Closed A Lesson Exchange

[Keene Ward]

The moment Noven let his eyes close, Keene's jaw clenched, keeping himself from squeezing Noven's hand by moving the desire to crush something to his mouth. The pain wasn't unbearable; in a way, it filled him with a rush of excitement that counteracting the sear of the touch, mixing in his mind into an experience that was neither awful nor pleasurable, though he had to concentrate on not letting go and not crushing the hand he so firmly held. Still, he kept his eyes on Noven's pensive scowl, watching for any signs of realization as he had done before. From what he could tell, the exercise was working just about as well as it had without their hands connected, but Keene remained steady. Until Noven was ready to cease their attempts at him discovering his djed, Keene would do what he could to facilitate whatever learning was possible.

As he watched, he found himself focusing on things that weren't entirely conducive to his own investigations. First, it was Noven's breath. It filled his own ears with a frustrated but regular movement growing quieter. The familiarity hardly needed to be drawn been the present and the ragged, panting snarls of nights before. It made his heart race, beating against his chest with a strength he'd only thought to find in rage. Yet, it wasn't rage. It was something else, something warmer and more frantic. Keene forced himself to keep from lowering his eyes, to search more than just the man's face. It was something to take his mind off of the pain, and in a way, a matter of training for himself as well. Noven had intimated that, while there seemed to be passion, nothing between them could happen. Keene had agreed, and he wasn't one to break his word.

Yet it was so tempting. Everything about that man enticed him in ways he'd not thought possible. It was incredibly frustration, the disconnect between mind and body, and the perceived overpowering force of his more base desires. The reasons he abstained were quite clear, in fact, they were were kept him from acting, for breaking the social contract between them. He had never wanted anything so badly, and to have Noven so close, the warmth of his own hand pressed against his, was a torture both sweet and bitter at the same time. What he had thought to exhaust with fighting had only lasted until the moment he'd thrust himself back into the heat of problem. It wasn't unreasonable for the overwhelming feelings to resurface. In fact, it was quite understandable and even expected, yet, in a way, Keene had hopped that his weariness would have been enough to effectively "cure" him from such feelings that were so thoroughly alien to him.

It had been a false hope, of course, something that was as aggravating as it was reality. As long as Noven was there, in front of him, hand in his and - as strange as it was - his alluring scent filling his senses, there was no cure, there was no alleviation. Whatever afflicted him did so wholly and thoroughly. When Noven returned to Sunberth, Keene imagined that the conflicting amalgam of what was right and wrong and desired and detested would grow more manageable, as all things did, with time. He didn't want things to become manageable. He wanted Noven.

Keene's teeth had been clenched so long as so tightly, that when Noven spoke, it took several ticks for him to be able to move his mouth at all, which he managed to do with a quiet adjustment as he listened to the deep, uncertain timbre. From the sound of things, it seemed Noven had been - at the very least - partially successful in realizing his djed. While he doubted it was as intimate an understanding as he himself had, it seemed passable enough. From the way Noven described it, it was very much in the same manner that Keene experienced his own djed: specific emotions mixed with vague states of being or memories and intention. When he meditated on it, he could feel himself, all the minuscule aspects that made him who he was and who he was becoming. It was something he hadn't done in awhile, as he had changed so much over the past few seasons, meditation had grown more and more difficult - and it was never simple in the beginning.

Unconsciously, when Noven's eyes met his, Keene's hand gently squeezed the darkly veined back of Noven's own. "It sounds like you've found a part of yourself." Whether that self was to Noven's benefit or not, Keene couldn't be sure. He knew that to feel one's self change, to be changed, was not always the most uplifting of things. It had made him sensitive, whether others saw it in him or not. He felt things in his mind, in his body, and in his djed. To access such a resource did not come without its own foibles. Reluctantly, though his eyes remained both steady and stoic, Keene let his hand slip from Noven's, replacing it into his lap. He spoke calmly in spite of himself, Noven's success surprising but not necessarily unexpected. "Focus on that. On yourself. Feel the limits of your own body, the points at which your djed contains itself." Raising his hand to sit level with Noven's head, Keene gently set the tip of his pointer finger against Noven's forehead. "Press against this pressure. Rewrite the limits of your self." Atziri had used distraction techniques to draw out his own physical representation of his pure djed, but such things would only serve to distract the young man. Instead, he attempted to teach him in the manner in which he understood shielding: the calm and meditative nature of protection above all else.

He had moved through the lesson quickly, pushing Noven to do things that had taken him years to familiarize himself with. They had a limited amount of time to accomplish anything, and Keene reasoned if he could lay the groundwork as comprehensively - if not as quickly - as he could, it would then be up to Noven if he would purse the matter or not. "Move your self, not your body. Will what you are, who you are, to repel, to protect." The small point of connection was far more bearable, which only made the desire to pull Noven's face towards his all the more difficult to manage. His own mind very quickly and very calmly outlined the reasons and agreements. He kept himself under control, though his voice had a slight strain in it, less fluid than it had been before but only marginally so. He would take as long as Noven wanted to attempt to create a shield, after which point, Keene resolved to spend the next couple bells dedicated to solitary physical conditioning away from the object of his struggles to vent his frustrations, as they were beginning to affect more than just his heart.

[Noven]

A part of myself...

He'd come to understand, in the brief time they'd spent thus far answering what Nov had assumed to be a simple question of identity, that the outcome need not be whole or perfect. He had been so preoccupied by what he thought he was missing or what he didn't wish to find that the entire point of the exercise nearly escaped him. It didn't matter if he couldn't recall how his life had began or predict where it would end. It only mattered if he could see, right here, right now, where he was and who he had become.

There was a certain kind of peace to be found in this realization. It didn't mean all of his problems had been solved. Far from it, in fact, given the way Keene's gentle, reassuring squeeze sent his thoughts racing anew, the coolness of his touch chipping at Nov's hastily erected defenses every tick it lingered. But there was a measure of acceptance, now. A coming to terms after all the shykestorms last season had consisted of.

He opened his mouth halfway in protest as Keene withdrew his hand, then closed it shut again. The Initiate was now instructing him to focus on his new discovery and the physical limits within which his djed resided. Noven reeled his wayward thoughts back in, desperately trying to stay focused, and watched with a hint of consternation as Keene pressed a finger against his forehead. He resisted letting his eyes slide upward to try and inspect the perplexing spot of contact. It wouldn't do to look cross eyed during such a serious moment.

The Initiate's words were, as always, perfectly concise. All lean meat and not a drop of fat left on the pan. Noven understood them better this way, though. The instructions were simple and its more detailed mechanics left entirely up to him. Taking a slow breath, he closed his eyes once more and concentrated on the point of Keene's finger pressed against his forehead.

Nov had no qualms with exercises like these. It was just a matter of how long before his determination to throw himself at this problem over and over again until he somehow got it right outlasted his own patience.

The merc tried to keep his face as placid and smooth as his mentor's while he focused. He thought of the vague recognition he'd acquired of his djed, of how it must be flowing within his personal vessel of blood, flesh, and bone. There wasn't much else to compare it to so Nov used what little he knew, envisioning his djed to be a current of wispy mist, as he'd seen Keene's appear to be, occupying and shifting the spaces within his body. But how to free this strange, ambiguous substance? How was he supposed to somehow push away Keene's finger with something he couldn't even see?

If this had been a physical exercise like the one they'd just engaged in not half a bell ago, Nov was certain he'd be drenched in sweat again. Recognizing his djed had been one thing. Using it to do something as tangible as repel another person's flesh was another beast altogether. Gradually, he lost control over the mask of calm over his features, and both of his fists had curled against the fabric of his trousers in visible agitation.

