Like Ships in the Night [Sariana]

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 73 Spring, 512, After Sunset Location: Soothing Waters The petching city was gross. Hardly a breeze stirred the place, and those rare exceptional times when it did, it was laden with the stench of knights in armor, offal in the streets, and musty old stone singed by the horrors of the djed storm. It made Pash'nar's skin crawl and his eyes water—this was no fresh, salty air, no beautiful open sea. It was horrible. The fortress city's docks were destroyed, which was, of course, even more depressing than the state of the rest of the place. There had been nothing but bad news—sad sailors and sad tales. After almost a week and a half on his casinor from Alvadas, however, the sailor was at least going to enjoy a bath. Even if he had to run through the streets all the way back to his lovely old ship to feel clean for a few extra hours, he was willing to dish out the coins and have himself a relaxing soak. However, it was easier to avoid any suspicion his Svefra skin seemed to draw when he waited for the sun to set to present himself clothed in all of his former—though fallen—glory. A tall shard of moonlight carved into the shape of a man left guards gaping and others with their tongues quite held in place. This was, after a day like today scrounging the tiny little dives of Syliras for scraps of ship work, a relief in itself. He'd enjoyed the Soothing Waters before, though he found himself lacking the coin for all its benefits this evening. Work had been slow, though he understood that the djed storm had actually opened some doors instead of closed them when it came to the sea. Not everyone saw the opportunity. The ethaefel splurged for a private pool and the laundry service, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd find the right bath once he was handed his chipped and faded number card and key for his locker. Leaving his clothes with an attendant and shoving his few possessions into the tiny square space, he padded off in all his opalescence toward the private baths, squinting at his number card with all the hope his weary mind could muster. Pash'nar didn't look up as he passed others, didn't bother to notice the expressions of those who may had never seen his kind before. He was too weary for those conversations, to disgusted by the city, and too much in a hurry to get back to the somewhat familiar sanctuary of his rickety old boat. Ah-ha. Most of the numbers on the door matched his old wooden chip. He squinted between the two and decided they must be close enough. Adjusting his towel around his neck and ducking as he opened the door to avoid scraping milky, obsidian-tipped horns on the stone archway, the moonlit sailor found the private bath to be empty. He must have made the right choice. Hopefully. Soap was put to use hardly a chime or a heartbeat after the door was shut, Pash even willing to undo the mess of his sea foam hair and make sure he was actually, thouroughly clean. He might as well get his mizas worth, after all. Besides, when was the next time he'd be getting a real bath? Exactly. Not in a hurry to escape the steaming, refreshing waters and the quiet, unpolluted retreat when he considered his petching walk all the way back down to the docks and his home moored as far out as he could stand, the ethaefal settled comfortably into the corner of the bath and set about contemplating the recent events of the season while examining the back of his eyelids. It seemed productive enough for the moment, considering how the day had been an improvement already.

[Sariana]

The city screamed in anguish and pain, filled with hungry children and greedy people trying to make the most out of a tortured and violent situation. The wind that came to Sariana was full of stench and sickness, sour to the point she felt herself dry wretching at times. They had only arrived in the morning, and already she wanted to leave. Her whole body felt for these people...no one deserved destruction. The cloying stench of trauma drowned the drykas, and she had to get away. To wash the feeling away.

It was pure luck she found the baths, making her way to the docks she had seen the sign and followed her feet. Paying her coin and making her way to a private locker, the sleek horse woman quickly stripped off the clothing she had so recently brought in Zeltiva and shoved it all in the locker. She tilted her rapiers, but there was no making the swords fit in the tiny compartment. Taking her rapiers, key and towel, Sariana made her way to the large open bath. It was strangely beautiful in a place so void of beauty. Dropping her towel in a small pile over the top of her things, the brunette gingerly stepped in. Petching hell, it was warm - almost hot! Her breath intook sharply, unused to heated water less it was for drinking. Moving slowly, the woman inched her way into the bath, sinking down to ease her body into the water. The drykas' thick black tresses floated as her waist touched the water. Gently, she moved lower to cover her navel, breasts and finally rested with the water lapping at her clavicle. Sighing, she raised her saphirre eyes and looked to the corner of the pool opposite her and jumped. There was something there. Someone? She had been concentrating so intently on making it into the water that she hadn't noticed there was anyone in there.

