LOG: Could Just Shave It Off
Date: Day 1, Month 5, Turn 18
Location: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr, followed by Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr.
Synopsis: For the sake of facilitating further kisses with Rascela after his unfortunate lice infestation, K'del lets her shave his head. The kisses go well, perhaps a little too well, until Uanth butts in. Frustration is shared by all.
NB: Log contains making out. Nothing, like, crazy graphic, though.
Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
Tucked off the back of the training room, the barracks are a huge, high cavern that stretches far back into the stone of the Weyr. Both of the longer walls are lined with couches for the dragons, enough for a couple of Pass-sized clutches at once, each matched with a cot and press for the weyrling dragonrider. In this day and age, however, the couches in the back have been allowed to grow dusty with long disuse. Hearths are spaced between every few couches to heat the big room.
For decoration, there are a number of tapestries on the walls, looking almost as beat-up as the couches out in the training room, but scattered flower pots with their bright blooming contents provide a cheery touch. Additionally, some of the couches have had graffiti scratched into them over the Turns that were never quite cleaned off: smears of chalk messages or even rough pictures, some not fit for young eyes. In many cases names and dates have been painstakingly carved into the rock, a record of those that once made their home here.
Have the barracks ever been so /clean/ before, when there's a class still in residence? It even smells kind of funny, one part warm mayonnaise, one part tea-tree oil, and several parts pure Clean, masking the usual scents of body odour, dragon, and dirt. K'del enters from the bowl with wet hair still a little shiny, as if it hasn't quite been washed clean despite his best efforts, scowling at the grumbling abuse he receives from a few of the weyrlings as he makes his way down the aisles towards Cadejoth's couch. His hards are slung deep in his pockets, his eyes are on the floor. It's been three days since the infestation was discovered, and it's already way too long.
Of course, it would be utterly unbecoming of a leader-to-be to fall prey to the same infestation, so Rascela's taken exceptional care to keep her area clean. Her baths take longer, owing to the need to check her hair as thoroughly as possible; luckily, her hair's short enough that it doesn't take /too/ long, but there's no harm in taking one's time. The smell of the barracks is not-quite-sterile, but unnatural enough that her nose has gained a seemingly permanent crinkled to it -- barely perceptible, but there, sometimes sharpening into a soundless twitch of her upper lip. Currently, though, she's occupied with her straps, which means the snarl on her face actually has a direction to it. Uanth is perched on his couch, slowly whirling eyes fixed on the young woman's work. While she is, for the moment, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of K'del, Uanth is not; his head lifts and a low chuff issues forth.
"Oh, don't you be pissed off at me, too, Uanth," glowers K'del - amazing how a glower can be so /audible/, but there you go - as he passes not far from the brown and his rider, his gaze sweeping past perhaps on instinct. Or maybe just out of habit. "Not like it was /intentional/ or anything." Luckily, the barracks are relatively empty - the approach of evening has given everyone plenty to do, including, for more today than yesterday, the need for a second hair wash.
"He ain't." That coming from Raz, with a final stitch being added before she shoves the heap of straps aside with undisguised disgust. The brown chuffs again, claws rattling, and neck curving to make his neckridges that much more intimidating ... but then the weyrling is aiming a fist for the dragon's foreleg and hissing something just under breath. "Ain't pissed atcha for th' lice, anyway," she amends, nose scrunched. The brown calms -- or, at least, seems to -- and the young woman lifts her chin, querying flatly, "How didja get 'em, anyway?" Curious, of course, in her nonjudgmental way. Just don't mind that she's now stretching out, fingers scrabbling for the latch of her trunk.
Despite Rascela's reassurance, K'del doesn't really look like he believes her, not as Uanth arches that way; he's not intimidated, certainly, but aware? Yes, definitely aware. "For something else, then," he concludes, turning his attention towards Rascela, with equal wariness. "No idea." He sounds genuinely disgruntled for his lack of clue in this, adding, as he watches her, "Not from H'tram, though. Had nothing to do with him."
"Hnh." Could be an observation, could just be a noise of exertion. Either way, she fusses with something in her trunk before hauling out her jacket -- a jacket wrapped around something. "Y'want some of this?" she asks, slowly unwrapping a bottle of brandy. "Was gonna do something for all th' weyrlings, but ain't gonna happen any time soon." The lice, see. Rascela won't get into whatever's got Uanth rankled ... or, what /had/ him rankled, as he's now calm as ever, head down and eyes lidded as if he were asleep. Nor does she press for other details. Just holds the bottle out. Wiggle, wiggle.
Whatever K'del may have suspected the purpose of her rummaging to be, if even he made any guesses, it evidently did not involve a bottle of brandy and an invitation to share; he eyes Rascela for a moment, queryingly. Then, as his hand twitches, as if deciding, and then deciding against, lifting his hand towards the bottle, he tells her, fervent: "Could use a drink about now. Where'd you rustle that up from?" Aside, presumably, from her press.
"Just a drink," she warns, gray eyes seeking blue. "Still gonna want t'share." Because she said she would and that's final. "Figured y'could use it," being the only reason she got it out in the first place. As for the bottle? Once it's handed over, Rascela shifts around on her cot, legs stretching out. "Weyrwoman." Just like that; as if she were talking about getting water from the living cavern.
So K'del takes the bottle, unstoppers it, eyeing it with keen interest despite still being clearly engaged in the conversation with Rascela. "Sure: one drink. Thanks. Been a... long couple of days." Leaning in, he sniffs at the brandy once, and then again, the expression on his face more curious than anything. "The /Weyrwoman/? Congratulatory gift or something, that one of her mentees isn't a complete waste of space?"
"Yeah." Agreement and a 'you're welcome', all in one. A hand is dragged through her hair, the gesture almost certainly unconscious. Rascela just shakes her head at the latter, explaining, "Nah. Wanted me t'share with th' rest of ya." Sure, she's excluding a minor detail, but that's neither here nor there. "Also wanted me t'talk ta P'ax." From the slight darkening of her expression, that talk didn't go well.
K'del takes his time with the bottle, still not yet having actually taken a drink, apparently content, for the moment, to examine it, smell it, shift it in his hand. "Nice of her." Beat. "P'ax." Ugh. "Hopeless case, that one. Bet he'll never get back into weyrlinghood, way he acts." Vehement, the young man makes a face, pure distaste expression in the way he scrunches his features up.
"She's a'right." High praise, from her. But then there's the topic of P'ax. "Ain't gonna 'less he pulls his head out his ass." That being said, there's a snort and then she flops back fully, hands coming up to scrub at her face. Rascela grunts a little, "Needs friends, though." As if that might be the source of the kid's problem ... or caused by it. "Gonna talk t'him again. Gonna have to. She wanted me t'make sure he's ready t'join th' Weyr." And while disbelief isn't one of her standard emotional responses, it's somewhere at the periphery.
"Don't really know her, myself. Take your word for it, though," says K'del, his left hand unconsciously lifting towards his head, to scratch - though it stops sharp where it is, and gets dropped back down to his side before the scratching actually commences. Cured, see. "Person's got to earn friends, though. And the way he treats people... can't blame them for not wanting to be his friends. Sorry that /you/ got lugged with that."
There's a tip of her head and then she intones, "Don't think anyone knows her." Strangely introspective, that. Shoulders shift, rather than shrugging, and her eyes flick to him when his hand moves. An eyebrow lifts and stays up until he lowers the hand. Rascela grunts for the latter. "Shit happens. 'Swhat she wants me t'do, so." She'll do it. "Y'gonna drink or y'waitin' for me t'show y'how?"
Ruefully, and with a teasing note, Kas says: "Bit like you then, mm, Raz?" He looks embarrassed for his near-miss scratching, keeping his hand firmly by his side, though from the way his head twitches every so often, the itch has /not/ gone away. "Guess so. Glad it's not me, though, still. Guy's a freak. /Complete/ freak." By the way his expression changes, as she makes that lost comment of hers, he's managed to completely forget the brandy in his hand. His head shakes, then, the bottle gets lifted and tipped back, allowing him to take a long swig.
"Ain't much t'know 'bout me. That's th' difference," Rascela answers, just watching him. Perhaps that's amusement settling in the corner of her mouth; if so, it's gone a moment later. "Hnh. Freak." The word's rolled around and ultimately discarded. "Dunno. That'd make me one, wouldn't it?" No elaboration, but it doesn't seem to concern her. Once he finishes with the drink, she extends a hand for the bottle without another word.
"So you say. Satiet may say the same thing, for all I know. Though Anvori's not completely unwilling to talk about her, I suppose." K'del's tone is musing, as he works his way through this. "Anyway, I was exaggerating. Reckon I know you reasonably well, now." He's silent for her consideration of the word 'freak', though his expression immediately shifts as she refers to herself as one. "No. You're not. Just him." The bottle is handed back, albeit with a little reluctance.
