westwhere | (no subject)

On any given night at random, you may find Hermione Granger sunk to her neck in a hot spring, because as much as she tries to be a Woman of Culture, she just wants a hot soak. Yes, she's heard the rumours that there are healing properties to the cold waters, but no she is not going to plunge herself into their icy depths, are you insane?

Her clothes are folded nicely by the edge of the pool, but you may notice (or may not) that her wand remains on her person, tucked into her hair which now lives as an unsightly nest of curls at the top of her head.

Most important question: is she following tradition and soaking in her birthday suit? No, of course not, you lunatics. She has shame - oodles and caboodles of it - and has fashioned herself a bathing suit of sorts out of a nightgown she used in Serthica. It's black and very much not see through, but at least the sleeves have been cut off because she doesn't hate all fun.

Pester away.

Hermione has taken up a job at the Inn of mending broken clothes and bedsheets, and knows better than to speak to the ghosts of this world by now. It's been a while since the dead have tormented her, her malaise inherited from the forray into the Ke-Waicai volcano having fades at some point, but the lessons have been learnt.

If she is found near a sealed off well, because curiosity gets the best of her and she's trying to figure out what the hell is haunting this place, she will scramble to sit and pretend to be sewing a tear in a tablecloth as soon as she hears footsteps.

Pester her 2.0.

A cup of tea is set before you one evening, if it catches you near the Inn's dining area. Hermione is not working - she is deliberately trying to avoid being pulled into the other guests' drinking games, because she doesn't want to inherit another dead hand thank you - so this is done out of kindness rather than duty.

Your cup placed before you, she fills one more for herself and takes a seat.

"I hope this is alright - it's an interesting place, isn't it?"

Choose your warrior, get a starter.

She managed to avoid the tricky little weeds hanging about the inn for this long, and today is finally her unlucky day. This is what she gets for being distracted with perusing her notes on this place while walking; she walks right into a bushel of pussy willow, the fluffy buds smacking her right in the forehead.

Actually does the very regrettably British thing of saying: "Oh, sorry," to the plant, before she notices that it's a plant.

The ghosts chattering by the plant, however, find this delightful.

"Lovely young lady, so polite to apologise to the plants, ohohoh! Lady, be polite, I have a favour to ask!"

Vi is minding her own business carrying in an obscene amount of firewood, with the assistance of some folded up sheets tied over one shoulder, when she spots a scene out of the corner of her eye that strikes a familiar little chord. It looks like the kind of predicament that Caitlyn could have found herself in because of her tunnel vision. Even the posh accent's similar, which should rub Vi the wrong way, but instead there's an instinctive leaning towards amusement.

Personally, she can't stand to be around the ghosts, and she can tell by the girl's posture that she's none too pleased about them, either. Vi may be doing some chores, but that's just because she'd been going stir crazy otherwise. So, because she's a damn hero ready to fall on a sword, she'll abandon the wood off to the side with a little thump and slide up beside Hermione, hands already back in her coat pockets.

"I'll do it. Need something else to do, anyway."

Wrathion has been doing his best to enjoy the surroundings here, but so far they have been far less relaxing than he might like. The hot springs have a headless ghost, the indoor areas have ghosts who like pranks, at night everyone is locked and some more chaotic ghost battles happen outside. There are also rumours of ghosts at night who cause nightmares or some such thing.

All in all, the collection of things going on makes it difficult to relax. Still, he is doing his best. Anduin has, notably, been mentioning his... inability to unwind. Obviously, this requires practice. He is here to practice.

Hermione is also here.

Wrathion has his hair tied up into a somewhat loose bun, a towel looped over one arm and a robe loosely fastened about himself. The wind is cold, and his eyes shoot up toward the sky for a moment as a particularly icy gust hits -- as if he might glower the weather into improving. After a few seconds, they land on the other inhabitant of the springs thoughtfully.

"Hermione," he greets. "I have some tailoring supplies with me from Serthica."

With which to tailor things. Hermione had been experimenting with fashion, last they met. This seems as good a time as any to continue.

He has chosen such a chill friend to unwind with, all in all. Because Hermione does not stiffen at the sound from nearby, darting a glance down to make sure she's properly covered where she feels necessary to be covered. She's definitely not also looking over her shoulder with dread, following the footsteps, because she wants to make sure it's neither a ghost nor one of the worldly patrons that have her teeth on edge.

So she spots Wrathion, decked in some posh robe that's barely fastened enough to keep him warm against the chill in the air.

Right. She's just over here, vibing, clearly.

"Aha - and?" Please by all means continue that train of thought, and do not take your bathrobe off.

