Logs:Quality Girl Time
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| RL Date: 15 March, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Mave, Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo and Mave meet and chat about very girly things only, and Alida almost-kinda-maybe joins in. |
| Where: Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 3, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day. |
| Mentions: Barnabas/Mentions, Sabella/Mentions |
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| Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup. The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.
A good enough time to be catching a bath, with meals or chores deterring others for a moment. Though Mave plods into the baths not quite alone, shouting affectionately over her shoulder, "Get back to me when you make up your wherry-fuck mind, then!" The curse: a most friendly of pet-names, despite being made harsh with joke; a hardened type of jesting not quite suited to her big, round cheeks. Slipping in, she strolls up, nearly past Jo, but slowing to raise her eyebrows curiously at the display of weaponry. Not enough, it seems, to deter her from tugging her hands around her tunic to lift it off. The call raises Jo's head towards the entrance, no longer finding herself alone as dark eyes track the other as she passes her. Fingers continues their duty in her hair, detangling and pulling and tugging, and when her knives are noted with that look, there's just the barest lift of one from the convict rider. There's a quick sizing up before she states, idly, perhaps in a sort of deadpan greeting, "Awfully late to be takin' a bath." "Mf oss," says the voice inside her tunic, before it's lifted with a shake of her the head off Mave's face, over her hair and left to bunch unkindly on the ground. "-- and sweaty, and there's dirt where it ain't pleasant what to have it." A hand lifts to idly scratch at her own scalp, pushing some of her half-curls around with it. Getting a grip on one hem of her pants, she hops about to pull it off, then the other. "Unless you're expecting some kind of late bathing time riffraff." Knives, and all, softly remarked upon a second time with a glance before she worries herself more with planting down at the edge of the pool. Regarding her, those words bringing a quirky smile to her face, "From doin' what?" Jo just has to ask in wry curiosity as she drops her fingers from her hair and leans forward to dip them into the pool. That next does have her snorting and dropping with a browlift, "Riffraff?" and she gives Mave a full-on look in open prompt. Even then though, "Yer one of those candidates?" and she glances towards the tunic on the ground as if she could see any white knot she may have missed. "Just the freakish amount of cleaning everyone panics about come Hatching time." Mave opens her mouth, rolling her tongue out in an exaggerated 'bleh', that's soothed as the water licks around her poking feet, then she drags herself in with a soft splash. "I'm not." Riffraff or candidate? Somewhere in-between, with the cautious solemnity of her tone, bringing a cooler shade to her brow. Like she's magnetized, brown eyes flick to the knives, scanning their sleek figures with a bite of her lip. "Y'know... //riffraff//." A pointed glance goes out towards the caverns. "Ahh," Jo seems to understand, though she's shaking her head on it. "One time out there was enough for me." There's something amusing about the exaggeration from Mave, and whatever tension was there in the convict rider's shoulders seem to be easing. She notes the study of her knives and she reaches to slide one of them from its sheathe. The hilt a bone white and the slightly curved blade looks wicked - not to mention sharp. Very sharp. She's quick in reversing the blade in her hand and holds it out hilt-first towards the younger woman, not seeming to mind that she's putting a weapon in her hands. It has a good, sturdy weight to it, alluding to it not being cheaply made. "So I take yer not the riffraff I should be expectin'?" she drawls wryly while doing so, dark eyes full of mirth. "As in, I show ya this and ya won' use it on me?" Even the reversal startles Mave lightly, chin dipping in a light confusion to be made the offering. Not that nimble fingers aren't quick to dip in towards them, curling in hesitation, then tracing the white hilt before wrapping a more solid grip. Full of awkwardness, she holds it out in front of her for several seconds, at that same arm's length, before slowly drawing her elbow in, turning her wrist to examine the blade with a keen but inexperienced eye. One that lifts to peer at Jo once in a while throughout. "I'd faster slip on this pool floor and gut myself," she expresses blithely. Belying that her hand's growing more comfortable, respecting the knife's weight with a reasonable hold, and a general understanding of its potential. "It feels weirder when I'm naked." Leaning back on her hands once the knife is taken, Jo watches