Legends of Belariath

Caoimhe and Khristoph Maelese

The First Bath

It is early evening in Nanthalion. The sky is dusky, a few stars beginning to show in the dome of the night sky. The sounds of laughter and shouting can be heard clearly, the crisp, though not yet cold, air the perfect conduit. The patrons at the Lonely Inn sound to be having a raucous evening as usual. A lone centaur, a lady in green silk, trots toward the path, through the lawn to the front porch of the Inn. Her hair falls in a clean, smooth line over the smooth samite, the bangs pulled back in twin braids, leaving her round, rosy face visible, her nose reddened with the light chill in the air, though she doesn't seem yet to notice it.

Inside, a youthful human cleric assists a girl who seems to have spilled her drink. His sky blue tunic and green hat set off the deep brown of his gentle eyes as he addresses the little female. "Do you need another towel? That one looks just about as drenched as you are."

The sprightly thing nods, handing him the soggy towel, "Yes, please." He takes it, turning back to the bar behind him. "Hemlock," he addresses the nymph behind the bar, "another clean towel, please." He places the wet one on the bar neatly. While his back is turned, he doesn't notice the slip of a girl sneak out.

The raven-haired centauress trots up the steps of the porch and into the main room of the Inn, hooves clip-clopping on the hard floor. Her smile is soft and thoughtful. She barely even watches where she is going as she makes her way to the bar. A monk, with bronze skin and graceful stride, one of the Tribe, certainly, gives the centauress a wide birth, walking around the adjacent table instead of between the same row as the hoofed one, and gives her a nod on his way to the door.

Caoimhe nods politely in return, though she doesn't take notice of whom it is she nods to, only knowing that it is a stranger. hemlock jumps up quickly, "Yessir!" She grabs the towel and concentrates really hard, her face scrunched up, casting a clean spell on it. She folds the dry, clean towel nicely and hands it back to Khristoph, the kind cleric, with a happy, useful s smile.

Khristoph thanks her, but turns... noticing the girl who was soggy has now departed, leaving him with a very clean towel. Shrugging, he slaps it over one shoulder, and starts back towards the bar, when he sees Caoimhe. Smiling broadly, he gives a little wave. "Hello."

Caoimhe looks up and her eyes light up upon spotting Khristoph's welcoming wave. She steps up to him, hands clasped gently behind the small of her back. "Good 'eve, Khristoph." He nods. "I trust the manor was kept to your liking?" His big brown eyes capture the surrounding light well, as it dances across his pupils.

hemlock looks up at the centauress with very wide green eyes, mumbling to herself. She mulls her thoughts over while she approaches the centauress. "Good evening ma'am! May I help you?" says the golden, green-haired nymph hopefully. Caoimhe smiles slowly to Khristoph, "It's lovely. You needn't fret about it. I hardly notice my surroundings half the time. My mind is usually elsewhere." She then notices the golden-skinned nymph. Her smile is friendly as she responds, "Oh, hello hello. Yes, please. I'd like a pear cider."

hemlock claps her hands excitedly and nods in a happy agreement! "Oh, yes, Miss! Right away!" She dashes off to get just exactly that! Khristoph smiles. "Very well, but I'll make sure its not a shambles." His brow raises in curiosity at her choice of beverage. "Pear Cider?" Caoimhe turns that sunny smile on Khristoph, "Pear cider is my usual choice, yes. It's quite good. Light an and crisp, tart, but a little sweet as well."

hemlock returns in no time at all, a little slower carrying two glasses of pear cider. She offers one to the lovely centauress and the other to Khristoph with a smile. "I hope you don't mind sir!" She frowns slightly and then smiles apologetically, "but, um... This cider only comes in pears, if you take my meaning!"

Khristoph looks at the mug in his hand. "Oh, I didn't ask for-" He shrugs, sipping it. "Wow, this does beat ale." He looks back to Hemlock. "Many thanks!" She smiles and nods with a little curtsey before dashing off to help another customer. Caoimhe grins at the clever nymph's words. She fishes in her small pouch for a few coins for tip. By the time she gets them out, the flighty nymph has danced away to help another patron. She chuckles and holds the coins in her hand, awaiting the n nymph's eventual return for refills. She takes swig of her cider as she turns back to face Khristoph. "I don't like ale. It's bitter."

