Log: A Questionable Bath
Who: Mikandros, Milani
When: Late afternoon, day 22, month 10, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Commons Cavern/Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr
What: Unabashed flirtation and mutual appreciation. The flipskirt's got her groove back.
It's been a few days since the last tithe train came in and there's been a little bit of a lull in activity in the caverns as a result. Not that it's not still /busy/ but it's not /as/ busy as it has been. This could be why Milani is curled up in a chair in the commons reading a book instead of working late in the afternoon on a cool, misty autumn day.
When one spends any amount of time in an area permeated with certain odours, even when one isn't handling the source of those odours directly, well, those odours tend to make themselves at home. And so it is that Mikandros leaves a wafting trail of redwort and numbweed in his wake as he walks through the caverns. He's already removed his vest, and as soon as he passes into the residential common area he starts pulling his shirt over his head. Heavy steps pausing when the bright fabric obscures his vision - wouldn't do to run over someone or into something. "Blasted Healers an' their sharding bandages, an' they -would- stick me in th'corner where they store th'pain salves. Shells." Grumbling none-too-quietly to himself, and suddenly it's clear that yes he did indeed inherit -something- of his mother.
Milani looks up from her book as that particular scent disrupts the air and then the grumbling. But Mikandros divesting himself of clothing sees an amused smile passing her lips and the headwoman perches her elbow on the chair's arm and her chin in her hand. "Do carry on," she notes encouragingly from her seat. "I'm enjoying the view. Perhaps you'd like some help getting rid of the smell of redwort? Back scrubbing? Something like that?"
Mikandros's arms are still trapped in his shirt when he jerks his head up to peer over towards -that- voice. Hair mussed, a few lazy strands escaping his low runnertail and wisping playfully over his eyes. His smile is slow as his eyebrows settle into their customary squiggle of gentle surprise. "Ah, hello there, miss Milani." A very brief moment of hesitation and a visible shrug, and he does indeed carry on, rolling the shirt into a careless wad and stuffing it inside the rumpled folds of his vest. Oh, the -wrinkles.- And the muscles. Tilting his head, a slow turn to face her fully instead of sidelong. Words just as slow, "I'd like. Never thought -ye'd- be doin' th'offerin' though."
An appreciative look for that physique ends with another amused twist of Milani's mouth as blue-green eyes lift steadily to find Mikandros'. "Never? Mm. That was a possibility at one point, but things do change," the headwoman claims with a ready laugh and slips a marker into her book, then drops bare feet to the floor to rise and approach the trader, book tucked under arm. "It went well with your people, by the way," she informs him. "Jortha was as you said, a little bit difficult, but I think we've managed to sort it out." Her head tips up a little, so she can take in his face. "I haven't got a bathing room, unfortunately, but I do have something that might help dispel the odor. I'll fetch that and meet you in the pools?"
It might take a while, but Mikandros' opinions can change with enough applications of a clue-by-four to his head. His grin broadening into dimple territory as she starts to approach. "Changes c'n be good," he happily agrees, allowing some hint of his appreciation for her own form to linger in his gaze instead of sliding it behind humour or curiousity. "Hope she weren't too nasty with ye. Teroya found me earlier, let me know they was here. Thank ye, fer speakin' on their behalf." Jortha? Family? What? He looks directly into her eyes, "Oh, yes please. Milani." A gamble, maybe, dropping the 'miss.' She started it!
"They can," Milani answers quietly, "or they can be very distressing." Briefly her smile dims and she reaches up to rest fingers lightly on his shoulder. "No, it was fine. I hope that their request to remain will be accepted." Those fingers drift downward just a little, then retreat. Wouldn't do to set the aunties at the hearth to gossiping /too/ much. "Meet you there then," Millie says gaily with a wink as she turns to head to her rooms to trade book for bottle and catch up to the candidate.