Mave with it with open interest and silence - letting have her moment with it. As if this was a 'Moment'. It must be since she comments idly, "Had those made as a graduation gift to myself. Ain' my first ones, though. The first time, it was a good feelin'. Feel strong. Protected. Not that my fists are any less so, but with those...gives ya a certain...ya know." A hand lifts and flutters about briefly. The last has her laughing quietly before she says, "Yeah, well. When ya get used to havin' one even when yer naked. A lot of riffraff out there," she deliberately borrows her word, the baring of teeth coming in a cheeky smile. "Name's Jo, by the way," she gives then after a pause. "Blue Tacuseth's." "Weight," she murmurs, Mave either voicing an idle thought or filling in for Jo's-- or both. Her mouth pulls unhappily to the side at the reminder of riffraff, a cooler hesitation thinning her round cheeks as she sucks her lower lip in. "My fists are-- ehh," nothing special, as she inspects a knuckle with a turn of her hand, "But this-- with all this-- " her free hand expresses around the nudity of her body, pale skin like a target. A shrug. "I always had gloves, guttin' fish and the like-- " oh, but Jo's introducing herself and, naturally, Mave extends a hand, jutting Jo's own bone-white hilted knife towards her in a fast jab that's retracted an instant later when the girl realizes, "Fish in a fuck basket! Sorry," the knife spins, less deftly than Jo, to turn the hilt out as she sheepishly offers it, much slower, back. "Mave. I swear to Faranth I'm not riffraff. An', my respects to Tacuseth." "Be good to have that," Jo notes, her study on Mave open. Obvious. "Weight. Haven' been at the Weyr all my life, so. It's become a habit of mine to keep it around." Eyes drop to those knuckles on display, then her body before meeting her gaze with one of her lopsided grins and a wry, "Don' got nobody that needs hittin', though, right? Wager ya don' need to be tough. Looks like ya still got some growin' to do." Perhaps an easy tease, that. But then Mave is handing the knife back, first blade first before she reverses it, that curse driving a bark of laughter from her along with, "That's a fuckin' colorful way of sayin' it. Ya ain' from here, are ya?" She reaches out to take up the knife then, hefts it and then sets it down next to its twin by the belt as a name is given. "Mave," she repeats the name, nodding firmly. "And, ya have me curious to yer version of a 'riffraff'. Cuz it might not be mine. We're talkin' dirty types, here? Shady types? The ones that try to cop a feel or pinch yer ass or somethin'?" "Those're the kind y'hit," dismisses Mave of the pinching riffraff, a significant pause before she amends, "The type that puts a noose in the caverns like that's somehow a way to prove somethin'" Something the young girl, raising her shoulders and tucking her arms around her chest, clearly wants nothing to do with. "Naw, not from here, anyway. Not born, least. Keroon outskirts, a fishing place. All'a the sailors," freeing a hand from under her armpit, she flicks a forefinger at Jo's belt, "Had 'em about. But I've grown here. At least," eyes drift down, mouth a practiced perturb before giving up, "what growing I've done. Grew out of the hittin', at least. For which I think my knuckles will be forever grateful." A testament to how well that hitting went. Frowning slightly, "They caught the one that did it?" Jo asks about the noose in the caverns, having heard about it and maybe seen it in passing herself. "I know about those kind of riffraff. Plenty of them around, so I can relate." She doesn't seem surprised to hear where Mave is from, the bluerider smirking a bit before she observes, "Ya swear like a sailor." Pause. "Like Bones down at the greenhouse." There's even laughter to the notion of giving up fighting. Poking at her own self, "Goin' on 26 turns and I haven' stopped knockin' heads together," and she seems proud of that fact. Eyes falling on those poor knuckles again, "And, might just mean ya need a little trainin'. Ain' nothin' wrong with a girl bein' able to give a good throw, ya know? Comes in handy along with ownin' a knife to the hip. Some people like to take advantage. Or steal from ya." Clearly this could be a problem within a Weyr, according to this convict rider. "Rumor's unreliable." So much for the noose; a shuddering shrug with which Mave bides it go on by. "Scarin' people's no way to go around showing what you're made of." All she wants to say on that kind. It helps that a passing smile, wry but, underneath, sincere arrests her mouth at the mention of Bones. "He reminds me of my first home." Dipping down into the water, she tips her head to wet matted hair, thick and unwieldy from the day's work that floats out as she runs her fingers up into it and shakes the curls out within the pool. "All the folks I felt like knockin' heads on are supposed to be my friends now. Anyway, I don't fancy I'd be very good at it. Though, it might've been nice if I coulda slugged a