Who

Yules, Ebben, Bailey, and Terilyn

What

After some tense discussion in the Baths, Yules and Ebben discuss the Long Game; then Yules gives him a new one.

When It is noon of the tenth day of the twelfth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Timor: moon5.jpg Belior: moon4.jpg
Where

Southern Weyr Baths

OOC Date

 


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.


The best part of waking up is klah in your cup. The best part of baths after a long morning of herding cats (or wingriders, as it may be) is klah in your cup in the baths. That's where Yules is, at least, fluffy grey housecoat draped haphazardly over the bench while the woman sits in one of the pools and sips a mug of klah. Yeah, klah in the baths. This is the life. Every so often, a hand reaches up to scrub at a spot on her scalp but otherwise, Yules ignores anyone else circulating about.

Amidst the anonymous circulating bathers, one has a nose a-twitchin. The scent of klah mingled with soap sand is altogether pleasant, and the healer drifts a bit closer to the Wingleader to sniff in a more upfront fashion. Sniffsniff. "Why I never thought of that…" Ebben mutters to himself as he settles to the right of Yules. "Morning."

In a world of her own, Yules says almost dreamily, "Because you can get klah on the ground any time - and I still haven't figured out how to get insulated klah mugs to stop spilling mid-flight." Wait, did she say that aloud? Hazel eyes blink and focus on a young man, and Yules covers up her embarassment with, of course, the klah mug waving in front of her nose. "Also, whatever drudge is on duty likes to glare at me while I'm doing it." According to Yules' smooth tone, she doesn't care one whit. Instead, let's focus on the other party: "Well met," whoever you are, "I'm Yules, to brown Desmeth. And you?" The mug waves in Ebben's direction.

Ebben is both amused and legitimately considering the complexities of in-flight klah consumption when Yules addresses him directly and the healer slicks his damp curls back with an agreeable: "Yules? well met. I'm Ebben, to the Healers." Broad shoulders sink a little further in the water as his neck finds the lip of the tub and he cranes backwards, eyes closing in luxurious relaxation. "You'd have to make a pouch, I suppose?" This comes a few moments later, one eye popping open to roll towards Yules. "A pouch that is part of the whole riding gear, maybe lined with fur, with some sort of sealed top? Of course, I assume between would pretty much turn it to ice." If he were a smith or a tanner maybe this would actually be a concrete opinion, but as his eye begins to close again, it's a safe bet that he's merely rolling around the hypotheticals.

Eyes sparking with interest, Yules examines as much of Ebben as she can see - that which is above the waterline, of course: "A healer, huh? Good stuff." Sluuuurp. "Well," and now Yules' tone drifts to lecturing-mode, "During a Threadfall, there's not really much time for drinking klah, what with the firestone and everything." Yules' brows crease between in thought, "I tried strapping a mugholder to Desmeth, but he said it itched uncomfortably." Picky dragons. Yules shrugs and sighs, "At least I get to enjoy it here, though." Yules eyes Ebben again: "Have you been stationed here long? Have you gotten to see Thread burns close up?" It's like being back in the kitchen but instead of grilled herdbeast, it's grilled Ebben. Or maybe poached.

Behold: at least one of the new wildlings seems to have found the steamy environment of the baths, venturing forth where none would willingly go. First, by an eye, peering in to ensure the safety of the place — and identify that those.. VOICES belong to real, living people, rather than disembodied echoes of a terrifying past — and then her toes, sending a small girl tripping into the space on near-silent steps. Her single goal is to get clean, and get out afore she's noted by any of her erstwhile, stubborn family; THEY set no store by daily bathing, and would consider the girl a traitor to the Cause. What stops Terilyn, however, is the sight of a male, in the baths. As obsessed as the girl is with the notion of a bath whenever it's wanted, even she has limits: males should not see her unclothed, ever. And so she halts, squint-eyeing, just to one side of the doorway, hovering like a deer on the edge of flight.

Here comes Bailey. She looks worn out already. Tired. Maybe a bit forlorn. Maybe a large bit (115%) bitchy. "Why can't there be any cold pools in my weyr," she grumps as she drags herself in. "You. You just stopped in front of me. Why did you stop." That's to Terilyn, and Bailey's voice is PLAINTIVE.