Mikandros can move very fast when he wants to. He just doesn't often want to. Right now, he wants to, and it won't take him very long at all to nip into the barracks for a change of clothes and a towel. Using his long legs to advantage, an easy stride that covers distance much more decorously than running, will see him back out and over to the baths.
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.
Some few minutes behind the candidate, Milani arrives dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top and carrying a little basket of bathing toiletries. "Slide on in, I'll sit on the edge and douse you with good-smelling things. ANd if you're really good, I'll wash your hair for you," Millie says with a wink. "If you impress, you know you'll have to cut it, right?"
Mikandros is not the body-shy sort, though he did spend some little time in a careful scan of the steamy pools before Milani showed up. Which would be why he hadn't made it into the water already. If he, candidate, is going to dare hit on her, Headwoman, he wants them well fogged from any other rare afternoon bathers. Losing his trousers, he does as instructed, though turning slightly and tipping his head back so he can fully appreciate those long legs on display. Boldly, still coming to grips with this, to him, new Milani, "Sure ye only want t'sit on th'edge? Promise. I'll be very good." And there's that dimple again. A pause while he makes his brain track to another path, "Aye. Ma's been after me 'bout almost since I arrived, an' moreso now. Figure I'll ford that river when it happens. If it happens."
"I do have to maintain some sort of propriety," Milani claims as she perches on the edge of the pool and shifts her hair over her shoulder, the basket set down beside her. "You're a candidate and I'm the headwoman," she says more quietly once she's sat and he's in the water. "So it's not so much about you being good, as not giving anyone cause to cry favoritism," Millie points out gently, though those shorts really don't leave much to the imagination about her legs, which dangle in the water to the knee while she pulls out the first of the little bottles she brought along.
"Ah, couldn't hurt nothin' t'ask," Mikandros replies agreeably. "Don't really fancy hearin' anyone carryin' any stories around. Still...." A shrug of broad shoulders. Can't blame a bloke for trying? Tipping his head further in an effort to watch her, but it's an uncomfortable sort of twist to bend the neck into. Shop-talk, then, "Th'clan gonna be able t'sort out some of yer furniture problems? Wasn't sure 'bout th'quantities ye needed, so could only give 'em a vague sorta list."
"Never hurts to ask, no." Milani laughs a little then gesture for him to come nearer, palm holding some quantity of what smells like mint and lavender soap. "Yes, we've worked out a deal that should be mutually beneficial. Jortha was a little sensitive about offers of protection for the train, but I think she's okay with it all now," Millie claims. She waits until he's near enough to dip a hand in the water, dribble it over his back and then work up a lather between her palms before applying fingers to skin. For all intents and purposes, just one person scrubbing another's back, but Mik'll feel the difference between innocent scrubbing and the exploration the headwoman's fingertips are making back there.
Sliding closer, ever an obliging sort, Mikandros presents Milani with his broad back. Not exactly the direction he wants to be facing, since now her face can't be seen. "Heh, she would be. Hope Da talked some sense int'her. She'd likely think bein' Trader's'll keep 'em safe. Got some curious blind spots, that woman. Like we ain't part of Pern, or somethin'." And if his voice dips into the lower ranges a baritone can reach by the end of that little speech, well, fingers. Not so comfortable with passivity, he asks with apparent innocence, "Been on yer feet long t'day?" Even as his hands drift through the water, seeking one such foot. If he's getting a scrubbing, it's only fair she gets a rubbing.
Of course this does mean though that she's tucking her legs right up against his waist, toes teasing at whatever is reachable beneath the water, even if her face doesn't betray a darned thing about what those feet of hers are up to. "Mm. Just trading with the Weyr /could/ draw attention," Millie says seriously. "Which is why I offered, though it all has to get signed off higher up." One of those teasing feet, edges over to set heel into palm. "Most of it, in fact."
