bakerstreet | Rubber duckie

Rubber duckie

The Bathing Meme

Scrub-a-dub-dub, this meme is ridiculous. No, really. This is a meme about taking a bath. Silly.

- Post your character with name, series, and preferences as the subject header.
- Reply to other characters, using the RNG (1-7) to choose a bath type from the list below, or don't!
- Characters bathe. Or other things involving a bath. Whatever, dudes. Anything goes!
- Sexy times and/or triggery material may pop up in threads. Please be conscientious toward your fellow roleplaying buddies!
- Original meme found here

1. Bubble Bath: Here, the characters are sharing a humongous bubble bath with all the froth they can handle. The scent is delicious, the water is warm—go on, enjoy yourselves!
2. Shower: Perhaps not as fun as a bubble bath, but hey, at least it's built to accommodate two. Don’t slip!
3. Hot Tub: A whirlpool of warmth and—mm. Don't mind me. I'll just be sinking in.
4. Hot Springs: An outdoors bath is good, too, right? Or maybe this is part of a hotel. Either way, it sure is steamy.
5. Decadent Bath: There could be bubbles here, or maybe just those wonderful smelling oils and salts. Awwww, yeah. This bath probably cost a small fortune, so you should enjoy it while it lasts.
6. Lake: In case the hot springs weren't rugged enough for you, here's an actual lake, complete with waterfall for all your rinsing pleasures.
7. Other: Bathe in a shoebox for all I care!

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Eskel almost offers to light it for him-- an easy enough trick even with a witcher's limited magic-- before reminding himself that the man is a mage and more than capable of magicking up a fire for himself if he wanted to, probably. The man has enough magic in him to make Eskel's medallion hum a little against his chest if he stands nearby, so he assumes it's more than enough to light a simple fire. He must have his reasons for not doing so and Eskel won't question him about it. He focuses on cleaning himself and examining his healing wounds.

"There's a little bit of an uptick in monster activity in this part of the country." He explains. "It's kinda funny, for a few seasons there we thought they were all starting to die off, that we'd be out of jobs and headed straight for the scaffolding." To be slaughtered like all working beasts once they have outlived their usefulness. "But this season I've been busy. Gotta compare notes with the rest of my guild and see if it holds true for the whole continent." He picks a leaf out of his hair, stuck there with a clump of ooze.

"Yeah I bet your line of work, in little towns like this you can probably sense a wave of incoming gossip based on who happens to have the clap at the same time." He says, with a course laugh. "Well, now their roads and herds are safe for at least the season and they can go back to such mundane afflictions."

He's had little enough experience with Witchers not to know how obvious his tells are, how little point there is to playing pretend, here. But - it makes just as little difference if all this remains an unacknowledged open secret.

And there's no reason to start worrying more, now, besides. (He's already worrying enough, despite his best attempts at nonchalance.)

"Among other things," Anders replies, dryly but not without some humor. Such pleasantries are not his favorite aspect of this job, but an unfortunate constant no matter where one settles.

He leaves the water warming over the fire for a moment to pick through a nearby set of shelves (just as cluttered as all the rest). After a brief forage, he picks out a half full bottle of some viscous liquid and offers it over along with a cloth (one he isn't particularly attached to).

"Here. This ought to help with the smell, and the... More dried on bits."

"Thanks." Eskel is a man of few words himself, speech sometimes awkward in that way that shows a man has lived a largely solitary life. He doesn't mind at all just focusing on his bath and letting Anders do whatever it is he needs to do around Eskel's suddenly intrusion into his personal space in relative privacy and silence, apart from a little bit of splashing.

Even applied sparingly, the liquid helps a great deal and the witcher makes a note to repay the generosity of its use before he goes. Really, the mage is being too nice to him, considering they barely know each other. But perhaps there is a common sympathy, as outsiders.

