, I never did. I don't think I would have managed it well, personally. The idea of someone knowing all the ins and outs of me, so easily?" That gets a slightly longer gulp of rum and Dien starts to shift a little in the hot water, "They're truly wonderful, but I'm very happy with boot-making. And," if he may be so bold, "Very good at it."

“Honored, huh?” Despite the casual humor in her tone, Aife seems pleased by the statement. “Dien,” she seems to test the name out on her tongue before she nods. “I like it. And 45 turns….Hm, more than twice my age.” She finds such news entertaining, scooting closer towards him as she adds, “I should give you something for your turnday, and since you’ve already gotten booze for this party-“ the erstwhile healer leans sideways and drops a kiss to his bald head, her fingers briefly landing on his shoulder while doing so. Such movement shifts her towel a bit, loosening its hold as her other hand snakes over to grip the lip of the bottle he holds. “Happy turnday, Dien,” she states, meeting his gaze before she tries to slip that bottle from his fingers when she straightens up. As for hatchings, “You have secrets,” she surmises on something he says with an easy chuckle. “So do I, but I don’t know. It’d be nice to have someone know, maybe. I don’t think a dragon will betray you confidence, too. I would hope not, anyway.” She takes a long drink before handing it back and saying, “Definitely nothing wrong with being great at something. I feel the same way about what I do.” Healing.

Donatien mmms at the sound of his nickname and grins, almost unashamedly as Aife does the math and doesn't find it repugnant. Dien sits still for the kiss to his head and smiles, pleased and surprised, and his grip on the rum bottle is tenuous right now, whether a result of the kiss or the shifting towel (he's not dead, you know). "Well, thank you, Aife, that's the best Turnday present I've received all Turn," he tells her with a nearly wicked grin. That a dragonet would't tell on Dien gets a considering mm, but "It's too bad I'm too old for consideration now," he says, his hand reaching for the bottle, and ends up firmly, but softly stroking his fingers across the back of Aife's knuckles before slowly wresting away control of the bottle, "And I'm certain you're very good at it." The Healing, that is. Dien takes a swig and isn't it good that he brought a reasonably sized bottle? It's not done yet.

“Not bad for spare of the moment, hm?” Aife flashes a grin for the kiss, looking just a bit smug. “A shame you couldn’t have spent your turnday doing something better than making last-minute shoes.” Shifting towel is only a touch risqué and scandalous like its wearer in revealing the tops of her breasts, whether deliberate or not. It’s hard to tell with the erstwhile healer. Her gaze drops to his grazing fingers across her knuckles before meeting his gaze, and perhaps it’s far too easy that she lets the bottle escape her grasp. “I think you’re better off,” she states on him not becoming a dragonrider. “Plenty of dragonriders, sure, but there isn’t whole of lot of cobblers that know what they’re doing.” That’s her logic, anyway. “Like me, yes,” she tacks on after the pause, her smile showing teeth. “Perceptive. Perhaps the dragons will spare you a few apprentices yet.”

Donatien isn't worried about the last-minute planning of the one gift he's received; it makes his grin grow wider, "It was very well thought-out," he says, "And I wouldn't say that my Turnday was wasted at all." Is his voice a bit husky in the warmth? "A nice drink, lovely company, what more could a man honestly ask for?" It seems, however, that the heat of the pools is hitting Donatien a bit harder and he shifts a little, "Would you mind if I came out for a little?" Even as he's slowly starting to pull himself from the water onto the ledge behind him, stopping just short of indecency. As for their unique crafting talents, Dien grins, "Better to be one among the many who don't know, I suppose."

A hand lifting up in indication to the first said, “Creative,” is all Aife gives back in that respect. He can only imagine. As for what more a man could ask for, she’s cheeky enough to answer there, “I can think of a few more things. I don’t mind. Of course, I can turn around if you’re one of those nervous about being in a compromising position in front of a woman.” Shoulders hitch up in a playful shrug. She studies him more intently for a moment longer though, before she prompts, “I must ask, though. You don’t have a woman? Children?”

