Who

Il'ian, Nasrin, C'sei

What

It's complicated.

When

It is sunset of the sixteenth day of the fifth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Public Baths, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 14 Mar 2016 04:00

 

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"I'm a man that's very seriously considering shaving another man's cat. My idea of surprising is probably not the same as yours."


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Public Baths

Stout walls have been erected around several naturally formed pools, serving to provide a semblance of privacy and protection from the harsh wind and sand. Above the pools, well cleaned walkways criss-cross beneath tiled arches and descend with a stairway or two leading down to each pool to provide one means of slip-free access through the area. Surrounding the pools there are benches, receptacles to put used clothing and towels in, and areas to get sweetsand and towels from - if you didn't bring your own.


The dreaded day came today. It started off quite inocuous at first, learning the sources of firestone, the basics on its extraction, the details of its compound composition, how dragons made the most of it. Nasrin found this part somewhat infatuating despite it being an introduction to rocks. The rough part was when it ended and they actually had to sort it. This was still acceptable, the candidate not minding how her fingers and palms gained black smudges. Then came the packing… and lifting. Nasrin did her best to marshall her strength, bent her knees, lifted with her legs and arms, and not her back as instructed. She made it look to the eye to be capable. It's an inborn trait to give illusions of competency if one cannot follow through. Usually bathing at the most inopportune times to avoid as much people as possible, Nasrin could not carry the stench of firestone any longer and, Faranth look kindly on her, melts into the bathwater, aches temporarily eased. Gripping the edge, she closes her eyes and lets the gray smudges combine with water and leave streaks. They can wait.

The day's dusty grime rims Il'ian's eyes where his goggles sat and cakes into the crevices of his body. Not shy, per se, the good ol' bazaar boy turned bronzerider is already halfway stripping as he enters into the baths, yanking off one shoe while hopping on the other foot. He's a veritable tornado until finally he finds himself traipsing into a pool, only to realize at the last minute that he's picked the side occupied by Nasrin. "Oh." Cognizant enough of the bazaar's tendencies towards strict nowtime behavior when in regards to their girls, he has the grace to pause. "Uh." Eloquence is never his thing and the time to think rests visible on the captured muscle'd tension of arrested movement before he eases the rest of the way into the water. "Hi." So succinct.

Il'ian and Nasrin are both covered in the grime and grit of their day's duties and C'sei is too. But they were more like recreational duties and they happened last night as opposed to today while the sun was out. Arriving at the pools, he peels the layers off in a languid way that would indicate he's more than a little tired despite looking like he woke up not that long ago. He's not quite alert yet, but not so distracted that the presence of the other two goes unnoticed by him. Slipping into the water, "Ah, hello." Wetting his hair he comments to the bronzerider, "Xh'yr's cat shed on my jacket. I think I'm going to shave off its hair." How's that for an opener?

Nasrin's ears pick up on, well, company but she wills them gone, eyes scrunching, brows crumpled. Did Il'ian go between yet? The sound of a body moving through water means her telekinesis is malfunctioning/never worked from the get-go. With her fuzzy hair a corona about her head until it trails to the water and sleeks. A single eye opens slow as a blossom, an Il'ian and C'sei. Two men and no baby here. Nasrin hasn't in her to shrink, "sirs," so she looks exceptionally industrious. And nonchalant. Convincing far too much sweetsand out of the canister then debating the sanitary economics of putting it back in. "How would that help your jacket?"

"I'll enjoy watching Xh'yr chase you around the weyr," Il'ian comments at C'sei, hiding his smile. "Just don't trip over that pile of crap." You know. C'sei's pile of crap. "At least she," is it a she? "didn't pee on your jacket," is what the bronzerider makes comment on. He shrugs a naked shoulder - yes, Nasrin, BARE SKIN - and ducks his head, conceding the Candidate's point. "Maybe make him feel good?"

"It wouldn't help my jacket, but it would- Yes, that's exactly it. It would make me feel a lot better." C'sei answers Nasrin, making quick work of the actual bathing process. Once he's more or less clean, he can just lean back in the water and relax all of his muscles. "Xh'yr can't catch me." There's no backing for this, it's not like they hold relay races or anything to compete on speed. It's just simple man-bluffing. Cracking an eye open he lets his attention wander more fully onto Nasrin. "You're the Steen girl, that I met a few months ago." Or was it weeks? Time is iffy.