The ability to talk at all puts him far and away above Anders' usual preferred company - cats are lovely, but they're not much for conversation, unfortunately. Add to that at least a measure of gruff politesse, and that's reason enough all on its own to play the decent host. Though, maybe there is a touch of that sympathy beneath the surface-level rationale; he doesn't live like a hermit because he enjoys the solitude.

"Don't mention it," he answers airily, waving him off again as he adds more wood to the fire. "I consider it a favor you're willing to wash properly, at all. Given we both have to smell you as long as you're here."

So, really, they're practically even.

"Unless you're in a hurry to find yourself elsewhere, you might as well stay a while. There's a spot out back, downstream, where you can wash your things, as well."

"I can sleep out back too, so long as it doesn't rain too much." He says helpfully, not wanting to intrude too much, especially if he stays a while. "I'll stay as long as it takes to clean up my mess. Not too long." He promises. "I don't wanna be underfoot. You've got your own business to worry about and my ugly mug usually scares off customers." His smile is wry and made crooked by the scarring that ran up his cheek.

"If it suits you." There are certainly less comfortable places to bed down than the mossy little glade behind his cottage, and rain would be unseasonable, now. But Anders isn't all that put out, either way. He doesn't get much sleep, as it is. A stranger's presence would disrupt little.

Especially with regard to his income. That comment brings the twist of a smile back to his lips, as he leans against the cool stone frame of the fireplace.

"Though you won't be chasing off any coin, if that's what you're worried about. I only charge for the frivolous and rare. ...And exceptionally bad manners." Healing, on the other hand, is always free - which does lend itself to the returning furrow in his brow, as he glances over at his guest again.

"Speaking of, your wounds don't look serious, but I wouldn't be much of a healer if I didn't at least ask if you might need something for them."

"I'll be alright." He says, studying a scratch on his forearm that just two hours ago had been a deep gash. "I doubt any will still be there in the morning, but if they are, I might inquire after a salve to help it along. But what's one more scar, really?" He certainly has plenty of them, and not just on his face. Here and there on his torso, sometimes cutting through the dusting of black hair, are countless marks of claws and teeth and human steel.

He looks up at the other man, his amber eyes glowing orange in the firelight.

"I'd wager you don't need anybody inviting bad manners either. Nah, I better stay clear of your clients. Hard enough to be a mage-- even a healer-- you don't need my help drawing the ire of idiots."

"Surely you'll run out of room, eventually," Anders replies to that rhetorical question, mildly amused. It really is quite the impressive collection, testament to any number of near misses and narrow escapes. Anders supposes he'd have more than a few scars, himself, without the aid of magic - but nowhere near so many, and few quite so severe.

Speaking of.

His head snaps up at that entirely too nonchalant comment, though the surprise is chased quickly by an appropriately embarrassed grimace.

"You know, you could have said something sooner." Though, in reality, perhaps it's better he didn't. Being called out as a mage so abruptly might've put his back up earlier, curtailing his hospitality entirely, rather than simply rendering him with the proper amount of chagrin for not having fooled anyone, even for a moment.

So much wasted effort. In a moment of pettiness, he heats the water in the bath, after all, with a twitch of his fingers. Maybe a little more than necessary, at that (though far from scalding, still - he isn't trying to make more work for himself).

"Whoa." Eskel says, lifting himself slightly as the bathtub heats against the back of his thighs. He doesn't seem especially offended, however, his smile wry.

"Sorry. I promise that to most humans your cover is probably pretty solid." He jingles the silver wolf around his thick neck. "Hums when I'm near magic. But most people you're likely to encounter out here will probably never know."

"Handy." The sarcasm is still quite thick, but despite his embarrassment Anders seems no more offended. (That brief startle is clearly more than enough to mollify him, in his petty fit.)

"I haven't had trouble with it, yet. Though it always helps not to overstay my welcome. But I'm sure you know all about that."