It was hard. And harder still knowing that he fully understood what Keene was asking him to do, but he just had no idea how he was supposed to go about doing it. The Sunberthian tackled the issue again and again. First by imagining his djed could somehow be expanded beyond his skin, like an ever growing bubble. But that had failed to produce any noticeable results. And it had also felt stupid. Picturing a man sized bubble oozing out of himself was neither the most graceful nor empowering imagery he could subject himself to. Next, he tried willing his djed to bear some sort of shape, to become a little protrusion out of his skull and distance Keene's finger like some kind of miniature, invisible buffer. But that had failed, too, and chafed even more at his battered dignity. What was he doing, trying to turn himself into some kind of horned creature?

The merc was burning himself out and he knew it. All of that exertion before was starting to take its toll, on top of the intense soul searching he'd so agonizingly and recently crawled out of.

Move my self...not my body...will who I am...to repel, to protect....

It was damnably difficult trying to repel something you were inexplicably drawn toward, to protect yourself against something you felt no threat from, except maybe on your sanity. The ants were back again in full force, crawling up and down his limbs and neck, making his heart pound with the effort of ignoring them, and it was all Noven could do not to leap up and shake off the invisible invaders like a madman.

The horn idea, however, did make some unexpected leeway. It had failed, but it led his mind to try and think more in the veins of barriers and buffer zones. If he could just somehow use his djed like some kind of wedge between his forehead and Keene's finger, then that ought to count as repelling.

Right, right, he coached himself mentally. Just think of it as distance. In all honesty, it wasn't much different from what they had been doing in the physical world. Avoiding one another, giving each other time and space to think and cope and bottle up their feelings as best they could. It was a sad thought, Noven realized. He couldn't in that moment put to words just why exactly it made him feel bitter, but it was a depressing thought and an even more despairing distraction.

Focus! the merc renewed his efforts, channeling all of his will and concentration into shoving forth just enough of his djed to distance Keene's finger. He combined both his bubble and barrier idea. Pushed what he imagined to be a small sphere of his ephemeral self out of his skull and through the layer of flesh to meet that of Keene's. For a tick, it felt like it might have worked. Perhaps just the barest smidgen of resistance may have rose to meet the Initiate's solid fingertip. The trails of ants had turned into a veritable army by now and were crawling through his insides now, driving him to the point of screaming. Nov swore he could feel one actually creep into his nose. It was most likely an errant bit of dust or grass carried by a passing breeze, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was alive in there, running amok where it had no business to be running.

No, no, no...focus! Don't give in now, I'm almost there...I can feel it pushing....

He couldn't hold it in anymore. The urge was overwhelming and irresistible. There was no stopping it once the pain built up between his eyes and burned liquid fire down the bridge of his nose.

Noven sneezed. Suddenly and violently. All concentration utterly destroyed.

"Godsdammit!" he swore, rubbing furiously at his face. "I was so godsdamned close! Piss shyke...petching...fuck. Agghh.."

Hands clutching his hair, Nov fell backwards against the prickly grass and arid dirt, inciting even more agitation to his infuriated state. He cursed himself, vividly, vehemently, until there were no more creative combinations he could think of.

By the time the Sunberthian was sitting up straight again to face his companion, his back was half coated in dusty earth and his hair harboring bits of dirt and grass within its unruly folds. "I think we can call it a morning, Keene," he admitted shamefully. "I don't know how much more magic I can handle."

Or more like, he didn't know how much more magical and mental constipation he could handle. But his current state was mortifying enough and there was no reason to crush what little remained of his ego.

Reaching an arm around to brush away some of the itchy debris still clinging to him, Nov glanced around them for a tick.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," he finally blurted, after trying--and failing--to rephrase what he was about to say into something more tactful,"But uh...I think we're both going to need a bath."

[Keene Ward]

Again, Keene watched carefully what Noven did. This time, however, it was a different kind of search. His eyes were fixed - for reasons both related to the lesson had his own, strict management of his attentions - on where his finger met the warmth of Noven's slightly saturated forehead. He still remembered what his first shield had looked like and how transient in nature it had appeared. As Noven's temporary instructor, it was his task to verify any and all progression of skill. Having never taught anyone a magic before - and one he himself was only just beginning to understand -, Keene had little idea whether Noven needed more time before he would be able to even think about creating a shield. Whatever the matter, Keene's gaze burned in their unwavering hold upon the specific spot while he felt Noven's face shift from a stifled calm to a gradually more and more frustrated bought of facial acrobatics.

As with everything that seemed to involve Noven since the day they'd met, Keene's well formed and practiced plans strayed. Specifically his eyes. They drifted from his finger - which was held steady - down over Noven's contorted features set in frustration and concentration to his clenched hands. He traced the dark, branching veins on the hand he had revealed only ticks before. Their pulse was rapid, reflecting the amount of strain Noven's warring mind placed on his body. They were strange, but not unattractive. In fact, they were as alluring as any other part of Noven, if not more so than others. There was a peculiar flash of a specific sort of imagery that sent a warm shiver of pleasure to the lower half of his own body. Frowning, Keene quickly flicked the thought from his mind, and forced his eyes away from where he knew the memory existed in the flesh back to Noven's forehead.

His cheeks were gently flushed with a frustrated pink as he returned his attention to the point of the exercise. His self-control was just another thing he added to the impressive list of why Noven's departure was something that couldn't arrive soon enough. The list, however long, still didn't seem to be enough to dissuade him from doing exactly what he knew he shouldn't. The point of pressure where his finger met Noven wasn't enough. He wanted to press himself against the other man, to lose himself in passion he'd never felt before once more. Alternatively, he wanted to end the lesson. He wanted to gain enough power to achieve a point of existence that didn't require purpose. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. Instead of stopping the thoughts, Keene threw all of his desires, both logical and superficial, on top of those that had to do with Noven, frowning at the realization that the majority of them revolved around what he was trying to occlude.

Fortunately, his internal struggle was given an external event to halt the war with a surprised revelation. Directly beneath his finger with a radius of about the length of his thumb, Noven's skin glimmered for a brief tick. Had Keene not been intentionally looking for it, he would have thought it merely a sheen of the partially dried sweat on Noven's body. Leaning in some, Keene's brow knit in investigation. He wanted to keep Noven's concentration in tact, which meant any indication that there had been any sort of progress was kept to himself. The more he thought about it, the less he imagined he'd been expecting Noven to succeed. Mella had always been frustrated that Keene had not been a "natural" at magic, which had always left a gap in his understanding of life: the naturally gifted mage. Whether Noven was one or not, Keene hadn't expected a "natural" be quite so... Noven.

There was a strange shiver of Noven's features, something like panic shadowing his face which signaled Keene's head to draw back away from him just in time to avoid being sneezed on. As Noven rocked forward a slight amount from the forceful exhalation, Keene drew his hand back from his forehead, setting it into his lap as he stared impassively at the other man broke down in a furious string of expletives and generally derogatory statements. He refrained from correcting Noven in his plight to inform him that he had indeed created a shield of his own, as the frustrated string of words proved to be far more educational that it might could have been. Mella had cursed quite a bit throughout his life, but there were things Noven said he'd never heard before - or at least not quite in the arrangements the young man employed. "Ass-fucking-shyke-sucking-cock-rock in sister-petching-dick-shit" was by far one of the most interesting combinations. While he had little intention of repeating anything that was said, he imagined many of the things he heard to be a sort of "once in a life time" event.

When Noven had finally shouted himself dry and drew himself back into a slumped seated position, Keene's eyes flicked over the flecks and specks of nature that had found their way into the dark, unruly locks of Noven's hair. He looked quite wild, and the disappointed, defeated appearance of his features made him seem similar to the vagrants that occasionally plagued the Zeltivan markets. It seemed he had reached his limit, and the words he spoke immediately after Keene's deduction solidified it as fact. Nodding slowly, Keene rose to his feet, moving over to where he'd left his shirt and Noven's jacket before gathering them up and padding back to where his companion remained seated. Handing him the proper article of clothing, Keene slipped the shirt back over his shoulders, the fabric catching on the now sticky skin of his torso that had yet to dry in the oppressive humidity of the island.