"What the...." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and her blue eyes couldn't help but stare. The other, the...creature...looked like a man. But something more. His skin was as pale as the moon and appeared almost like chiselled alabaster, covered in faint lines that from this distance she couldn't dechipher. His cheekbones high and sharp and his hair a lustrious white tinged with a pale blue-green hue. Her eyes travelled higher, drawn by the two curved white horns coming forth from his head. A soft almost luminous glow seemed to come from the man, and the drykas couldn't help but think him other worldly. Was he a Deity in the flesh? Should she be turning away and fleeing the pool? Briefly, her eyes darted to the rapiers under her towel.

Sitting in the water, Sariana felt like a fool as she stared at the creature. Moving slowly away from her rapiers, the warrior approached one of the soap bowls on the side of the pool and scooped out a small amount. Purposely keeping her eyes away from the beautifully sculpted creature in the corner, the brunette began to wash herself with the lightly scented soap - rubbing it over her arms and shoulders with a sigh. This is why she had come.

[Pash'nar]

The sea rose and fell and Pash'nar found himself barefoot on a sun-warmed deck, nothing but sparkling ocean and hot, summer breeze surrounding him. Sails snapped and cackled in the wind, full of Zulrav's breath propelling the palavar over the choppy waves. He blinked, staring at his feet, the ship, and realizing that slowly, there were others on this ship with him. Smiling, laughing. They looked familiar, and yet … they were still strangers. They called a name, but he couldn't hear it above the wind in the sails. Not again. The ship rocked, but the young Svefra he appeared to inhabit in this (one of so petching many) visions, kept his footing, turning toward the others. The shout he heard, and everything lurched, as if the ship had been in a bottle and someone stood it up on its end. Everything shifted and laughter became sounds of horror. The ethaefel drifted far in his sleep, completely unaware of the Drykas woman whose pool he'd failed at navigating himself into. His head tilted as he exhaled fearfully through flared white nostrils, only to tip completely face-first into the steaming bath water. Under water, struggling to find their way back to the surface. Something was with them. Something terrible. Pash'nar hardly struck a graceful or glorious creature, sputtering up from submerging in the hot bath with a string of earthy (or sea-worthy) curses wetly flapping from too-perfect lips. He tossed his head back, still unaware he wasn't alone, only to smack an eerily beautiful tapered horn against the warm, carved edge of the bath. The crack was loud, echoing in the small room with jaw-numbing sound, but nothing shattered. Sailors words. Hardly the words of the divine. Hardly the words when in front of a stranger, especially if that stranger was a woman. Tossing seafoam-colored hair from his hand-carved (but scowling) features, cerulean eyes finally came into focus. "Petch." The navigator stared, though hardly the hint of color seemed capable of rising to his moonlit skin. His gaze wasn't offensive but offended. He wasn't ogling the Drykas in the pool with him, though had the situation been different, he might have. Slowly a hand rose from the water to wipe away stray hair and a few sea-glass braided strands, revealing an aquiline scowl instead of any particular expression of apology. Pash let the silence linger a bit longer than was polite, gathering his thoughts as his memory-dreams faded too slowly. He washed over the woman, still holding her soap, noting hints of hand-tooled ink under her own tanned flesh. Familiar, but different. Not even a trace of his own tattoos seemed visible once his sea-worn Svefra form faded from view. Had the receptionist misunderstood his joke? "Um." The ethaefal was tall, but suddenly awkward when caught off guard. His words and actions shattered any hint of perfection that the statuesque shard of moonlight once appeared to possess, "I ain't sure I've got enough mizas for anythin' extra tonight."

OOCNavigation fail. lolol. I r funny.

[Sariana]

Sariana stood frozen in place, soapy hand halted over her forearm and dripping foam into the still rocking water. Her blue eyes stared at the creature, wide and surprized, her mouth slightly agape. What had just happened was like some strange attack on the senses. One minute, all was still and perfect whilst she bathed and stole glances as the moonkissed creature, the next there was obscene swearing and splashing. At one point she jumped as his horn smacked into the side of the bath, raising even worse verbal abuse than before - enough to raise a blush to even the daughter of the Diamond Clan. Silence floated between them, pregnant with shock and embarassment, before the man spoke again.

