[Log] Stuffy People
Who: Ironeph, Quinley
When: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 441
Where: Bathing Room, Fort Weyr
What: Ironeph talks to Quinley while nominally bathing.
Bathing Room
The bathing room is warm and damp as one might expect. There are two large, sunken pools with room enough for twenty people if necessary; sand on the bottom keeps the rocks from being too slippery, and the pipes embedded near the bottom keep the water constantly circulating. Beyond the large baths, there are a few small chambers connected to this with raised tubs of porcelain or rock, also fed by pipes, for people who prefer more private baths.
Players:
Ironeph........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Quinley........A short, skinny young woman with pale hair and green eyes.
Exits:
Residential Hallway...........[S]
Fresh off work, Ironeph shuffles into the bathing cavern with a shiver, adjusting to the sudden warmth after the chill that permeates the rest of the Weyr. He heads straight for one of the large pools, no wavering here, and strips down before sliding into the water and closing his eyes. Ah, relaxation.
Quinley comes into the bathing cavern from the hallways perhaps ten minutes after Ironeph has settled into one of the pools. She holds a small basket of bathing supplies and a towel slung over one shoulder, but she stops short on seeing someone already here. Oh. Hum. For the moment, the healer doesn't say anything, only contemplates coming back another time for her bath.
Gradually slipping lower in the water, Ironeph is the very image of comfort. Nevertheless, he can't stay like that forever, and the sound of footsteps across the stone floor draws his attention, one eye cracking open and cutting sideways to peer at the arrival without his turning his head. Though, recognizing Quinley, he straightens up and turns to face her, offering a quick grin. "Oh, hey. Come to join me?" he puts her on the spot.
Quinley clears her throat a little nervously. "Oh. No. That's all right. I'll wait." Her clipped words bely her embarassment at the situation. Well, craftbred and all, what can you expect. She inches back, seating herself down on one of the benches near cubbyholes for clothing. "Um. How are you?"
Ironeph's brows arch at her reply, and he notes slowly, "I'm going to be a while..." As though that should tempt her in. He does shrug, though, at her reluctance, and notes, "I'm okay, I guess. You? You're not... Eh. How's the healer-ing going?"
Quinley's lips curls upwards just the littlest bit at the term 'healer-ing'. "It's going well," she says, her own tone colored with amusement. "Mostly preparing for the flu season, now that winter's fully arrived." As to the comment that Ironeph'll be awhile, Quinley only nods. "That's all right. I can just come back later."
"Or you can just join me, like a normal person," notes Ironeph with a shrug, a light mocking smirk in return for her amusement. "Or, you know, go on being stuffy. You holders..."
"Crafters," Quinley corrects lightly. "I'm little too set in my ways to stop being...stuffy as you put it, on a whim. Maybe after a few more months of weyrlife..." it'll seem more normal. Sharing a bath with men. For now, simply staying in the bath cavern at all is an accomplishment. "You were born in the weyr?" she asks.
"You crafters," corrects Ironeph, with a grin. "I don't understand it myself, but. Yeah, I am. Lived here all my life," the young man says proudly. "So what craft are you from, then?" Pause. "I mean, I know Healer, sort of, but were you born there or what?"
Quinley tuts softly. "That seems to be the way of all of Pern. The Weyrs don't understand the Crafthalls. The Holders don't approve of the Weyrs..." a hand lifts, brushing the idea away with mild annoyance. "It's a mess." Ironeph's question is greeted with a nod. "Yes. I was. Born there. My father was a Master Healer." There's a touch of pride in her tone.
Ironeph observes Quinley quietly for a moment, frowning at her words. "Yeah, I guess," he finally notes, shrugging and glancing away from the woman. After a moment, turning back to her: "Oh, that's... nice. My dad is..." He trails off, wrinkling his nose. "Not," he finally decides.
Quinley laughs, shaking her head. "I wouldn't think he would be," she says, swallowing down the last of her bemused chuckling. "At least, I don't think many crafters would foster their sons out to weyrs."
"Maybe if they were already posted here?" suggests Ironeph, thoughtful. But he shrugs, shakes his head. "Nah, it wouldn't happen, still. Anyway, he's just your average guy here in the lower caverns. Kind of like me, but old. And pushy. Eh, anyway. What about the rest of your family?"
Quinley lifts her shoulders in a little shrug. "I don't know much about most of them, except that I guess they must have existed since I do. My mother was from one of Fort's smaller holds, I think. She went to Harper as an apprentice, but married my father before she got very far in the craft."
"She die?" prompts Ironeph, not particularly tactfully. "Run off?"
Quinley's lips twist wryly. "Died. Birthing me. How about your mother? She out and about?"
Ironeph nods, leaning over to prop his arms up on the rim of the pool. He really might be there a while; he's not even started bathing yet. "Yeah, she's a cook, down in the kitchens," he answers after a moment, lifting his shoulders in an awkward shrug. "It's a family thing, I guess. Work in the lower caverns all your life."
Quinley wonders, briefly, how much time has passed, but without windows there's no easy way to tell. "Something you'd prefer to be doing?" she queries. Then, "you're going to get all pruney."
"Be Weyrleader?" Ironeph jokes feebly, his smile wry for the teasing he's gotten over /that/ incident. "I'll dry out, anyway."
Quinley allows the humorous evasion. She's not really one to press about such things. "Well, I'd better get back to the infirmary. Nice sharing lineages with you," the healer says as she rises, scooping up her unused basket of bathing things. "Enjoy your bath."
"Oh, yeah," agrees Ironeph, straightening and turning, apparently to get to his actual bathing. "Sure. See you, Quinley."