Nasrin is trying very hard not to monitor the conversation when it falls to 'chasing around the weyr' and something about pee. She has a dilemma, and ultimately frugality trumps a sweetsand act of doubledipping. She dumps it back into the canister slick as beans and descends further into the water until she's sure her heartbeat is causing ripples in the water (like the T-rex footfalls in Jurassic Park). She obscurely deferred to look over Il'ian's left ear rather than his shoulder, but she does sneak a look at one of his elbows. Just when she's picturing a cat shaved, C'sei outs her. "Yes," softly, the last syllable beautifully held just long enough to avoid sounding snake-like. "Nasrin, I'm a candidate for the clutch." She makes a dainty fist, squeezing water onto the pile of dry cleanser. The drops make little craters. "Does that surprise you?"

Time is totally iffy. Il'ian smirks at C'sei's boast and hides behind his hand, though he makes quick work of his own bath part. That's the boring part, see, and he's not about to showcase his nekky times for poor Nasrin. At the mention of the Steens, the bronze rider's attention returns to the pair. With a family still living in the bazaar, he is savvy to it's families and those with in it. Her words catch his attention, yes, but it's the act of drawing water to the dry cleaner that arrests his attention. "Nothing surprises me. They swooped me up," he comments after a fashion.

"I'm a man that's very seriously considering shaving another man's cat. My idea of surprising is probably not the same as yours." C'sei drawls, rolling one shoulder as part of his response. His attention does linger on the girl, an unusual focus to his otherwise indifferent repose right now. Eventually he does decide that he has a questin, after Il'ian has said his piece. "I am mildly surprised that your family let you go however… or did you make the decision on your own?"

Callllllm. Nasrin more than once pounds this mantra through her head, one of the final times her lips actually mouth it. More water is slowly scooped onto her cupped palm and an opposite finger traces the path of water through it, mixing the two ingredients until they're inseparable as paste. Only then after the right consistency is achieved does she apply it to her hair in precise dotted areas along her cheeks, chin, and forehead. War paint. "I wasn't going to ask them formally," the ol' 'note and desertion' routine, "but my brother helped me make it look like," 'profitable' might not seem right to this audience, "an act of good faith." A suitable switch, blue eyes cool as an iceberg adrift. "May I ask, what makes a good candidate?"

Il'ian chortles a little at C'sei's first comment and tries to mask it (unsuccessfully) behind his hand once more. More seriously - who can really be serious with suds in one's short blond hair? - he turns to Nasrin, and asks, "So, you made it out like you were a lamb to slaughter?" Humor resides in blue eyes, before he ducks his head and gets SOAP EVERYWHERE. Sorry. "Uhhh. One that wants to be one." That is rule NUMBERO UNO.

C'sei is oblivious to Nasrin's discomfort or else he's purposely looking beyond it, being decent enough to not try and make it anymore awkward for her. "Clever." He links his fingers behind his head, glancing at Il'ian over there man-giggling behind his hand. That makes him smirk before he whistles low at her question. "Are you asking what qualities a candidate has that will make them a good weyrling? Or what makes them more likely to impress? Or what's just desirable overall behavior?"

"Hmm," Nasrin looks to be tasting the syllables, head slightly turning up, "more like a fish up the river." Colloquially of course; Igen isn't famed for its bodies of water. "Their overall behavior. I know I should also be considering more long-term outcomes, but I can't help but feel at a slight disadvantage." And wanting instant results. Nasrin now closes her eyes as she rubs her face of its grime with one hand, spared, for a moment, at having to find suitable places to rest her eyes.

Il'ian, in contrast, absolutely notices Nasrin's discomfort and seems unable to either not recognize it in the most awkward way possible and try to do anything to mask the fact that he sees it. "Oh and they should be hot." This is blurted out with a seemingly endearing smile, until it falls into a frown, and looks at C'sei. Do you see those eyes Nasrin? Those are BIG, SAD eyes. "Why would you be at a disadvantage?"