In his cool, quiet tone, he addressed his student as such for the last time for the time being, eyes regarding him with a small light that was about as close to amusement as Keene ever got. "You made a shield. Everything else is now up to you." He proceeded to undue his belt, loosening his britches to calmly slip the hem of his shirt into a neat tuck. Once that was done, the buckle was set back into place, and his fingers re-laced the "v" of the shirt's collar. Noven had remained silent after Keene's final instruction, though there seemed to be something on his mind.

When he did speak, again - for what seemed like the hundredth time - Noven surprised him. Caught off guard, Keene replied without thinking, parroting the most unexpected of what Noven said in a brisk, "A bath?" He blinked several times, before it registered that between the two of them, there was a definite odor of sweat and dirt. Keene, for one, wasn't bothered by it, but if Noven found it to be a problem, he wasn't one to argue the matter. He cleaned himself on a regular basis, though it had been seasons since he'd last had a proper bath. The prospect of what he supposed had unintentionally become a luxury wasn't particularly alluring, but he nodded anyway. The Palsa Hydrasa had been described to him as a "nuit spa", which was painfully lacking detail but seemed the best fit for a place to bathe. He imagined Noven wanted to clean himself - and for Keene to clean himself as well - and not to bathe in the mudpools. Allowing Noven to take his time to rise and join him, Keene started back across the prairie and towards the citadel in the lead. "I believe I know where we can get one."

oocIf you want to have them chat on the way back, just let me know and take that last paragraph as the end of this post!

He'd never been inside of the Palsa Hydrasa before, and as he and Noven stepped inside, the beauty of the place was far more than he had been expecting. Compared to the quarters or the Gug Andjak, the Palsa Hydrasa was a palace - in fact, compared to anywhere that Keene had ever stepped into it was a palace. The elegantly tiled mosaics, the artistic depictions of creatures and people past, the sleek, decadent artistry of the entire structure all met his vision at once. Blinking, Keene glanced down at the water that filled the majority of the room, the thin but comfortably appropriate walkways that lined the sides of the area led off towards different areas forming a frame for what was one of the largest baths he'd ever seen. The water was still, a perfect, glossy sheet of glass that sat calm in the silence that was broken by the soft tapping of their boots against the tile.

Though there was no one in sight, a voice sounded, bouncing through the room with a feminine clearness as a click of a woman's step could be heard from behind one of the arches. When she appeared, she was a elegantly dressed as the room itself, dark blue hues accented with a bright greens and golds wrapped about the slender body of a young woman, eyes accented by eyeshadows blue and green, a slight sparkle to her skin from the light that was cast off of the pool's surface. Her lips were curled in an amused smile as her eyes searched the two faces of her new arrivals. "Keene Ward and guest?" A flash of white presented itself as she revealed her teeth in a moment of mirth before she continued. "What can Amaryllis of the Palsa Hydrasa do for the two of you today?"

At the sound of his name, Keene frowned. He'd never met the woman before him, and the fact that he had not needed to introduce himself made him feel a bit wary. Still, she was friendly enough - though the intensity of her searching gaze did serve to keep a firm grip on his cautiousness -, and Keene replied with a slight bow. "Master Amaryllis-"

"Just Amaryllis will do." The amusement in her voice had died some, a subtle hardness taking its place.

Nodding, Keene continued. "We..." He glanced at Noven, unsure whether to speak for him or not. "Require a bath."

A wide grin graced the woman's features as a her brows raised. "Is that so?" The question seemed rhetorical, so Keene simply stared back at her in his passive gaze. "Well then," A grand gesture was made towards the pool as Amaryllis gave the two of them a mock bow, "Please make use of the facilities as you see fit." The manner in which she said the words implied that there were ways to bathe oneself outside of washing, something that Keene was able to pick up on but not piece together. "Once the two of you have finished, I'll be in my office with your clothes. You can pay me then." After her brief explanation, she folded her arms expectantly.

While she was all the way on the other side of the pool, it seemed she intended for the two of them to remove their clothing and hand them to her before they were to get into the water. Unsure whether to disrobe first and hand over the clothes second, or to walk across the single path that split the pool in half and undress himself directly in front of her before handing over his clothes, Keene remained where he was for about a tick before removing his shirt. As with most things, he was efficient with his movements, and in slightly more than a chime, he stood naked with clothes in one hand and vambrace and boots in the other. The sound of his bare feet against the smooth tile filled the room as he made his way over to outstretched hand of the Palsa Hydrasa's caretaker. Placing his belongings in her arms, Keene turned back towards Noven and waited beside the woman. Between the two of them: entertained grin and blank stare, the pair made for quite the scene. Certainly not the typical bath house, though everything on Sahova seemed to be that way.

[Noven]

Nov had been surprised to hear those four simple words from Keene. It was hard to understand at first, to wrap his head around. To believe he'd really done it.

Krysus. Magic, of all things. He'd just done magic. The entire thing scarce seemed possible but there he was, sitting in the middle of barren wilderness, the Initiate's words of confirmation still echoing on and on in his head. Never in a thousand years would Noven had imagined himself finding any real interest in magic, let alone attempting to learn it. It was unprecedented. Completely unplanned for amongst his many grim reasons for coming to this island. But, he realized, there were a lot of firsts and unforeseen events being tied to his visit. And the Sunberthian had to admit it felt rather thrilling, opening himself to something new and foreign and not having it backfire with bloody vengeance.

Pulling his crumpled shirt back over his head, Nov mulled over this new development in silence for all of maybe ten ticks before his weary mind gave up. The humid weather made everything cling to his skin and he was fairly certain he looked and smelled more animal than man.

It would be best to wait, he decided, until they were at the baths before asking Keene what he'd meant about the rest being up to Nov. The merc figured it would make for a good point of focus and conversation, should things get...distracting. It was a real concern with doubly real consequences. He'd considered foregoing the baths altogether and figuring out some other way to wash himself of the morning's exertions. Some way that didn't involve both of them being stark naked in an enclosed space together. But Keene had access to places the merc simply did not, and any reasonably clean water Nov did find he'd rather save for drinking.

So it was that with a quick tug of his glove and scooping of his jacket in one arm later, he was following the Initiate once more. Only this time it was through a different backdrop and under much less strenuous circumstances.

Little talking occurred during their jaunt back to the citadel. Neither one of the men was inclined toward chattiness, which suited Noven just fine. He was too tired and too bewildered by his own achievements that day, painful as they had been to attain, to think of much else to say. He did manage to ask Keene at some point where exactly they were going, to which the Initiate had replied in his usual, economical manner, that it was a Nuit spa called Palsa Hydrasa. Nov wasn't sure he enjoyed the idea of bathing in a place catered to corpses, but he trusted his guide, and so to the Nuit spa they went.

By the time they had finally arrived and set foot within the Palsa Hydrasa, the merc was too busy ogling at all of the luxurious decor to remember why he'd felt any reservations about this place to begin with. The man had never seen such elegant decadence in his life. He never even knew tiles of such deep blue and shimmering gold could exist, their overall effect on a slumdog like himself grand beyond description. He wondered if they'd been crafted wih magic.

Noven was so awestruck by the majesty of the place that he hesitated venturing any farther. Opulence of this level was enough to make any Sunberthian feel out of place. He felt almost as if he wouldn't be allowed inside, being as scruffy and dirty and foreign as he was.