Milani might just discover the secret of Mikandros' ticklish hipbones if she keeps that up. "Mmn," agreement, really. Honest. His large hands curl around her foot, strong, callused fingers rubbing gently, with just enough pressure to make it a proper massage, not a caress. Excepting those few stray wanderings that might happen up her ankles and over her calf, the muscles in his back shifting and tensing beneath her fingers. "If they're-" whoever 'they' are "-watchin' th'Holds fer th'trains, it'd follow they'd be watchin' th'Weyr too, aye? If they're wantin' t'make life difficult fer us, they'd want t'know they'd managed it. Well, I would, anyway, if it were me. Still inventorying?" Sympathetic, that.
It's entirely possible that those fingers might pause now and then when his hands travel so along her calf, but Milani keeps up the patter of conversation, even as she bends just a little to reach for a handful of water and dribble it down his back. If she should 'accidentally' brush against him from behind in the process, well it's accidental! And it's an old tank top. No worries about clinging lather. Right? "Perhaps, it's hard to know without knowing /who/ it actually is. But you've got a point there. Either way, I'd rather not see your people have any problems," Millie says sincerely. "Still inventorying, but at least there's no big rush coming in. There's a few more trains expected and then there'll be some time to recuperate before turnover."
It's just all sorts of innocent, yes. Which is why those curious fingers never reach higher than a couple inches below the surface of the water before sliding back down again. Mikandros is a conscientious masseuse though, dedicating a decent amount of time to the excuse. Rolling his shoulders as he shifts, hard to remain sitting still, especially when some change alerts him to that lean. Turning his head slightly, leaning backwards just a little more than necessary to facilitate easy low-voiced conversation. Very low voiced, growly even. "Givin' credit where it's due, they do know how t'handle themselves. Jus' prob'ly not enough fer this group of miscreants. An' I expect Jortha's done th'right thing, an' sent enough bruisers ahead with th'families as t'keep -them- safe, too. Lotta dangers on th'road without worryin' 'bout people, an' she's left it mighty late." Another shift beneath her hands, as he redirects his questing hands over to her other foot. "Which barracks d'ye think some of us'll be seein' Turnover from? Everyone's placin' bets. Ye got any wagers?"
More water trailed from dual palms and Milani smiles a little. "I'm sure they do, just you know, had to offer," the headwoman says and takes a breath, reaches over for the next bottle and pours more of whatever is in there out to work into his back and down his arms. "I ... don't bet. And as headwoman and the one who has to take care of you all, I prefer to keep those thoughts to myself." There's a little squeeze of her hands to his arms though to take any sting out of that.
"Oh aye, an' they'll appreciate it, even if Jortha don't," Mikandros is quick to reassure. Stubborn Trader pride only goes so far, when not paired with neurotic paranoia. And the Idrozti wouldn't be as successful as they are if they were lacking in brains and common sense. Dipping his chin forward, his hair shifting over his shoulders as he nods. A little squeeze of his own, before fingers dance lightly over her shin. No sting, her gentle chide making no permanent damage. He's just suffering an understandable difficulty in keeping his brain properly aligned down the paths of visible and audible propriety. If only she were a nanny, or cook, or seamstress, the ranks of whom Mik's been rather happily getting to know, white thread or not. "What's safe then?" he rumbles quietly. "Plannin' on any sort of festivities, despite th'current situation? A little party might be better than no party, keep folks' spirits up."
"Well, so long as they're okay, they don't have to appreciate it even, though 'thank you' is always nice," Milani says with a shrug of her shoulders. "Anything else but eggs, candidates and possible weyrlings," the headwoman claims laughingly. "And if you mean after the hatching, there's always a party," Millie says with a chuckle. "That's what the festival was all about too. Did you get any dancing in?"
The continued belligerence of a certain hard-headed Caravan Master is a topic that can only be beaten for so long before they start encroaching upon Mikandros' personal code about just how much badmouthing is acceptable. And so it is that he unknowingly echoes her shrug, and leaves it at that. "Meant for turnover, actually, not th'hatching. But, either works, I suppose." Losing verbosity, here. "'Fraid I don't dance, Milani. Too big."