The re-stoppered bottle is set on the ground beside her cot to keep it out of the way, but it's not forgotten. She's lying down and sitting up would take effort, ergo, she stays put. A thumb is cocked to the cot next to her, for him to sit if he's so inclined, and Rascela snorts. "Reckon there's more t'her than t'me." So goes her logic. A hand lifts, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Should hope so. Reckon we'll get t'know each other better, 'nother time." But the latter, the latter has her eyes sliding his way again. "How d'ya figure?"
K'del accepts the offered seat without word, though his expression is surprisingly pleased, planting his arse upon the cot and letting his long legs hang loosely to the floor. "Well. She's older, so I suppose she's got, you know, more /life/ for people to not know about." His lips part into a brief, almost amused, smile at her next comment, his head dipping into a nod as he says, "Reckon we will, too. I-- P'ax /is/ a freak. He's nasty to everyone, except he seems to have some weird fascination with me. Desperate to be my friend, or something. I'm not interested. He knows that. Still tried to kiss me, though." Tried? /Succeeded/. Sort of.
Her hands lace over her stomach, head facing the ceiling but eyes slanted his way. "That bein' my point." Though it's likely already been lost at this point. Rascela grunts, a slow blink following and then eyes lingering at half-lidded. Thoughtful. Just don't mind that devious smirk. To the other, though: "P'ax just don't know what he wants or how t'get it, I reckon. Th' kiss was probl'y my fault." Oh-so-unrepentent. "So, sorry. Could kiss it better." Teasing, that, but always with the semi-serious edge she regularly speaks with.
He's watching her, leaning back lazily - though his hair is kept well out of reach of anything - as his left foot taps lightly against the floor. "Suppose," he agrees, unphased, relaxed. "Your fault? Unless you told him to come and mash his lips into mine, not sure how that follows." He doesn't seem too phased, perhaps just confident in the belief that she wouldn't have told him to do this outright. But his grin is wicked: "Yes. A kiss'd make it better." Beat. He makes a face. "Though I guess you won't want to get that close at the moment."
"Hnh. Not t'kiss you directly, nah. Told him t'just go for what he wants. Turns out, he wants you. Go figure." An eyebrow lifts, then the corner of her mouth does. "Can't say he's got bad taste." Fingers drum idly on her stomach, an odd echo of Uanth's tendency to do the same. It's at his grin that she tips her head his way and finally stirs, pushing herself up to an elbow and twisting to her side. Her smile is a twisted reflection of his, wicked and devious. "Feelin' itchy?" her free hand points to his head. It's vitally important, of course.
"Lucky me." Dry. Wry, too. "Though - definitely good taste, yes. Just, in his case, not good taste in men who'd ever be interested. Bet he'll probably end up getting me, though, eventually, the way Yyth and Cadejoth can be." K'del's face screws up at this thought, though it passes quickly enough, without question having something to do with the way Raz shifts, and that wicked expression. "Only-- not. That is, not really. Healers didn't find much, this morning."
"Either you or me, given how Uanth is with her and she with him." Not that it phases her, just elicits a roll of eyes. "Dunno. Y'might like it," is just plain wickedness, though, a savage smile emerging before smoothing out once more. Soon enough, it's back to Raz looking at him. Studying him with the tip of her tongue poked out and curved up to her upper lip in a strange, thoughtful expression. Then: "Could just shave it off."
"Probably both, at one time or another," agrees K'del, the huff of breath that follows as resigned as he can make it, though he still makes a face. He sticks out a tongue for her next, declaring, "I /very/ much doubt that," though his expression turns quizzical as she studies him, his eyebrows lifting: what? The answer, though, draws a blink. His hand lifts towards his hair, but more a thoughtful gesture than a scratching one, this time. "Suppose that would solve the problem," he allows, finally.
"Prob'ly." A snort of laughter at something -- perhaps even his last statement -- then Rascela moves further; sitting up, elbows on knees, leaned forward. "Surprised th' weyrlingmasters ain't suggested it. Easiest way t'take care of it, I reckon, 'least for those that got it." Her chin lifts. "Could do it. Ain't much different than skinnin' somethin'." Except for the crucial, 'leaving the skin on' part. Minor details, though.
K'del's hand on his hair is affectionate, in as much as such a gesture can be, but after a moment more, his head inclines slowly, and his hand drops again. "Makes sense. Maybe... Don't know why no one suggested it. You really think you could do this? My scalp's probably more, mm, sensitive than a dead thing." His expression is cautious: thinking, thinking.
"Dunno why not." She can't speak to the minds of others, after all, so she just shrugs. Then, she's pushing to her feet. Dusting off. Rascela cants her head, looking at him, then offers, "If I mess up, y'can shave my head. How's that?" Which might -- or might not -- answer the question. It's a matter of trust, more than skill. "Figure some of th' others might wanna give it a go? Can't hurt. Figure hair'll grow back, anyway."
Another pause. Then, grinning: "Deal. Mm, might do. Maybe not the girls," silly group that they are, Rascela excepted, "But some of the guys, probably." He draws himself to his feet, following her move, head inclining. "Ten times better than having that gunk put on your head every night, anyway. And it's getting warmer, so having a bare head won't be so bad, either."
"Dunno. Some of th' girls, might be an improvement." She won't name names, though. "Bathing pools?" Seems the most logical choice for this venture. "Need t'get stuff t'do it. Could do you first," and she's not so mature that she doesn't utter a soft 'snrk' of ironic amusement, "get th' others later." Uanth, on his couch, opens his eyes enough to look at K'del and Rascela with an unreadable whirling in his eyes. The weyrling's eyes haze, mouth briefly flattening before she shakes her head; dismissive.
From afar, P'ax flops and kills the baby.
K'del chokes back a snort at her improvement comment, though he doesn't go so far as to agree with her assessment. "Mm, that would make the most sense. Easiest to clean up, after." His eyebrows waggle at much the same time as she gives her own lack-of-maturity gesture, though he swallows his laugh, making do, instead, with a very smug, and very amused, grin. The haze of Rascela's eyes draws his attention towards Uanth, quizzical, then back again. "He's still got a problem? With me?"
The bottle of brandy is quickly bundled up and put away, with Rascela just leaving the rest of the conversation where it is; it makes good sense, so all she needs to do is nod once in agreement. She reaches for the brown's head, though, forehead to forehead pressed, and seems to commune with the beast before breaking away. "Gotta problem with anyone that takes attention from him. He don't understand, really. Workin' on it." Meant to be reassuring, but it sounds just a little strained.
K'del is still and silent as Rascela and Uanth take their moment together, averting his eyes so as to avoid in any way interrupting it. "Ah," he says, finally, still not looking at his fellow weyrling, though he shifts, uncomfortable, his hands drawing back to their pockets. "Sorry, Uanth. Won't take her away for too long, promise." He glances, just briefly, at the brown as he says this, awkward.
"S'a'right. He'll be fine." That being decided, Rascela extends an arm, a companionable punch being aimed lightly for K'del's shoulder. Further elaboration comes in a low, "Don't worry 'bout it. Remindin' him his feelin's for Yyth ain't feelin's I share an' I ain't gettin' my underwear in a twist over it." That said, she motions with her head for him to lead the way. "Meetcha there." She has other things to get, after all, to do the deed.
Reassured, in part by her words, and in part, too, by that punch - though he lifts his fists, teasingly, as if to say 'I'm ready, bring it on', though they're dropped a moment later, as his head nods in response to her low explanation. "Right," he agrees, a half-smile returned, as, following her motion, he begins to make for the bowl again. "Sure. There in a few."
You head to the bathing pools.
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.
And she does take a while getting to the pools -- finding the tools isn't easy and convincing the holders of them to relinquish them into her hands takes a bit of extra doing. But, she does eventually make it there, a small leather case in hand, with a towel being acquired and thrown over a shoulder in the process. Rascela pauses once inside, rolling up to the balls of her feet in an attempt to pinpoint just where her would-be vic- er, fellow weyrling would be.
As Rascela arrives, K'del is sitting on one of the stone benches, his shirt and jacket off, but everything else as it was when he left the barracks. A few of those in the pools - and, at this hour, there are a fair few around - are eyeing him warily; Kas' expression is resigned, patient, though his head turns towards the entrance habitually, and a relieved expression crosses his face as he spies Rascela. "Is water going to kill 'em, too, do you reckon? People don't seem to want me going anywhere near."
