Who

Elle, Prineline

What

Bathing and Glaring

When

It is the forty-ninth day of Winter and 34 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day with a gentle wind.

Where

Public Baths

OOC Date

 

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Igen Weyr 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.


Just before noon is a great time to find Elle in the baths — she may be influenced by the oldtimers, but she is as-of-yet a nowtimer and steeped in the norms of the time that raised her. There are less people here than in the high-frequency times, and less people to see her sneak from the disrobing closet she shed her clothes in to the water, a towel clamped about her slender frame. Her brown eyes are almost furtive in the way they dart quickly over the pools, trying to find which one is least inhabited.

Prineline is inhabiting… actively inhabiting. Her pool is a smaller one, swathed in steam and rippling with her movements. Fleshy, strong arms are stretched along the stone sides, eyes mostly lidded and knees bobbing just above the surface. The pertinent bits are hidden by water and aromatic fog, but Prineline doesn't seem particularly bothered if the water level drops or she moves upwards occasionally. A few hopeful bathers have eyed the nearly empty basin but as the Headwoman's eyes slide open and her glance ices up, they move on. The perks of a malevolent reputation are not lost on Prin.

Aversely, Prineline's veiled avarice seems to be exactly what Elle's looking for, the slim young starcrafter slipping right to the edge of the pool before dropping her towel and sliding into the water itself. That last garners a hiss, winter-cooled flesh not ready for the heat of pool, but soon enough klah-dark gaze is rising towards Prineline, a slight smile on her face. "Headwoman," is her respectful greeting, chin nodding as she slides fully to her chin in the water. Elle's likely at least somewhat familiar — all that time spent around W'rin and to a lesser extent Sadaiya in the pursuits of tracking thread; and that's not to mention her strange-hour requests at the kitchens. Living nocturnal can suck when the rest of civilization eats at regular hours.

Prineline is far more recognizable than most, and so when her acrimonious glance is rebuffed, she merely offers a calculating look as Elle addresses her. She can't place the woman, but that doesn't mean their paths have not crossed. There is only one of her, see, and thousands of everyone else, and she's drank enough spirits in her adult life to more than kill off the brain cells devoted to a superb memory. Prineline adjusts slightly, legs stretching out as toes break the surface in a clear indication of 'my space'. Eyes begin to lid once more, though her gaze never leaves Elle completely. Yeah. She's watching you. Whoever you are.

Stern taskmasters — and taskmistresses — are not unfamiliar, as a general topic, to Elle, and the journeyman visibly de-stresses even with the beacon of maternal disapproval across from her. It probably helps that Elle takes in such a small area: she's short and slender with it, and she's given to curling up onto herself rather than stretching out. Her eyes note the placement of surface-breaking toes; she makes a mental note, risking an irascible smile at Prineline despite herself. With her hair lank from the steam and her skin suffused by the heat, Elle looks in this moment more an urchin than a proper journeyman of her craft.

Prineline is still studying the woman-turned-girl-when-damp beneath her lids, toes flexing slightly as ripples creep towards the starcrafter. She's familiar, but that's about it. As the name and rank escape Prineline, she tactfully avoids both as one dripping arm pulls away from the pool's edge to point vaguely in Elle's direction. "Would you mind?" The extended finger, when followed, indicates a half-full bag of sweetsand behind the Journeyman. When Prineline claimed the pool, her things were strewn all about as a further declaration of ownership. However, now that her space is shared, even so slightly, she must ascertain whether she can get to her things without moving from the comfort of her underwater perch.

That pointing finger startles Elle — or confuses her, more like, in the way she straightens with sudden self-awareness. The look on her face is a direct link into her thoughts: this may have been a mistake, infringing on the turf of ye olde battle mare of Igen. (Oh hi, Prineline! A…hem.) She pivots her head around owlishly in belatedly understanding, wet hands carefully picking up the bag of sweetsand. "Of course, ma'am. Where should I put it?" Read: Am I allowed in the Vicinity of Prineline's Staked-Out Territory?

The reaction Prineline receives is enough to put her in a more hospitable state. Elle's discomfort and subsequent question ensures that Prineline maintains her proximity of dominion. "Here is fine," she responds, finger tilting towards a space near enough for the old battle mare to reach. As the starcrafter reacts in whichever way she sees fit, Prin is attempting to place her, anew. "What allows you the luxury of a midday bath?" Her tone is neutral, no indication of accusation or real interest.

She moves gracefully, Elle does, to arrange the bag of sweetsand with the subtle nicety of the bag's empty top folded over towards Prineline: easier to pick up than if pointed away, and the bottom squared up so that the bottom seam isn't visible. Maybe she has a touch of OCD. It wouldn't run contrary to her profession. Retreating back into her own little cubbyhole of water-space, Elle starts piling her hair on top of her head, evidently not enjoying this whole hair-sweat-plastered-to-the-side-of-her-face thing that is otherwise going on. "I work at night, ma'am. By all rights I should be a couple of candlemarks into sleep, but I didn't get in until about an hour ago." It's carefully articulated; there is a calculated edge to the humility in her voice.

Prineline reaches for the sand as understanding melts into the cobwebbed crevices of her memory. "A starcrafter, of course. That's why I've seen you with Sadiya." A mental victory on the Headwoman's part as she unfolds the bag and begins gently rubbing the sand into one freckled forearm. "Tell me your name?" The scrubbing of small circles widens to include her collarbone as Prineline upholds her surveillance.

"Oh — yes. I'm so sorry, my manners have escaped all boundaries." Elle shakes her head, flushing a bit further than the heat has already goaded her fair skin into. "Journeyman Elle of the starcraft. My craft's respects to you and yours, of course, ma'am." She's not willing to budge from her soaking, even though Prineline's moved on to scrubbing; instead she stays curled up on her side, eyes drifting momentarily from Prineline to study someone entering the baths, all-but covered in mud. Weyrling life. It looks painful.

"Elle, yes, that sounds familiar," she says at length, her pauses due to full indulgence of the slow scrub. "Always nice to see a female crafter advancing herself." Prin has a noted affection for non-riding female players, being one herself. The muddy arrival gathers her attention in brief, but the caverns aide that follows behind is what commands her interest. The look on the young man's face says it all: panic. With a sigh, Prineline lifts herself gracefully from the baths, dripping in naked reflection before a towel is swept around her. "Yes, Bline, I'll be there in a moment." Reaching down, the Headwoman picks up the bag of sand and drops it near Elle on her way out, strong hands gently wrangling silver strands into a bun. "I'll put the klah on late tonight," she says by way of departure; and soon enough, she's clothed and lost from sight.

There is likely subtle astonishment to Elle's features at the mild commendation of the headwoman — certainly not what she was expecting to hear. "Thank you, ma'am." What else do you say than give thanks for the — compliment? Fact, maybe. Regardless, the focus of her eyes returns to Prineline after studying the muddy youth and the aide that follows, and she smiles despite herself at the headwoman's momentary sigh at a bath interrupted. The smile that blossoms at Prineline's last comment is genuine and grateful, and Elle ducks her chin. "Thank you, ma'am. Good day to you." And a good bed to Elle, hopefully - the girl isn't much longer for this world by the way her eyes close thereafter. Hopefully she'll stay awake long enough to get through the rest of her bath and not be a casualty of the day.

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