"I do. Hence my offer to make myself scarce as soon as I've cleaned up my mess." Eskel promises. Speaking of mess, the warmed water is nice but he'd rather not marinade in monster blood, no matter how pleasant the heat on his aching muscles. He looks around for a moment before turning his bright eyes on his host again.

"Could I trouble you for a towel?"

"Your welcome's not quite overstayed, yet," Anders assures him, stepping away from the mantle and reaching for the cauldron on the hearth.

"Sit up for a moment. You could use a rinse, then I'll fetch you something to dry off with." The water in the cauldron is warm and, blessedly, far cleaner than the murky mire he's sitting in, now. The towel Anders tosses him after is equally clean, if a bit rough - but he's clearly far from living in luxury, here. Not that he expects many complaints on that front, either, though.

"I'll leave you to it." There's still a dreadful mess in the front room to assess; he can feign an interest in that, for politeness' sake.

Having the other man's help is an odd feeling, though as the potion hangover and the weariness of crawling around beneath the earth fighting things that skitter in the dark settles into him (telling, that he feels that he's safe here with Anders that his body can surrender to its exhaustion) he finds that it's welcome.

Once rinsed, he catches the towel and rises from the bath in a clatter of droplets, turning his back as he dries himself. There's only so much space and privacy so if Anders happens to catch an eyeful on accident while he's doing whatever he's doing, Eskel figures that at least he just gets an eyeful of Eskel's back, which feels as polite as he can manage under the circumstances. It's as heavily scarred and muscular as one might expect, with just a little bit of padding around the thighs and middle, the only vestige of the stout peasant boy he had once been.

Eskel's bare backside far from the worst thing he's ever incidentally caught a glimpse of, but Anders is currently banking on taking that thought to his grave, untimely as it's bound to be. Even if the Witcher's better company than he would have expected (despite the smell), he'd rather not press his luck.

Better to focus on the task at hand, gathering up the discarded clothes on his doorstep into a basket he won't miss much. The floorboards look as if they might harbor a permanent stain, but it won't be one among few, joining other colorful, faded spatters. Spilled potions, old blood. The same milieu one might find in any healer's hut.

He's aware he might be stepping on his guest's best attempts to be gracious, by clearing away most of the mess before he has a chance - but magic's liable to do a better job of it than any vigorous scrubbing, and besides, the man looks rightfully exhausted, already.

"Your effects, serah." The title has a light, teasing lilt to it, and he gestures toward the basket of monster viscera Eskel wore in (clothing presumably hidden somewhere beneath) with the pair of iron tongs he's still holding. "No offense, but I wasn't about to risk getting any of that on my hands."

"I could have picked it up for you." Eskel points out, though his tone of consternation is friendly as he takes the basket after making sure his towel is secure on his hips. He'll take the basket straight out the back of the little house, so the acrid-iron smell of monster blood doesn't cause the place to reek. He whistles his stallion around the back of the house so he can get into his bags. Regrettably, a witcher is a man of few possessions so he has little to replace the leathers in the basket but he at least has some clean small-clothes so that he's not walking around in the precariously clinging towel.

He also finds a bottle of good dwarven whiskey that seems like a reasonable token of thanks for Anders' hospitality so he brings it back in with him.

Determined to make good on his promise to clean up, he then sets about hauling the tub out to be emptied and cleaned.

If this activity also causes a particularly flattering display of his finely honed witcher muscles as he moves about in his soft linen shorts, well, it cannot be helped.

He'll probably need to burn something to get the last lingering whiff of that ichor out of the place, but for now a stuff breeze ought to do. Anders lights out the fire on the hearth (it's a bit too balmy a night to let it burn out on its own) and goes about setting things to rights again. He's not particularly fastidious, but he prefers his clutter keep some semblance of order, at least.

Though he certainly isn't going to object to Eskel dragging the bath out to empty. A far easier task for a man roughly twice his breadth, surely.

Anders stops to examine the bottle Eskel has brought back in with him - though not without also taking a moment to admire the effort he's putting in. (It feels significantly less like taking advantage when he's at least partially clothed and out in the open, to tease him just a tad.)