C'sei sort of stares at Il'ian for a good long couple of seconds, some very awkward seconds. "She's a kid." Just in case he forgot about that when he blurted out the 'they should be hot' comment. The greenrider shakes his head and breathes in through his nose. "I doubt it. I was completely useless and I still walked out of there with a dragon. I'd suggest if you haven't thought about the long term ramifications of having one of those things, you do it. You can always walk now, you can't walk if one of them picks you."

Nasrin cannot see BIG, SAD eyes when hers are closed but can sense their… echo or imprint in the continuum. Or something. "Well," her throat clears as she preps to list her faults, something hardly designed to do. But she walked into this one. "I don't have a solid Weyr background and minimal achievement with hard work or select skills," she almost said 'meaningful skills' but could not demean herself that low. "And that can't be a requirement…" Calling Il'ian's bluff, face only half rinsed. "I am of marrying age." So, she's called some of that pride back to her, shoulders straighten. "I understand." Nodding with cognition of C'sei's thoughts to the future.

"She's old enough," Il'ian protests, eyeballing Nasrin dubiously. He's not super worried about age so long as they're of an age to consent. "You don't need any of that. They picked me up off the streets," probably more than he's said to anyone of his genesis, "and plopped me on the sands. Here I am." His lips curl as he stands - danger, danger; avert ye eyes! - and tosses C'sei a look. "Besides, she's hot." Because why not put that awkwardly out there? Totally fine. NBD, people, NBD. "I need to go find a place to hide so you and Xh'yr can't draw me in your pussy battle." That was meant to be a joke. He does pause - thankfully without exposing more than back and chest - and say to Nasrin, "Think well on if this is the life you want. Can't go back and what you have, Steen, can't be taken with you." And with that suddenly strange Old Man And The Sea sage advice, does Il'ian waltz out, muttering about being prune-y. AFTER getting dressed, of course.

"He's right, they train you to know all about the weyr crap. I didn't know any of it when I showed up to Igen." He shrugs, looking up at the sky and not at Il'ian when he stands up and strolls naked (fine, fine, he put clothes on) out of the pools. Calling after the bronzerider, "I'm telling him the cat pissed on your stuff!" Just so that he knows, he's not going to come out of this shaved pussycat thing completely innocent either! C'sei will probably lie and tell Xh'yr that he was there while it was happening too.

This experience has been humiliatingly enlightening. Nasrin hold her breath when Il'ian stages an exit, timing the opportunity to rinse the remaining firestone film from her face. "Truly, the bazaar?" She'll have to grill the bronzerider further on his origins when he doesn't have a full moon going. "That makes me feel somewhat better then." When overlapping her ignorance against two people with dragons, it doesn't seem so mediocre. Uh, minus the cat pee commentary. She sinks down until water laps the crown of her head, hiding the fierce red flaming her cheeks. She comes back up at a level where the water limbs her collar bone and wipes her eyes. "Good-bye rider, and thank-you," while SNEAKING A LOOK AT HIS BUTT. It lasts a nanosecond.

"You at least live near the weyr. There are probably people in the barracks who have never even seen the inside of one. That is until they were getting dumped off and told to unpack." C'sei will make no apologies for this weird thing with Xh'yr's cat. He won't even apologize to the man when he inevitably comes to kill him for shaving the animal down. It would seem though, that he's reclined in this pool long enough too. With a reluctant sound he hauls himself out of the water, "Good luck. With whatever ends up happening to you." The greenrider will towel off before shrugging on his clothes and leaving, hopefully not to do nefarious things.

Nasrin should state for the record she's never seen the likes of the Weyr's interior either, but that would be two glimpses of the living cavern untrue. "There's always someone else who has it worse," comes the old adage. She starts on her hair with some haste, rubbing with enough vigor to lather her forearms. "Thank you, I'll do my best." Without the shield of a veil, Nasrin shyly smiles. "Good luck with the cat I think." Back turned, she works on her hair, rinses with a bout of holding her breath for as long as possible, then will flee to the barracks.

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