few of the bookies giving me lip earlier. As if they don't know I been at it with them all these past turns." All those ancient turns old she is. Confidently plucky words are tinged with the faint look of frustration, tempered by actual anxiety, in her eyes. Snerking, "Where there's smoke," is what Jo says to reliable sources, sniffing at it. There's a fondness to her smile as well in regards to the gardener, though no words come forth. Rather, she remains silent as Mave talks, observing her and taking in her words as she relaxes at the pool's edge. In comment to something said, a spark of interest lights her gaze as she states, "Yer a bookie that don' slug it. Shit, it's not that hard to learn, girl. Even I could teach ya a thing or two to keep them sorts away! But say," and she leans a little towards her, "yer pickin' up wagers on the hatchin', then? One of them did tell me there was a little runt runnin' around masqueradin' as one of them, but I was assumin' he was just tryin' to get my marks." She's eyeing her now. "I like my smoke to warn me, not cluck the first thing that comes by." Somewhere, the metaphor's lost, but Mave's moved on by then anyway, fixing at her hair then scanning for the last resting place of the spare bit of soapsand. Getting it, she spies over her shoulder with a knowing grimace, "Tobolt..." muttered low, promising vengeance. She hops back up, fist closed around her prize, to the pool edge that both woman and she share, shimmying out of the water closer than she went in, a more comfortable distance, now, between her and Jo's clothes-- Jo's belt of knives. Even as one hand fiddles with her hair, the other ghosts across the array. "They're just trying to chase me off cause I know all their secrets from holdin' their books before. But okay," a testing purse of her lips as she studies Jo's face then turns her knuckles out towards her, "How come when I shot a guy in the nose, it hurt me just as bad?" Fighting-wise, at least; she seems to know the basics of force impacting force, not sounding befuddled that it happened. It's evening in the bathing caverns, with the scarred up and naked Jo sitting unashamedly at a pool's edge with her knives nearby and her leathers, talking to a bathing Mave. With the younger woman sitting closer, there seems to be a companionable conversation going on. "Tobolt," the convict rider agrees, amused. "He's been sayin' all sorts of unsavory things about ya, it yer the runt he's talkin' about. I do have a few wagers I wanna add in. If yer willin'." She gives Mave the sidelong glance in challenge. "And yer a thief? Ya should sell these secrets then. I know some that would be willin' to pay top." Yeah, obviously Jo's not a good influence. To the last, on fighting, she straightens up and answers like she would know, "It's gonna hurt, either way. Might've been how ya punched him." She holds up a wet fist, then takes an air swing right infront of herself. "If ya got him on the flat part, here, that's good. Any other place might make it hurt worse," and she slaps the part where a fist should connect for more impact with her other hand in demonstration. "Got a man good in the throat, once, like that." Finished with her near-daily, rigorous workout, a sweaty Alida makes her way through the ever-present mists of the bathing pool area, her bare feet giving her better purchase than slippers or boots could. Remaining silent, the blonde moves on light feet over to brass hangars, and disrobes in efficient manner, her alert greens and sharp ears taking in whatever the room has to offer. The sound of Mave's, Jo's voices reaches her ears, and after a couple moments for cogitation, the gaurd places the identities of both, even as she stands up to move over towards the big niche containing soapsand and rags, towels. A fleeting hint of pale skin flashes here and there within swirling mists as she moves. the young woman giving a smirk to herself as she overhears the bluerider's words of theivery and pain. "I am not a thief." It's a reflexive answer, because a second later Mave's paused, eyes flitting up to the corner as her mouth and brows furrow in concentration. Or is she? "I kinda thought of it more like learning. Anyway, if I sell, seems like that would just put me back, instead. You don't want a leaky bookie taking your bets." Fingers wriggle, palm up, at Jo; her version of accepting the woman's offer: gimme gimme. Wet hair slapping on her bare shoulders, she turns, addressing the caverns to spot at in-comings, but rounding on Jo for talk of fighting. Brown eyes stick to each of the older woman's motions carefully, that light dip of her eyebrows becoming constant. "Can't quite remember how... except as my knuckles hated me after," she turns them towards her, rubbing along the tops that have long healed over. "So probably wasn't flat-- and the throat?" Squinting hard, she evaluates how she feels about the violence, measuring-- and coming up short of a conclusion when she licks her lips, regarding Jo. "I don't think I'd even get Tobolt