Closed Healing Hands

[Micah Frostfawn]

46th Fall, 515AV

Sissena was a woman of few luxuries. Make-up was completely lost on her, as were fancy clothes. She had a cleaned-cut and simple fashion sense, utilitarian rather than fancy. Likewise, she rarely styled her hair in any other way but tied up, to keep it out of her face.

It wasn't that she inherently disliked expensive clothes or other luxury items, either. More accurately, Sissena disliked the sense of privilege that many people who owned such expensive goods possessed. They instantly perceived themselves as better than others, and in all such instances Sissy regarded them akin to spoilt children.

No, expensive possessions were not luxuries that Sissena cared about.

But there was one vice that Sissena allowed herself once every season: a massage.

Her lifestyle was physically strenuous in the slightest sense, yet Sissena frequently suffered from mild backaches from spending the day bent over her desk. It was for this almost-but-quite-not medical reason that Sissena had initially started visiting the Soothing Waters Spa, reasoning with herself that it was not an truly indulgence if it benefitted her performance and comfort at work.

But slowly over time, her appointments had matured from a simple massage to deep tissue treatments, private baths and even laundry. The attorney found herself practically unable to resist the soothing touch of a masseuse. After each session she felt renewed and rejuvenated -- almost perky. The comfort of a massage even broke down Sissena's rule about maintaining distance from strangers. There was something about a massage that almost made the half-breed melt away, into a pool of sighs and relaxed muscles.

She stood patiently in the massage room, dressed in a soft cotton bathrobe that she wrapped tightly around her slim waist. The massage table stood in the centre of the room, to the side of which was the vast collection of oils and creams that Sissena hoped would be soon lathered into her skin. She picked up a jar tentatively, her actions hesitant, and sniffed. The pale purple cream smelt of heady lavender, earning an appreciative smile from the overworked woman.

With a conclusive nod and sigh, she lay down on the towelled massage table, her bare back exposed and her arms crossed, head resting atop them. And then Sissena waited.

[Beodan Clathony]

Beodan hurried into the spa with his pack full of salves and extracted oils as soon as the stone-faced man watching the front nodded him through. Really, he should have been used to Ivis’ unshakable demeanor, but something in the cold black pupils unsettled him. He was like a statue that had blood, and if he had to guess, would not have the best bedside manner. At least, not compared to some of the lovely ladies that massaged or healed the clients. He smiled to himself, reminded that he had come to see his good friend and employee of soothing waters, Nira’lia. She loved when he brought salves almost as much as they enjoyed each other’s company. So why not kill to bird with one stone?

The Kelvic’s bare feet padded on the stone floor as he walked through the door to the massage studio, which also was where patients received medical attention and thus where his friend could be found. Or at least, he attempted to walk through the hall. His eyes widened, there were so many people! Knights with minor and major injuries that had been shortly addressed, along with civilians waiting to have those wonderful fingers ease the cares of the world right out of their bodies. They sat on chairs and benches around the main room, occasionally one of the masseuses would dash out of one room and into the next, followed shortly by someone with a blissful, relaxed look on their face. He stood by one of the doors, not having any place to go with the bustle around him. It looked like their would be a two hour wait for any newcomer. He could not remember the last time it had been this crowded. Granted, he did not come by more than once a week, but still!

After waiting for a few chimes, there was no sign of Nira’lia. Dan supposed she must be in some complicated healing, or being mentored by the resident two-marked, Calyna. He could wait a bit longer, but he could not waste the day away. He wanted to stop by a few other friends, but that did not need to happen in the least. A snort escaped him; not that there was any sun down here with which to judge the days passing. Why anyone would live in the bowels of a castle was beyond him.

“Hey, you! Stop standing around and get in there!” a woman commanded as she briskly walked past him, pausing only briefly to glance at the salves he carried. Her voice softened, and she said shortly, “We’re all tired, it’s been a long day, but we have more to do! Come on!” With a pat of his shoulder, she vanished through another door before he had processed her words. A few ticks after her disappearance, he sputtered, “But, I-I’m not…” Dan let out a great sigh, realising he was talking to empty space. Well, if he could help somehow, he would be happy too. Though, he was more of the ‘making salves’ part of the process, rather than the ‘applying salves’. Sure, he did it often enough to himself and other people, aching muscles and various wounds. Medical treatment was surely different than a massage for pleasure though. He rolled his eyes at the situation he found himself in. He made up his mind. If it was somebody seriously wounded, he would not touch them and let the healers handle it. Anything else though and he would do his best to help them out… with a massage… Oh boy. “Here goes nothing,” he breathed, and stepped into the room.