There's a jerk of her head in acknowledgement and her path shifts to bring her to him. Or, more specifically, directly behind him. "Prob'ly not," says she of the water. "Prob'ly swim, knowin' them." Which is to say: insects are evil. End of story. But Raz moves to put the case down beside him, popping the latch in a fluid movement -- a blade, a jar of ... something, and a leather strap are within -- and then moving to unsling the towel from her shoulder. "So, just try t'catch all th' hair in th' towel an' we'll take it t'get burned or somethin'."
"Probably," agrees K'del, moodily. "Guess that's why I've been having to wash in the infirmary. Glad that's nearly over." His glance out over the water is reflective, though his gaze doesn't stay for long, instead shifting to inspect the case, and it's contents. "What's the strap for?" he wants to know, suddenly curious. "Burnt. Right. Yeah, that'll do the trick, I guess. What do you need me to do?"
"Strap's for th' blade," she explains, "ain't gonna need it." The towel is draped around his neck and secured, with Rascela answering his last question with, "Hold still an' trust me." Her fingers are aimed to gently nudge his head forward, then seek to drag -- perhaps needlessly -- with a featherlight touch down the back of his neck. "'Sall y'need t'do." Matter of fact. And if she needs to explain why he's got to stay still ... well, her taking the blade in hand ought to be enough.
"Ah," says K'del, managing /not/ to nod his head, though there's probably not too much danger in that just yet. His fists clench as she nudges his head forward, though it moves as required, and clench harder as she drags her fingers down the back of his neck. This is going to get awkward. His expression, though she won't be able to see it, is one of intense concentration. "Right. Just stay still. Reckon I can do that."
Fortunately for him, Raz has a very steady hand for this sort of thing. No more gentle touches from her; it's all business now, methodical and slow, but purposeful. It'll get done and it'll get done /right/, even if it takes a fair bit longer than it should. Unsurprisingly, she's silent throughout -- much as she tends to be when doing anything, as if it requires all of her concentration and then some to get anything done -- with the whisper of sharp metal on skin or shearing through hair being the only sound from her side of things. He might get a nick or two and the job might not be /totally/ polished, but it could be worse. A lot worse.
K'del is not a man used to sitting so resolutely still, but he manages, though his hands shake, despite their fists. THere may be no more gentle touches, but the intensity of his concentration, the willful stare he gives his knees, is probably a good indication that he finds having her hands so close to him rather attractive - even if he (mostly) manages to stay focused. "How is it?" he asks, finally, when - presumably - the job is finished.
It's likely she's noticed; she's just tactful enough not to comment directly. On the other hand, she could just be smiling back there -- unlikely, but possible. Another pass of the razor is made, this time with a bit of whatever gunk is in the jar -- warmed with her hands, naturally -- and then she steps back. There's a soft noise when the cleaned razor is slipped back into the case, then the case is shut. "Looks a'right," Raz intones, not yet moving to remove the towel, but, instead, making to drag her hands across his shorn scalp. Feeling for bits she's missed. Right? "Feel a'right?"
Despite the pre-warming of the gunk, K'del shivers just slightly as it touches his scalp - and as her hands are dragged across it, he actually lets out a short, sharp breath. Go K'del. "Uh, good. Feels fine. Kinda weird, but fine." His own hands lift, finally withdrawn from their white-knuckled fists, to touch for himself. "Looks like you may've avoided having to get your head done, anyway." Teasing.
"Hnh," is just amused. While he explores his newfound baldness, Rascela moves to quickly remove the towel and bundle it up. Even killing as many of the things as she came across, burning is the only way to be absolutely sure. "'Least y'ain't gotta deal with that gunk." Not the only upside, but definitely a good one. To his last, a faint chuckle. "Reckon so. Still gotta make sure none of 'em made a shardin' leap o' faith." Which means picking through her hair. Again. "Jays."
K'del seems satisfied, if mildly weirded out, by his baldness, and turns about to watch Rascela as she bundles up the towel and hair. "/Yeah/," he agrees, relief audible in his voice, and on his face. "If I never have to do that again... worth any amount of baldness. You need me to help you go through your hair? Only fair, since it'd be my fault, if there were some."
"Just hope y'don't catch 'em another time. Might help if y'remember how y'got 'em this time." Just a bit of teasing, nothing serious. Everything is kind of heaped out of the way, away from anything the buggers can hop to (she hopes), and then Rascela returns to give him a sidelong look. "Yeah. This," and a hand is aimed to touch his head and linger there, if he doesn't move out of the way, "ain't your kinda look." For the other, her shoulders roll, "If y'want. Ain't gonna ask ya to."
"Honestly don't know," admits K'del, answering the comment seriously despite Rascela's teasing. "And H'tram's blaming me, so I can't even compare people we might've both been close to, you know? Not sure how he's explaining how they got from me to him, but." He lets her hand linger upon his head, even as his own reach to run down her arms, finger-light, if she'll let him. "Nah," he agrees. "Better with hair. The curls, you know. Work wonders on the ladies." He's teasing with that, too, light, but is firm again to her last: "I will. It's only fair."
"A'right." She trusts him. She has no choice not to. Rascela nods, once, and leaves the topic be. She'll let him touch her arms, though, without question, at least for as long as she remains stationary. "Uh huh. And th' fellas." Because she couldn't get away /without/ poking, just a little. There's a gentle rub of her thumb in an attempt to wipe off the worst of the teasing and then she lowers her head, lips close to his ear as she says, "Trade ya." And then she's pulling back, away, giving him room -- as if he really needs it.
"Maybe the loss of my hair will lose me more than just the critters, then," suggests K'del, though the truth is that P'ax hasn't exactly been much of a problem for him since that fateful, abortive kiss. But he's too distracted to keep at that thought for long; as she leans in towards his ear, he shivers again, just slightly, and his lips part, mirthfully. However, more forcefully, even businesslike: "Turn around, let me get at your hair."
"Reckon so," is just plain rhetorical. There's a moment spent studying him, then a single up-down-center nod that only serves as partial confirmation. "A'right," is repeated from earlier and she does so, arms folded over her chest and otherwise just ... standing there. Patient. And Rascela does deign to add, "Don't worry 'bout hurtin' me or anythin'. Hard headed." Obviously.
K'del's turn to do the touching, then, his hands exploring through her hair, perhaps lingering on each section perhaps a little longer than is strictly necessary for examinationary purposes - and after the past couple of days, he's evidently picked up some understanding of the best way to do this, because, despite this lingering, he's quite efficient. "I doubt there's much I could do to hurt you, regardless. Even picking up a weapon, you'd beat me to a bloody pulp, probably," he remarks, laughing.
"Still gotta spar," she snorts, not having forgotten that promise; she's just been insanely busy. "Got notes for ya, too." As if she hasn't left enough on his poor cot by now. And she's utterly still under his touch, though the fact that her eyes have gone all half-lidded is likely to be missed by him completely. Rascela's mostly silent, not really addressing the fact that she probably /could/ beat him to a bloody pulp. Though, after a moment, she snorts, "Just don't piss me off and get to a crossbow." Joking, right?
"Do, too," agrees Kas, smiling over her head. "More notes? Thanks. Still catching up with some of the others, but I'm getting there. Interesting though, most of it." Even after all these weeks, there's a not of jealousy in his tone, mostly suppressed, but still faintly bitter. "Never used a crossbow, Raz, and doubt I ever will." His hands, presumably finding nothing, keep going, perhaps recognisable by now as more 'playing' than actual 'searching'.
"Yeah," is for the mention of notes and the interesting and all of it. His jealousy, his bitterness, that remains unaddressed; because it's not directed entirely at her. And even if so, she's not concerned by it. Of crossbows, though: "Should learn how. Ain't hard." His playing with her hair, such as it is, only seems to prompt her to reach up and try to catch one of his hands. No words for it, just a friendly attempt to snare it. What she'll do with it, goodness knows.
"Another thing you can teach me, then," says K'del, promptly, a smile in his voice. "At this rate, though, I ought to be trying to find more that I can do for you." It's about the same time as he finishes this statement that she snares his hand, and while the other doesn't still, it's clear he's waiting, expectant, to see what she's going to do with it, though he makes no comment. "Else, it's most uneven."
"Figure it's somethin' y'wanna learn?" she asks, head canting a little. "Don't mind teachin' if y'don't mind learnin'." For now, she just takes the hand, her fingers sliding along his, then his palm, then the back of his hand. To the wrist. Featherlight, gentle; oddly so, given her tendencies. No reason; no need. An ulterior motive isn't out of the question, though, knowing her. Still, Rascela adds, "Don't need t'pay me back."