in the throat... even if he is trying to spook me into backing off. You know I've been at the Weyr turns? You'd think people would stop trying to exclude you at that point." She doesn't seem to quite believe it, as wish. Simpler times. Alida's arrival is duly noted by Jo with her head turning a fraction towards the entrance - even if she hasn't gotten an eyeful of the guard just yet. It's to Mave that gets the brunt of her attention, her legs idly making waves in the pool they're at as she quirks a look at her on the thief comment. "Been called one before?" she puts to her then, openly amused by it. "Well, if ya are, so long's yer not thievin' my shit, I ain' gotta problem with ya. I've picked a few pockets myself, back in the day." Somehow, it sounds awfully underplayed. On the booking, "How about I just give ya one wager, and test ya out? I've only got the one left, and, if yer as leaky as ya say..." And so, she leans and stretches back her body to reach for her jacket and pulls out a mark piece before sitting up and lifting it up for Mave to see. "This, is for Sabella on blue or green if she Impresses," is her wager, looking to see if the challenge is taken up. There's throaty laughter on their talk of fighting - or punching people in the throats, it seems - the bluerider stating, "It can be a tricky move if they keep their chins down. Maybe a hit to the gut? Tobolt don' seem all that impossible." Yes, she's promoting violence, though the very last brings on her curiosity again. "How long, darlin'?" Finally getting the stuff she needs to aid with her bath, Alida quietly pads to the edge of the pool she's chosen and carefully steps down the stairs into it, the guard giving a small shiver of delight as the heated waters not only warm her, but cause her muscles to start slowly relaxing. Keen ears keep subconscious attention upon whatever conversations are within her ken, the mist-laden air and very construction of the bathing area making points of discussion undefined, a little echoing. Hard to pinpoint. Water is displaced about her moving form, though not violently, and once she's submerged and fully wetted down, 'lida surfaces again, nabs her baggie of 'sand, and starts tackling her long, thick hair. Accepting the mark in her wet hand, Mave peers gamely at Jo, "Is this still going to be on me when I leave?" A quizzically raised eyebrow turns joking by a twitch of her mouth, fingers clasping over the bet securely, a touch too eagerly. "Sabella," she repeats, trying to sound professional for Jo's benefit, "Blue or green." After reciting the current odds, such are they are, for color betting, she hums more personally, "Haven't had a lot on Sabella yet. Or-- now. I guess time's running out." Rubbing a thumb over the mark, she tucks it in with her clothing, reminded, by the brush of them, to sink back into the water and rinse what's been soaking into her hair. "Everything's an impossible move when you're five foot under everyone's boot." Not expressly dismissive in saying, though; she sounds almost hopeful, optimistically listening for Jo to prove her wrong, while she thinks, "Guess it's been... eight and some now. Eight turns. It's silly, when you think about that the same fussy discriminating tactics what you see now are what you got as a seven turn old. What's that say for people? But, really, I can handle Tobolt. A least he's not Lettran, bettin' on maulings." The shifts of movement and things being displaced pulls Jo from watching Mave, and her drawls comes unbidden: "Ya might as well join us. Plenty of room in this pool for more." Once Mave takes the mark and she delivers that tease, "Ahhh, I won' steal somethin' that might make me a profit. It's honorable," she says with mock solemnity with a hand going briefly to her chest. Laughing once she drops the act, "She's a new one, I think," she gives on the candidate she's betting on. "And. Nothin's impossible, darlin'. Just gotta come at it differently than others. Ain' about the height. It's more about what ya do with what ya got, hm?" But then Mave says she's been there for eight turns and the woman nods a few times absently to that as she comments, "Around the same time I came in here." Pause. "Tobolt and Lettran, they can be dealt with," she drawls, sidling a look her way. Almost speculative, even. "Gotta a friend that works in the caverns. He's pretty solid. Ain' afraid to bully if ya really need it. After this hatchin' business is done with of course." Shrugging a bit, "If he gets them outta yer hair, ya can say ya owe me one." Scrubba-dubba. It takes a few minutes to get her hair lathery and scrubbed well, and during that time, Alida continues to quietly listen to the various conversations taking place around her, the blonde silently congratulating herself that she's not really the betting type. Sounds like Mave might steal her blind, if she was. And then Jo's voice reaches her ears, the palest-blonde twisting her lips a little at being discovered, then giving herself a small shrug. Nabbing up her