It's late at night, but that doesn't mean the baths are entirely empty. There are still a few stragglers settled into pools here and there; a smooching couple in the furthest corner, a trio of old biddies closer to the entrance, up way beyond their bedtime, and N'ky, in a central pool, lathering up sweetsand as he lies submerged up to his chin.

Finn schleps into the baths, eyes peering curiously around at the walkways and cubbies, arches and stairs. From his bearing, he's not been here before. A lopsided grin tugs at his mouth at the smooching couple and he, soon enough, finds a bench to collapse onto, pulling off boots with a low groan of purest relief. He tips the boot over and a stream of sand dumps out of it. Repeated with the other, sand and a few pebbles that skitter away. He sighs, sitting for a moment, wriggling toes in stockinged feet before stripping those off and standing to do for the rest of his dusty, sandy gear. The young smith's face and arms are besmeared with soot and grime and so it's a particolored Finn that splashes into the least occupied bath, uttering a sharp, "Yah!" and tensing as sensitive bits enter the hot water. The young man also submerges up to his chin giving a smooth purring moan, bright blue eyes -brighter for the grime on his face- closing as heat soaks into forge-tired muscles.

The sweetsand N'ky's been working into a froth is applied to the greenrider's sodden curls, just as Finn sinks into the water of the same pool. He watches the trader as he rubs at his hair, waiting for him to get settled in before he speaks to the familiar man. "Been w-working the forge?" As a former metalworker, the greenrider knows muck of that kind when he sees it, and he has a fond smile for the memories it brings back. His fingers continue to scrub soapsand lather into his curls.

"Mmmmm?" a sleepy, sensual murmur of query follow's N'ky's question. Finn's eyes flutter open and he smiles at the greenrider, "Evening N'ky, yes. Just wrapped up a big job," he sounds genuinely pleased to see the rider AND to be done with the job. And exhausted. He sounds beat, warm tenor gone a bit baritone and gravelly around the edges. "How's Cailluneth?"

"She's good, th-thank you. Sleeping, now." And N'ky seems very relieved for it. "Sh-she'll rise soon. The more she sleeps, the e-e-easier it is." The green was hardly calm at their first and last meeting, and the way N'ky winces now might even suggest she's harder to handle now. He sighs tiredly, scrubbing more at his hair, turning his curls into a mass of suds. "What were you working on?"

He nods, understanding. Not really. Ripples expand out from the motion. He takes a deep breath through his nose, "Good. How soon?" His curious canine brows tip towards N'ky. His brows knit in concern, "You all right?" He turns to a bag of netted netted sand and get about the business of getting clean, "Big job for a traveling act. Blades."

N'ky shrugs, giving Finn a look that says there's nothing to be done about things. "She's d-difficult when she's like this. Hard work. N-normally she's… well, sh-she's lovely, but…" He sighs, shrugs his shoulders again and smiles, tiredly. "Soon. A few days, maybe. I'll know when. It, um… she gets worse." And he doesn't look like he's looking forward to it - but again, N'ky just shrugs it off. "Blades? Oooh. That's s-something interesting. I d-dabbled with making one once, at the Hall," presumedly the Smith Hall, "b-but it wasn't a skill I r-really honed."

"She's beautiful, certainly," he dunks briefly, wetting his hair and surfaces, standing to start soaping the short, shaggy (filthy) mop. Wincing against soap lather headed to an eyeball, he swipes at his eyes, blinking carefully then looking at N'ky, brows knitted with concern. The marked stutter was noted and Finn, though still concerned and WAY curious, lays off that line of discussion. "At the Hall? Smith hall? Are we forge-brothers, N'ky?"