"Sure," he says, lightly: whatever his intent, there's no burning desire for crossbow-learning, but he does seem genuinely interested all the same. "Figure it's a good skill to have. Most skills are - useful, for something, if only the sense of satisfaction that comes from knowing them, you know?" He allows her to do what she will with his hand, leaving it limp for the playing, though his other hand runs circles into her hair, looping fondly. "Maybe, but it's nice, anyway. Need anything, you know let me know."
"Yeah, 'sgood t'know," she agrees on all fronts, finally releasing his hand after giving his fingers a gentle jerk ... only to duck out from under the other hand, the one that's currently looping through her hair. Rascela turns, tips her head up to him. "Owe ya somethin'." He can guess what. She'll give him time. Though, if he's confused, the tilted smile might have something to do with it.
K'del half jumps back as she ducks out of the way, both hands dropping towards his side as she tips her head back. He laughs, then, matching her smile, draws back hands back up so that he can rest them, just gently (as long as she'll let him) on either side of her face as he leans in to claim that kiss. Oh: yes. That's what started the whole shaving thing to begin with.
She'll let him. In fact, once his hands are in place, her fingers touch along them and then down his arms, but their eventual goal to to rest just bare fingertips at his hips, if he's amenable. Rascela returns the kiss, eyes shut and eager -- as always, with this sort of thing, it being perhaps the only time she can be honestly warm. Nothing shameful to it; just a whole lot of wanting something she can't have.
K'del, never, ever going to complain about being touched, is plenty amenable to this - or, at least, makes no comment on it, though that might be because his lips are pretty busy right now, and that rather precludes further conversation. The kiss - well, it's another of those intense ones, channelling so much thwarted desire it could probably light fireplaces on its own.
Like as not, it's also a test of endurance for them -- or a game of chicken that's toeing the line enough as rules go. How far can they go before one has to pull back, since going all the way is very much out of the question? Raz isn't in any hurry, herself, though her hold on his hips transitions, gradually, from a resting of fingertips to a proper grip there. Holding. Anchoring.
Or is it how long before they're interrupted? Certainly, the baths are not exactly /empty/, nor private, and anyone could walk in at any time. But K'del, at least, seems completely oblivious to this possibility, perhaps even daring it to happen: he's not afraid! His left hand slides down Raz's face, over shoulder, heading for a fingertip-soft touch on her breast, if all goes well.
And then there's the good possibility that the dragons will voice their dismay or else share the details of this moment -- markedly more intense than the last -- with the others. She doesn't care; that much is plainly apparent in the way she shifts, chest lifting shamelessly toward that hand, not away, just as she aims to tug his hips closer. Pull /him/ closer. And it's she that does eventually, if temporarily, break the kiss ... only to try to sink her teeth in a light bite on his lower lip.
Nor does K'del, though at least Cadejoth has never shared concerns in the past, and that surely must give the younger weyrling some peace of mind, if his mind is actually working well enough to process that kind of thought (and it probably isn't). With such an invitation, his fingers take to playing - just soft, at first, though as he's pulled closer, moving in without hesitation, and her teeth sink into his lip, they take a more pro-active stance. Okay, so this has probably gotten beyond the allowable 'light petting'; and so what? His breathing is heavier, his lips hungrier.
Perhaps it's at that point; perhaps beyond. And while she might not care, there's a certain thorny presence that abruptly -- and painfully -- manifests when /his/ comfort level has been breached. Rascela pulls her head away back with a jerk, just enough to hiss something disparaging under her breath -- her lips still close to his, the words still too soft to be heard. She doesn't stop K'del's hand, doesn't move hers from where they've migrated to hook -- just so -- in the waistband of his trousers, but instead moves to press her forehead to the other weyrling's shoulder. "Can't," and it sounds like it /hurts/ to say as much, with a guttural growl speaking all too clearly and far more eloquently of her frustration.
When she jerks away, K'del freezes, at first in confusion, and then, after a moment, with more understanding. The touch of his hand softens, and his other shifts so that he can press it against her back, a soothing motion as she presses her forehead into his shoulder. "S'okay," he tells her, though there's no doubt he's got his own frustrations right now. Then, his hand, the one between them, withdraws, and it, too, moves to be placed upon her back, so that both of his arms are around her, a clear enough gesture even if words have failed.
And it's rare enough that she's like this -- vulnerable, in whatever strange definition of the word can be applied to her -- and rarer still that she can't /do/ anything. Raz arms loop around his waist, a sharp exhalation trying and failing to clear her head. "Shardin' rules." As if that's the source of the difficulty. Blame the thing she can't control rather than the one that controls her. And she squeezes, breath hot against his bare skin, unwilling to yield at least /this/ bit of contact. Lower still, on a second sigh, a word that might go utterly unheard: "Sorry."
"Yeah," says K'del, latching upon this cause rather than the other - a more comfortable one. "Sharding rules. Not fair, restricting people like that. Eventually, though, mm? Won't last forever." The rules. Or was that a more subtle reference to the other little inconvenience? His arms, powerful from these past months of training, finally filling out, return the squeeze. He apparently misses her apology, saying, instead, a few minutes later. "At least the lake's thawed, right? Just go dunk ourselves in there. For the moment."
"Hnh. Better not." Irritated, but not at him; that much she makes clear when she drags her lips across his bare shoulder and then finally pulls back. Not out of his arms, just back to avoid further temptation -- a futile effort, perhaps, but Rascela tries. The line of her mouth is wrenched in a pained line, evident for just a moment before she nods; just once, very sharply. "Yeah. Ain't like us goin' to th' barracks cold an' wet'll raise any more eyebrows'n seein' you bald an' Uanth fit t'piss on Faranth." And she can't help it, really; that bald head is begging for her to touch it.
One more squeeze, from the young man, whose expression is serious, as he meets Rascela's gaze, empathy visible in his own given the line of her mouth, no matter how brief. "Who cares about the eyebrows," he grins, inclining his head forward: all hers. "Reckon we raised enough from in here, anyway. Hope it doesn't get back to anyone too important. You've a reputation to keep up." A silver thread, perhaps more importantly.
"
Dunno. Might shave 'em all, if I see too many." Joking, though there's an entirely too-serious look given to the kit. Raz lifts her gaze to him a beat later and she's back to her, as much as she can be given the circumstances. Both hands to his head, then, if he's offering. Rubrub. But to the mention of it getting back to anyone, to the idea of reputations, she offers only: "Ain't against th' rules an' it ain't like we do this all th' time." Her lips twitch and an obvious admission is then given. "Want to." Though one might guess the more significant detail is that she's looking so acutely at him as she says it.
K'del's lips quirk. "Hah," he says, more a word than an actual laugh, though he's clearly amused. "Feels /weird/," he says, of his head, though it's clear that it's not weird in a /bad/ way, either, given the way he says it. "Mmm, true. Though I don't know if I would've stopped--" He breaks off, rueful. Nodding. "Me, too. /All/ the time." Finally, and reluctantly, he lets her go, his hands drawing back to his thighs. Alas.
"Does it?" A laugh, just a single one. Another pass of her hands and then they drop, though her attention remains on him. "I might not've, either," she admits, if grudgingly. Self-control only extends so far; hers might go further than most, but even she has limits. Thank Faranth for Uanth, even if she's not thinking that right now. From the slight wince that pulls at her features, he's not done making himself known. "All th' time," she echoes, tone bittersweet. And perhaps to keep herself from trouble, she goes to gather up the case, then flags down a laundry-worker to tend to the towel and see that it's burned. "C'mon," is for K'del, her head jerking toward the exit. "Reckon th' lake's waitin'."
"Feels like there /should/ be hair, but there isn't. Kinda tickles, too," reports K'del, cheerfully, although his expression is a little more solemn afterwards, his head inclining forward as her hands drop. "Another time," he says. "One day. No rush." Sort of. He's still watching her, still very aware of that wince, his lips pursing seriously. He's silent, as she gathers up the case, and gets the towel dealt with, finally busying himself with his shirt and outer clothes, so that he's ready to go as she indicates the exit. "The lake. Yeah. Brr. Going to be /cold/." But helpful, too.
"Promise." Though whether seeking to extract one from him or just issuing her own, it's hard to say. The expression Rascela turns his way is briefly composed of apology ... and then she turns, headed on out with nothing short of raw purposefulness. Woe be to any that get in her way. "Gonna be. Might wanna get towels." Pragmatic, to cover for her impulsiveness. That's on him, evidently; she's the one stalking out first.
"Done deal," returns K'del, so either way: it's a promise. His response to her apologetic expression is a short shake of the head: no, it's fine. But whether she catches that, before she turns, who knows. "Towels. Right. Done it without towels, before. Nearly froze. Good plan." She's already going, though, so he hurries to fetch the towels, then to follow her, out into the chilly spring, and, eventually, to the colder lake. Brr.