implements of bathing from the pool's side, the blonde soon ambles over to where the other two females have gathered, setting down her stuff once again, then continuing her abulations...a definite bob of her sudsy head given to the bluerider and Mave. Watching as Alida joins them pushes Mave off of the track of conversation, dropping a few strains of thought before she picks up with an, "Uhh..." looking to Jo, then making sure to double-take on Alida, affirming the guard-candidate's greeting with a respectful nod of her own. Then, eying the rider, as she rubs down a bare leg briskly. "I don't want to owe you that. I don't want anyone to bully anyone. Fear tactics are a sign of weak character." A beat. She freezes, hand full of suds on her leg, and jaw slipping down. "Umm." Eyes flash carefully to Jo, lip curling up apologetically, "No offense to your friend, Jo. None." Calming, she adds, "And it's not that I don't appreciate offers of help. But if I get tired of Tobolt, I'll just show him up when I do better books. And, well, if it's necessary-- " a soft cough, she scrubs a little harder, hiding nerves, "Maybe you could show me that," her other hand forms the fist, "Different come at things bit again." Gaze briefly darkening, perhaps harkening back to those more menacing than competitive bookies. Once it's revealed indeed to be Alida, "Ahh, the guard joins our humble little party," Jo greets with a flash of something in her gaze. "Ya must be shittin' nervous about what's to come. What they're predictin' to be comin' soon." Then, to something Mave says, "Fear tactics are a sign of control," she gives, darting a wry glance the younger woman's way as she washes next to her. Apparently, no apologies are needed, for the bluerider just shakes her head and says, "Shit, give yer opinion. Ya ain' gonna offend me and mine. The fact that yer ain' afraid to, I like it." It sits well with her with it shows in her quiet approval. "Anyway," she goes on to say, "reckon the decent way of it's best. And, if ya want me to show ya, that can be arranged," and she lifts and forms a fist again with that mischievous smirk. That's what Alida was concerned about: her presence interrupting things, so that the smooth flow of information stops. Ah well. Remaining quiet, not wishing to butt in further on the other women, the candidate continues scrubbing firmly upon her scalp, rubbing soap down into the lower skeins of her hair, making certain to get it fastidiously clean. Green eyes keep conspicuously away from Mave and Jo as they discuss their gaming 'strategies,' though the rider does receive a murmured alto answer of, "Not really. A little concerned, yeah, but fear?" A negative shake of her soapy head is followed by the guard's mellow, "Fear makes it tough ta' react well, tough ta reason. Caution, however." Smirk. Especially for someone like *her* - who's already pissed-off Hraedhyth - caution would be a hallmark. As to fear tactics...well, the blonde keeps mum, though her eyes sparkle for a moment. A swift nod accepts Jo's lack of offense cleanly, and Mave takes the information quite to heart, very quickly, when she answers back, "A rootless control, maybe. Second you're not scary, it falls down. Then you just end up trapped by yer own trappings." It's a light, untested, theory-- and theory is all it is, lacking the conviction of experience. But Mave appreciates being able to say, building confidence the more she does. To the fist, she scoots even closer, daring thoughtlessly to place a palm on Jo's knives to shift them back and out of her way for her to be up alongside the rider, putting her smaller fist nearby for comparison. Over the tips of her own knuckles, she watches Alida, humming. "I think a bit of nerves are good," she remarks, more throwaway than challenging, "So you don't get too big in your head." Mave's swift nod on the matter has Jo grinning enough that she remarks idly, "Look, I know how it is. I came from a hold where women were suppose to be seen and not heard unless they followed in the guard tradition of the place. I had more opinions than not, when I was there. Before I left." Beat. "Concerned for yerself or for those eggs out there?" she turns this now on Alida, her tone sardonic. "I agree on fear. It's a useful tool, though. Gettin' what ya want outta someone else. Might not be seen as a 'civillized' way of doin' things, but, guess that depends on the sort of person ya are." That seems to be directed to them both, though once Mave sidles close and shows her own fist, the woman nods her way and says, "Seek me out sometime, Mave. We can spar, throw knives, whatever. Maybe even filch something from the kitchens late at night. Ya know. Have some 'girl time'." Right. Her eyes dart to Alida as she adds, "Ya can come, too, though ya don' look like ya would want the practice. And ya might get mated to a dragon soon, but I might still stop by the barracks and needle ya a little." "Like I said, just a little concerned. I'm no raw brat, struttin' about like an arrogant, clueless