Laughing again, as a cloud of steam lifts, Milani breaks code for a moment to slide her arms around the big guy. "My brother is taller than you and he dances. Maybe he can teach you. He's a harper after all," Millie murmurs near his ear. "I love to dance. And there's always dancing at turnover. I'll save you one, regardless of what happens with those eggs."
Thank every star in the sky for that cloud of steam! Mikandros lifts his hands out of the water, intent on folding them over hers for whatever duration they can steal. A low, wordless rumble for the murmur. "Shells Milani," words more breath than voice, and no apology for the swearing. A hard swallow, "Ain't th'height that's th'problem. Jus' take up too much room." A careful roll of his shoulders to illustrate his point. "But fer ye, I think I'd be willin' t'try t'learn."
"Then I'll look forward to that dance," Milani says, voice rich with humor and her lips turn, brush his cheek lightly for just a moment. By the time that cloud disperses though, it's back to innocent washing. "Okay, candidate, time to deal with your hair," she says in a tone that's more maternal than anything else.
Mikandros's sigh is somewhat explosive, as "Dancin'," he repeats. Then, "Hair. Right." He tips his head back, and back, tilting to try to meet her eyes for just a moment. No disguising that look. And then he slides down to dunk his head, reemerging a second later. Wiping water from his eyes, a very low murmur meant for her alone without carrying, "Darlin' if this is a test, not sure 'M gonna pass."
Milani waits until he's gotten his hair wet, then pours shampoo into her palm to start sudsing it up with. Blue-green eyes meet dark steadily, a little smile in the corner of her mouth. "Nope. Just being careful," the headwoman claims. "Of course, I could always call you to my office for 'disciplinary' reasons."
Mikandros can't help but sink a little bit, eyes drifting almost all the way closed. Beneath the surface of the water, hands seeking feet again, one each. Though less with the massaging and more with the caressing. It's a hard life, with a beautiful woman playing bath attendant. And there's his chuckle, rolling like a boulder downhill. "Ye c'n 'punish' me any time ye like."
"Well then, we'll have to see what I come up with," Milani says gaily, working the foaming stuff firmly through the candidate's hair. When it's all sudsed up, she gives a little push of fingers to his forehead. "Duck under! Rinse off!" Like he's not making her toes curl just a little under the water.
Mikandros has been keeping his eyes shut, just in case any stray suds slipped down into his face. So Milani is spared the pained look he might otherwise have given her. A slight resistance to that push, as he just has to ask, "That a promise?" And then, obediently, under he goes. With a teasing, playfull little tug on her ankles while he's under, non-serious threat to pull her in after him. But, propriety and decorum, and all that. So it's just a tease, before his head breaks the surface again and he's puffing his cheeks as he blows water off his lips and blinking it out of his eyes.
Milani only smiles for those tugs, pushes back a little with her foot. And there's a hand towel helpfully passed over for his eyes. "Shall I get the bigger towel for the rest of you?" she asks with her head tipped to the side, faux-innocent as one foot swishes playfully back and forth through the water.
Lifting a hand to hold that small towel safe on his head, Mikandros jokes, though still soft-voiced, "Only if ye want me covered." Of course, being covered would be a good idea. He's standing up even as he rubs the hand towel back over his hair, squeezing absently along the length but not really making a true effort to dry it. Deliberately, he watches her face the entire time as he climbs out of the pool, water sheeting off his body.
"Well you know ... there's proper and then proper ..." Milani says still all innocent. And when he stands like that, she just watches, sidelong from beneath lashes and everything then looks away to tuck things back into the basket and gets to her feet. "I do have some things I need to discuss with you, about your family, Mikandros. Please stop by my office when you're done bathing, won't you?" Sweet as anything. She pats his shoulder in friendly but not overly friendly fashion then walks out on bare feet, giving her hair a little toss over her shoulder with a sashay in her step.