But before he could question his presence in earnest, a woman in colors even more elaborate than the ones decorating the walls and floor appeared, addressing them both as Keene Ward and guest. Nov stared at her for as long as he dared, trying to decide whether she was a corpse or not. It was hard to tell, given how much cosmetics and finery she seemed to be wearing, but if this Amaryllis did happen to be another Nuit, she was one of the livelier ones he'd seen thus far.

The woman knew Keene, but it was not a mutual condition. When the Initiate glanced at Nov in uncertainty, the merc returned the gesture with a baffled stare of his own, even more at a loss as to how they should answer. Fortunately, his companion was able to speak for them both.

Nov squinted just a fraction at Amaryllis's response. What did she mean, use the facilities as they saw fit? This was a bath house, as far as he could tell, and they were paying for a bath. How many other ways--

No sooner had he thought this than Keene began taking off his clothes, piece by piece, in methodical precision. Shyke...they were supposed to remove their clothes here? In front of this richly dressed woman, just like that? He had his mouth open part way, but the questions died in his throat as his companion walked, naked, over to Amaryllis to hand over his clothes. Then Keene turned around and waited, the orb lights all around the edges of the bath casting a soft, ephemeral glow against his pale skin.

Noven felt a prickle of nervous discomfort in the handful of ticks that followed. Both Amaryllis and Keene were facing him now, waiting expectantly. The woman's amused expression was hard to miss, even from a distance, while Keene's remained stoically devoid of emotion. Nov wasn't sure which made him more anxious.

Well petch. He had little choice in the matter and he knew it. Deciding the best route would be to get it over with as quick as possible, the man set to stripping. He wasn't nearly as calm and efficient as Keene had been, but there was a practiced speed to his methods as well, and whatever grace he lacked he made up for in plenty of concentrated force. In less than half a chime he had bundled his clothes and boots in both hands. Holding the unwieldy clump over his groin in a poor attempt at modesty, Nov made his way toward the two as casually as he could manage and, exhaling through his nose, placed it all in Amaryllis's arms.

He was flustered and the feeling irritated him, but the man gave no sign he acknowledged it. Instead, Nov shot his companion a vague look of readiness before he stepped up to the edge of the glass-like pool and peered down into its mosaiced depths. Something was strange about this water. It was too still, like it was not entirely as fluid as it should be. Lowering himself to sit on the tiles, he placed a hand inside to test it and his brow rose in surprise.

"This water..." he murmured, his voice filling the space with a strange, cottony resonance. "It feels...thick."

Nov craned his neck back at Amaryllis. "What's wrong with it?"

[Keene Ward]

Keene found Noven's act of disrobing to be far more pleasing that he had anticipated. Though the man was quite obviously uncomfortable, the reveal of skin in whatever hurried for it took sparked a heat in Keene's chest. He averted his eyes, not for modesty, but in a grasp for control over his more involuntary bodily functions. He imagined Noven would find the entire situation all the more questionable if Keene were to display his desires so blatantly, whether he acted upon them or not.

Instead, he let the sound of Noven's bare-footed stomp fill the room, using the sounds to determine how close his companion was. Once it had stopped and he heard the exchange of clothing, Keene glanced up at Noven's face - and only his face - to nod in confirmation that he too was prepared to enter into the placid waters of the baths. Following suit, Keene slipped his legs into the tepid water, find the temperature a comfortable, neutral sort that was surprisingly more soothing than a refreshing chill or sizzling heat. Noven stopped short of easing his entire body into the waters, instead dipping a hand into it before asking his question. Keene, on the other hand, sank down to the bottom, letting the waters rise up and over his shoulders as he let a slow, calm exhale leave through his nose to ripple the liquid that was only a small distance downwards.

"What's wrong with it?" Amaryllis gave Noven an arched brow of condescension and contempt. "If you don't want a bath, get out." Turning, she headed back towards the way she'd come, both Noven and Keene's belongings in tow. "Otherwise, you might want to be a little more gracious to your hosts, Wild Boy." Her voice echoed throughout the tiled room as the clicking clack of her shoes faded down the hall, leaving the two of them alone for the time being.

Keene slowly moved his hands through the water, pointedly keeping his eyes focused ahead of him and away from where the pleasant heat of Noven's body pressed against him even through their short distance apart. Seeing as there was plenty of room, and the closer he was the Noven, the more difficult managing himself became, Keene languidly shuffled away from the dark haired man as he looked back at Amaryllis's disappearing figure. As he moved, he found that the waters were indeed thicker that he was accustomed to, though he had never been one for swimming, so he was far too unfamiliar with water in such a quantity as to judge it right or wrong. He doubted the water was entirely water. They were on Sahova, after all. Still, whatever had been added (or potentially taken away) left the liquid with an almost tingling, restorative property that made the small scrapes and cuts on his body dull their protests as he moved about.

It had been a long while since he'd last had a proper bath. With his magic, he could create water, and the island had enough storms that, if need be, he could stand outside of the cave and wash himself in the downpours. To be able to, for the most part, submerge himself fully in the questionably augmented waters of the Palsa Hydrasa, Keene found the experience far more pleasant than he had at first anticipated. Noven's presence served to make things all the more enjoyable, though only in theory as Keene continued to avoid whatever contact he could with the man.

He had a difficult enough time maintaining control over himself when they were wearing clothes. Stark naked with nothing but water between them, Keene doubted his capabilities to - at the very least - maintain a neutral composure of body, let alone keep himself from pressing up against- He stopped the thought by sinking down below the water, shutting his eyes and pulling his body downwards to sit on the tiled floor beneath. The water closed over his head, pressing against his skin and soaking his hair in the few ticks he remained submerged. While under the water, Keene reminded himself that Noven had requested a bath to clean himself, not to participate in foolish - and equally agreed upon frivolous and detrimental - acts that had begun to spring to mind. The entire point of the past bells had been to rid himself of both frustration and desire. Keene refused to let the work go to waste.

Letting his head break through the now gentle ripple of the water's surface, his grey green eyes stared at Noven, calmly - though there was a tinge of effort there - regarding him. "The water is..." He blinked, letting his gaze flick down to the subject of his current, verbalized though for a few ticks before glancing back. "Nice." There were many descriptors he could have chosen, but "safe" and "non-altering" were not either he could have said with confidence in their truthfulness, so instead, he chose the more colloquially suited "nice". For one such as Keene, it was the closest he could get to reassurance of another's fears.

Having never been to a public bath house in Zeltiva, Keene was entirely unaware of the procedures, customs, and practices of such things. He assumed both parties simply bathed themselves as they might alone, though he had no frame of reference to support that theory. As far as he could tell, one bathed while the other watched - which in and of itself was something he wasn't adverse to, though he imagined when it came his turn to watch, he'd have to distract himself with something other than the act of observation. As the best way to discover facts was to ask questions, Keene addressed Noven in his cool, matter of a fact tone, his voice soft but easily carrying over the small ripples of the water cast by his breathing. "How does a bath like this work, exactly?" Finding the question lacking, Keene frowned just slightly before stating a small addition to the question. "Do I wash you, or do we wash ourselves?"

There was no seduction in his voice, no unspoken desire that he wished to lay his hands upon Noven's worthy muscles or any of the like. Of course, that lust was there, but it only played faintly in Keene's eyes as the majority of the gaze was dedicated to the muted, earnest curiosity that came with new experiences and understandings. He had been charged with watching over the Scars, and one of the things he had taken as part of that directive was to do what he could to be as obliging as possible. The island was a difficult place for the living and the unliving alike. If baths were something the man was accustomed to, he figured it was best to defer to his knowledge rather than to act on his own baseless assumptions. Still, Keene remained a distance from Noven as he waited for the response. His eyes never wavering from the man's face, a small, unspoken statement of his resolve to keep things, as they had both decided, uninvolved.

oocSorry this took me so long! D:

[Noven]

The Sunberthian met Amaryllis's scornful words with a hard little smile that held neither warmth nor amusement. He'd been on the receiving end of such prideful comments all his life. Most jabs against his person were hard pressed to puncture his rather thick skin, but this particular brand of snobbery left the journey between calm and furious relatively short.