Khristoph nods in understanding. "Where I grew up, the water was poor to drink. I was, more or less, raised on the stuff. Yeah, it's not the best tasting stuff in the world, but it won out over the sludge that came up from the well. "Caoimhe smiles gently, head cocked slightly to the side as she regards her companion with curiosity. "You drank ale even as a child?" He shrugs, nodding. "Not a very potent brew, but I had, yes."

The centaur's smirk is a bit wry, "I somehow doubt that was a good idea, though perhaps safer than sludge." She grins, bringing a teasing note to her words. His return chuckle is light, his form shaking along with it. "Yes, that was only really good for watering the crops. Bathing with was almost futile, but it did the trick to take off the grime of the day."

Caoimhe maintains light eye contact as she speaks, her eyes conveying a suggestion that belies her casual tone. "Have you sampled the baths here? They're quite lovely... hot, clean water." He simply shakes his head. Another had mentioned them. "The last hot soak I enjoyed was back at the Clergy hall... with about forty other grown men, all complaining about this and that." He smirks. "Not exactly my idea of fun, really. I'd like to s see these baths sometime." The friendly pony-girl sips her gentle brew as he speaks.

"Perhaps tonight? I was actually just headed there myself and... " She blushes and lowers her gaze. "I would appreciate an extra pair of arms. Some spots are hard to reach." Khristoph's own cheeks redden just a touch. "Of course, I'd be honored to assist you." His eye contact wanders to his boots... the footwear does little to comfort him or give him something more to say.

Once more, Caoimhe smiles, warm and gentle, all signs of embarrassment gone, save for the light color that still stains her cheeks. "Good, thank you. Perhaps we could go after we finish our drinks?"

The good-natured healer chuckles lightly and takes another sip of her own drink. Her eyes dance with soft merriment as she regards the young man, "Have you found ample to entertain you here in Nanthalion?" He is unsure how to answer, so he does the best he can. "I've met a few here that were nice to talk to." He takes another swig of his drink. It is quite pleasant.

Khristoph gulps his drink absentmindedly, and then looks down, noticing it to be near empty, and is shaken by a belch. "Light and Cross, that was rude. Excuse me." Caoimhe giggles, evoking the impression of a younger, more inexperienced girl that exists or once existed in the still young centaur.

"You're excused." Khristoph turns on his heel, draining the rest of the mug. He is aware of how goofy his smile must be to that sweet laughter, and so is quick to hide his face this way. As he turns away, Caoimhe takes a step closer, leaning to the side in an effort to keep his face in view, "Don't hide... I wasn't laughing at you." He turns the rest of the 180 degrees, finding the focus to keep his overextended grin at bay.

"Oh, well... I..." He stammers, trying to find the right words, and then looks at his mug. Ah, how alcohol always seems to solve all ones problems. "You done with your drink yet?" He sets his empty mug on the bar, crossing one foot behind the other.

Caoimhe exudes nothing more than shy teasing, her eyes holding a sparkling mischief as she regards her young friend... though she thinks of him as young, he's probably older than she is. She dumps the small remaining puddle of pale golden liquid down her throat, then thumps the mug on the bar top next to Kristoph's as she nods, "Quite. Shall we then?"

The cleric nods, beaming. "Yes, m'lady. Let's." Caoimhe nods and motions for Khristoph to precede her toward the exit of the Inn. "It's not far at all from here." He steps forward, almost tripping himself, forgetting his legs and feet were interlocked. He mutters at his own clumsiness, then con continues, hands behind back.

Khristoph takes a moment to drink in the architecture, his eyes sweep over it. "I commend the artisans. This is beautiful." Caoimhe pauses and looks at the building, never having given it much notice before. She shrugs a bit. "It's too formal for my tastes, though I recognize that there was skill involved in its creation."

The cleric nods politely, being used to big, formal buildings. The Clergy were all tripping over themselves with stained glass, meticulous design, and the finest materials... "I agree, but yes, you can't deny it took some serious time. Then again, they could've cheated and pulled a few magical shortcuts here and there. That's possible. But I ramble. Please, lead on."