N'ky blushes at the compliment for his lifemate; he clearly thinks so, too. "Thank you." It leaves a lingering smile on his lips as he takes the opportunity to duck beneath the water to wash the suds from his hair, while Finn lathers up. He's back above the surface by the time he's asked a question, brushing his sodden curls out of his eyes. "In a way, yes," he answers, nodding his head as he sinks back against the side of the bath. "I studied at the Hall for a, um, almost a turn, I think it was. N-not as an apprentice, as a student. I'm - I m-mean I was a farrier, before being Searched."

Finn, glad to have N'ky more at east, scrubs at his face. Soaped and eyes squnched, reaching behind himself to blindly flail for the brush that was just right there. "We are brothe-pah!" he spits soap suds that have entered his mouth, still flailing behind himself, "Brothe-PAH!" he spits again, grinning causing more soap to sluice in. He bends and splashes his face with hot water, swishing some in his mouth (ew!) and spitting before standing with a rueful grin, "Sweet sand is not an accurate name." He's slightly less grimy now… there is a good bit of work still to be done. Twisting he spots the brush and snags it, sanding the bristles and dipping the brush before looking back up at N'ky, "We are forge brothers, then. Stop by if you ever get a notion to swing a hammer again. My brother Kalfor is our farrier."

There's an involuntary smirk of amusement in response to Finn's coughing; N'ky has to bite back a laugh and takes to scrubbing at his own shoulders as a distraction. "Thank you for the invitation, b-but I don't really have time, even if I wanted to." He pauses in his shoulder-scrubbing, frowning thoughtfully. "Though, um, i-if I did find the time, wh-where would you be? Maybe after Cailluneth goes up… maybe I could come then."

Bristles whicker in the short scruff of beard on Finn's jaw, "Off at the caravan grounds, Reika encampmmmnntth," he rolls lips inward as he scrubs at his mouth. He shudders with a ticklish rigor. "We're the sturdy, unobtrusive wagons." As opposed to the eye-bending clash of the Flynn or rich, boldness of the Zingari. "Anyone can direct you to us." He chuckles, belly tensing, hands paused in their scrubbing, "I suppose you wouldn't want to spend a rest day when you finally get one slaving over a forge-fire."

"Reika. Got it." N'ky doesn't look like he's 100 per cent sure where the caravan grounds may be, but he's got a tongue in his head and go no doubt find out. He grins and nods at Finn for his correct assumption. "I t-try to just relax, um, let go of… everything. Though working metal can be th-therapeutic." The greenrider scratches at his chin, sighing deep enough for it to almost be a yawn - it certainly triggers one. "Do you go to the Dustbowl, at all?"

"Dustbowl?" Finn looks at N'ky, "I've never heard it called that, but I've not had business at the Weyr, no," he tilts his head down, scrubbing quietly at his chest for a moment before looking up from under now-clean brows with mischief in his eyes. "I have," he nods, "Met a mess of Arroyo wingriders and their surly Wingsecond. One pretty little thing named Ada," his grin slips sly amoment in fond recollection before eyebrows tick up, "What wing are you in?"

N'ky blinks, biting down on his lip as he thinks. "The Dustbowl C-Cantina, in the bazaar? N-not in the Weyr? That's what it's called, right?" He suddenly doesn't look so sure of himself, and runs his fingers anxiously through his hair. "Arroyo. Yeah. Um, I'm in Mirage. I d-don't think I've met Arroyo's wingleader yet, ah… not officially, anyway. Trek, right?"

"Just a joke, a poor, poor joke." See, it's dusty hereabouts, right? "Mirage… which one is that?" He squints, eyes casting up and off as he scours his brain, whilst scouring his flesh. "Mirage…" Eyes widen, "That's the queen's Wing!" He cups a hand to flip water up on his torso, using the blade to sluice soapy water off and down. "That's quite an assignment."

"Oh." That he didn't understand the joke makes N'ky blush in embarrassment, his shoulders hunching in discomfort. He runs his fingers through his wet hair, and bites hard on his bottom lip. The blush doesn't get any less when Finn realises he's in the wing for goldriders, either. "Y-yeah. That's wh-where dragonhealers are ass-ss-ass-" His awkwardness gets the better of him, and he winces at his stumbling over the word. N'ky takes a moment, before trying again with different words. "It's where dragonhealers go."