idiot..." Alida raps off to Mave in only slightly aggrieved tones, one of her pale shoulders shrugging slightly. Upon her own, three-quarter's submerged form might be noted a leather thong tied about the back of the guard's neck, depending down and into the water. "Mostly for m'self..." the holder mutters as she works. "None uv the humans out there on the Sands 'r likely gonna try ta hurt a dragon uv any size, so why would I be concerned about them?" More scrubbing leads into a definite nod to Jo as the scrappy rider speaks of fear as a tool, 'lida's expression remaining neutral as the woman glances at her. As for practice... "Mm, maybe. Depends on if I'm around at all after those eggs bust." A slightly negative shake of head and another shoulder roll show pretty much how the guard thinks it'll go. "You don't have to be raw to get too big in the head." Again, Mave aims to the general statement, rather than insinuate towards Alida directly, and, at the lip-gnawing prospect of mistaken assumptions again, she turns to keep on Jo, lowering her practice fist. "Gonna make a thief out of me anyway?" She teases the rider gamely, eyebrows narrowed but cheeks pushed up with a hint of a smile. She's nodding along friendly enough, but dangerous temptation rocks her gaze back to the guard-candidate, lips pressed then popping open. Below, she's yanked her foot up into her lap and is at the delicate chore of scrubbing her toes. "There've been..." glance shooting over her shoulder; she bites the inside of her cheek, sighing slightly, "problems before. Fort? Missing eggs. Others've been cracked at. Dragons are just babies when they come out, too. Big babies! But babies." Lending a certain vulnerability to the word, she's soon to drop that opinion, too, angling in for more intensive cleaning. "Are ya describin' someone in particular, there?" Jo drops deadpan in light of Alida's first. "The 'arrogant clueless idiot' part." But the guard answers her all the same and it's with one that she really can't argue against so she doesn't. Even the last from her, she can take in stride with an easy, "Well. If yer still around. Might wanna think about bein', either way. That shy one the last time I seen ya seems to have a thing for ya." There's even a knowing look for that, as if she was trying to pull out her ire. Mave's question on her trying to make a thief out of her has her laughing outright and leaning over to thump her smaller shoulder. "Come on, yer tempted," she drawls enticingly with her dark gaze and charmed smile. "I know ya are. Get that rush of what could be lifted from under a cook's nose..." The latter topic though is more somber, the convict rider grunting to what's said. "Don' gotta worry about that here," she says with brazen confidence. "Gonna have to fight through the lot of us to make somethin' like that happen, darlin'." "True..." Alida comments in her usual clipped fashion, not letting Mave's insinuation bother her any more. And then Mave's speaking of previous problems with dragons, and Alida's brows lift slightly, her greens turning directly upon the woman - focused and rather intense - as the holder listens avidly to the information. Casually: "Any speculations at ta' who might be doin' such nasty things?" As for anyone out on the Sands trying to harm dragonettes... the candidate gives a frozen bit of a razor-smile at the thought, then murmuring in too-quiet tones, "Better not be on *my* fuckin' watch." To Jo's inquiry comes the blonde's small shake of head, though the rider's following words about someone 'shy' having a thing for her evinces a small frown from the candidate, and a clipped, "Who the shell's *that*?" Yep, clueless. A chuff of a sound soon factors into her nod at the bluerider's last comment, Alida then grabbing a deep breath before dunking below the water to rinse her hair out. Up down, up-down she dunks repeatedly again to make sure her mane is clear of soap before capable hands reach over to grab up some clear concoction within a vial. Open it's popped, the fragrant stuff rubbed into her hands, then into the bottom part of hair, which is soon coiled soddenly atop her grape, lightly pinned there. On to body washing. "Sometimes it's accident," supplies Mave, admitting with a pause of fingers between her toes as she grimaces thoughtfully, "Fort, though..." a little shuddering shrug of her shoulder. Jo's confidence, backed similarly by the other woman, brings a half-heartened smile to her lips; it flutters, then drops, but her eyes are livened. "Bet anyone thinks twice after gettin' throat-punched." Fist swings back and forth, an exaggerated and slightly off-balance, but enthusiastic, mimic of a one-two decking. Stretching out her foot, she utilizes their side-conversation about shy suitors to dunk her scrubbed feet, washing off excess soap, happily contented to be involved in that. Swinging her head idly down to catch the ends of her hair in the water, eyes alight on the bunch of Alida's, studying how it sits on her head from her own sideways position