Caoimhe smiles, "It's prettier inside... with all the water reflecting off the walls and ceilings." She manages the stairs easily, though careful not to slip on the smooth marble and steps into the building, glancing about. There are no other bathers currently making use of the facilities. It is indeed lovely, with row upon row of open pools, the private, enclosed booth tucked back into curtained alcoves. "It looks pretty empty. Would you like to pick a pool?"

The boy simply shrugs, completely unsure of which one would be proper for her partial equine form. "If it's all the same, I'd prefer you to choose." She grins and nods once, trotting over to the nearest pool. The striking of her hooves against the marble rings through the spacious room hollowly. The pool she chooses is not the enormous public bath, but neither is at as small as the ones intended for a single occupant. "This one looks good enough." She smiles, glancing at Khristoph for his opinion.

He nods. "If it suits you, it suits me just fine." Caoimhe nods again, then turns away slightly, raising her hands to reach behind her neck. They disappear beneath the shiny curtain of her hair as she unclasps her silk halter-top.

Khristoph sets his satchel down lightly, and tugs off his snug, sky-blue tunic. It drifts to the ground as he begins tugging off a boot. Caoimhe keeps her eyes to herself as she leans over to reach down between her forelegs to unbuckle her 'saddle pack' in a quick, practiced motion. She sets it aside, pushing it beneath a low bench with the nudge of one hoofed foreleg.

Khristoph does a light hop about before plopping down on the stone floor, finally winning the war with the footwear. The second boot comes off instantly for some reason, giving no resistance. Caoimhe glances once over her shoulder, then away again with a soft blush. Her arms cross over her stomach, hands gripping the hem of her willow-green samite halter-top. She pulls the fabric up, exposing the creamy flesh of her lower back to Khristoph. She stops suddenly, the shirt pulled up no more than 3 inches. There is a definite pause before she pulls it off the rest of the way and the reason for her hesitation becomes apparent. Her back is marred in a crisscrossing of intricate scars, white with age.

The equally shy cleric takes a moment to stare at the quickly removed boot, shrugs, and then pauses at his breeches for just a moment. He closes his eyes tightly, focusing his thoughts. 'Self control, Khris.' He exhales lightly, pulling them off, casually positioning his forearm between his legs for modesty's sake.

Caoimhe lays the scrap of green silk that serves as covering on the low bench. She takes a deep, cleansing breath of her own before turning back toward Khristoph with a slightly forced, though genuine smile. Her flesh is ample and creamy soft, smooth as butter. Her breasts are generous and a bit fuller than one would expect based on age alone, the truth of this condition being a recent pregnancy. She hopes beyond hope that he didn't notice the scarring.

Khristoph's eyes bounce around a little, rapidly, before they settle on her own eyes. His smile is broad. "Hoookay. So, where do you need help washing?" The centaur lady smiles, feeling the heat of blush in her cheeks as she bends over to pick up a small bucket next to the bench. It appears to contain necessary items such as a brush, clean cloths, soap and the like. She is cautious descending the steps in into the deep pool, her tail floating on the surface behind her like so much black seaweed. The heat of the water forces a sharp inhalation of breath and she takes a moment to recover before responding. "Mostly my... equine portion. The places I can't quite reach. Sometimes I think perhaps Gaea was feeling humorous the day my race was born."

Khristoph takes the stairs just as carefully, half out of being a bit jittery from the situation, the other half not to have his bare feet accidentally stepped on. His own reaction to the water makes him wince, ever so slightly, but he quickly accepts the new temperature as he wades in with little problem after the initial shock.

Caoimhe holds the little pail aloft as she turns her body, positioning herself to face Khristoph, even though that's not the most conducive position for obtaining his assistance in washing. She smiles, seeming almost shy as she crinkles her nose. "Have you ever groomed a horse?"

He nods. "I take it this won't be that much different?" She shakes her head, "Not really... just a little smaller is all." She winks playfully, hoping to help him relax a little... or perhaps to convince herself to relax. It's not the sexual tension that makes her nervous, it's the vulnerability and knowing that secrets could be easily prodded with the incentive of her scarred back. It's the reason she is facing him still.

Khristoph nods again, beating back the inclination of his face going completely red. He takes up a brush, and begins to work gently, but not so gently as to defeat the purpose. Caoimhe shudders softly, the skin along her equine back rippling beneath the half-gentle stroke of the brush. "You had a rural upbringing, Khristoph?" Her attempt at conversation is once again to turn focus away from the things that might otherwise haunt her.