No bloody wounds, or blood in general! A woman was laying on her stomach, her back bare and the rest of her covered with a plush looking robe. The Herbalist relaxed somewhat, though he was still a bit nervous. Took a breath, reminding himself that this was no different to treating a patient. Just they were not wounded, and the oils he would use would be more flowery. If there was one thing that could be said about stallions, it would be their confidence was legendary. So with his best imitation of the soothing, dulcet tone of voice the other masseuses used, he said to the woman, “Hello, miss. I’m Beodan, (but please, call me Dan) and I will be your masseur today.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “And, excuse me, but how long did you schedule for?” Dan walked over to the array of oils and salves. Neat little rows, with one in the front slightly off from the others. He picked it up and sniffed it softly. Lavender. Maybe she would like some of the lavender extracts he brought.

[Micah Frostfawn]

The sound of the door opening caused Sissena's muscles to contract and tighten: even now, after two or three years of her indulgent massages, she still found it a struggle to relax on command. The body would switch off, but the mind could not. Even now, as she waited for her masseuse to begin, her head was filled with questions and scenarios from her work. Would that young lad, accused of pickpocketing, do as he was told and remain inside for the duration of the evening? Had she properly documented the details of the interview she had had this morning? Would the abusive husband track down his wife, currently held in a safe house in order for her to be a witness at his trial tomorrow? She groaned inwardly, willing the thoughts in her head to fall silent once and for all.

Of course they didn't, but someone else's voice quietened them for now. Her masseuse was asking a question, but Sissena had barely heard it. All she had paid attention to was the voice -- his very male voice. It was not that she was a prude, or that she disliked men. Sissena was simply a woman who was intolerant to change, particularly when she had no means to prepare for it. She had specifically booked an appointment with her usual female masseuse. The idea of receiving anything but that service was repugnant to her.

Mistakes such as this is why the world is falling into disarray.

She turned her head, tugging her bathrobe flush to her chest to avoid her revealing herself to him. "Where's my usual masseuse?" She asked, her voice sharp and her brows knotted together. Had Ivis confused her appointment? It was an unlikely occurrence given the receptionist's cool head and impeccable organisation, but Sissena nevertheless found herself wondering if the unthinkable had happened as she sat upright to confront this stranger. Standing by the oils and creams was a man, with dark hair and chocolate-coloured eyes. He looked friendly enough, and not particularly threatening, and the tiniest slice of guilt began to gnaw at Sissy's gut. "I'm sorry," she said in a tone far softer than before, "but I specifically booked with the same masseuse as I always do, with..." her voice trailed off for a tick. "Oh, I forget her name now." She touched her forehead testily, as if she could pull the woman's name out straight from her memory. "But if she's not available--"

Again her words were cut short. With a mechanical thought process, Sissena began to pick her way through the consequences of her next decision. If her usual masseuse was unavailable, Sissena would have to either suck it up and have this man massage her, or reschedule for another time. Judging by how busy the spa had been, she would probably be unable to book a second appointment this season, which could mean that she would miss her Fall massage.

An entire season without a massage! She recoiled at the very thought.

Surely any massage was better than no massage? Her honey-coloured eyes began to skim over the male's appearance, as if she was searching for some hint that would give away his skill in massage. His hands were thankfully clean, but beyond that she could think of no way to judge his ability without putting herself and her backbone on her line. "You do work here, yes? You're a trained masseuse?" She asked, eyes narrowing slightly to seek out any source of lies or lack of confidence.

Eventually Sissena sighed and lay back down on the table, once more revealing her smooth back to the otherwise empty room, metaphorically throwing herself at the mercy of this stranger and his (hopefully) skilled hands.

[Beodan Clathony]

The woman turned to Beodan at his voice, and responded to his question with yet another question. She snapped, “Where’s my usual masseuse?” He was taken aback for a moment, not quite prepared for the venom, however justified it might be. He thought about it, and he probably would have done the same thing if he had had to wait a bell or two and then have things be different than expected. Before he could compose himself enough to respond, she apologized while he blinked away his shock, “I’m sorry, but I specifically booked with the same masseuse as I always do, with.. Oh, I forget her name now. But if she’s not available--” The edge of his lips quirked upwards almost imperceptibly at the more relaxed air she had in her tone of voice. He much preferred this new woman, with a voice of beautiful silk, over the one with a biting, clipped voice.