wetting hers. There's a little smirk for Alida as suddenly, Jo's up and on her feet and finally reaching for her towel to dry off the rest of herself. "That cute curly-haired one that liked yer hair," she notes on who seemed to fancy her, the smile not seeming to give anything away. She even dropping a name as she tosses the towel down and starts to dress. Mave's response on anyone coming after the Reachian clutches gets her laughter, and to the air punch, "A throat punch is the worst," she agrees. "Hard to come back from one of those." She collects up her knives and belt and slides it on, the convict rider now hastily dressed as she picks up her towel and states to the younger, "Hey. I'll look for ya once things settle, alright? I was serious about the girl time. I better run." Dark eyes light on Alida then, the guard getting her liberal study before she says, "See ya soon, guard." Guys usually aren't called 'cute' in Alida's mind... The blonde's perplexed peer at Jo continues for a moment longer, the blonde then shrugging her shoulders as she shifts her gaze to Mave when the other woman speaks. Still clueless. A softly chuffed, "Mhm..." is all that's noted for more words of dragons, the guard then clipping off low, "*If* they survive." What, a punch like that can kill...and she knows it? Scrub-a-dub. With the bluerider's imminent departure comes a flick of clear greens to Jo, and a more generalized study of the now-clothed woman before Alida mumbles her own, "One way 'r the other." Whether that's Impressed or not, dead or alive, drunk or sober is left to the imagination. "Girl time, riiiight." Alongside Mave making a big show out of padding to the edge of the pool to check that the mark she pocketed for Jo's bet it still there. Plucking it out, she plays at starting to bite it. Farewells passed between the other two have her ducking lightly in the water, easily conforming to a distance that has her, again, absorbed in the bathing she's here for. Piling up her hair, carelessly, she scrubs the back of her neck and, letting the red-brown waves down, tilts her head side to side to crack it. Next, linking her hands together to reach them out, twist, and crack all her knuckles. A little routine, completed with a last dunking and, surfacing, she throws herself up on the pool edge. Even in a communal bath, this time is kept as private as possible, and Alida simply quiets, concentrating on her skin while Mave does the same to her own hide. It doesn't take too long until all the sweat and grime of the day is cleared away - Alida's skin left pink by her efforts - the woman then striding slowly along until she too rises from the water like a shark's fin, to grab up her own large, fluffy towel and wrap it around herself before she settles into wrapping up her hair within a somewhat smaller one. "It's real," Jo quips in a dry voice when Mave makes a show of checking that the mark is still present, and, checking to see if it's real. Still, the fact that Mave does doesn't have her glaring long, her smile back in place as she's lifting two fingers to them both and heading out of the cavern. Towels foregone, Mave's clothing has been left right by the poolside, and she snatches it up as she pads, contentedly naked, further down the cavern off from the pools. A hop-skip and she's pulling on limb after limb, clearly practiced in the art of walk-dressing. There's just boots to pick up with a dip down near the entrance. First, she knocks them against the wall; lingering packs of dirt falling off. At the last, she raises her head, scouting to see if the guard-candidate's still about. "Evenin', Alida." Pleasant to a polite point, it's not particularly demanding of the other woman when it comes to pleasantries, her head lowering, thoughts inward, directly after. She still is, but Alida's not given to excessive interactions of the social kind, the blonde nabbing up the leftovers of her bath, and depositing them where such things properly go. After twisting the towel atop her head repeatedly, it too is abandoned in favor of a new, dry one, similarly wrapped atop her grape, even as the young woman starts patting, ruffling her form dry with a new, large bath towel. Seems a little excessive, given the original one still wrapped protectively around her, but cest la vie. "Evenin'..." is casually grunted back at Mave. Already on her way out, Mave pauses just outside the doorway to nod succinctly at the presence of a response before she shuffles, boots swinging in a one-handed grip by her side, back to her duties, making sure to carefully recheck her pocket that she hasn't dropped Jo's mark along the way, and mouthing Sabella, Sabella, green or blue... till she can reach the first instrument of writing on her path. And Alida? She simply continues her grooming ritual with more squeezings of her toweled hair, pattings of fair skin, and the occasional peer all about, until she too is finished, and dresses once more, then leaving the pools. |
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