Fortunately for everyone present, their peacock of a hostess left as quickly as she had appeared, the clicking of her heels fading with each step as she left both customers to their bathing.

Noven stared at the viscous looking water for another tick before pushing the rest of his body in. It came up just short of his shoulders, cocooning him in surprisingly pleasant warmth. Beside him, Keene showed far less reservation over the water, submerging himself up to his neck before moving out to venture farther along the pool.

In contrast, Nov stayed very, very still. It was a rare sensation, being naked in thick, Nuity water, and he couldn't decide whether he enjoyed it more than he was suspicious of it. The man wasn't much for swimming. His experiences were limited to paddling back to the docks like a dog after being thrown off the Bay as a prank. And ever since their mystery brew debacle, he had been doubly suspicious of everything on the island. For damned good reason.

But, as always, Nov looked to Keene to gauge how to proceed, feeling for all the world like a duckling flopping into the water after its mother. When the top of the Initiate's head disappeared under the surface, there was a moment of irrational unease. Where did he go? How long could he hold his breath in this strange liquid? Nov knew his worries were unfounded, but he just didn't like knowing something was there and not being able to see it. Though he wasn't the type to be mistaken for fanciful or imaginative, his mind found it hard not to get carried away when it came to a pool designed specifically for the dead.

A mere, few ticks later Keene's head resurfaced, making Nov feel foolish for his misgivings. This was just water, the merc told himself...a bit strange and suspicious and goopy, but water all the same. He could sense Keene staring at him, though, and met the other man's gaze with a questioning one of his own.

They'd been silent for some time after Amaryllis's departure and it was surprising to hear Keene's voice echo against the slick tiles. Even more so to hear the Initiate admitting that the water felt nice.

"It is," Nov affirmed, still unused to the way his voice seemed to fill up the spacious room. "It's, uh...comfortable, like sitting in a bowl of soup."

What stupid shyke just came out of my mouth? The merc immediately clamped down on his own tongue. But the damage was done, lingering in the air as it reverberated from tile to tile, and Nov did his best to pretend it wasn't him who had just compared a Nuit spa to something as mundane as a pot of stew. He scooped some of the water in his cupped hands and splashed it against his face. Partly for cleansing, and partly for distraction.

Alas, his efforts were in vain, because Keene was far more preoccupied with other concerns. Namely, how public bathing worked and whether one of them was supposed to wash the other.

Noven tried not to sputter through the water dripping down his face and wiped at it with one hand. He could have asked something crude and mildly derisive, like "what, have you never had a bath before or something?" But it sounded far too similar to Amaryllis's most recent comments for his liking. And to be perfectly fair, he was no expert on the subject either, having only made a dozen or so trips to a public bath house in his life time. The couple who ran the hot springs were nice enough, but Nov never learned how to feel safe being naked and half submerged in water, surrounded by men he didn't know. He also didn't know if he'd be able to control himself if he caught sight of any of the other bathers sporting a crimson tattoo of a dagger and thorns upon their breasts. Most of the time he bathed with Isme or abandoned the trouble altogether.

"Well," Nov began, "usually people wash themselves cause they don't know each other. Some just get in, get the job done, and get out. Other folk like to relax and talk a little."

He let the echoes of his voice run their course for a moment, feeling ever aware of his comparative gregariousness. The bath house had a strange ability to amplify and muffle things at the same time. Their voices sounded louder, yet also cotton-like to the merc's ears. Across from him, Keene remained some distance apart, the physical effort to remain impersonal evident. Nov still struggled to separate that fateful night's events with present reality, but it was petching difficult, the details always getting mixed with his moods and thoughts like ink spilled into water.

The words came out before he could stop himself. "But I, um...got quite a bit of dirt and shyke on me after I--after our lesson." He was going to say after he had thrown a full fledged fit after botching his efforts with something as trivial as a sneeze, but he figured Keene knew well enough what he meant.

"That is...I probably need some help getting my back. And you probably do...too..."

Nov sank lower into the water, not quite sure why his impulses kept besting him turn after turn. He looked around and saw there were some soaps and towels in compartments along the walls. The two of them probably needed more than just a simple soaking. Only problem now was how to retrieve the necessary supplies without having to beach himself onto the pool like some kind of miniature whale.

Turning his eyes back toward Keene, he added, his voice slightly muted with his face being so near the water, "Only if you don't mind, of course."

[Keene Ward]

The sound of Noven's voice, even in its uncertainty, sent a little shiver down Keene's back. The reverberation of the tone about the room, however muffled the echo, made the other man seem all the more present. The words weren't quite as soothing, and Keene blinked back with a blank stare, grey-green eyes catching Noven's murky amber for a moment before the darker man splashed water over his face to avoid further discussion of the analogy. Instead, Keene started down at the water gently moving his hands back and fourth in small motions as he contemplated the water's "soup"ness. It seemed thicker than regular water, but Keene hadn't taken a true bath in quite a while. For all he knew, he'd just sort of forgotten what a large mass of water was like. As far as soup went, however, Keene didn't quite get the analogy. He figured it was because the water was warm and soup was... also warm.

Keene's question seemed to get Noven flustered, though over the short period in which they'd known each other, it seemed it didn't take much for Keene to have that effect on the other man. His explanation was confusing. If people washed themselves, there didn't seem a point for a public bath at all. While it was certainly more spacious, a bath could be much more simply taken in a small tub in own's own home. The gregarious nature of those who relaxed and conversed seemed a more reasonable way for the public baths to operate. A darker tint had taken up the lower half of Noven's face and ran a blushing line over his nose and cheeks. Keene's lips turned slightly down into a frown, his typical expression of muted confusion. He and Noven knew each other, which was a scenario Noven hadn't explicitly addressed. It seemed, however, there was something else his companion had to say, and he allowed himself to draw a bit closer, as Noven's voice had begun to grow a bit more indistinct.

At the proposition, once it was understood which took the entirety of Noven's words before it clicked in Keene's mind, he felt a hot rush flash under his skin. "I-" Clearing his throat, Keene followed Noven's gaze towards where the soaps and towels sat neatly stored within the walls that he'd managed to not notice prior before finding his eyes locked with the dark, uncertain gaze before him. "I don't mind." There was a strain in his voice that had not been there previously, and Keene felt his body respond to the situation with tension of its own. He backed away a few waterlogged paces, carefully pulling in air between his lips and out his nose. It took about a half chime before he was in a better state to go retrieve the toiletries, as it seemed Noven didn't have the immediate intention of procuring them himself. It wasn't a problem for the pale young man, not once he was in a bit more control of his frustratingly reflexive bodily functions, and it took little time for him to reach the edge of the pool.

The tiles that lined the waters were a bit higher up than he had at first thought, making his departure from the soothing bath a more problematic endeavor than it had seemed a few ticks ago. Frowning down at the smooth, ornate tiles, Keene gripped the edges and made a sort of hop, pushing his body up into the air and out of the water, at least to the point where his arms were supporting his weight, which allowed him to swing a leg out and around to find purchase on the cool ceramics before finally rising up to stand dripping on the side of the pool. The maneuver had been a fair toss away from graceful, but his physical training had paid off enough that Keene did not appear quite the gangling mess of legs and arms he had been prior to his time on Sahova. Moving as quietly and unobtrusively as he could, Keene's saturated steps filled the otherwise silent hall with a slapping sound as he made his way over to the soaps.