With his perceptions of her completely changing, Dad said kindly, “I was sent in by someone, one of the other women. All of the masseuses are stretched thin what with all the people waiting; knights too. So, they need all the extra hands they can.” The conversation, if you could call it that, lulled as the woman appeared to be lost in thought. Her amber eyes roamed over him, prompting him to look down to see if he had made any faux pas. He furrowed his brow. He had remembered to bring along clothes to put on when he arrived at the city, so that wasn’t the issue. His clothes were plain, so nothing exciting to look at there. He cared little for fashion and spared not an ounce of thought or a copper miza on anything but the required clothing purchases. Not self conscious, he stood silently until she had finished her examination. He bit his lip, hoping he passed whatever test she was administering.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and asked pointedly, “You do work here, yes? You’re a trained masseuse?” The Poor Kelvic gulped under her suspicious stare, but assured her clearly, “I’m a contractor, an herbalist. I make some of the salves and help treat patients on occasion. As for my training.. well, I don’t usually give them for pleasure, mostly as a part of medical treatments, but I do have experience, yes.” He trailed off after addressing her main concern, and then gestured to his wares with a smile. “Though, I think I can make you very..” he said, his voice like velvet, “Relaxed. You will be glowing for days, and feel like you are floating on a cloud!” It was true, he had far too much practice gently rubbing salves and oils onto wounds and aching muscles of the injured. This was the same thing, right? Only, he could use more strength to tease the tension out of muscles, more so than he could if the person was actually wounded. And really, if he picked the right oils, he would barely have to do a thing!

Seeming satisfied with his explanation, or at the very least resigned to her fate, she rested her head on the towel and shrugged the robe off of her shoulders so that it laid loosely at the small of her back. He nodded to himself, glad he had been accepted. He assumed from the area she left uncovered that it was her back that was paining her. He wiggled his fingers over the oils, debating on which to start with. He paused abruptly; he was getting ahead of himself. You needed to clean a wound before you treated it, so the same thing would surely apply here. He dipped a fresh towel into a basin of hot water, likely from the hot spring that Soothing Waters was rumored to have, and wrung it out. He was left with a damp, steaming cloth. Biting his lip, an action that he would later realize was an action born of nerves, he sighed mentally. Here goes… He approached her, and lightly pressed the cloth between her shoulder blades, using firm, soft strokes outwards from her spine to moisten every inch of her back. He could feel some her muscles relax as the hot cloth passed them by. He wondered if it felt like getting into one of the baths? You could just feel stress leave your body as you melted into the pool. Granted, this wasn’t a pool, just a cloth, but if it was even comparable, it would feel amazing. Once finished, he re-dipped the cloth, and laid it across her neck to ease any creaky vertebrae she might have.

“I’m going to start applying oil now,” Dan said, his back turned to her as he fiddled with some of the bottles of oil. “I’ll do two or three sets. One to really, ah, burn the tension right out of you, and the other(s) to make your skin shiny and as smooth as the day you were born. Just give me a moment to mix the first one,” his voice turned into a mumble as his mind shifted quickly to his new task. This was his element. Familiar terrain that he traveled often. He opened his pack, and rooted around. It was here somewhere.. ah! There! He pulled out a small vial of a dark orange-red oil. He dropped a small amount into a clean bowl added a neutral oil from the collection to dilute it. Fire, check. Now for ice. He dug more and closed his fingers around another like vial, but with a lighter yellowish tint. As he added the new oil he narrated to her, “This first one is Cayenne oil and Peppermint oil. My personal favorite pepper will bring a little heat that will feel wonderful on your aches and pains, while the Peppermint gives it an ‘ice-cold fire’ sort of feeling. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Dan brought the bowl of mixed oils over to her, and dipped his fingers in the substance. A few ticks later, the lovely burning sensation graced his nerves. He grinned involuntarily; she so would love this. He smirked, realizing he was keeping her waiting. He rubbed the oil onto his palms and pressed his hands onto her back, starting at the very top. He consciously had to remind himself to press down, and actually massage the muscles without just spreading the oil on top. He pretended he had to be firm enough to press the oil into her skin, rather than on top of it. He worked his way down, ever so slowly and deliberately, spending extra time on any spot that felt tighter than the norm. He rubbed from the inside out, and shifted downwards after adequate time had been spent on each area. The only time his hands left her back was when he added more oil. When he had gotten down to where her hips began to rise, he questioned at a murmur, “Feel good? Anywhere in particular you want me to get again, before I move on?”