He continues to groom her, dunking the brush into the water every now and again. "Yes. Farming, really. Apple trees. We had a horse, a bit aged. She pulled the wagon..." He pauses, remembering how happy she was to hear that Isabella wasn't burdened with a saddle. "I'd often give her apples, although my father would get mad. Said that his profits were going down each time. I made sure she was clean, too."

Caoimhe smiles at his words, glancing over her shoulder at him. She dips a natural sponge in the steaming water, then brings it up to squeeze against her upper chest, letting the water runs down her torso to wet it. "I am sure that she appreciated you. Did you..." She hesitates, "have conflict often with you father?" Her tone is casual, but just before speaking the careful question, she turns away.

The young man frowns slightly, his eyes dimming in the same motion. "We never really got along. After all, I wasn't Saestrel, my elder brother. My coming into the world wasn't... exactly planned." He continues, working carefully, lightly, trying to concentrate. His hand slips slightly off the brush, his fingertips rub against her lightly.

She catches the rough edge of his tone. She doesn't want to tread on tender ground, but thinks that perhaps it's something that would be improved with airing. "Do your parents favor your brother because he is he elder?" She says nothing of the light touch, though she certainly notices it. The only nerves that seem to be aware are those beneath the tips of his fingers.

He dwells there for a split-second, then quickly grasps the brush in a white-knuckle grip. "Y-yes. They saw my appearance as another mouth to feed. I worked the best I could for my keep, but... it never seemed to be enough." He sighs gently, "I think that's good for this side, I'm going to switch around to the other if you don't mind."

Caoimhe nods, keeping her gaze resting safely on the edge of he pool as she washes her neck and shoulders with the soapy sponge. She hesitates, her lips parted to speak a full 20 seconds before the sound issues forth in a soft, breathless rush. "My own father was rarely pleased with me, though I was his only child."

Khristoph frowns, not wanting to hear the same story from another... especially not her. "I'm ever so sorry to hear that." He makes his way to her other side, and again, works gently, yet thoroughly with the brush. Caoimhe smiles a little, though her eyes are sad and remain downcast. "He mostly ignored me. He was a very busy man." She tries to make it sound like less of an issue than it truly was for her. Khristoph works in circles, smoothing out her chestnut hair. "Was he a farmer as well?"

She stiffens slightly at the question, cursing herself silently for letting the conversation travel down this ill-used path. Her answer is flat and emotionless, a simple "No." She quickly moves the sponge up over her shoulder to wash the back of her neck.

Her hair clings wetly to her back as the water rolls down its scarred surface in thick rivulets.

The nearly monotone quality of her voice does not go unnoticed by Khristoph. "My apologies that you were thus ignored. Even though I was often flogged about the head and shoulders by my father, at least it was attention." Her response is a light shrug. Her tone is gentler now as she speaks of his own past, "I do not know that that is better. Your father sounds a cruel man."

Khristoph shakes his head, still scrubbing her. "Perhaps so, but it's still better than being left alone. Besides, it toughened me up. I don't think I would've survived training as well as I have without taking those extra punches from time to time." Caoimhe steps to the side, moving her broad back and side from beneath Khristoph's touch. She turns slightly to regard him silently. Her look is calm and gentle, though a low rage burns somewhere deep behind her eyes. After a moment, she speaks, "I would that you could have been raised with loving parents, Khristoph."

He smiles back, eyes half-lidded. His own tone is soft and quiet, careful. "Everything happens for a reason, m'lady; everything, ill or fair. The crucibles we walk may be sometimes unbearable, but if you can walk away still standing on both feet, then you've passed."

Caoimhe considers his words, her own dark eyes momentarily losing the focus on his features. Her voice is somewhat distant; "Yes, yes I suppose that's true." Khristoph sighs softly. "Not that I wish ill on anyone. I can shoulder my load. I thank you for your kind words... but I still am saddened that your father couldn't find time for his precious daughter." He blinks slowly, his cheeks highly reddened, and he fights the urge to turn his face away.

Caoimhe's focus slowly returns to the present, blocking out the brief flash of memory. She smiles softly, "Thank you, Khristoph. Though... I often wished when he did find time for me that something would pull him away again." She reaches out slowly to touch her fingertips to his cheek, feeling the heat of his blush. "Are you embarrassed?"