In Zeltiva, they had had soap - singular. Before him, there were a number of different kinds of soap. None were labeled, but some were dyed and many more were scented differently. There were other liquids in vials and bottles that Keene avoided. He wasn't necessarily the most wary of Sahova's inhabitants when it came to being adventurous, but the morphing ale was still prominently at the forefront of his mind, and mystery liquid in crystal vials wasn't something he was quite ready to explore. Instead, he decided on a small, brownish block that smelled faintly of pine with a gentle undertone of something sweet. They all smelled sweet, but the one he gripped in hand seemed the least floral. Flowers had never quite been his favorite scent, and he saw no reason to subject himself to it if he didn't have to. As for the towels, Keene gingerly procured two, as well as a small hand towel, before turning around to head back into the water.

He moved without modesty, his hands full and - to his reasoning - his body only rinsed. Covering himself would only serve to make the clean towels dirty, which would warrant another, slightly shivering journey back to where the towels were kept. If the price of only using two towels was to be paid through exposure, Keene had little issue paying it. Setting the two larger towels down near the edge of the pool a good distance from the mess of water he'd left in his struggle to return to solid ground, Keene then slipped back into the comfortably warm waters, soap and smaller towel in hand. He paused then, blinking down at the soap, the to Noven, then back to the soap, a frown starting on his face again. He'd never bathed someone else before.

Slowly, Keene approached the tanned figure of the man he'd spent the better part of his visit purposefully avoiding. It was more than he could handle, physiologically, but his position behind Noven made the change unnoticeable. Keene had never had the strange, burning feelings in the pit of his stomach and patter of his heart as he did in that moment. Noven's scent was heavy the closer Keene got to him, gently moving through the water in a slow motion walk due to the liquid's natural drag. Sweat mixed with the rich, heady aroma that drew Keene ever closer. There was a spiciness to it, mixed in with the off-sweet scent of sweat and and earthy addition of dirt. Before he could stop himself, Keene had gingerly brushed his cheek against the back side of Noven's head, lips brushing neck before he pulled himself back, hand tightly clenching the soap and towel. Again, he cleared his throat, voice soft but strained. "S-sorry."

There was a pause of a few ticks before Keene very carefully set his hand on Noven's shoulder. His right hand, in its numbness, dulled the pain of the contact to an easily bearable point, making it more of an irritation than anything else. There was the added benefit of the jump in his heartbeat the moment his fingers brushed against the muscled skin; his slightly chilled touch met the warm body with little change in sensation to Keene, but it didn't change that he knew exactly what that body felt like. His own body was fully aware of the sensations that that single touch rekindled, and Keene found the washing of backs to be much more convenient than if it had been faces or stomachs - especially stomachs. His other hand held soap and towel, the latter wrapped around the prior, soaking in the water and his grip to allow the fabric to absorb the suds to an extent. Though he moved with steady determination, his hand was perhaps gripped a bit tighter on Noven's shoulder, and the gentle, circular motion of the soapy towel that he ran over Noven's back was - at times - a bit more erratic than it might should have been.

The amount of control it took not to press himself up against Noven, breathe in the aroma of his hair or nuzzle into the crook of his neck was entirely consuming. It wasn't until Keene had made considerable progress on the washing process that he noticed the odd markings that marred the chocolate tan of Noven's back. The image - or perhaps mar from birth or combat - was a distraction, and Keene was loathe to let it pass away without allowing it to provide him even the smallest of respites from a constant bombardment of his own mind with a screaming repeat of the agreement the two of them had come to. At first, his words moved through clenched teeth, requiring him to pause and draw a careful breath before trying once more. "This mark on your back... W-What is it?" His eyes had slipped the strong, muscular curve of Noven's backside, something that typically would not have carried with it anything more than the logical deduction that it was, indeed, the buttocks; with Noven, however, it brought back a very vivid depiction of those same muscles tensed and pressing, pushing, sweating, kissing- Keene clenched his jaw, fingers shaking slightly as he spoke again. "It looks like soup." He said it without thinking at all, the word "soup" only coming to mind as it had been such a prominent point of confusion only chimes prior.

The stupidity of the statement, however, was entirely lost on him. He was far too focused on washing Noven's back with his hands rather than the unnerving urge to do so with his tongue to bother with analyzing what he had just said. Perhaps his decision to perform such a service to Noven with their prior history had not been one of his most wise moves. In fact, in that moment, it felt as though it had been one his most foolish. He was very quickly learning that while the extents of his self-control were impressive, they were becoming less and less impressive - it had almost become an effort to remember to breathe.

[Noven]

He just stood there, hunched in the warmth and limited obscurity of spa water like some kind of stubborn mollusk, not wanting to haul himself back out into sopping wet exposure, yet eager to get this bathing business over with nonethless. Just stood and watched, unashamed of his momentary cowardice. Wondering what the Initiate would do next.

Nov could see his suggestion had renewed the strain in Keene's voice and frame, though to his own surprise he felt neither regret nor unease for causing it. Just fierce, unexplainable curiosity. A part of him knew that it was tied to the night they had spent in the mountains, to those half blurred memories and fading marks of passion they'd shared. He was almost as afraid as he was itching to know. Afraid that both the ale and mushrooms had played a larger part than either was willing to admit, and burning to find out the truth for himself all the same. There was so much he didn't understand about what lay between them, about what lay between...between men in general and the like...if things would even be the same now than the two of them had been properly restored, and if things weren't, how either would handle the brutal truth.

All of which simply remained unanswered.

Brewing with too many emotions to count, Nov huddled silently in one spot, watching the Initiate trail toward the edge of the pool with slow but steady movements. Pale skin glided through water of deepest blue, causing ripples to fan out over the glassy surface and lap against Nov's darker form like tiny waves. The Sunberthian couldn't say why he didn't look away when Keene hoisted himself up and over the tiles. Nor could he discern if what he felt was merely appreciation or...something else. He only knew that while he normally wouldn't given two figs over what another man looked like under his clothes or pushing himself vigorously out of a bath, he was certainly getting an eyeful now.

Dark eyes tracked the other man as he walked up to the compartment of soaps and began to examine a few. It wasn't the first time Noven had seen his Sahovian companion naked as the day he was born. But somehow, it was different this time. His gaze lingered longer than it had before while his mind struggled to process what he was seeing and what he was feeling, taking in the dripping sight of Keene's trim form with growing confusion. He could respect the man's discipline, even admire the resulting haleness of his body, but if he took a step farther into that alien territory he could swear he almost felt--

Keene turned to face the pool once more and this time Nov did throw his gaze elsewhere. He busied himself with moving closer, where the water was a little more shallow, and waited until he heard the gentle splash of Keene re-entering the pool before glancing back. The merc saw how his companion blinked and frowned at the tools in his hands as if they were some kind of puzzle. Unable to help himself, Nov felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he rolled forward again and waited for the Initiate to figure things out in his own time.

What he hadn't--or should have--anticipated was the involuntary tensing of muscles as Keene moved closer. Nov tried to force himself to relax. He'd been the one to suggest this, after all, and he was nothing if not a staunch believer in reaping what one sowed.

But then he felt something soft brush against the back of his neck, and suddenly a good portion of his resolve threatened to come undone. Only Keene's nervous apology managed to save his thoughts from flying astray. Steeling his will, Noven shook his head as if to say there was nothing to be sorry for, not trusting the sound of his own voice to be anything less than self-assured. He stood straighter so it would be easier to reach his back and tried his best not to think of anything else.

Not long after, he could feel Keene press one hand upon his shoulder while the other rubbed towel and soap over his back in slow, careful circles. The grip tightened now and then and sometimes the towel jerked to one side without warning, but otherwise the sensations were so pleasant and comforting that Nov let his eyes close and his breathing slow. There was something irrationally enjoyable about being washed. He had never really thought to question why, and the soothing feeling of being under someone else's tender care made it difficult to bother.