Sariana blinked. It took a moment for his words to register. She blinked again, finally allowing her mind catch up on current events. The wide eyed shock slowly turned to an outraged scowl as she recalled the extra services the bath house offered, soap dropped and modesty forgotten.

"Excuse me?!" Her voice almost boomed, brows drawn and fists clenched. The warrior stood up to her full height, no where near as tall as the horned man but radiating rage.

"Whilst your...extra activites are your own concern, I am most certainly not part of your petching package!" Moving closer as she growled at the suddenly seemingly clumsy creature, Sariana pointed a dripping finger at him.

"Just because a woman is in the baths with you, does not make her a whore. This is a public bath, and I am public! I am Sariana Lisden, Warrior of the Drykas and Daughter of the Diamond Clan. And you, are a...a goat!" The insult was the best she could do at the time, lifting her chin and looking the chiselled creature up and down. Even if he was otherworldly in his beauty and his eyes were the color of the brightest jewels - he was still obscene and rude. Staring him down with blazing saphirre eyes, the brunette resisted the urge to cover her exposed breasts, the warrior unwilling to faulter in her stance.

[Pash'nar]

OOCI'll assume that Sari met Pash in Svefra form sometime in the afternoon, though he's probably not entirely sure. Obviously, he looks different, but sounds more or less the same.

Pash'nar kept her angry gaze, not wavering, though he didn't stand to bodily resist her angry retaliation. He rolled with the wave, dove under it, and sighed. Something struck familiar about the dark-haired Drykas, and air hissed from between perfect teeth as he allowed his expression to soften into something less like stone and more like breathing, living flesh. He let her maintain her fiery stance for a few more chimes, if only because he found such provocation a little exciting. If he recognized the woman as she shouted her name at him, he didn't let it show in his expression. He knew that for now, it was mostly difficult to tell he was anyone else but a stranger, though if he bothered to speak too much, he'd more than likely loosen the veil between them. The unlikely sailor's shoulders dropped and his head bobbed to one side, pulling his seawater gaze reluctantly from the flames he'd ignited to stare sullenly at the disturbed, soapy mess of their now-shared pool, "The bath is public, aye," he breathed, words making the pool's steam curl away from him like he was some kind of colorless beast, not looking up as he shifted to lean on one long, opalescent arm. His broken Common only made a comical contrast to the elegance of his divinely touched form, though it rang faintly familiar, "But this pool's private, an' I jus' sorta figured it was the right one. One of us ain't got their number straight—" of course it was her. He made his mizas navigating the sea, after all—"an' I didn't mean t'make th'assumption … that, uh …" Long, wet fingers waved in a dismissive reference to his words about whatever services she apparently wasn't offering after all. This was his sincerest form of apology. It was difficult. The ethaefel looked up again, this time biting the inside of his well-carved cheek to keep from wandering too far off his course over the tan, wet map laid out before him, "Anyways, I'm finished here. I can set sail an' leave you'n peace." He made to stand, unconcerned and unblinking about his own privacy, as if it was a thoughtless non-issue. He paused, briefly considering offering to pay for her bath anyway, but realized just how light his purse was at the moment, though the next few days held more promise, "I've gotta walk back through the petchin' city sometime tonight."

[Sariana]

The drykas continued to stare him down, watching how the steam of the pool swirled languidly away from his breath as the statuesque creature spoke - his cut and rough words a step outside of his appearance. Somehow, she expected bells and trumpets from the heavens and that the quipped curses before had been something out of the ordinary. As the figure leaned on his arm, Sariana rested her hands on her hips and raised a shapley eyebrow.

"The bath is public, aye...But this pool's private, an' I jus' sorta figured it was the right one. One of us ain't got their number straight—"

Sariana's face turned a deep scarlet as she realized her mistake, mouth opening with a gasp as she pressed her hands over it. Gods above she had just ruined this creatures bath, by entering the wrong pool! The brunette wanted to sink under the water and suffocate to hide herself from her embarassment.