And poor Mik ... all he got was ... talking.
When: Late afternoon, day 22, month 10, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Commons Cavern/Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr
What: Unabashed flirtation and mutual appreciation. The flipskirt's got her groove back.
It's been a few days since the last tithe train came in and there's been a little bit of a lull in activity in the caverns as a result. Not that it's not still /busy/ but it's not /as/ busy as it has been. This could be why Milani is curled up in a chair in the commons reading a book instead of working late in the afternoon on a cool, misty autumn day.
When one spends any amount of time in an area permeated with certain odours, even when one isn't handling the source of those odours directly, well, those odours tend to make themselves at home. And so it is that Mikandros leaves a wafting trail of redwort and numbweed in his wake as he walks through the caverns. He's already removed his vest, and as soon as he passes into the residential common area he starts pulling his shirt over his head. Heavy steps pausing when the bright fabric obscures his vision - wouldn't do to run over someone or into something. "Blasted Healers an' their sharding bandages, an' they -would- stick me in th'corner where they store th'pain salves. Shells." Grumbling none-too-quietly to himself, and suddenly it's clear that yes he did indeed inherit -something- of his mother.
Milani looks up from her book as that particular scent disrupts the air and then the grumbling. But Mikandros divesting himself of clothing sees an amused smile passing her lips and the headwoman perches her elbow on the chair's arm and her chin in her hand. "Do carry on," she notes encouragingly from her seat. "I'm enjoying the view. Perhaps you'd like some help getting rid of the smell of redwort? Back scrubbing? Something like that?"
Mikandros's arms are still trapped in his shirt when he jerks his head up to peer over towards -that- voice. Hair mussed, a few lazy strands escaping his low runnertail and wisping playfully over his eyes. His smile is slow as his eyebrows settle into their customary squiggle of gentle surprise. "Ah, hello there, miss Milani." A very brief moment of hesitation and a visible shrug, and he does indeed carry on, rolling the shirt into a careless wad and stuffing it inside the rumpled folds of his vest. Oh, the -wrinkles.- And the muscles. Tilting his head, a slow turn to face her fully instead of sidelong. Words just as slow, "I'd like. Never thought -ye'd- be doin' th'offerin' though."
An appreciative look for that physique ends with another amused twist of Milani's mouth as blue-green eyes lift steadily to find Mikandros'. "Never? Mm. That was a possibility at one point, but things do change," the headwoman claims with a ready laugh and slips a marker into her book, then drops bare feet to the floor to rise and approach the trader, book tucked under arm. "It went well with your people, by the way," she informs him. "Jortha was as you said, a little bit difficult, but I think we've managed to sort it out." Her head tips up a little, so she can take in his face. "I haven't got a bathing room, unfortunately, but I do have something that might help dispel the odor. I'll fetch that and meet you in the pools?"
It might take a while, but Mikandros' opinions can change with enough applications of a clue-by-four to his head. His grin broadening into dimple territory as she starts to approach. "Changes c'n be good," he happily agrees, allowing some hint of his appreciation for her own form to linger in his gaze instead of sliding it behind humour or curiousity. "Hope she weren't too nasty with ye. Teroya found me earlier, let me know they was here. Thank ye, fer speakin' on their behalf." Jortha? Family? What? He looks directly into her eyes, "Oh, yes please. Milani." A gamble, maybe, dropping the 'miss.' She started it!
"They can," Milani answers quietly, "or they can be very distressing." Briefly her smile dims and she reaches up to rest fingers lightly on his shoulder. "No, it was fine. I hope that their request to remain will be accepted." Those fingers drift downward just a little, then retreat. Wouldn't do to set the aunties at the hearth to gossiping /too/ much. "Meet you there then," Millie says gaily with a wink as she turns to head to her rooms to trade book for bottle and catch up to the candidate.