There was a pause in the Initiate's ministrations. Noven cracked one eye open, wondering what was wrong and why the pleasurable scrubbing had stopped. And then the very last reason he had expected came in the form of a question.

Well hell. He'd almost entirely forgotten about that ill boding mark on his back, having only learned of its true nature two seasons ago. But the thing had been set pretty low on his back, which meant....Nov looked down at his hands in the water and realized he could see them quite clearly, in spite of the viscous quality of the pool. Heat briefly returned to his face and neck as he tried to answer Keene in as normal of a tone as he could manage.

"D...Does it really?" he responded, knowing it wasn't really a proper answer but struck with a desire to know what his own mark looked like. He could only see it with the aid of a mirror or another pair of eyes, neither of which he had frequent access to. "I always thought it looked like a petched up hand..."

Nov brought one dripping hand to scratch at the side of his neck before lowering it back into the water. The motion made a ridiculous amount of noise.

"I listened to a whole building full of people die, once," he replied in earnest this time, somber voice filling the tiled room once more. "They were mostly gangsters. The Cobra's, they were called, not that it matters anymore. They're all dead now. Every last, petching one of them. And the man who killed them was the one who told me what my mark really meant. That it wasn't some harmless birthmark or scar, like Non--like I had always thought, but a work of ink. A brand from some clan called the Raging Fires."

Nov went silent for a few moments, shuddering slightly at the blood soaked images flashing through his head. He was more grateful than ever that Keene was still washing him, his physical presence like a ward against the full force of haunted memories.

"The man spared me for my mark," he continued, tone hushed in the face of incredulity. The merc hadn't been able to wrap his mind around this single truth. Not even after all this time. "He said...he told me I was one of his kind, and that he couldn't kill me because of it. I mean, this guy...he killed an entire building of mobsters on his own, came out of it all in one piece, and sawed off the scalp of their leader like he was peeling some kind of bloody orange, and then he tells me I'm one of his kind."

Without realizing, Nov had turned half around, fists clenched and eyes filled with fear and outrage. He took one look at Keene and let the air rush out of his lungs all at once, shaking his head.

"Sorry, bad memories..." he apologized. It was probably more of an answer than the Initiate had asked for, but such was the usual result of spending more than a bell around the likes of Noven. "Anyways, that...your washing, it felt--"

The merc swallowed and finished determinedly, "--good." And then a little bit belatedly, "Thanks. I think I'm clean enough now."

Nov held out a hand for the towel and soap, awkward not even beginning to describe his state of being at that moment. He hadn't intended to tell the other man so much. But the trust he placed in Keene apparently ran deeper than he could have ever guessed for something so personal to be shared. The Sahovian was literally the first person Nov had ever told of that night of death and carnage, and how Razkar had dropped the largest clue to his heritage ever to be revealed. The only clue, for that matter.

"Your turn, Initiate."

[Keene Ward]

Keene felt Noven's body tense under his questioning, something that he had not intended, only wishing to force his mind away from the increasingly lascivious thoughts that had begun - for all intents and purposes - with blood rushing to his lower half. He quickly decided that the shift of Noven's muscles, the rise and fall of his shoulders as he spoke, all the motion that he employed, did not help matters. It was one thing to know he was finally able to touch the man he'd been so furiously denying himself for the past handful of days, but it was entirely another to feel the true nature of life within him. His right hand lacked the ability to feel more than pressure, but movement was as perceivable as ever. He was there, with Noven, as naked as the day he was born in a closeness of proximity he had never imagined he might find comfortable - desirable even - with the baritone lull of Noven's voice wavering in its slight uncertainty drawing him ever closer if not in body than surely in mind. It was an incredible effort to continue the steady circles of the soapy towel against Noven's back, even more so to avoid letting his hand slip below the man's waste.

In a way, Keene had forgone thinking himself ridiculous on a conscious level. He knew, instinctively, that the manner in which he felt for Noven - felt more than he'd ever felt for anyone - was ludicrous. Thus, any thoughts springing from it were, by extension, as inane as the source from which they poured - and did they pour. So, instead of focusing on how very strange and confusing and wholly inappropriate his thoughts were, Keene chose instead to focus on what Noven was saying, how he was saying it, the manner in which his body portrayed his own thoughts - with the ever present (and mostly ignored) appreciation for the muscled back he methodically rubbed. At Noven's description, Keene once more allowed his eyes to drop down to the dangerous curve of Noven's hips, forcing his attentions on the faded markings. He supposed, in a way, it was similar to a hand, though it was a hand of many, many fingers. The more the thought about it, letting the image burn into his memory, the more it seemed something more violent, more visceral. A hand was too human for what the image seemed to represent, of course, if it even were a true image. It was difficult to tell with the ripples of the water, especially as Noven raised a hand to scratch at his head.

What he said next, however, was more than enough to tear Keene's mind from his own desires and listen with a concerned intent to Noven's tale. Pity was something strange to Keene. He felt it, and he understood it to an extent, but it was not something he gave out often. Empathy too was a bit out of his range of typical capabilities, but when Noven finished the first of his startling sentences, Keene's frown emerged involuntarily, hand tightening on Noven's shoulder instinctively, as if the pressure might some how protect against the memory. Keene did not touch. He did not caress; he did not fondle; he did not press himself against another seeking warmth and comfort. Noven had changed that, if only for a night, and it had brought with it territory so foreign that Keene often found himself acting without thinking, as if his body knew better than his brain. He didn't quite understand it. Death was a natural part of life, and it as so common among the mortal races that Keene had - up until he had personally experienced it in such a heart rending manner - believed it not more worthy of concern than anything else.

An entire building of people dying was different. It was homicide, slaughter. The nature of the killing was important, of course, but to listen to it, to hear all the lives snuffed out, each individual cry the last they might ever utter in this life... Keene's hand gently pressed against the rising tension in Noven's shoulder, though the tension itself was perceived more by his eye than the hand itself. He knew Noven had darkness in his past, but the specifics of it was more macabre than he had imagined.

The term "gangsters" had little meaning to him, but from the grit in Noven's tone, Keene found it safe to assume the collective was of an unsavory and deserving type for what had befallen them. It assuaged some of the concern within him, the alleviation pronounced in the steady, more rhythmic continuation of Keene's washing as he continued to listen, hand relaxing some. The change was short lived as Noven went on to explain that a single man had killed the entire building. If it had been a work of magic, Keene would not have been nearly as taken aback, but to think a single man with only a weapon and his own body had been able to best a countless number of bodies was difficult to believe. He discounted magic as Noven would have most certainly added that detail in if it had been present.

"Raging Fires". Keene's eyes flicked back to the mark for the hundredth time, his frown appraising, comparing the name to the image, then both to the secondary thoughts he had on it. He supposed it did indeed appear flame-like, perhaps a caricature of the clan's name. It made sense, he supposed, as a brand or a mark of belonging - a more permanent vambrace or wizard's ring in a way. His thoughts were drawn back to Noven as the man shuddered, this shiver shifting the skin beneath his fingers and drawing Keene closer. His face brushed against the back of Noven's hair only slightly, breath overly controlled making it almost ragged if he had not been so quiet about it. He wanted to wrap himself around Noven, not for comfort as most might have thought, but to hold the other man together, to keep him from shattering in the way his memories seemed to make his body quake. It was... confusing. Keene knew full well that Noven wouldn't fall apart, and even if he did, Keene's two arms and legs were certainly inadequate to keep all of Noven in one piece. Yet, in spite of this, he still felt the desire, the urge, and it was oddly lacking in sexuality. It was what it was, and it was confusing.