Location: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr, followed by Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr.
Synopsis: For the sake of facilitating further kisses with Rascela after his unfortunate lice infestation, K'del lets her shave his head. The kisses go well, perhaps a little too well, until Uanth butts in. Frustration is shared by all.
NB: Log contains making out. Nothing, like, crazy graphic, though.
Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
Tucked off the back of the training room, the barracks are a huge, high cavern that stretches far back into the stone of the Weyr. Both of the longer walls are lined with couches for the dragons, enough for a couple of Pass-sized clutches at once, each matched with a cot and press for the weyrling dragonrider. In this day and age, however, the couches in the back have been allowed to grow dusty with long disuse. Hearths are spaced between every few couches to heat the big room.
For decoration, there are a number of tapestries on the walls, looking almost as beat-up as the couches out in the training room, but scattered flower pots with their bright blooming contents provide a cheery touch. Additionally, some of the couches have had graffiti scratched into them over the Turns that were never quite cleaned off: smears of chalk messages or even rough pictures, some not fit for young eyes. In many cases names and dates have been painstakingly carved into the rock, a record of those that once made their home here.
Have the barracks ever been so /clean/ before, when there's a class still in residence? It even smells kind of funny, one part warm mayonnaise, one part tea-tree oil, and several parts pure Clean, masking the usual scents of body odour, dragon, and dirt. K'del enters from the bowl with wet hair still a little shiny, as if it hasn't quite been washed clean despite his best efforts, scowling at the grumbling abuse he receives from a few of the weyrlings as he makes his way down the aisles towards Cadejoth's couch. His hards are slung deep in his pockets, his eyes are on the floor. It's been three days since the infestation was discovered, and it's already way too long.
Of course, it would be utterly unbecoming of a leader-to-be to fall prey to the same infestation, so Rascela's taken exceptional care to keep her area clean. Her baths take longer, owing to the need to check her hair as thoroughly as possible; luckily, her hair's short enough that it doesn't take /too/ long, but there's no harm in taking one's time. The smell of the barracks is not-quite-sterile, but unnatural enough that her nose has gained a seemingly permanent crinkled to it -- barely perceptible, but there, sometimes sharpening into a soundless twitch of her upper lip. Currently, though, she's occupied with her straps, which means the snarl on her face actually has a direction to it. Uanth is perched on his couch, slowly whirling eyes fixed on the young woman's work. While she is, for the moment, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of K'del, Uanth is not; his head lifts and a low chuff issues forth.
"Oh, don't you be pissed off at me, too, Uanth," glowers K'del - amazing how a glower can be so /audible/, but there you go - as he passes not far from the brown and his rider, his gaze sweeping past perhaps on instinct. Or maybe just out of habit. "Not like it was /intentional/ or anything." Luckily, the barracks are relatively empty - the approach of evening has given everyone plenty to do, including, for more today than yesterday, the need for a second hair wash.
"He ain't." That coming from Raz, with a final stitch being added before she shoves the heap of straps aside with undisguised disgust. The brown chuffs again, claws rattling, and neck curving to make his neckridges that much more intimidating ... but then the weyrling is aiming a fist for the dragon's foreleg and hissing something just under breath. "Ain't pissed atcha for th' lice, anyway," she amends, nose scrunched. The brown calms -- or, at least, seems to -- and the young woman lifts her chin, querying flatly, "How didja get 'em, anyway?" Curious, of course, in her nonjudgmental way. Just don't mind that she's now stretching out, fingers scrabbling for the latch of her trunk.
Despite Rascela's reassurance, K'del doesn't really look like he believes her, not as Uanth arches that way; he's not intimidated, certainly, but aware? Yes, definitely aware. "For something else, then," he concludes, turning his attention towards Rascela, with equal wariness. "No idea." He sounds genuinely disgruntled for his lack of clue in this, adding, as he watches her, "Not from H'tram, though. Had nothing to do with him."
"Hnh." Could be an observation, could just be a noise of exertion. Either way, she fusses with something in her trunk before hauling out her jacket -- a jacket wrapped around something. "Y'want some of this?" she asks, slowly unwrapping a bottle of brandy. "Was gonna do something for all th' weyrlings, but ain't gonna happen any time soon." The lice, see. Rascela won't get into whatever's got Uanth rankled ... or, what /had/ him rankled, as he's now calm as ever, head down and eyes lidded as if he were asleep. Nor does she press for other details. Just holds the bottle out. Wiggle, wiggle.
Whatever K'del may have suspected the purpose of her rummaging to be, if even he made any guesses, it evidently did not involve a bottle of brandy and an invitation to share; he eyes Rascela for a moment, queryingly. Then, as his hand twitches, as if deciding, and then deciding against, lifting his hand towards the bottle, he tells her, fervent: "Could use a drink about now. Where'd you rustle that up from?" Aside, presumably, from her press.
"Just a drink," she warns, gray eyes seeking blue. "Still gonna want t'share." Because she said she would and that's final. "Figured y'could use it," being the only reason she got it out in the first place. As for the bottle? Once it's handed over, Rascela shifts around on her cot, legs stretching out. "Weyrwoman." Just like that; as if she were talking about getting water from the living cavern.
So K'del takes the bottle, unstoppers it, eyeing it with keen interest despite still being clearly engaged in the conversation with Rascela. "Sure: one drink. Thanks. Been a... long couple of days." Leaning in, he sniffs at the brandy once, and then again, the expression on his face more curious than anything. "The /Weyrwoman/? Congratulatory gift or something, that one of her mentees isn't a complete waste of space?"
"Yeah." Agreement and a 'you're welcome', all in one. A hand is dragged through her hair, the gesture almost certainly unconscious. Rascela just shakes her head at the latter, explaining, "Nah. Wanted me t'share with th' rest of ya." Sure, she's excluding a minor detail, but that's neither here nor there. "Also wanted me t'talk ta P'ax." From the slight darkening of her expression, that talk didn't go well.
K'del takes his time with the bottle, still not yet having actually taken a drink, apparently content, for the moment, to examine it, smell it, shift it in his hand. "Nice of her." Beat. "P'ax." Ugh. "Hopeless case, that one. Bet he'll never get back into weyrlinghood, way he acts." Vehement, the young man makes a face, pure distaste expression in the way he scrunches his features up.
"She's a'right." High praise, from her. But then there's the topic of P'ax. "Ain't gonna 'less he pulls his head out his ass." That being said, there's a snort and then she flops back fully, hands coming up to scrub at her face. Rascela grunts a little, "Needs friends, though." As if that might be the source of the kid's problem ... or caused by it. "Gonna talk t'him again. Gonna have to. She wanted me t'make sure he's ready t'join th' Weyr." And while disbelief isn't one of her standard emotional responses, it's somewhere at the periphery.
"Don't really know her, myself. Take your word for it, though," says K'del, his left hand unconsciously lifting towards his head, to scratch - though it stops sharp where it is, and gets dropped back down to his side before the scratching actually commences. Cured, see. "Person's got to earn friends, though. And the way he treats people... can't blame them for not wanting to be his friends. Sorry that /you/ got lugged with that."
There's a tip of her head and then she intones, "Don't think anyone knows her." Strangely introspective, that. Shoulders shift, rather than shrugging, and her eyes flick to him when his hand moves. An eyebrow lifts and stays up until he lowers the hand. Rascela grunts for the latter. "Shit happens. 'Swhat she wants me t'do, so." She'll do it. "Y'gonna drink or y'waitin' for me t'show y'how?"
Ruefully, and with a teasing note, Kas says: "Bit like you then, mm, Raz?" He looks embarrassed for his near-miss scratching, keeping his hand firmly by his side, though from the way his head twitches every so often, the itch has /not/ gone away. "Guess so. Glad it's not me, though, still. Guy's a freak. /Complete/ freak." By the way his expression changes, as she makes that lost comment of hers, he's managed to completely forget the brandy in his hand. His head shakes, then, the bottle gets lifted and tipped back, allowing him to take a long swig.
"Ain't much t'know 'bout me. That's th' difference," Rascela answers, just watching him. Perhaps that's amusement settling in the corner of her mouth; if so, it's gone a moment later. "Hnh. Freak." The word's rolled around and ultimately discarded. "Dunno. That'd make me one, wouldn't it?" No elaboration, but it doesn't seem to concern her. Once he finishes with the drink, she extends a hand for the bottle without another word.
"So you say. Satiet may say the same thing, for all I know. Though Anvori's not completely unwilling to talk about her, I suppose." K'del's tone is musing, as he works his way through this. "Anyway, I was exaggerating. Reckon I know you reasonably well, now." He's silent for her consideration of the word 'freak', though his expression immediately shifts as she refers to herself as one. "No. You're not. Just him." The bottle is handed back, albeit with a little reluctance.