"Oh my Gods and Goddesses, I am so sorry! Petching hell, I just..the key..the card." She stammered as he looked up at her with vibrant blue eyes flecked with silver like so many stars in a clear night sky. He rose, standing...towering over her own shorter stature - his horn's making him seem even taller still. The creature was most definitly a man, his unabashed nudity quite clearly indicating as such. Sariana had seen nudity, had lain with men enough to know how things worked and what went where. Still, this man in all his glorious beauty...it felt like spying on Leth himself. Within a moment, her firey warriors rage left her and she sprang from the water towards her towel, wrapping it around her torso. Her cheeks burned terribly and she avoided his gaze as she snatched up her key and reread the number on the card. She squinted, then read it again. Biting her lip, the drykas looked at the man and thumbed the card.

"I appear to have the wrong pool." Sariana said meekly, offering an apologetic smile. Pausing a moment, she cleared her throat.

"The..uh...well. Walking back through the city can be dangerous as of late, and someone as...well...someone who looks like you could probably do with company. And ale or wine perhaps? On me. Of course. It's the least I can do, if you'll let me." Smiling again, she bent down to pick up her rapiers, before quickly standing and looking at him with wide eyes.

"And you are not a goat. I am so so sorry."

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar struggled not to bristle at her implication—did his appearance make her mistake him for delicate? Was he too other-worldly to be capable of defending himself? If anything, his appearance under Leth's sway awarded him far more security than when Syna's rays tanned Svefra skin. Not that she knew the difference. He opened his mouth to object, to point out how many of her lifetimes he'd survived thus far. The navigator blinked instead and eyed her weapons before looking away, "I'm an Ethaefal." He chose to answer the unasked question that her apology carried with it, turning around to dry himself and offer the woman some vestige of overly belated privacy, despite it's uselessness now. He spoke quietly, sculpted back to the Drykas as he bent slightly like some temple statue, attempting to dry his hair without snagging on his horns, "Son of Leth. Or, I was." His words felt thicker than the humidity in the room—heavy with a longer tale—but he added no other details. Yet another dream of some life he couldn't remember had put him in no mood to further reminisce about things lovely and lost. He considered adding his name, reconsidered, and held his tongue. That would end the game, "An', well, I don't drink—uh—not at night anyway." The daytime, unfortunately, was a different story, but he wasn't quite willing to reveal all his cards yet. She'd see the truth soon enough, for there was little he could keep hidden at sea. "You ain't gotta rush if you haven't got your mizas worth, yet. The city ain't waiting' on us for nothin'. It'll still be there." Stinking and crowded, ravaged by djed, "I don't mind walkin', uh, elsewhere, but take your time." The navigator paused to tie back his sea foam-colored mane of hair, gathering it all into the closest semblance of a topknot as he could manage. He reached for his key, scowling at the worn away markings though the woman wouldn't see, "Didja want me t'wait outside?" He supposed he didn't need to ask, assuming her answer would be in the affirmative. Pash'nar worried, though, that if he was dismissed, he'd simply disappear instead—back to the sanctuary of his old casinor and out of the complications of interaction and decency.

[Sariana]

Sariana listened as he spoke, voice soft with its curious accent. She had made an absolute fool of herself, in front of an Ethaefal. Son of Leth. That explained his etherial appearance. Like a shard of moonlight fallen to the ground and made solid. There was something in his voice, a story not yet told - and apparently not to be told. Watching his sculpted back as the heaven-sent creature dried his hair, the drykas swallowed and looked away. Of course he didn't drink. He was born of the Gods.

Looking at herself, the woman realized that she hadn't washed the soap off her arms or shoulders in her haste to get out of the water. She didn't need to stay any longer, but she did want to get the soap off. As the Ethaefal talked of waiting outside, Sariana almost blurted out her answer a little to loudly.

"No!" Wincing, she smiled timidly.

"I mean, not at all. You can stay in here, I won't be staying. I just want to wash my arms and shoulders. Then we can go together." The drykas didn't want to have the man dissapear..not yet. He sparked her curiosity, and she felt that if he left her now, she would never see him again. And it would eat at her knowing she missed the oppertunity to walk with the offspring of a Deity. Dropping her towel and things, she quickly stepped into the water and bent over to wash the soap off her arms and shoulders, splashing it over her face quickly. Straightening, the warrior stepped out and dried herself off and wrapped the towel around her again, black hair curling ever so slightly now it was wet.