Mikandros can move very fast when he wants to. He just doesn't often want to. Right now, he wants to, and it won't take him very long at all to nip into the barracks for a change of clothes and a towel. Using his long legs to advantage, an easy stride that covers distance much more decorously than running, will see him back out and over to the baths.
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.
Some few minutes behind the candidate, Milani arrives dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top and carrying a little basket of bathing toiletries. "Slide on in, I'll sit on the edge and douse you with good-smelling things. ANd if you're really good, I'll wash your hair for you," Millie says with a wink. "If you impress, you know you'll have to cut it, right?"
Mikandros is not the body-shy sort, though he did spend some little time in a careful scan of the steamy pools before Milani showed up. Which would be why he hadn't made it into the water already. If he, candidate, is going to dare hit on her, Headwoman, he wants them well fogged from any other rare afternoon bathers. Losing his trousers, he does as instructed, though turning slightly and tipping his head back so he can fully appreciate those long legs on display. Boldly, still coming to grips with this, to him, new Milani, "Sure ye only want t'sit on th'edge? Promise. I'll be very good." And there's that dimple again. A pause while he makes his brain track to another path, "Aye. Ma's been after me 'bout almost since I arrived, an' moreso now. Figure I'll ford that river when it happens. If it happens."
"I do have to maintain some sort of propriety," Milani claims as she perches on the edge of the pool and shifts her hair over her shoulder, the basket set down beside her. "You're a candidate and I'm the headwoman," she says more quietly once she's sat and he's in the water. "So it's not so much about you being good, as not giving anyone cause to cry favoritism," Millie points out gently, though those shorts really don't leave much to the imagination about her legs, which dangle in the water to the knee while she pulls out the first of the little bottles she brought along.
"Ah, couldn't hurt nothin' t'ask," Mikandros replies agreeably. "Don't really fancy hearin' anyone carryin' any stories around. Still...." A shrug of broad shoulders. Can't blame a bloke for trying? Tipping his head further in an effort to watch her, but it's an uncomfortable sort of twist to bend the neck into. Shop-talk, then, "Th'clan gonna be able t'sort out some of yer furniture problems? Wasn't sure 'bout th'quantities ye needed, so could only give 'em a vague sorta list."
"Never hurts to ask, no." Milani laughs a little then gesture for him to come nearer, palm holding some quantity of what smells like mint and lavender soap. "Yes, we've worked out a deal that should be mutually beneficial. Jortha was a little sensitive about offers of protection for the train, but I think she's okay with it all now," Millie claims. She waits until he's near enough to dip a hand in the water, dribble it over his back and then work up a lather between her palms before applying fingers to skin. For all intents and purposes, just one person scrubbing another's back, but Mik'll feel the difference between innocent scrubbing and the exploration the headwoman's fingertips are making back there.
Sliding closer, ever an obliging sort, Mikandros presents Milani with his broad back. Not exactly the direction he wants to be facing, since now her face can't be seen. "Heh, she would be. Hope Da talked some sense int'her. She'd likely think bein' Trader's'll keep 'em safe. Got some curious blind spots, that woman. Like we ain't part of Pern, or somethin'." And if his voice dips into the lower ranges a baritone can reach by the end of that little speech, well, fingers. Not so comfortable with passivity, he asks with apparent innocence, "Been on yer feet long t'day?" Even as his hands drift through the water, seeking one such foot. If he's getting a scrubbing, it's only fair she gets a rubbing.
Of course this does mean though that she's tucking her legs right up against his waist, toes teasing at whatever is reachable beneath the water, even if her face doesn't betray a darned thing about what those feet of hers are up to. "Mm. Just trading with the Weyr /could/ draw attention," Millie says seriously. "Which is why I offered, though it all has to get signed off higher up." One of those teasing feet, edges over to set heel into palm. "Most of it, in fact."