Ebben prefers to stay over easy. "I suppose it would have a casual flight attachment, less 'warm-sips-between-life-eating-thread-dodge' and more 'oh, that's a pretty rock, and look at that nice boat—sip sip.'" Ebben's eyes slowly open anew as he grins towards Yules and straightens a bit so as to engage the Wingleader a bit more directly. "Up close?" His grin fades a bit, "yeah, I was supervising a couple of the novices on redwort use in the infirmary a while back and we had a rather surprise pop in from real early in one of the falls. A seacrafter had gotten stuck on his way into harbor and half his arm…" He trails off as there is a small kerfuffle towards the entrance and he catches sight of Bailey and Terilyn. He straightens a bit more in the presence of the goldrider, but his attentions remain with Yules. "Got here a turn or so ago? I'm a fan. More of an herbalist myself, so the jungles around here are extremely interesting to me."

Yules totally doesn't notice the young wildling in the doorway until Bailey's voice rings from behind the girl; actually, Yules' first reaction is to wince, and then to look over in case Khalyssrielth's behind her… Draining the rest of her klah, Yules tries to put on a friendlier face, waving to the pair in the doorway, a little 'hi there', a little 'c'mon down', but turns back to hear the end of Ebben's tale of healery woe: "Your fellows did a good job on the back of my head the one time," is her acknowledgement while putting the mug at the rim of the pool she and Ebben are in." For a moment, Yules just sort of watches Ebben, and then adds, "Gotta watch out for beasties in the jungle, though."

Terilyn startles, turning to eye Bailey with all the suspicion one would duly grant that sudden appearance right. Behind. Her. And then, silently, she takes several steps, deliberate and frowningly, away from the crotchety woman before planting herself up against the wall, as far away from the door as she can manage. Can't be getting in anyone's way, now can she. Memory is searched before she realizes — and bobs a quick little sort-of head-nod. "Din' know boys 'n girls bathed t'gether here. Startled me, so I stopped. Din' mean to get in ya way. Sorry."

"Yep," Bailey replies, her voice unimpressed. She's been living in a weyr since she was twelve — any original holdbred modesty has completely been beaten out of her. "Come on, then. Let's go. Bathing." She follows behind Terilyn mostly out of rote response — clean the wildling, get the wildling clean. She makes little hustle-y gestures. "Yules," she distractedly tosses over to the other pair, nodding at Ebben in lieu of a vocal greeting.

Ebben immediately slides his gaze towards Yules as she brings up her injury, before he can ask one of those weird, blunt healer questions like 'let me see the back of your head' he spies the soapsand behind the rider and he motions towards it with a glistening arm, "would you mind handing me…?" Whether Ebben suddenly found inspiration for a scrub, or it's a small ploy to disrupt the intensity of Yules' stare, we may never know. He can't quite hear Terilyn or he would happily sink a bit deeper so as to aid in the girl's comfort, but as it stands, half his chest is exposed in his effort to obtain the object of his reaching, and it's all… nekkid. Bailey gets a respectful dip of the head in response and a curious glance slips towards the wildling.

Yules, long-used to bathing with the boys, cocks an ear towards the wildling but nods to the goldrider: "Good… noontime." Or something. See? Awkward stare interrupted. She does turn to reach behind her and hands the requested object to the Healer. "There you go. Yes, important to be clean." Is that a message for everyone here? Who knows, "So you've been here a Turn, huh. Y'like it down here?" This is the quiz later that they always warn a person about, "Been healing long? Any interesting bod…stories?" Ahem.

But the wildling doesn't want to bathe with a boy. Terilyn takes evasive action, attempting to slide further away from Bailey and her hustle-y motions with red-faced embarrassment. Her clothes stay quite firmly on, thank you very much; she's not exposing a singular inch of skin in this odd, odd place, and is determinedly Not Looking at Ebben's naked chest; such things are not for a demure daughter to lay eyes upon. All this encouragement to just dive right in has the opposite effect of being comforting; instead, the girl shrinks further into herself, hunching her shoulders and gritting her teeth. "I come back later, yes." And she edges door-wards, trying to get around Bailey without actually touching her.