She barely has the chance to say no this time, more firmly than the first time the ghosts of this inn convinced her to do their chores for them. Someone manifests themselves at her side, making the ghosts hesitate, and giving her a chance to study her would be hero.

"What a pretty one to show up to your rescue, young lady," coos one of the ghosts, in an amused and high pitched voice. She waves a ghostly arm towards her compatriot in the universal gesture of check this out, and continues to fawn, this time over Vi: "Would you look at this hair colour? I had hair this brightly coloured, didn't I, sisters? Yes, but longer, still - so pretty! Though my father did think it was a sign I was possessed by the devil."

"That's a harmful stereotype," Hermione mutters under her breath.

Edited 2023-01-02 20:32 (UTC)

Unaware of her concerns, Wrathion leans to set down his towel by the waters edge and begins to do just that. The robe is being untied, Hermione. Soon, more skin will be exposed.

"I thought I might put them to good use. Is there something I could make you? I recall you did, eventually, buy some clothes in Serthica."

Yet still, perhaps there is something more she requires? He isn't certain how much she actually bought, in the end. Just the one outfit? Something more?

There's a ringing in her ears as she realises what is happening, and she whips her head around so fast she nearly gets seasick. He's taking off his robe. And he, Man of Culture that he is, is probably not wearing a ridiculous bathing suit. If his world even has bathing suits.

Don't think about whether they swim naked!

"Sounds great!" she says, having heard absolutely not a single word of what he just said. Eyes forward, shoulders tense, she waits for the inevitable sounds of someone getting into the hot springs with her.

"Everyone's got devils in them."

Pretty, though. Vi smirks at that, and it's not friendly. She's never been called pretty, and if it's some kind of dig it's falling on deaf ears. Or so she'd like to think. As soon as one of the ghosts gets near enough to check her hair, Vi is quick to back away a couple steps, though she'll move an arm out in front of Hermione to try and bring her with. Can't run chicken and leave an innocent behind, right?

The concept of walking and talking ghosts is too painful for Vi to think about, so she's eager to get out of dodge if they're going to waste her time.

"But you don't want to see mine, so if you want a favor then lay it on me or leave the lady alone."

Maybe she shouldn't talk to the ghosts like that, but since when does Vi do what she's supposed to?

Sounds... great?

Well, good. He's glad it sounds good. That isn't quite an actual answer, however. There's the sound of the fabric of his robe moving, soft footsteps, the robe being set down and then his presence closer to the edge of the water.

"I meant to ask what you'd like," he says, his voice closer now. The water ripples as he lowers himself into it, in no particular rush but without hesitation. The heat is no trouble for him, after all.

She thinks she's safe to look now. She thinks wrong. Clearly Wrathion is on a mission to torment her by being the world's slowest naked dragon (are not all dragons naked in their dragon form? Discuss another time), because when she hears his voice closer she looks.

And chokes on a little bit of spit that she inhales, promptly ducking under water even though it's steaming hot. Naked! Shamelessly naked! I mean, good for him but - why!

She emerges a second later coughing, spluttering out water, and deliberately not looking in Wrathion's direction. "I slipped - sorry - I wasn't aware you'd be not wearing anything in here!?"

The outrage was, in Hermione's defense, over the stereotype of red hair equalling evil. She knows a whole family who is the furthest thing away from evil possible, all of them redheads. Granted, not as brightly on the side of fuchsia as Vi's hair, but she doesn't have the time to draw comparisons.

She steps back all on her own once Vi throws an arm out in front of her, like some protective badger, bearing her teeth.

The ghosts, seemingly content to just chat among themselves until Hermione's interruption, don't look to pleased to be disrespected, and Hermione decides: nope, not today. Not fighting ghosts today! Not ending up sleeping outside in the cold!

"Oh, will you hear that? I think the mistress is calling," she bluffs, putting on a very tense smile, and grabbing onto Vi's arm to pull her along. "So sorry, got to go, haha!"

She turns them both around towards the opposite hallway, and mutters: "Quickly, before the compulsion settles in," before she starts speed walking out of the ghosts' range.

Hermione appears to be choking. He pauses, watching as she ducks under the water then emerges sputtering. She... wasn't aware he'd be naked?

"I believe this is the normal apprach," he offers. Although he can see, of course, she chose not to. He considers this, then moves a little deeper into the water. "Since we wash before entering the hot springs, my understanding is it is also considered more hygienic then wearing any additional layers."