The re-stoppered bottle is set on the ground beside her cot to keep it out of the way, but it's not forgotten. She's lying down and sitting up would take effort, ergo, she stays put. A thumb is cocked to the cot next to her, for him to sit if he's so inclined, and Rascela snorts. "Reckon there's more t'her than t'me." So goes her logic. A hand lifts, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Should hope so. Reckon we'll get t'know each other better, 'nother time." But the latter, the latter has her eyes sliding his way again. "How d'ya figure?"
K'del accepts the offered seat without word, though his expression is surprisingly pleased, planting his arse upon the cot and letting his long legs hang loosely to the floor. "Well. She's older, so I suppose she's got, you know, more /life/ for people to not know about." His lips part into a brief, almost amused, smile at her next comment, his head dipping into a nod as he says, "Reckon we will, too. I-- P'ax /is/ a freak. He's nasty to everyone, except he seems to have some weird fascination with me. Desperate to be my friend, or something. I'm not interested. He knows that. Still tried to kiss me, though." Tried? /Succeeded/. Sort of.
Her hands lace over her stomach, head facing the ceiling but eyes slanted his way. "That bein' my point." Though it's likely already been lost at this point. Rascela grunts, a slow blink following and then eyes lingering at half-lidded. Thoughtful. Just don't mind that devious smirk. To the other, though: "P'ax just don't know what he wants or how t'get it, I reckon. Th' kiss was probl'y my fault." Oh-so-unrepentent. "So, sorry. Could kiss it better." Teasing, that, but always with the semi-serious edge she regularly speaks with.
He's watching her, leaning back lazily - though his hair is kept well out of reach of anything - as his left foot taps lightly against the floor. "Suppose," he agrees, unphased, relaxed. "Your fault? Unless you told him to come and mash his lips into mine, not sure how that follows." He doesn't seem too phased, perhaps just confident in the belief that she wouldn't have told him to do this outright. But his grin is wicked: "Yes. A kiss'd make it better." Beat. He makes a face. "Though I guess you won't want to get that close at the moment."
"Hnh. Not t'kiss you directly, nah. Told him t'just go for what he wants. Turns out, he wants you. Go figure." An eyebrow lifts, then the corner of her mouth does. "Can't say he's got bad taste." Fingers drum idly on her stomach, an odd echo of Uanth's tendency to do the same. It's at his grin that she tips her head his way and finally stirs, pushing herself up to an elbow and twisting to her side. Her smile is a twisted reflection of his, wicked and devious. "Feelin' itchy?" her free hand points to his head. It's vitally important, of course.
"Lucky me." Dry. Wry, too. "Though - definitely good taste, yes. Just, in his case, not good taste in men who'd ever be interested. Bet he'll probably end up getting me, though, eventually, the way Yyth and Cadejoth can be." K'del's face screws up at this thought, though it passes quickly enough, without question having something to do with the way Raz shifts, and that wicked expression. "Only-- not. That is, not really. Healers didn't find much, this morning."
"Either you or me, given how Uanth is with her and she with him." Not that it phases her, just elicits a roll of eyes. "Dunno. Y'might like it," is just plain wickedness, though, a savage smile emerging before smoothing out once more. Soon enough, it's back to Raz looking at him. Studying him with the tip of her tongue poked out and curved up to her upper lip in a strange, thoughtful expression. Then: "Could just shave it off."
"Probably both, at one time or another," agrees K'del, the huff of breath that follows as resigned as he can make it, though he still makes a face. He sticks out a tongue for her next, declaring, "I /very/ much doubt that," though his expression turns quizzical as she studies him, his eyebrows lifting: what? The answer, though, draws a blink. His hand lifts towards his hair, but more a thoughtful gesture than a scratching one, this time. "Suppose that would solve the problem," he allows, finally.
"Prob'ly." A snort of laughter at something -- perhaps even his last statement -- then Rascela moves further; sitting up, elbows on knees, leaned forward. "Surprised th' weyrlingmasters ain't suggested it. Easiest way t'take care of it, I reckon, 'least for those that got it." Her chin lifts. "Could do it. Ain't much different than skinnin' somethin'." Except for the crucial, 'leaving the skin on' part. Minor details, though.
K'del's hand on his hair is affectionate, in as much as such a gesture can be, but after a moment more, his head inclines slowly, and his hand drops again. "Makes sense. Maybe... Don't know why no one suggested it. You really think you could do this? My scalp's probably more, mm, sensitive than a dead thing." His expression is cautious: thinking, thinking.
"Dunno why not." She can't speak to the minds of others, after all, so she just shrugs. Then, she's pushing to her feet. Dusting off. Rascela cants her head, looking at him, then offers, "If I mess up, y'can shave my head. How's that?" Which might -- or might not -- answer the question. It's a matter of trust, more than skill. "Figure some of th' others might wanna give it a go? Can't hurt. Figure hair'll grow back, anyway."
Another pause. Then, grinning: "Deal. Mm, might do. Maybe not the girls," silly group that they are, Rascela excepted, "But some of the guys, probably." He draws himself to his feet, following her move, head inclining. "Ten times better than having that gunk put on your head every night, anyway. And it's getting warmer, so having a bare head won't be so bad, either."
"Dunno. Some of th' girls, might be an improvement." She won't name names, though. "Bathing pools?" Seems the most logical choice for this venture. "Need t'get stuff t'do it. Could do you first," and she's not so mature that she doesn't utter a soft 'snrk' of ironic amusement, "get th' others later." Uanth, on his couch, opens his eyes enough to look at K'del and Rascela with an unreadable whirling in his eyes. The weyrling's eyes haze, mouth briefly flattening before she shakes her head; dismissive.
From afar, P'ax flops and kills the baby.
K'del chokes back a snort at her improvement comment, though he doesn't go so far as to agree with her assessment. "Mm, that would make the most sense. Easiest to clean up, after." His eyebrows waggle at much the same time as she gives her own lack-of-maturity gesture, though he swallows his laugh, making do, instead, with a very smug, and very amused, grin. The haze of Rascela's eyes draws his attention towards Uanth, quizzical, then back again. "He's still got a problem? With me?"
The bottle of brandy is quickly bundled up and put away, with Rascela just leaving the rest of the conversation where it is; it makes good sense, so all she needs to do is nod once in agreement. She reaches for the brown's head, though, forehead to forehead pressed, and seems to commune with the beast before breaking away. "Gotta problem with anyone that takes attention from him. He don't understand, really. Workin' on it." Meant to be reassuring, but it sounds just a little strained.
K'del is still and silent as Rascela and Uanth take their moment together, averting his eyes so as to avoid in any way interrupting it. "Ah," he says, finally, still not looking at his fellow weyrling, though he shifts, uncomfortable, his hands drawing back to their pockets. "Sorry, Uanth. Won't take her away for too long, promise." He glances, just briefly, at the brown as he says this, awkward.
"S'a'right. He'll be fine." That being decided, Rascela extends an arm, a companionable punch being aimed lightly for K'del's shoulder. Further elaboration comes in a low, "Don't worry 'bout it. Remindin' him his feelin's for Yyth ain't feelin's I share an' I ain't gettin' my underwear in a twist over it." That said, she motions with her head for him to lead the way. "Meetcha there." She has other things to get, after all, to do the deed.
Reassured, in part by her words, and in part, too, by that punch - though he lifts his fists, teasingly, as if to say 'I'm ready, bring it on', though they're dropped a moment later, as his head nods in response to her low explanation. "Right," he agrees, a half-smile returned, as, following her motion, he begins to make for the bowl again. "Sure. There in a few."
You head to the bathing pools.
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.
And she does take a while getting to the pools -- finding the tools isn't easy and convincing the holders of them to relinquish them into her hands takes a bit of extra doing. But, she does eventually make it there, a small leather case in hand, with a towel being acquired and thrown over a shoulder in the process. Rascela pauses once inside, rolling up to the balls of her feet in an attempt to pinpoint just where her would-be vic- er, fellow weyrling would be.
As Rascela arrives, K'del is sitting on one of the stone benches, his shirt and jacket off, but everything else as it was when he left the barracks. A few of those in the pools - and, at this hour, there are a fair few around - are eyeing him warily; Kas' expression is resigned, patient, though his head turns towards the entrance habitually, and a relieved expression crosses his face as he spies Rascela. "Is water going to kill 'em, too, do you reckon? People don't seem to want me going anywhere near."