Not too bright, Finn, but empathetic and a keen observer. Not that N'ky's blush and increasing stammer were hard to miss. Never one to gloss over things really, Finn drops his hands, small splashes where they strike the water, "Stammer more when you're antsy, eh?" He looks curiously at the younger man. "Nothing to be nervous about, N'ky. I don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'." He grins, no judgement here. Giving the man some time to collect himself, Finn goes about scrubbing at the grimmer bits of his arms, hissing and wincing here and there when he nicks a raw spot.

N'ky nods to confirm that what Finn guessed is true, probably not trusting himself to speak just yet. He runs his tongue over his lips, scratches at his nose, and generally fidgets in between scrubbing at himself with a handful of soapsand. "Th-they tried to knock it out of me in High Reaches." He speaks slowly, taking his time to try and get every word right. The greenrider rubs at the back of his neck, looking down into the water rather than up at Finn. "It didn't w-work," he closes his eyes in frustration at the stammer, shaking his head.

"I got a little cousin does like you. Other kids gave him a hell of a time," the twist to Finn's mouth says all that needs to be said about what he thinks of that. "Love that little runt." Blistered the kids up one side of the train to the other, back when they headed out of Bitra. "What's it like in your head when you're stammerin'?" He squints trying to imagine it, "You get stuck there in your mind too or are your thoughts all over the place?"

"Um…" No-one's ever asked him that before! N'ky chews on his lip as he thinks about it, then shakes his head and shrugs - how to explain it? "I think it's just… normal? I know what I want to s-say, but it - it just d-doesn't come out how I want it to. I don't know." He washes the last of the soapsand off his hand by swirling it in the water, then half-smiles at Finn. "It's just something I've done s-since I was small. It was never a p-problem until I went to High Reaches a-and Impressed Cailluneth… they d-didn't want a stuttering rider."

Waving a hand at his temple, "What's it like when you talk to Cailluneth? You know, in your head?" He turns away, lifting a leg to put foot on bench and scrub at private bits. He looks over his shoulder, "Pardon, never did like this part with an… audience." Shy, Finn is not. Modest? Apparently a little. He sloshes down onto the bench, wincing as sore muscles complain. Less sore now. He scrubs without sand at his legs under the water, looking over at N'ky, "Hadn't heard much good news outta High Reaches. Breed 'em cold-hearted up there. You got much call to talk as a dragonrider? You know," he corkscrews a finger skyward.

Brown eyes are averted when Finn's lack of shyness brings certain anatomical bits into view… but then N'ky also can't help but sneak a cheeky peep, either. He blushes, smiles, and looks away. "N-not really. Speaking with Cailluneth is fine. We don't have to talk, a-a-as such. It's… feelings. Colours. S-sensations. She rarely uses words." The greenrider stands, shyness making him position his hand modestly to cover himself up. "High Reaches is p-proud." And he's still loyal, as suggested by his tone. "They d-don't want anyone to make them look… weak, I guess." He makes his way out of the pool. "Um, hey, Finn? I'm g-going to the Dustbowl for a nightcap. C-come by later, if you want?" It's an open invitation, and N'ky doesn't wait for an answer before scuttling over to where his clothing lies.

Finn ponders that curiously. It's what thoughts are like anyway. Sorta. He tilts his head, considering and shakes his head in wonder. "Must be … very strange," his eyes are widened just so. "And you're a-" he blinks at the man's rapid exit. "Great idea." He wraps up washing and soaks for a while, rubbing sore muscles. Before he gets too pruney, the smith gathers up his bathing paraphernalia and, with a wink at the old biddies on the other side of a screen, saunters to his clothes.

[Continued at the Dustbowl]