The young human seems momentarily frozen, not shying away from her touch, his right hand noticeably twitching, a death grip on the brush he holds in the air. He stammers, trying to find words, and after what seems like eternity, he shuts his eyes, shaking his head. "N-no. I..." He exhales, looking down.

She lifts her hand from his cheek, seeing his discomfort clearly. The healer tilts her head slightly, her tone softer now, if that's possible. "I'm sorry. Are you alright?" Khristoph nods, regaining his composure. "Just fine, m'lady. Just fine." He attempts to change the subject quickly. "Could I trouble you with a request to get behind my shoulder blades? It's difficult to get there myself."

The kind centauress nods silently. She does not wish to further his discomfort by pursuing the matter. She dips the sponge back in the pool to rewet it before stepping up behind Khristoph. She rests one small hand on the top of his shoulder as the other scrubs at the center of his back with the rough sponge. He arches his back slightly, moving a little with the sponge's motion. "Oh, thank you. Very much appreciated." He takes the brush in his hands, and beings to work at his nails, getting the caked-in dirt from out beneath them, knowing the attempt to be futile, but doing so anyway.

Caoimhe leans in slightly as she continues to scrub, "Do you miss farming?" Khristoph leans back just a touch. "Can't say I do. Lots of apples. The stench of them rotten, the hoards of bees getting drunk off the cider and then coming after you... I prefer being a scribe and a Cleric very much more. Give me a paper cut or a sharp rap to the head over near-suicidal climbs into tall trees to get those last few apples that you know have been eaten by birds already."

The girl looks down at the length of his nude body before her. A soft tremor mars her otherwise perfect composure. She moves the sponge up to scrub along the line from shoulder to shoulder, across the nape of his neck. "Why do you like to write?" He rolls his shoulders, closing his eyes as she washes him. "It's always been a release for me. To keep memory of what I have done, to preserve memory of what others have done. It was challenging at first, and it always is when I learn a new language, but then I can busy myself for hours."

She takes a slow, careful step closer, scrubbing her way over the rise of his right shoulder and down his chest. Her breath wafts against his neck as she speaks, her tone a bit softer to compensate for the proximity. The heat of her body radiates against his back. "How many languages can you speak?"

The action, while subtle, is noticeable to Khristoph and he tenses up just slightly, feeling her closeness. "I..." He swallows, "I can't remember half of them, to be honest, they pop back in if I hear them enough. Most I can't speak. They..." He exhales softly, "...they're difficult for me to pronounce. Write them, no sweat."

The educated centauress has a rather extensive knowledge of physiology. She's not unaware of Khristoph's reaction to her proximity, but she doesn't back off just yet. As she continues to sponge his chest, she closes that last slim distance between them, letting her voice drop to a whisper that seems almost husky now, "I think we should go home."

Khristoph's bottom lip quivers just a touch. "Okay." His voice seems blasphemously loud compared to Caoimhe's. She only hesitates for as long as it takes to inhale Khristoph's scent, then exhale again slowly before pulling away, dropping the sponge in the small bucket.

With a few deep breaths, he clears his mind, his blush is removed, and any outward signs of excitement are extinguished. Now he turns to her, giving her the small, practiced smile, but he cannot hide his eyes. They sparkle with their own inner light. He drops the brush into the bucket as well.

Caoimhe climbs carefully from the pool, the water streaming from her body, creating a symphony of trickles and drips with her hooves for percussion as she fetches towels from the low bench. She turns back, holding one out for Khristoph. He accepts it, and begins to towel her lower equine body without a second thought.

She's a bit startled by the gesture and simply blinks at first. She'd been offering him the towel for his own glistening body, but she doesn't mind the toweling. It will certainly reduce the chill on the way home. She uses the towel in her hands to dry her humanoid torso.

Khristoph works to the other side... noting the towel is drenched. "I'll need another, m'lady, for this side" He folds the wet one neatly in half and hands it back, trying to tilt himself just-so as to not show too much of himself. The quiet centaur nods, grabbing another towel from the bench, she twists her torso around to hand it to him, her eyes finding his, even for just a moment. She takes the wet one, laying it on an empty portion of bench.