There's a jerk of her head in acknowledgement and her path shifts to bring her to him. Or, more specifically, directly behind him. "Prob'ly not," says she of the water. "Prob'ly swim, knowin' them." Which is to say: insects are evil. End of story. But Raz moves to put the case down beside him, popping the latch in a fluid movement -- a blade, a jar of ... something, and a leather strap are within -- and then moving to unsling the towel from her shoulder. "So, just try t'catch all th' hair in th' towel an' we'll take it t'get burned or somethin'."
"Probably," agrees K'del, moodily. "Guess that's why I've been having to wash in the infirmary. Glad that's nearly over." His glance out over the water is reflective, though his gaze doesn't stay for long, instead shifting to inspect the case, and it's contents. "What's the strap for?" he wants to know, suddenly curious. "Burnt. Right. Yeah, that'll do the trick, I guess. What do you need me to do?"
"Strap's for th' blade," she explains, "ain't gonna need it." The towel is draped around his neck and secured, with Rascela answering his last question with, "Hold still an' trust me." Her fingers are aimed to gently nudge his head forward, then seek to drag -- perhaps needlessly -- with a featherlight touch down the back of his neck. "'Sall y'need t'do." Matter of fact. And if she needs to explain why he's got to stay still ... well, her taking the blade in hand ought to be enough.
"Ah," says K'del, managing /not/ to nod his head, though there's probably not too much danger in that just yet. His fists clench as she nudges his head forward, though it moves as required, and clench harder as she drags her fingers down the back of his neck. This is going to get awkward. His expression, though she won't be able to see it, is one of intense concentration. "Right. Just stay still. Reckon I can do that."
Fortunately for him, Raz has a very steady hand for this sort of thing. No more gentle touches from her; it's all business now, methodical and slow, but purposeful. It'll get done and it'll get done /right/, even if it takes a fair bit longer than it should. Unsurprisingly, she's silent throughout -- much as she tends to be when doing anything, as if it requires all of her concentration and then some to get anything done -- with the whisper of sharp metal on skin or shearing through hair being the only sound from her side of things. He might get a nick or two and the job might not be /totally/ polished, but it could be worse. A lot worse.
K'del is not a man used to sitting so resolutely still, but he manages, though his hands shake, despite their fists. THere may be no more gentle touches, but the intensity of his concentration, the willful stare he gives his knees, is probably a good indication that he finds having her hands so close to him rather attractive - even if he (mostly) manages to stay focused. "How is it?" he asks, finally, when - presumably - the job is finished.
It's likely she's noticed; she's just tactful enough not to comment directly. On the other hand, she could just be smiling back there -- unlikely, but possible. Another pass of the razor is made, this time with a bit of whatever gunk is in the jar -- warmed with her hands, naturally -- and then she steps back. There's a soft noise when the cleaned razor is slipped back into the case, then the case is shut. "Looks a'right," Raz intones, not yet moving to remove the towel, but, instead, making to drag her hands across his shorn scalp. Feeling for bits she's missed. Right? "Feel a'right?"
Despite the pre-warming of the gunk, K'del shivers just slightly as it touches his scalp - and as her hands are dragged across it, he actually lets out a short, sharp breath. Go K'del. "Uh, good. Feels fine. Kinda weird, but fine." His own hands lift, finally withdrawn from their white-knuckled fists, to touch for himself. "Looks like you may've avoided having to get your head done, anyway." Teasing.
"Hnh," is just amused. While he explores his newfound baldness, Rascela moves to quickly remove the towel and bundle it up. Even killing as many of the things as she came across, burning is the only way to be absolutely sure. "'Least y'ain't gotta deal with that gunk." Not the only upside, but definitely a good one. To his last, a faint chuckle. "Reckon so. Still gotta make sure none of 'em made a shardin' leap o' faith." Which means picking through her hair. Again. "Jays."
K'del seems satisfied, if mildly weirded out, by his baldness, and turns about to watch Rascela as she bundles up the towel and hair. "/Yeah/," he agrees, relief audible in his voice, and on his face. "If I never have to do that again... worth any amount of baldness. You need me to help you go through your hair? Only fair, since it'd be my fault, if there were some."
"Just hope y'don't catch 'em another time. Might help if y'remember how y'got 'em this time." Just a bit of teasing, nothing serious. Everything is kind of heaped out of the way, away from anything the buggers can hop to (she hopes), and then Rascela returns to give him a sidelong look. "Yeah. This," and a hand is aimed to touch his head and linger there, if he doesn't move out of the way, "ain't your kinda look." For the other, her shoulders roll, "If y'want. Ain't gonna ask ya to."
"Honestly don't know," admits K'del, answering the comment seriously despite Rascela's teasing. "And H'tram's blaming me, so I can't even compare people we might've both been close to, you know? Not sure how he's explaining how they got from me to him, but." He lets her hand linger upon his head, even as his own reach to run down her arms, finger-light, if she'll let him. "Nah," he agrees. "Better with hair. The curls, you know. Work wonders on the ladies." He's teasing with that, too, light, but is firm again to her last: "I will. It's only fair."
"A'right." She trusts him. She has no choice not to. Rascela nods, once, and leaves the topic be. She'll let him touch her arms, though, without question, at least for as long as she remains stationary. "Uh huh. And th' fellas." Because she couldn't get away /without/ poking, just a little. There's a gentle rub of her thumb in an attempt to wipe off the worst of the teasing and then she lowers her head, lips close to his ear as she says, "Trade ya." And then she's pulling back, away, giving him room -- as if he really needs it.
"Maybe the loss of my hair will lose me more than just the critters, then," suggests K'del, though the truth is that P'ax hasn't exactly been much of a problem for him since that fateful, abortive kiss. But he's too distracted to keep at that thought for long; as she leans in towards his ear, he shivers again, just slightly, and his lips part, mirthfully. However, more forcefully, even businesslike: "Turn around, let me get at your hair."
"Reckon so," is just plain rhetorical. There's a moment spent studying him, then a single up-down-center nod that only serves as partial confirmation. "A'right," is repeated from earlier and she does so, arms folded over her chest and otherwise just ... standing there. Patient. And Rascela does deign to add, "Don't worry 'bout hurtin' me or anythin'. Hard headed." Obviously.
K'del's turn to do the touching, then, his hands exploring through her hair, perhaps lingering on each section perhaps a little longer than is strictly necessary for examinationary purposes - and after the past couple of days, he's evidently picked up some understanding of the best way to do this, because, despite this lingering, he's quite efficient. "I doubt there's much I could do to hurt you, regardless. Even picking up a weapon, you'd beat me to a bloody pulp, probably," he remarks, laughing.
"Still gotta spar," she snorts, not having forgotten that promise; she's just been insanely busy. "Got notes for ya, too." As if she hasn't left enough on his poor cot by now. And she's utterly still under his touch, though the fact that her eyes have gone all half-lidded is likely to be missed by him completely. Rascela's mostly silent, not really addressing the fact that she probably /could/ beat him to a bloody pulp. Though, after a moment, she snorts, "Just don't piss me off and get to a crossbow." Joking, right?
"Do, too," agrees Kas, smiling over her head. "More notes? Thanks. Still catching up with some of the others, but I'm getting there. Interesting though, most of it." Even after all these weeks, there's a not of jealousy in his tone, mostly suppressed, but still faintly bitter. "Never used a crossbow, Raz, and doubt I ever will." His hands, presumably finding nothing, keep going, perhaps recognisable by now as more 'playing' than actual 'searching'.
"Yeah," is for the mention of notes and the interesting and all of it. His jealousy, his bitterness, that remains unaddressed; because it's not directed entirely at her. And even if so, she's not concerned by it. Of crossbows, though: "Should learn how. Ain't hard." His playing with her hair, such as it is, only seems to prompt her to reach up and try to catch one of his hands. No words for it, just a friendly attempt to snare it. What she'll do with it, goodness knows.
"Another thing you can teach me, then," says K'del, promptly, a smile in his voice. "At this rate, though, I ought to be trying to find more that I can do for you." It's about the same time as he finishes this statement that she snares his hand, and while the other doesn't still, it's clear he's waiting, expectant, to see what she's going to do with it, though he makes no comment. "Else, it's most uneven."
"Figure it's somethin' y'wanna learn?" she asks, head canting a little. "Don't mind teachin' if y'don't mind learnin'." For now, she just takes the hand, her fingers sliding along his, then his palm, then the back of his hand. To the wrist. Featherlight, gentle; oddly so, given her tendencies. No reason; no need. An ulterior motive isn't out of the question, though, knowing her. Still, Rascela adds, "Don't need t'pay me back."
