Difference between revisions of "Logs:Dragons Are Suspicious"

There's a clutch on the sands, and that means party time. It's a few hours until the feast is set to begin, and some are in the caverns getting ready for the event. Some are bashful about public bathing; Ghena has never been one of those people. She's stark naked, dropping her dirty clothes into a laundry bin and tucking the fresh ones into one of the cubbies provided, before pausing in one of the looking glasses to check her hair and grab towel and soap. "Shelling greens, I /just/ washed this morning." She mutters making her way over to the pools.

Parties are perfect for prissy princesses to pamper themselves! And here, in one end of the pool, water swirling and steam rising, is Farideh, already soaping up her hair. It's not that she looks particularly modest, or embarrassed, but she does keep to herself for the most part, tucked into her portion of the communal bath. She's got a small basket of soapsand on the ledge nearest her, which smells vaguely of citrine and some other, earthy scent, and a fresh, fluffy towel.

Laine, party or no party, is sorely in need of a wash: hands and cheek splotchy with red ochre dye, she comes straggling into the bathing cavern and draws up alongside a broad-shouldered butcher still in his workclothes preparing to bathe. As she begins to strip (somewhat more modestly than Ghena), that butcher makes no attempt to hide a curl of his lip and a pinched-nose sniff (read: Laine STINKS), and he mutters something out of the corner of his mouth as Laine hangs her belt from a hook. "Ugh," Laine grunts as she pulls her shirt over her head, "You're one to talk. I've been busy all day trying to salvage mangled skins off your hacked-up carcasses." Laine even offers a crude gesture over one shoulder, for good measure, as she unwittingly follows Ghena's steps.

Ghena arches a brow, glancing over as she catches, at least part of the exchange, giving Laine a curious once over, before unwittingly dropping into the pool near Farideh with an impolite and noisy splash. When the bluerider surfaces, she glances around somewhat sheepish.

A squeal of protest follows the bluerider's splashy entrance into the pool. "Excuse you," the laundress proclaims loudly, wiping the excess water from her face, where it splashed up from the pool. "I'm right here." Farideh blows out a noisy, angry breath and glares at Ghena for good measure, brandishing a floppy sponge for extra emphasis. "Some people," is murmured in a low voice, her eyes cutting back to her soapsand, which is safe and unbothered.

Laine greets that once-over with an irritated wrinkled nose and what might be the beginning of another lewd motion, but instead her slate eyes settle on Farideh and, oh, guess what? More company for the laundress! The apprentice tanner slides somewhat more sedately into the water than the bluerider before her, lowering herself with a sigh and groping immediately for her soapsand. "I know, I stink. Bear with me. Comes with the whole, touching dead stuff gig." Also: hi!

Ghena blinks "Sorry, didn't see you there." Or it is entirely possible the bluerider just wasn't paying attention to what she was doing. When Laine joins them Ghena offers a lopsided grin, "It's ok I'm used to it, you ever tried to pick the dead bits outta dragon teeth before? Lemme tell ya, that stuff gets ripe quick. Ghena of Blue Knioth by the way." She offers in greeting to the two girls.

A single apology doesn't make much of a dent in Farideh's anger, but Laine's presence in the pool eases some of her irritation; until she notices that smell, of course. "Oh, Laine," as she tries her hardest to squeeze her nose into being closed. "That's gross," to them both. "Why would you want to do that?" Whether it's touching dead stuff or picking dead bits out of dragon teeth, both suffice for her purpose.

Laine's lathering, paying particular attention to those mottled patches of dye, but she spares a wide grin flashed up at Farideh. "Sorry," she says unapologetically, a white frothy moustache smeared across her lip and over her cheek. That mouth quirks in amusement and the apprentice shifts her attention on Ghena: "I have not. Frankly, I like having my hands whole and not in a dragon's stomach. Sorry. No offense to... Knioth." But she offers back, as is polite, "Laine, tanner," right before she disappears underwater.

Ghena waves a hand, "Mouth not stomach, sometimes things get lodged there and it can cause problems when he has to chew stone for drills." She adds. The moustache gets a giggle, and Ghena begins attacking her hair with soap working up a wild froth. "You don't want to do it, but if you impress, you gotta take proper care of them you know?"

"I thought," Farideh sighs, "the party was later." Her pointed stare would imply that the party is not here, and perhaps that some of them are actually trying to get ready for said clutching affair. She squeezes her sponge, creating a foam of her own, that falls onto the water surface while she looks between the bluerider and tanner. "You're not interested? In Impressing?" is asked curiously of the short-haired apprentice.

When she emerges from the water, Laine's dark hair is bristling in every direction. She redoubles her efforts on a particularly stubborn splotch of dye on her arm and screws up her face at Ghena, although her answer just as well may be for Farideh. "You know how sometimes people who don't grow up with dogs can be kind of afraid of them? That's how I feel, but about dragons. Can't read 'em. Don't know what they're up to. What, are you thinking about it?" Directed at Farideh with round eyes.

Ghena chuckles perhaps at Farideh's expense but she does get quiet and listen when the two talk of their plans of impression. Focused on getting clean.

"You're afraid of dragons? How are you here?" Farideh wants to know, her face scrunching up while she tries to process what Laine's just admitted. Those round eyes are met with slightly-narrowed ones of the laundress' own. "I don't know. I might. I might not. I need to talk to--" She stops, frowns, and shakes her head. "Wouldn't you? If a dragon found you-- what is it?" Her eyes lift to Ghena. "Desirable?" Because she would know better than they.

Ghena scrubs furiously, dunking under to rinse clean. "Dragons know who to choose, don't matter if you are scared of them or not. Hell, my brother was too old to stand and he impressed a green about four turns ago. Ain't like you got to worry about thread anymore either." She throws in, "You should, at least once, stand that is. Candidacy sucks though."

Laine purses her lips, and, despite her own words moments ago, corrects Farideh: "I'm not afraid. More like, suspicious. Reluctant to go sticking my hands in their mouths. I'll, like, pet 'em and stuff." But even that is spoken uncertainly. She cocks her head, in part to scrub her hair flat with some soap, and in part to train her eyes on Ghena while she speaks. She drawls, "I might. I might not." Chuckles, looking brightly at Farideh. "You need to talk to?"

"But you can say no?" This is further asked of Ghena, before her eyes flick to Laine. "Suspicious? Of what? They're dragons. They're not out to steal your marks," Farideh replies, snottily. She rolls her eyes and wrings out her sponge, moving to the ledge of the pool, where her towel is still neatly folded. "A few people--" She glances sharply over her shoulder at Laine, as if daring her to say another answer, and then starts to dab at her face with the towel, sopping up any dampness. "You should." Presumably, stand.

Ghena says, "No to being searched, yes. No to a dragon on the sands? Yeah, doesn't work that way. They don't listen to that sort of thing, they are usually utterly convinced that you are the center of their universe, or at least that is how Knioth was. Every pair is different."

Laine narrows her eyes, glancing back and forth between Ghena and Farideh. "No one's asked me to stand, so. Moot point." She shrugs, then diverts her attention to scrubbing more thoroughly; she's still pretty rank. Though she remains to wash up, she doesn't say much else, and not long later she's heading out, dirty clothes deposited in the laundry basket, with a pleasant word and a wave.