Khristoph goes to work, buffing off the other side, working in circles, as he did with the brush, her body perfectly still, having long since finished drying her upper half. Caoimhe's eyes are closed now, relaxing beneath his attentions.

The wise-beyond-his-years cleric works in silence, still spellbound with her earlier approach, so very close to him. More than likely nothing, how else could she reach his chest? Still... Gently shaking his head, he finishes up, satisfied that all is dry.

"Okay, now, if I could get one for myself..." He folds this towel as well, shaking it slightly, drops splashing the floor.

Caoimhe presents Khristoph with a dry towel, holding in her outstretched hand as she takes the wet one with her other. "Shall I return the favor?" Her tone is casual, though there is a certain light to her eyes. Khristoph's own eyes flicker, his smile still small and somewhat forced that way. "Sure, that'd be great." She smiles softly in return as she turns her body more fully. She shakes out the dry towel, then applies it to his shoulders, briskly drying the dri dripping flesh.

Once again, he rolls his form as he did when she applied the sponge to it, attempting to help her with her task. It doesn't take long to finish drying his back, and she works her way lower to rub the towel over the slight curve of his buttocks and down over his thighs.

The boy can't help but giggle slightly as the terrycloth rubs over his rear, tickling him slightly. The pony-girl adds her own giggle to his, finding his reaction to be endearing. She straightens again, then steps around to his front, leaning in to rub the towel across his pectorals and shoulders.

His lower half is blocked coyly with a forearm once again, giving a smile now that shows the top row of his teeth and a touch of color to his cheeks. She ignores the gesture completely, though she does stop her descent as the towel reaches his lower abdomen. "Would you like to finish while I get my things?" She would continue if she thought he'd be comfortable with it, but if he doesn't want her to even look below the waist, he probably wouldn't want her hands down there.

Khristoph gives a slight cough, sounding almost as if he is just clearing his throat. "Well... I..." He then comes to grips. She has more than likely seen below his waist already in the water. He moves to unblock himself. "If you wish to gather your things now, that's fine, I'll finish."

Handing him the towel, Caoimhe nods, keeping her gaze demurely north of his waist. She smiles softly, then steps away to retrieve her blouse. With a silent thanks to the gods that she broke the stare, he closes his eyes, blushing evermore. He turns, not to shield her away from his nether regions, but to spare her his expression of rapture. Sighing softly, he makes short work of the remaining st standing water on his body, and then absentmindedly wraps the towel around himself, tying it loosely at his hip as he goes for his own belongings.

Caoimhe slips the halter-top on over head, the thin fabric clinging to her damp skin and pulling as she tugs it down. She reaches up to slips her hands beneath her hair to fasten the closure. Lastly, she grabs up her 'saddle pack', slinging it over her equine back.

Looking up idly, he slips on his own tunic. "Need some help with that, m'lady?" Her response is a soft blush and a nod. "Yes, I'm afraid it wasn't designed with centaurs in mind. "Khristoph returns the smile easily. "Not a problem." Dropping to one knee, he latches the buckle properly, catching himself before having the urge to cinch it... she's not a horse that might throw her saddle... He nods inwardly, congratulating himself on not making a complete idiot of himself. "Does that feel okay?" he asks, as he looks up at her from his crouched position

Caoimhe watches quietly from above. She can't read his thoughts and even if she could, she would not be shocked. She nods at his question. "That's fine, thank you. We shan't be going all that far." He gives a simple nod. "Just wishing to know the proper way, in case you would wish me to do this again." He lets his words hang for a moment, unsure of what could be over toned with that, but dismisses it, and goes for the rest of his clothes.

Caoimhe blushes nearly immediately at his offer. "Oh, yes... Of course. Perhaps a bit tighter next time, so it does not slide." She smoothes the thin silk over her soft belly, unabashedly watching him as he dresses. He drops the towel, facing her, though unaware that she is watching. On go the breeches with a tug, latched with the tie-down straps that serve as a crude belt. Then his boots are pulled on, the left one easily, the right one requiring a little effort. Once finished, he scoops up his satchel.

The centauress smiles, "Ready?" Khristoph nods. "Of course." Caoimhe trots out of the bathhouse, shivering at the sudden coolness of the outside air and wishing she'd brought her cloak. Khristoph follows, also shuddering a bit, his damp hair an instant magnet for the surrounding chill.

The two make little.

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