"Drinks and a show? I'm beginning to think you witchers get a bad rap."

Eskel doesn't seem to mind the teasing, laughing good-naturedly as he hauls the tub out the back and tips it out and leans it against the side of the house to dry.

"Well, you know, with a mug like mine...it goes better for me to be nice." He says, grinning in a way that most humans found disturbing with his twisted face in spite of the mischief and warmth in his eyes. "You've been good to me, I should repay you somehow and I figure that's as good as anything." He gestures to the bottle.

"You're hardly hideous," Anders assures him, his own smile light. Eskel's scars may be extensive and quite prominent (especially those on his face), but scars don't much bother him. It's the wounds that are open and bleeding that Anders tends to reserve his energy for.

He twists the stopper out of the bottle, curious, but he hardly has to lift it to catch a whiff of the strong, rich scent of the liquor. "And you have good taste. I assume you'll join me for a drink, before turning in?"

"Mm, maybe." He shrugs. Even a bare-faced, scarless young witcher, fresh on the Path, inspires plenty of disgust...it's only of a little more consequence that he frightens women and children with these marks. He doesn't give it much thought beyond the odd self-deprecating joke and a preference for hired company.

He watches Anders assess the bottle and nods. The bottle smells like spices and smoke.

"Yeah, I'll have a drink with you."

Most people are disgusted or frightened by that which they don't understand - or, just as often, both. (And rarely if ever do they try to learn different.) Anders has lived with some measure of similar stigma for just as much of his life, quickly as he was cast out for his natural talents. Maybe it does inspire too much sympathy in him. But he will also gladly maintain that a little hospitality (sans any cringing or epithets) is the least anyone should be willing to offer a man willing to wade through a mire of monsters for a few coins.

Even if he didn't find his company pleasant enough, regardless.

"I could probably find you something to put on, if you like," Anders offers, as he turns to step back inside. Though it might not be much better than a loose fur or blanket. They aren't too dissimilar in height, but those shoulders are definitely not suited to any tunic of Anders'.

"And I suppose I would be remiss if I passed on the opportunity to ply you for any news from the road, while we drink."

"Yeah, if you got something I can just throw over..." He gestures to the broad expanse of chest. "That would probably be more polite of me. Blanket's fine." He adds, just as capable as Anders of working out that none of the mage's shirts will fit either. "And sure, if it's news you want I could probably recollect a few things, as long as I don't drink too much."

"I have a quilt that should do." Nothing extravagant, but Anders has the distinct feeling that's an unnecessary consideration. He picks the blanket up off the foot of the bed as he passes back through the house, handing it to Eskel as he goes.

"And that's why I'm pumping you for information before we start." Although he's pouring as he says so, filling the pair of mismatched mugs he managed to dig up from somewhere. "Not that I'm encouraging you to get that drunk."

"You wouldn't like me when I'm that drunk." Eskel says. "I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise." He finds a spot to sit, draping the quilt around his shoulders. He sits, elbows on his knees, looking up at the mage with bright, attentive eyes.

"I don't like most people when they are, to be fair." Though, really, when the majority of your experience with the heavily intoxicated is cleaning up after them and struggling to heal their stupidly self-inflicted wounds, how can one be expected to find any drunk charming?

"You're doing fine, so far." Anders offers him his mug and pulls up a seat across from him, leaning against his messy worktable. "In fact, you could be considerably less gentlemanly, and I'd probably still let you get away with it."

Eskel cocks his head thoughtfully, with a slow wolfish blink of his bright eyes, as he sips from his mug of whiskey. It burns and tastes like smoke but has an unparalleled smoothness only found in the whiskey distilled far beneath the remote mountains.

"Maybe we can revisit that thought after I've had a drink or two, see if you still like me well enough." He rumbles somewhat carefully, not wanting to imply anything if Anders wasn't. "News first. What do you wanna know?"

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