Ebben begins scrub-scrub-scrubbing away. He extends one foot, rubbing sand between the toes as he thinks of some of the more memorable healer foibles on his way to senior apprenticehood. "Once convinced this little snot from Benden that a jar of numb weed salve was actually a natural enhancer for his…" Ebben once again trails off, this time because Terilyn is looking so very, very uncomfortable. Bailey's rather abrupt response causes more then a few eyebrows to launch upwards. After a pause he does, in a quieter voice, mutter the rest to Yules however, because the story is too good to waste, even in the midst of a goldrider/wildling showdown. Marks on Bailey.

You overhear Ebben mutter, "So he … … … the … … … … could … … feel … … … two … … … … … … toes … tailbone for … … … has … If … … smells the stuff … goes all … … the, … …" to Yules.



Momentarily distracted from her conversation by Bailey's order, Yules is not afraid to chime in. "She'll do it, too," is the semi-cheerful warning to Terilyn, even if Bailey hasn't actually threatened anything. Yules is helping! But Ebben's quiet comment to Yules has her stop, stare, mouth opening and shutting a couple of times, and then Yules… blushes. "You mean," in case healers have different anatomy lessons, "Down there?" The brownrider's shoulders start to shake, almost against her head's better advice, but slowly Yules dissolves into giggles. Lots and lots of uproarious giggles, "And he… tailbone… weeks…" She's trying to gasp out the punchline but the salient points are lost in translation from giggle-to-comprehensible.

Ebben begins laughing as Yules erupts into giggles, and catches his breath with a few weak chuckles as Bailey's voice raises another octave. With a sympathetic look towards the thoroughly clothed wildling, Ebben raises a lathered hand by way of liaison. "Would it help if I left? I'm mostly clean anyhow." He's trying to be serious, but his grin is plastered back on after Yules mentions 'down there'.

Yules's laughter starts to die as she overhears Bailey's sharp tone and her face straightens. But she waves him back, including a shake of her head. Watching, Yules has her hands on the edge but as the young girl marches to the door, the Wingleader relaxes a little. One eye on Bailey, but Yules looks at Ebben again: "Don't worry about it." ANYWAYS, "So… he wasn't a healer, was he." A wry almost-sneery twist to Yules' lips, "I can hardly imagine a Healer who can't stand the smell of numbweed…"

"Oh no, he most definitely was. Dumb as a box of rocks." Ebben shakes his head and relaxes a bit as both Bailey and Terilyn go their separate ways. He returns to scrubbing, this round attacking his elbow. "I don't believe he is anymore, not because of the prank, but because the only reason he was even in the craft was because he was wasting space elsewhere." A shrug, a scrub, and Ebben's chuckling again. "We just to call him ol' limpy."

The Baths slowly start to quiet again to its usual hubbub, so Yules' snicker can be heard, "Limpy. McLimpington." Limptastic. Maybe she should stop there. "Any good stories about riders?" Strangely, Yules is looking even more relaxed - she even takes up some soapsand and starts to wash her hair. Scrubbedy scrubdub: "Not here, just… Anywhere you've been posted." A disgusted look passes over Yules' face, "I don't need to hear about someone I know being a McLimpy." Not naming names or anything.

Ebben bursts into a fit of laughter at Yules last comment while slowly continuing to scrub up his arm. "Alright, alright. Let's see. So I'm from Gar originally, and we had a watch rider who came in with a bad rash, all down both his arms. We couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with him. We went to see if he came in contact with any poison plant life around or if maybe it was some sort of symptom of a deeper sickness."

Ebben mulls over it, shaking his head as he recalls the incident. "Turns out? The guy had been stealing sticky buns from the kitchen at the end of his shift for, like, almost a turn. Our head baker thought she was going mad, since there'd be a dozen buns missing from different racks nearly every week with no explanation. The rider had figured out a way to snag an armful and bring them home." Ebben gives an amused snort. "He was allergic to the flour."