Milani might just discover the secret of Mikandros' ticklish hipbones if she keeps that up. "Mmn," agreement, really. Honest. His large hands curl around her foot, strong, callused fingers rubbing gently, with just enough pressure to make it a proper massage, not a caress. Excepting those few stray wanderings that might happen up her ankles and over her calf, the muscles in his back shifting and tensing beneath her fingers. "If they're-" whoever 'they' are "-watchin' th'Holds fer th'trains, it'd follow they'd be watchin' th'Weyr too, aye? If they're wantin' t'make life difficult fer us, they'd want t'know they'd managed it. Well, I would, anyway, if it were me. Still inventorying?" Sympathetic, that.
It's entirely possible that those fingers might pause now and then when his hands travel so along her calf, but Milani keeps up the patter of conversation, even as she bends just a little to reach for a handful of water and dribble it down his back. If she should 'accidentally' brush against him from behind in the process, well it's accidental! And it's an old tank top. No worries about clinging lather. Right? "Perhaps, it's hard to know without knowing /who/ it actually is. But you've got a point there. Either way, I'd rather not see your people have any problems," Millie says sincerely. "Still inventorying, but at least there's no big rush coming in. There's a few more trains expected and then there'll be some time to recuperate before turnover."
It's just all sorts of innocent, yes. Which is why those curious fingers never reach higher than a couple inches below the surface of the water before sliding back down again. Mikandros is a conscientious masseuse though, dedicating a decent amount of time to the excuse. Rolling his shoulders as he shifts, hard to remain sitting still, especially when some change alerts him to that lean. Turning his head slightly, leaning backwards just a little more than necessary to facilitate easy low-voiced conversation. Very low voiced, growly even. "Givin' credit where it's due, they do know how t'handle themselves. Jus' prob'ly not enough fer this group of miscreants. An' I expect Jortha's done th'right thing, an' sent enough bruisers ahead with th'families as t'keep -them- safe, too. Lotta dangers on th'road without worryin' 'bout people, an' she's left it mighty late." Another shift beneath her hands, as he redirects his questing hands over to her other foot. "Which barracks d'ye think some of us'll be seein' Turnover from? Everyone's placin' bets. Ye got any wagers?"
More water trailed from dual palms and Milani smiles a little. "I'm sure they do, just you know, had to offer," the headwoman says and takes a breath, reaches over for the next bottle and pours more of whatever is in there out to work into his back and down his arms. "I ... don't bet. And as headwoman and the one who has to take care of you all, I prefer to keep those thoughts to myself." There's a little squeeze of her hands to his arms though to take any sting out of that.
"Oh aye, an' they'll appreciate it, even if Jortha don't," Mikandros is quick to reassure. Stubborn Trader pride only goes so far, when not paired with neurotic paranoia. And the Idrozti wouldn't be as successful as they are if they were lacking in brains and common sense. Dipping his chin forward, his hair shifting over his shoulders as he nods. A little squeeze of his own, before fingers dance lightly over her shin. No sting, her gentle chide making no permanent damage. He's just suffering an understandable difficulty in keeping his brain properly aligned down the paths of visible and audible propriety. If only she were a nanny, or cook, or seamstress, the ranks of whom Mik's been rather happily getting to know, white thread or not. "What's safe then?" he rumbles quietly. "Plannin' on any sort of festivities, despite th'current situation? A little party might be better than no party, keep folks' spirits up."
"Well, so long as they're okay, they don't have to appreciate it even, though 'thank you' is always nice," Milani says with a shrug of her shoulders. "Anything else but eggs, candidates and possible weyrlings," the headwoman claims laughingly. "And if you mean after the hatching, there's always a party," Millie says with a chuckle. "That's what the festival was all about too. Did you get any dancing in?"
The continued belligerence of a certain hard-headed Caravan Master is a topic that can only be beaten for so long before they start encroaching upon Mikandros' personal code about just how much badmouthing is acceptable. And so it is that he unknowingly echoes her shrug, and leaves it at that. "Meant for turnover, actually, not th'hatching. But, either works, I suppose." Losing verbosity, here. "'Fraid I don't dance, Milani. Too big."
