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WHO: Hermione Granger & her magical pack of pixies (aka you)
WHEN: During Silent Night
WHERE: the Inn & surroundings
WHAT: can i interest you in some slice of life in these trying times? catch-all and open to all who want some cute form of interaction (warning: i may bite you in the feels) with Hermione before the new arc starts; bring on the magical weeds too
WARNINGS: will add if necessary

[ooc: please feel free to to either PM me or reach me on plurk/discord if you want a separate starter, or throw your own in here. get in losers, we're doing shenanigans.]

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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?"

"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."

Objectify him?

He considers that a long moment, and his lips faintly twitch with suppressed amused.

"I chose this form to be appealing."

So, in that sense, objectifying it doesn't bother him. He made an active choice to be perilously handsome, so in a way she's simply appreciating the artistry of his work. Isn't appreciating art important?

She opens her mouth to protest at that amused twitch of his lips, and immediately snaps it shut. Bristles, like a wet cat. "Yes, well," she says, with an uppity little sniff and a nod his way.

"Goal accomplished."

Will you let the girl have an award for most underhanded compliment of the year?

He'll take it. Wrathion allows the pleased smile to pull at his lips, moving closer to her through the water now.

"I'm glad it pleases you," he says. Although what his reaction would have been if she hadn't is unclear. It has been his form for some time now, he's already rather use to it. "Most of us pick an appearance we commonly use when young. The ceremony is referred to as a visage day, I suppose you might consider it a coming of age ceremony. It does not have to be a human visage."

She as, he is quite sure, curious how it works. Perhaps this information well help her understand more what he means when he says he chose the form.

She draws her knees to her chest under the water, perched near the more shallow edge of the hot spring, water reaching up to her chin now, and watches him approach. Information is given, and it is...interesting, to be sure. Live your truth and all, Wrathion. Apparently said truth includes and unfairly fit body.

She wonders if that was also part of the visage day. If he, in dragon form, thought to himself I'm going to be so hot it's going to make people uncomfortable, and this was the result.

Of course, what actually comes out from her mouth is: "I used to have buckteeth, and I break every brush I've bought."

It's a convoluted, roundabout way to say they're not the same, not to point out the obvious, but also - "You're intimidating."

He doesn't look particularly surprised by this information.

"I wanted to be intimidating."

So, in that sense, mission accomplished. Not to her, of course. He hadn't had her in mind when he first chose the visage. Still, he hadn't been aiming for something approachable like Kalecgos or Chromie. In a way, it's a blessing he's still a step down from Onyxia: she'd chosen her form specifically to manipulate mortals. She'd succeeded, too, for quite some time. Wrathion had done some manipulating in his time, but he's never used his own body to do it.

Damn him for being so calm about it, too. He reminds her, in a very broad sense of the word, of Viktor. The blunt, direct mannerisms, the flagrant rejection of British prudishness.

Except that Wrathion is not British, and probably has no idea what that means.

(And yes also the athletic figure. She's looked.)

Regardless. "I must be dull by comparison."

Dull? Why? His brow furrows, as if confused by this statement.

"Not at all," he assures her. "I have told you before I consider you an exceptional individual."

Did she think he was lying, perhaps? He was not. It was simply the truth.

She rolls her eyes at that. An exceptional individual - exceptionally smart, or exceptionally annoying, or maybe if generous exceptionally talented with magic.

It's absolutely foolish, to be sharing a hot spring with Wrathion and suddenly feel overwhelmed by the need to be thought of as beautiful, for once. Not exceptional. Not cor, Hermione, you're a girl. Not even decently pretty. It's foolish, and petty, and maybe if she hadn't seen Wrathion's entire chest she might have felt less self-conscious about how awfully gangly she is. Small, but gangly.

"Right, right - and I appreciate that, but there's...look, you're just awfully fit and it's very difficult to not be looking," she defends herself, weakly.

Her eyeroll says she has not accepted the compliment.

He moves closer, head tilted curiously. Since she has chosen to be in the shallows, this does mean he is in danger of the water level no longer covering his lower half if this continues.

"I have no objection to you looking," he points out. She can look. He enjoys being admired. There's no difficulty there.

It's another example of their morals not aligning. He probably does not see anything bad in Hermione oggling him, but she does. It feels like a betrayal of trust - just not Wrathion's, right now, since he consents to being admired.