"Sure," he says, lightly: whatever his intent, there's no burning desire for crossbow-learning, but he does seem genuinely interested all the same. "Figure it's a good skill to have. Most skills are - useful, for something, if only the sense of satisfaction that comes from knowing them, you know?" He allows her to do what she will with his hand, leaving it limp for the playing, though his other hand runs circles into her hair, looping fondly. "Maybe, but it's nice, anyway. Need anything, you know let me know."
"Yeah, 'sgood t'know," she agrees on all fronts, finally releasing his hand after giving his fingers a gentle jerk ... only to duck out from under the other hand, the one that's currently looping through her hair. Rascela turns, tips her head up to him. "Owe ya somethin'." He can guess what. She'll give him time. Though, if he's confused, the tilted smile might have something to do with it.
K'del half jumps back as she ducks out of the way, both hands dropping towards his side as she tips her head back. He laughs, then, matching her smile, draws back hands back up so that he can rest them, just gently (as long as she'll let him) on either side of her face as he leans in to claim that kiss. Oh: yes. That's what started the whole shaving thing to begin with.
She'll let him. In fact, once his hands are in place, her fingers touch along them and then down his arms, but their eventual goal to to rest just bare fingertips at his hips, if he's amenable. Rascela returns the kiss, eyes shut and eager -- as always, with this sort of thing, it being perhaps the only time she can be honestly warm. Nothing shameful to it; just a whole lot of wanting something she can't have.
K'del, never, ever going to complain about being touched, is plenty amenable to this - or, at least, makes no comment on it, though that might be because his lips are pretty busy right now, and that rather precludes further conversation. The kiss - well, it's another of those intense ones, channelling so much thwarted desire it could probably light fireplaces on its own.
Like as not, it's also a test of endurance for them -- or a game of chicken that's toeing the line enough as rules go. How far can they go before one has to pull back, since going all the way is very much out of the question? Raz isn't in any hurry, herself, though her hold on his hips transitions, gradually, from a resting of fingertips to a proper grip there. Holding. Anchoring.
Or is it how long before they're interrupted? Certainly, the baths are not exactly /empty/, nor private, and anyone could walk in at any time. But K'del, at least, seems completely oblivious to this possibility, perhaps even daring it to happen: he's not afraid! His left hand slides down Raz's face, over shoulder, heading for a fingertip-soft touch on her breast, if all goes well.
And then there's the good possibility that the dragons will voice their dismay or else share the details of this moment -- markedly more intense than the last -- with the others. She doesn't care; that much is plainly apparent in the way she shifts, chest lifting shamelessly toward that hand, not away, just as she aims to tug his hips closer. Pull /him/ closer. And it's she that does eventually, if temporarily, break the kiss ... only to try to sink her teeth in a light bite on his lower lip.
Nor does K'del, though at least Cadejoth has never shared concerns in the past, and that surely must give the younger weyrling some peace of mind, if his mind is actually working well enough to process that kind of thought (and it probably isn't). With such an invitation, his fingers take to playing - just soft, at first, though as he's pulled closer, moving in without hesitation, and her teeth sink into his lip, they take a more pro-active stance. Okay, so this has probably gotten beyond the allowable 'light petting'; and so what? His breathing is heavier, his lips hungrier.
Perhaps it's at that point; perhaps beyond. And while she might not care, there's a certain thorny presence that abruptly -- and painfully -- manifests when /his/ comfort level has been breached. Rascela pulls her head away back with a jerk, just enough to hiss something disparaging under her breath -- her lips still close to his, the words still too soft to be heard. She doesn't stop K'del's hand, doesn't move hers from where they've migrated to hook -- just so -- in the waistband of his trousers, but instead moves to press her forehead to the other weyrling's shoulder. "Can't," and it sounds like it /hurts/ to say as much, with a guttural growl speaking all too clearly and far more eloquently of her frustration.
When she jerks away, K'del freezes, at first in confusion, and then, after a moment, with more understanding. The touch of his hand softens, and his other shifts so that he can press it against her back, a soothing motion as she presses her forehead into his shoulder. "S'okay," he tells her, though there's no doubt he's got his own frustrations right now. Then, his hand, the one between them, withdraws, and it, too, moves to be placed upon her back, so that both of his arms are around her, a clear enough gesture even if words have failed.
And it's rare enough that she's like this -- vulnerable, in whatever strange definition of the word can be applied to her -- and rarer still that she can't /do/ anything. Raz arms loop around his waist, a sharp exhalation trying and failing to clear her head. "Shardin' rules." As if that's the source of the difficulty. Blame the thing she can't control rather than the one that controls her. And she squeezes, breath hot against his bare skin, unwilling to yield at least /this/ bit of contact. Lower still, on a second sigh, a word that might go utterly unheard: "Sorry."
"Yeah," says K'del, latching upon this cause rather than the other - a more comfortable one. "Sharding rules. Not fair, restricting people like that. Eventually, though, mm? Won't last forever." The rules. Or was that a more subtle reference to the other little inconvenience? His arms, powerful from these past months of training, finally filling out, return the squeeze. He apparently misses her apology, saying, instead, a few minutes later. "At least the lake's thawed, right? Just go dunk ourselves in there. For the moment."
"Hnh. Better not." Irritated, but not at him; that much she makes clear when she drags her lips across his bare shoulder and then finally pulls back. Not out of his arms, just back to avoid further temptation -- a futile effort, perhaps, but Rascela tries. The line of her mouth is wrenched in a pained line, evident for just a moment before she nods; just once, very sharply. "Yeah. Ain't like us goin' to th' barracks cold an' wet'll raise any more eyebrows'n seein' you bald an' Uanth fit t'piss on Faranth." And she can't help it, really; that bald head is begging for her to touch it.
One more squeeze, from the young man, whose expression is serious, as he meets Rascela's gaze, empathy visible in his own given the line of her mouth, no matter how brief. "Who cares about the eyebrows," he grins, inclining his head forward: all hers. "Reckon we raised enough from in here, anyway. Hope it doesn't get back to anyone too important. You've a reputation to keep up." A silver thread, perhaps more importantly.
"
Dunno. Might shave 'em all, if I see too many." Joking, though there's an entirely too-serious look given to the kit. Raz lifts her gaze to him a beat later and she's back to her, as much as she can be given the circumstances. Both hands to his head, then, if he's offering. Rubrub. But to the mention of it getting back to anyone, to the idea of reputations, she offers only: "Ain't against th' rules an' it ain't like we do this all th' time." Her lips twitch and an obvious admission is then given. "Want to." Though one might guess the more significant detail is that she's looking so acutely at him as she says it.
K'del's lips quirk. "Hah," he says, more a word than an actual laugh, though he's clearly amused. "Feels /weird/," he says, of his head, though it's clear that it's not weird in a /bad/ way, either, given the way he says it. "Mmm, true. Though I don't know if I would've stopped--" He breaks off, rueful. Nodding. "Me, too. /All/ the time." Finally, and reluctantly, he lets her go, his hands drawing back to his thighs. Alas.
"Does it?" A laugh, just a single one. Another pass of her hands and then they drop, though her attention remains on him. "I might not've, either," she admits, if grudgingly. Self-control only extends so far; hers might go further than most, but even she has limits. Thank Faranth for Uanth, even if she's not thinking that right now. From the slight wince that pulls at her features, he's not done making himself known. "All th' time," she echoes, tone bittersweet. And perhaps to keep herself from trouble, she goes to gather up the case, then flags down a laundry-worker to tend to the towel and see that it's burned. "C'mon," is for K'del, her head jerking toward the exit. "Reckon th' lake's waitin'."
"Feels like there /should/ be hair, but there isn't. Kinda tickles, too," reports K'del, cheerfully, although his expression is a little more solemn afterwards, his head inclining forward as her hands drop. "Another time," he says. "One day. No rush." Sort of. He's still watching her, still very aware of that wince, his lips pursing seriously. He's silent, as she gathers up the case, and gets the towel dealt with, finally busying himself with his shirt and outer clothes, so that he's ready to go as she indicates the exit. "The lake. Yeah. Brr. Going to be /cold/." But helpful, too.
"Promise." Though whether seeking to extract one from him or just issuing her own, it's hard to say. The expression Rascela turns his way is briefly composed of apology ... and then she turns, headed on out with nothing short of raw purposefulness. Woe be to any that get in her way. "Gonna be. Might wanna get towels." Pragmatic, to cover for her impulsiveness. That's on him, evidently; she's the one stalking out first.
"Done deal," returns K'del, so either way: it's a promise. His response to her apologetic expression is a short shake of the head: no, it's fine. But whether she catches that, before she turns, who knows. "Towels. Right. Done it without towels, before. Nearly froze. Good plan." She's already going, though, so he hurries to fetch the towels, then to follow her, out into the chilly spring, and, eventually, to the colder lake. Brr.