Laughing again, as a cloud of steam lifts, Milani breaks code for a moment to slide her arms around the big guy. "My brother is taller than you and he dances. Maybe he can teach you. He's a harper after all," Millie murmurs near his ear. "I love to dance. And there's always dancing at turnover. I'll save you one, regardless of what happens with those eggs."
Thank every star in the sky for that cloud of steam! Mikandros lifts his hands out of the water, intent on folding them over hers for whatever duration they can steal. A low, wordless rumble for the murmur. "Shells Milani," words more breath than voice, and no apology for the swearing. A hard swallow, "Ain't th'height that's th'problem. Jus' take up too much room." A careful roll of his shoulders to illustrate his point. "But fer ye, I think I'd be willin' t'try t'learn."
"Then I'll look forward to that dance," Milani says, voice rich with humor and her lips turn, brush his cheek lightly for just a moment. By the time that cloud disperses though, it's back to innocent washing. "Okay, candidate, time to deal with your hair," she says in a tone that's more maternal than anything else.
Mikandros's sigh is somewhat explosive, as "Dancin'," he repeats. Then, "Hair. Right." He tips his head back, and back, tilting to try to meet her eyes for just a moment. No disguising that look. And then he slides down to dunk his head, reemerging a second later. Wiping water from his eyes, a very low murmur meant for her alone without carrying, "Darlin' if this is a test, not sure 'M gonna pass."
Milani waits until he's gotten his hair wet, then pours shampoo into her palm to start sudsing it up with. Blue-green eyes meet dark steadily, a little smile in the corner of her mouth. "Nope. Just being careful," the headwoman claims. "Of course, I could always call you to my office for 'disciplinary' reasons."
Mikandros can't help but sink a little bit, eyes drifting almost all the way closed. Beneath the surface of the water, hands seeking feet again, one each. Though less with the massaging and more with the caressing. It's a hard life, with a beautiful woman playing bath attendant. And there's his chuckle, rolling like a boulder downhill. "Ye c'n 'punish' me any time ye like."
"Well then, we'll have to see what I come up with," Milani says gaily, working the foaming stuff firmly through the candidate's hair. When it's all sudsed up, she gives a little push of fingers to his forehead. "Duck under! Rinse off!" Like he's not making her toes curl just a little under the water.
Mikandros has been keeping his eyes shut, just in case any stray suds slipped down into his face. So Milani is spared the pained look he might otherwise have given her. A slight resistance to that push, as he just has to ask, "That a promise?" And then, obediently, under he goes. With a teasing, playfull little tug on her ankles while he's under, non-serious threat to pull her in after him. But, propriety and decorum, and all that. So it's just a tease, before his head breaks the surface again and he's puffing his cheeks as he blows water off his lips and blinking it out of his eyes.
Milani only smiles for those tugs, pushes back a little with her foot. And there's a hand towel helpfully passed over for his eyes. "Shall I get the bigger towel for the rest of you?" she asks with her head tipped to the side, faux-innocent as one foot swishes playfully back and forth through the water.
Lifting a hand to hold that small towel safe on his head, Mikandros jokes, though still soft-voiced, "Only if ye want me covered." Of course, being covered would be a good idea. He's standing up even as he rubs the hand towel back over his hair, squeezing absently along the length but not really making a true effort to dry it. Deliberately, he watches her face the entire time as he climbs out of the pool, water sheeting off his body.
"Well you know ... there's proper and then proper ..." Milani says still all innocent. And when he stands like that, she just watches, sidelong from beneath lashes and everything then looks away to tuck things back into the basket and gets to her feet. "I do have some things I need to discuss with you, about your family, Mikandros. Please stop by my office when you're done bathing, won't you?" Sweet as anything. She pats his shoulder in friendly but not overly friendly fashion then walks out on bare feet, giving her hair a little toss over her shoulder with a sashay in her step.
And poor Mik ... all he got was ... talking.