"After you." She said with a smile, shaking her key and gesturing to the lockers.

[Pash'nar]

The tall creature laughed at her response—nothing rude, just bemused and something more than a chuckle—one pale hand reaching to rub the back of his neck as if there was supposed to be something there, "Oh, aye." He muttered with an almost tangible lightness, staring at his toes with a hidden smile. It certainly wasn't that he didn't wish to drink, but as long as he was under Leth's gaze, that was his sustenance. Consuming anything while in his semblance of immortality only made him feel like he swallowed an anchor, as if none of the organs he knew his moonlit seeming contained seemed to function quite on mortal time. Well, most. He turned at the jingling of the woman's keys with a thin-lipped smirk, towel thoughtlessly over his shoulder as he followed her gesture. He held the door open for the Drykas, long arm bridging the space between them and the pale stone archway. Though his motivations were well-concealed selfishness—he squinted at the numbers on the front while carrying out his charade of kindness. It was the least he could do, of course. Especially if he had been wrong. Petch. Still, the ethaefal said nothing, choosing instead to follow the towel-clad Sariana at an estimated respectful distance—was there such a thing behind a woman in only a towel?—and briefly consider what kind of future trouble such misunderstandings could get him involved in. She would find out soon enough, really, that there was only so much of himself he could hide. "I'm o'er that way." Obsidian-tipped horns caught lamplight as he tilted his head in the direction of his locker, just for her information more than any particular information. It wasn't like hers was next to his, right? With that, he wandered off with a decidedly sea-worthy sort of swagger to hopefully find cleaned clothes in his locker. This made him nervous. How long had he been asleep? How long had the Drykas woman watched him? Did he say anything in his nightmare? His name? He sighed, leaning briefly against his locker before opening it, shaking away the lingering hauntings of his dreamscapes. Petching dreams. Fresh clothing indeed greeted him within his locker. They might as well have been smiling at him. He sighed a little, in inelegant delight, dressing with a visible slowness to relish the scent of cleanliness instead of the stench of the djed-ravaged city. He didn't entirely look forward to walking anywhere. Turning to lean against the lockers next to him, he set about retying his vambraces while awaiting his unlikely companion.

[Sariana]

Nodding to the tall creature, Sariana passed under a stoney pale arm and made her way to her own locker, across from the Ethaefal. As she opened the locker, she couldn't resist a glance at her card. The numbers were faded, awfuly so. Pursing her lips, she looked up at the door they had just come from, and back to the card. Pulling out her clothes, the brunette dressed in the midrif length leather corset top and asymetrical blood red skirt she had bought in Zeltiva before tugging on knee length leather riding boots. Shrugging on the shoulder guards that also served as her halter for her rapiers, the drykas slid her dual weapons back in their rightful place. Clasping her silver medallion collar-styled necklace in place the woman ran her hands through her thick long hair a few times to both brush and dry it a little.

Stealing glances at the horned being from time to time, Sariana found it curious he took such time getting dressed - not that she complained as her blue eyes roamed his chiselled form in a way that was sure to send lighting from the heavens to strike her down. Smiling to herself as she clothed, the warrior wondered what brought such a creature to the city anyway. It wasn't as though Syrilas was a glorious palace at this time, and the way he spoke of it earlier, she got the impression he didn't actually want to be outside.

Finally she turned, approaching the Ethaefal with her towel and her key. Offering him a warm smile, the saphirre eyed brunette bounced the key in her palm before walking past him towards the reception. Leaving the key and the towel with the clerk, she exited the baths into the cool night air. A breeze threw itself against her, swirling around her legs and through her black tresses. It tugged at her, before releasing the woman to dance around the man.

"Such a beautiful city one, now look at it." She said softly, shaking her head as she looked across the destruction again. The baths had at least washed away the stench of tragedy, but it was still here - waiting for them to exit.

"I cannot wait to leave this place ." The drykas said to herself, glancing away to look back at the man.