Oh good; Yules settles in for a good story-tellins, dipping her head in the water to rinse soapsand from her short hair, and watches Ebben with rapt attention - her eyes widen at the audacity of the rider, leading to a severe shaking of the head. An ex-cook never forgets: "The sheer GALL of the man! Outrageous! Should have given him the numbweed down there solution." Or forgives, evidently. Next to Ebben's amusement, Yules looks like she could swat this unknown rider with a spoon a few times. "I'd give him such a rash…" Uh, forget she said that? Yules turns a little pink with embarassment and says, "The worst I ever had was at Igen. One of the cooks kept filching my knives." Aggrieved! "So I dulled them until he gave up." Yes. That's Yules' story. Good night, folks, she'll be here all week!

"Would you? I have just the thing." Ebben perks up after his own full plunk under water and pop up. "When I was out foraging a while ago I found this sticky little sucker, low growing, nubby little blue flowers? I thought it was something else entirely so I dried it out for tea. Turns out, I was totally off, and once dry, the stalk makes a very excellent itching agent." Yes, you heard right. Itching. Agent. "Put that down some knife filcher's pants, watch the sparks fly…" the tender bit sparks. Because that's a thing. However, Ebben, upon mussing up his slicked curls, does give Yules an approving grin. "Dulling them down. I like it. I respect the long game."

Yules is a Wingleader now! She can't be tempted to rev-"Itching, huh?" The woman looks verrry thoughtful, "I can… yes, perhaps…" And then a thought occurs: "But then I'd have to get close to his pants." Frowny face. "That would be… oh, dreadful. I'll just have to keep telling them to add too much klah spice instead." Vengeance is an insidious thing, but Ebben's comment has Yules' eyes alighting on him again: "Long game…" She's trying to snap her fingers, but it's decidedly harder when they're wet: "Yes, the long game! That's exactly it!" Yules excited is a terrible sight: her face goes a little mottled, her eyes get wide and hands wave in the air like she just don't care, "You need a long game!"

Ebben watches Yules transform into a gesticulating ball of excitement with surprise and then visual camaraderie as he joins in, slapping his fist down to the water with a loud splash. "Yes! Long games are the only way to win!" Viva la Getting Even! "Too much klah spice, subtle, yet, strangely pesky. You've got a talent for these things."

"Exactly!" Yules shouts, probably earning the momentary emnity of anyone within hearing distance. "A long game, exactly that!" Boisterous and splashy, the pair of them: "And your long game…" Pause. Yules squints and eyes Ebben again. "Yours should be dragons," she finishes solidly. Sort of like her long game, but heeey, twinsies, or something. Eyes cross for a moment and Yules huffs: "Desmeth says I have to ask. So would you please Stand for Khalyssrielth's clutch, currently on the Sands?" See, that was nice…

Ebben is still laughing… because she's joking… she is joking, right? His laughter begins to fail as he senses Yules is not joking and he sits there, dumbfounded. "I, um, I mean, I thought healing was the long…" woah, woah, woah. Are you saying healing was the prank and dragons were the long game? That's like. That's. KAPOW! goes the man's brain, and then, with a slightly blurry look. "I mean, yeah. You sure about this?"

Serious like dulled knives and stolen cinnamon rolls. In fact, Yules is already pushing herself out of the bath and seizing her houserobe to fish around in one pocket: "Yes. Well, it could still be a long game, but this is a better one." Sorry, Healer, Yules just knows better. Finding the white knot she's looking for, Yules frisbees it to Ebben with the addendum, "Don't let it get wet." But Yules isn't getting back into the bath. She's toweling herself off and telling the poor young man, "No sex, no drinking, do your chores, so on and so forth, and follow me to the Candidate Barracks." Poor Ebben said yes: "You ARE clean, aren't you?" Finally all wrapped up in warm grey robe, Yules is ready to get out the door, toot sweet.

Ebben catches it once, drops it, catches it again, and leaps out of the baths to avoid further foibles with possibly wet ends. "Not really any different from healing, just less… limpys." He mutters and grabs a towel, following Yules.
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