Finding his hand had slid its way back up to Noven's other shoulder, towel and soap still thankfully separating his skin from the other man's, Keene moved to massage his neck, the semi-soft fabric of the towel gripping to and shifting the bottom most bits of hair that were little longer than a blink. Thinking it imaginary, he felt Noven press back against him for a short moment in the pause, but he ignored it, trying desperately to breath through his mouth to minimize his intake of Noven's heady, delicious scent. The word "delicious" played about in his mind, batted away once Noven spoke once more.

The description of the warrior who had slain so many was strange. Keene didn't understand any more than Noven did the reasoning behind his actions - or perhaps inactions. The concept of scalping was something he had read of in journals of travelers to distant lands, but Keene had found the act more unnecessarily morbid than fascinating and had not cared to memorize the reasons behind it. The incredulity at being told he was one of the man's kin confused Keene. Races had never been something he had affiliated much with: there were humans and non-humans, but each possessed a mind and body unique. They were all individuals, separate beings with perhaps more similar psychologies or biologies, but none were truly determined simply by who they were born from. As dark as the story seemed, Keene had little trouble imagining Noven doing the same under the proper circumstances. He had seen him, watched him work in the depths of the dungeons. There was a darkness within Noven, a twisting, choking vine that Keene did not doubt had been present in full bloom within the man Noven spoke of.

He did not realize how adamantly Noven was against this affiliation until he wrenched his body from Keene's hands to face him with a flame in his eye and a twist of fear on his face. Keene blinked, hands still in the position they had been when Noven had shifted. For a brief tick, Keene saw in Noven's face unmuddied fear. In that same tick, Keene's eyes mirrored the expression, a glass reflection of Noven's terror that he might become - or already was - the man he held so anathema. The moment didn't last, however, as Noven's panic and rage left in a single sigh, shoulders sagging as his sheepish apology was issued. Keene nodded at the thanks and statement he had washed enough, though a particular part of him found it frustrating he did not get to wash Noven's front as well. The thought quickly brought Keene's attention back to his physical arousal, which in turn prompted Keene to keep very steady, very certain eye contact with his companion. Fortunately the ripples Noven had cast from his quick turn still served to obscure most everything but color and general shape.

The honesty in Keene's voice was the pervading tone of his soft words, and while they didn't particularly add anything to conversation, they were the best he could do without succumbing to the urge to kiss him. There were so many things he wanted to do, Keene had to allow himself at least a single outlet in which to express them, even if it was far removed from the majority of preferred exercises that played quite loudly in his mind. Thankfully, the morbidity of the tale had served to quiet some of the more vocal fantasies, dampening the mood enough that Keene still felt relatively confident he could control himself. "I'm glad he spared you." Keene paused, unsure what to say next but still desperately wanting to say something. It was strange to desire words he was so accustomed to ignoring, finding them irrelevant, but Noven, unknowingly, demanded it from him just by his rich, amber stare and crooked, nervous smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're... Noven. Whatever he was..." Keene frowned, the effort finally showing on his face. "You don't have to be."

Perhaps they were not the most comforting of words, but they had never been intended as such. Keene merely wanted to speak his mind, which was rare enough that he didn't quite know how. Nodding at Noven's declaration it was his turn to receive the cleaning treatment, Keene placed the soap and towel in Noven's hands, his fingers brushing with a searing pain against Noven's own. His movements were calculated, however, stirring up the most water he could without being too conspicuous before letting out a small, meditative sigh of air as he turned. He cursed himself for thinking things through. He'd been so preoccupied with being able to finally feel Noven so close to him again that he'd failed to consider the reverse of the situation. For Noven, it had seemed a relaxing exercise until Keene had brought up the nature of the tattoo. For Keene, however, it was going to be a battle of pain and pleasure. Clenching his jaw, Keene waiting as relaxed as he could, his pale back more of a compliment to the blue of the water than Noven's darker contrast. "Very well." The words were even softer than anything he'd said within the last few bells.

[Noven]

He felt his heart do a clumsy flop as Keene offered words of comfort that clearly seldom saw the light of day. It was a simple enough concept, not being chained to one's forebears. But it held infinitely more conviction to hear someone else say it. To know that there was at least one person in this world, still alive and kicking, who believed Noven could be something other than a sadistic murderer.

The merc didn't have the heart to tell Keene his ultimate goal. He just let those rare syllables of compassion draw him away from dark memories and darker thoughts, knowing that behind every word of rationality there was frankness, even kindness, to be found, however stark they may have come across in the Initiate's blunt, unadorned speech. With steady hands, Nov accepted the soap and towel, neither flinching or tensing this time when the Initiate's fingers brushed against his own. The brief contact brought back memories of when they had woken the morning after. Disoriented, taxed, and not a shred of clothing to be found upon themselves. He remembered discovering that his touch caused Keene pain, as well as what body parts they had chosen to test the condition with...

How ironic. That the one person he dreaded hurting most on this island would suffer from nothing more than an unmarked caress.

Once the Initiate gave his soft assent, Nov moved a hair closer and wondered how he ought to go about this without touching the other man. "Don't worry," he assured once he'd decided on a feasible approach, "I won't use my hand, just the towel. So that it--so that I don't hurt you."

He dipped the towel in spa water to rid it of its former suds, then rubbed the soap against it to create a decent lather. With careful, almost tentative movements, Noven began cleaning Keene's back, his motions more horizontal and vertical rather than circular. He was thorough, too, making sure to get the sides and tops of the Initiate's shoulders, from the base of neck down most of his spine, and the sides of his waist as well. The Sunberthian had spent many bells in Sunset Orphanage helping Jillene and Florence scrub newcomers from head to toe. They had to, to avoid spreading of lice and such. Years worth of experience left them innately aware of all the places children could be hiding future problems. Which meant Nov didn't even think twice when he reached to lift Keene's left arm and scrub the soapy towel along his side, though he was still far more gentle than he usually treated the runts.

"Shyke," he blurted once he realized his mistake, releasing the Initiate's arm immediately. "Sorry...forgot."

Staring at the smooth, pale expanse of Keene's back for another tick, Nov worked up the courage to ask a question that had been eating at him for some time. "Keene...why does it hurt when I touch you?"

As he spoke, Noven rinsed out the towel before bringing it back against his companion's skin, washing away the rest of the suds. There were times he grew careless and the very tips of his fingers skimmed against Keene's back, or when he found himself leaning just a little too close, head bent over the other man's as if drawn by some invisible force. Nov would then blink and pull himself back. The folly of their decision to bathe together was painfully obvious; both had thought themselves capable of handling so much proximity and intimacy after their morning exercise, and both had foolishly underestimated the temptation of whatever lay between them.

Even so, it was at once strange and welcoming, this exchange of favors. Noven was no longer entirely sure if staying apart had been a good idea. There was a balm-like quality to Keene's presence that he seldom found anywhere else, and if this were to be their last handful of days together, should they really be making life bleaker for themselves? Denying what was gnawing at them both inside out like a hoard of industrious little termites?

Hard as it was to admit, bathing itself was an act he found he actually enjoyed sharing. It just felt good, and right. Especially after a morning training their arses off. Not to mention he'd never really shared anything with anyone he considered a peer...not for long, anyway. And certainly not after Nona's murder.

But how much would Keene be able to grasp before their inevitable separation? And even if he did, would it only make him glad for their distance in the end?

Noven cleared his throat and forced his thoughts to adhere to the situation at hand. "I mean, it didn't seem to hurt you when we...when you were a woman. Does it have something to do with your magic?"

As he waited for an answer, the merc dipped the towel in warm water one more time before spreading it across Keene's bare back and shoulders. With the barest of pressure, he placed his palm against the wet towel, spreading his fingers a little to cover more of the surface. "Does it hurt now, with my hand over the towel?"