Anduin has taken to spending a certain amount of time in the hotsprings over the past month, himself. He still can't quite be certain whether it's the warmth of the water or whether there really are healing properties, but he feels a lot better for a few hours or two when he gets out -- no stiffness or aching in any of his joints. He hasn't wanted to push himself, but it's almost like he's a real teenager again, for a little while at least.

He's been doing his best to relax here, which has been less difficult for him than for his... Roommate. The ghosts don't bother him all that much, and compared to some of the rest of the places they've been, this is honestly rather nice. He's going to miss this hotspring once they move on, that's for certain.

Making his way down to the water, Anduin himself is wrapped in a robe from the inn. He has a towel draped over his arm and his hair is tied up in a looped ponytail bun. He's just toeing off his slippers when he notices Hermione in the water, and a true smile lights itself across his face.

"These are certainly better circumstances to find ourselves in than when last we met," he says, by way of greeting.

No, she was aware - she just did not expect to be gifted with a full frontal...view. Of it. (On the bright side, at least he wasn't pissing in the wind to reassure a dead pirate? Small mercies!)

"I washed before entering," she snaps testily, pulling the shift away from her chest because it feels like it is clinging, the rotten thing. "And this is clean. Look, I am not - this isn't a normal occurence where I come from, alright? I don't just hang out naked in hot springs!"

Well, a fair comment. Not every location will have a hot springs, and he's spoken to other people who have not been to such a thing before.

"The concept is familiar to me," he admits, moving a little deeper into the water. "Anduin and I first met in a place similar to this."

An inn with a hot springs, high up in the mountains. It's almost nostalgic.

She coughs again for different reasons, patting her cheeks as if that will stop her from blushing. "Well - what concept is familiar to you, shame?" She snorts. "Surely not - "

Then, impatiently, "Are you in?"

Take two: maybe if she comes here closer to the end of the day and before the curfew, she won't run into anyone. Especially not someone who will be respecting the unwritten rules of the hot springs and a. bathe naked and b. note that she isn't. So she is self-conscious, sue her.

She's got scars she doesn't want to explain to people, and as much as she harpies on about how young people should be allowed to express themselves physically, obviously that doesn't apply to her. She doesn't want to be seen naked, not unless it counts. Hence, the makeshift bathing suit, which again is really just a black shift she used to wear under her dresses in Serthica, covering her from chest to mid-knee.

At nearly seven in the evening, with all duties put to rest, she finds the hot springs empty and quiet and sinks into the warm water with a happy little sigh. It lasts exactly twenty minutes, but it's long enough for Hermione to lean back against the edge and doze off a little, all her aches and muscle pains fading to nothing.

It's the voice that breaks her out of her catnap, and she opens her eyes to find

just

shoulders. So broad. Muscled. Chest. Skin.

Again, why? They're both unfairly handsome and she is only human, for heaven's sake. Have mercy.

"Anduin," she greets, her voice squeaking out. She lowers her gaze deliberately to the water, just to not accidentally also see him in all his full glory. (Even the half glory is intimidating, honestly.)

"Wasn't expecting anyone would come this late..."

"The hot springs," he repeats, "there was one at the inn Anduin and I met in. It equally boasted of healing properties."

Which was why Anduin was there, to heal, although that isn't Wrathion's tale to tell.

Still:

"I am in the water," he confirms, and he is. Wrathion is roughly waist deep in it, studying her curiously even as he tries to avert her eyes. "Does my company trouble you?"

He sounds curious, not at all troubled himself.

Her shoulders relax and drop when he confirms he's in the water, and she looks up to confirm it visually as well. Bare chest or not, at least she can't definably see more than that. (Even if what she does see is...

It's very hot in the hot spring, so the swooning is probably from that. Steam.)

"No, of course not," she hurries to answer, her eyebrows pinched together in a frown. "You're just...very naked. I'm not familiar with hot springs enough, clearly. I'm trying to not...uhm..." How should she put this? She waves vaguely in his general direction. "Objectify you."

Ah.

Anduin turns away for a moment at that comment, enough so that he doesn't catch her own own self-consciousness. Not when he is too busy being self-conscious himself.

"I -- yes," he says, a bit awkwardly, as he moves to set down his towel and then reaches to untie his robe. "I have made it a habit of coming to the hotsprings a bit later than usual. To avoid the crowds."

To avoid the questions. Anduin has scars himself. It happens, when one has almost every bone broken in your body. The healers had done their best, and he had survived the ordeal. But even the Prophet Velen had only been able to do so much. He would prefer... Not to be stared at, if possible.

(no subject)

i. hark how the balls

ii. sweet silver wells

iii. all seem to say

iv. throw cares away

it must be pussy willow; i don't make the law

what do we even do with pussy willow

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