"You -" she starts to protest, raising her eyes towards the sky with a sigh. "You may not object but aren't you with Anduin?"

Anduin?

Wrathion studies her a moment, thoughtful, then begins to slowly move closer. This is briefly dangerous, until he lowers himself to sit in the water near her -- blessedly keeping himself submerged. It also allows him an opportunity to casually skim the area, checking the two of them are still alone. This is now a private conversation, after all. Conversations about his personal situation should not be had in public. Other people's personal situation's are less of a concern.

"We have an understanding," he allows. Which is a nice way of saying yes, they spend time together, but they have not really put a name to it. In truth, they have barely discussed it -- talked around it more than about it.

The danger itself approaches like a shark in the water, complete with a menacing soundtrack. The ringing in her ears returns and she sits still and does very much not even glance in a downward direction.

Until he sits down near her, and the danger is gone, she doesn't release her breath. Then she does, and he chooses to finally answer her question in the most inane way possible.

"What does that even bloody mean?" she blurts out, albeit in more of an outraged whisper.

He wasn't... quite expecting that protest. Was he not clear?

"It means we understand each other," he says, "and our own limitations."

Some of them Wrathion's, to be sure, some of them Anduin's. His role limits him, and Wrathion's role is... nebulous, complicated. Neither of them are without constraints, both of them are without experience. They're still working things out.

She might be gaping like a fish out of water, while her brain attempts to understand what the hell he's saying.

It's still pretty vague. Last she talked to him, he and Anduin were definitely having a fight, even if Wrathion seemed unaware of of why.

Flustered, she turns her head to look at him, lips pressed together in confusion.

"What limitations, Wrathion? Are you two not together?"

Is it not possible to be together with someone while also understanding limitations?!

Wrathion hesitates, uneasy, and flicks his eyes away over the water.

"He spends his time with me, but there is nothing... official. Once we leave, he cannot promise his time to me."

Stormwind tolerates him as an advisor, but he sincerely doubts they'd accept him as anything more.

"Oh," she says. And then, "Hm." Because Anduin is king, isn't he? He has the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders back wherever his home is, and that is...

Well, she knows a thing or two about chosen ones who give up their shot at happiness for the good of the realm.

"It's strange, I've been... thinking about it. The return. I've missed my shot at several beacons now, when it arose," she admits. "You'd think I enjoy the constant panic, lack of sleep and suffering if it means exploring a world unknown..."

She looks at him again. It's a change of subject, but it isn't. Wrathion has mentioned once before that he doesn't think they will remember anything of this world when they are returned to their homes.

"Or maybe I'm just...not enough in a hurry to return and forget some of the people I've met here." A pause. "And dragon."

Ah.

A sweet enough sentiment, but one Wrathion cannot entirely match. He does not want to remain here. Even if he would sorely miss Hermione, even there's the chance Anduin will forget everything between them -- well. He can only hope they might start anew. That his capacity to forgive would mean they had a second chance at it all.

But he does not want to remain here, if he can help it.

He tilts his head, pretending to assess her.

"It has been, of course, a privilege for you to know me."

Making jokes is an excellent way to get out of talking about things properly.

Boys. They never want to talk about their feelings, even when they're a dragon ten times her actual size.

"I'll splash you with hot water, don't think I wouldn't," she says, dryly. "You're almost as infuriating as you are handsome."

"You are aware the hot water will do me no harm."

So, splash away. It won't bother him. Now, cold water would be a threat.

She raises one hand, and flicks water at him. "I'm aware," she says, continuing the tradition of dry tone.

She can't even whack his forehead with a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet, so this feels very unsatisfying.

But the reminder that heat matters little due to his draconic nature, she forgets all about that train of thought that she was going to pursue earlier of if you're already with someone, I can't like you like you, so that's why it's a problem you're naked.

Instead, she thinks about that time he was a dragon. Let ger ride on his back and all.

"Does this mean you're immune to heat? Fire magic, volcanoes, so on?"

"My ancestral home is inside a volcano."

Blackwing descent has lava pouring down inside of it. The heat does not bother black dragons, or else it would be a very poor choice indeed to set up a base there.

Not that they're known for exclusively making good choices, but still.