Donatien grins and nods briefly. The closer examination of what a man could want for his Turnday gets a faux-innocent look from the Weaver as he hauls himself out of the water, "Well, yes, but I don't mind when all my younger Turnday dreams don't come true." That's said with a quiet teasing for years gone by, and once Dien is out of the water, he's content to sit there in the cooler air, "I don't mind as long as they're not mocking me," though he reaches for a towel to cover his lap modestly. Settling back down, Donatien blinks and then starts a slow smile, "No woman. A couple of weyr-children who are fostered happily where they were, and have no reason to move." That shrug? Sort of apologetic in the 'here I am, warts and all' fashion. "Yourself?"

Aife definitely regards that innocent look with a soft snort. “Younger turnday dreams? I can only imagine what all that covers,” is her remark to that in her usual spicy tone. “Certainly, even before he covers himself with a towel, she didn’t even turn away. “Don’t see how anyone would,” is her comment on mockery. “No woman. Just the weyr-children, fostered off? Is that one of those stories I’ll have to find a way to get out of you?” The tease is there, along with the challenge with her tone as she takes up the bottle briefly drinks. “As for me, no children. I’ve been causing enough trouble in my life not to have the time. No man. The last one was more trouble than I was.” If one can believe.

Hey, if Aife chooses not to believe innocent Donatien at his most innocent, then… she's probably right. "They were about the average of most men those ages," Dien confesses, and gives her the eyebrow-arching of pleasure, "Well thank you. And no, no women. Or stories, really. Gold-flights, the lot of them." And doing the math, ten hatchings, only two children… "I, ah, tend to be discreet." And there's discression even there. The very idea that there's someone in the world who could be more trouble than Aife earns her a look of amused disbelief, "Oh, I hardly think that's fair to you. Here, I've known you for a couple of seven-days and not come to any trouble…" Which is perhaps the trouble, but Dien's not pushing his luck, "We're most certainly lucky to have you here, instead of him. then." But enough of exes, and Dien shivers again slightly before taking another nip of rum and offering it to Aife.

“Are you the saying the only time you lose control is during goldflights?” Even if that’s not what Donatien said, Aife has the uncanny ability of picking conclusions like that. “There’s better pleasure to be had beyond those, in that case.” Pause. “I hear you though,” she goes on to say, her foot toying idly with the warm pool water. “Discretion is something I value, too. You’re lucky you haven’t,” she states then with a smirk. “Coming to trouble. You’re lucky you’ve only ran into me in places where I’m actually on my best behavior.” Would this place counts as one of those? One can only guess. “I am glad to be here,” she admits, nodding. “My brother does need me. He’ll realize it soon enough. That, and, a change of pace is a good thing. I should get going, though.” There’s regret in her tone even though she takes the offered bottle and takes and drink before passing it back and uncrossing her legs. “I’m needed at the Infirmary early.”

Donatien snickers softly, "Not in the least,” he replies, and gives Aife a nearly open leer, "It's just the times when I'm the least, ahem, choosy." Whether that boosts Dien's reputation or not is immaterial. "If this is your best behaviour," he teases, "I can't wait to see you on your worst." With that, Dien probably opens himself up to ALL the bad behaviours, but oh well. His own legs kick slowly in the pool while watching the movement of Aife's for a moment, until she announces her need to leave the steamy environment. A very reluctant sigh and smile, "Ahh, well, I can't keep you from your bed and make you late for your duty." Well, he could, but that would just not be good for the Weyr, would it? Accepting the bottle back, Dien starts to move so he can carefully, but manfully, pull himself to his feet, "I should be going back to my rooms as well." Alone. How unfortunate.

“So you’re choosy,” Aife is entertained by the comment, of course, eyeing that leer with a lift of her chin. “Hm. I don’t know if you can handle me at my worst, cobbler,” she adds, the open tease more challenge; more suggestive now as she gets to her feet and tightens up her towel. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to you perhaps proving me wrong.” One corner of her lips hitch upwards before she bends to collect her things and says on his comment on duty, “And I shouldn’t keep you from yours. For now.” Nodding towards the bottle, “Enjoyed the little party,” she adds now. “Find me sometime, Dien. Drinks will be on me next time.” With an incline of her head, the healer slips on her loose fitting clothes over her towel before heading out.

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