Eye Snatch

Xanadu Weyr - Hot Springs

The warmth that flows from this cavern is almost overwhelming for some, the steam rising from the shimmering pools as thick as the morning fog that rolls in off the ocean. Numerous pools are scattered here and there with ribboned walls that are natural in their construction. The water has a somewhat green cast to it, but it is merely a reflection from the ethereal light which is the glow down here that was so noticeable from the tunnel leading here. People can often be found down here washing themselves or just relaxing.

Situated long the walls are various racks covered in fresh towels ready for those who step out of the warm waters. A set of shelves have been installed towards the back wall, allowing people a place to put their belongings while they rest in the pools, and despite the white color that these have been painted, they are cast with that eerie green glow. Then, it's obvious. The ceiling of this cavern is covered in the fluorescent phosphorous matter that glows are made off. The mossy substance almost glitters and appears quite lovely.

A sloped tunnel leads back to the main caverns, a single branch carved out along it to detour down into the laundry room. It allows the passage of people, but even more importantly, it allows for metal pipes wrapped with insulation that run along the ceiling to carry heated water back and forth to where it's needed.

SUMMERTIME AND THE LIVING IS EASYYY~. R'hyn should probably find the morning peace inside his chosen pool to be deeply suspicious given that this is Xanadu Weyr, where things can and will go epically sideways on the shortest of notices, but. Listen. Even he's allowed to be young, dumb, and trusting sometimes. So there he is, sunk down to his earlobes, expression warm and content, like those monkeys you see on animal planet, content to while away the few pruney moments he gets to his own one self… And stays that way, even when it's clear that a ruckus is headed their way. CAN'T TOUCH A PURITY LIKE THIS. Not even when a splatty blue firelizard that is definitely his own wings in, nearly smacking someone in the face in his haste to get to R'hyn - or perhaps, away from something else. He's carrying something in his mouth with mostly-success, but the long string attached keeps getting snarled on feet and wings and… listen. It's not pretty. And R'hyn is very dutifully ignoring it. Ohmmmm.

Perhaps it's a good thing that R'hyn is ignoring all that's going around him. The movements and sounds of people slipping in and out of the pools as they go about their day. Why? That would mean he'd be totally ignoring the glisten figure quietly padding into the hot springs. A private pool is selected, out of the view of entering sweeping eyes. With clothes carefully and neatly shed, Percival lowers himself into the inviting heat and he bites down on his lip to keep the awkward noises of tension leaving his body to himself. Why is the Candidate shimmering in the light? It's definitely not the humidity, but the nice smooth coating of fat and grease covering his skin from head to toe. Slick. From the size and scent of the soapsand at his side, it'll be business time in a minute. The firelizard does manage to draw his amber eyes over, and he watches the blue curiously. What does it have?

THE LIVING IS EASY. For everybody except for Ila'den, apparently, who must look a sight when he slams into the entrance of the caverns, halting momentum with one shoulder and a growl ripped from his throat on impact. He's half dressed and looking positively murderous, void the unnecessary layer his riding jacket usually offers, bearing a long-sleeved tunic half tucked, sporting pants unbelted, and possessing only one boot on his feet. One. One unlaced boot. The other, at least, is gripped in the hand not doing its best to keep the grisly sight of a barren eye-socket from view in lieu of an eyepatch. But there's a slow roll of his body, an absolutely predatory push away from the wall with his shoulder, an aggressive intent his gait adopts as he moves. He doesn't have to say anything, he doesn't have to announce himself anymore than he already does, he's THE VILLAIN IN THIS SHOW, Y'ALL. He'll catch up eventually. That's why, SORRY PERCY, he doesn't take note of greasy candidates soakin' out their gross because he's more intent on finding where the hell that damnable blue went.

Ohmmmm, I said! R'hyn's eyes press harder shut, as though willing the sounds of humanity away from his deep inner zen. Percival's arrival is normal, calming (though his scent is very much not, and is either inspiring hunger or nausea, depending on that shimmery grease's origin) - Ila'den's… not so much. Ohmmmmmmmmm. Gred, who has slopped pantingly to the floor, screeches unholy defiance as the bronzerider slams into the room, doing the panicked scrabblescrabble of an animal caught at doing exactly what it shouldn't be and, unable to gain a proper catch on the ground as all four legs try to run in different directions, winds up scattascattascattaing on the wet floor before he finally gains enough traction. SKITT SKITT SKITT — *bloop*. Right into Percival's pool. Hopefully he can swim. WATCH YOUR BITS, KID.

Wait. Is this the thing that bloody fortune teller told him about? There's dangers everywhere he goes. EVERYONE IS SUSPECT. Percival stares bewildered at Ila'den and he freezes mid pectoral scrub. HE CAN'T SEE THE CANDIDATE IF HE DOESN'T MOVE, RIGHT? But that nipple is starting to itch some so back to scrubbing he goes, but not without watching where that murderous intent is going to. If Percival is lucky, the grease film floating to the water's surface will conceal the rest of his precious body. Not that he's saving it for anyone specific, but it's still, you know… Necessary to do things. At least there's no floating chunks, just the scent of whatever was roasted in the kitchens just hours before. The firelizard skittering into the pool was completely unexpected and the butcher just… stares at the grease free void at the waters surface. Do they know how to swim? "Uhh," Percy says as he tries to stand up, "OH, HEY, NONONONO. NO NAILS IN THAT REGION. NOPE! NOOOoooOOOPE!" THERE AIN'T NO STANDING WHEN YOU'VE BEEN WALLOWING IN NATURES EDIBLE LUBRICANT.

So what have we got here? A BLUE FLIT THIEF, A GREASY BUTCHER-DATE, ONE WEYRLEADER DOING HIS BEST TO NOT NOTICE THE WORLD, and Ila'den. Ila'den probably never would have found that blue, truth be told — not in enough time for it to matter, anyway — except that Percival's extremely dignified attempts to keep all of his mandingles and dangly-doos intact heralds half the damn weyr to attention. That grey eye snaps to Percy, to that maybe-drowning-who-knows blue as he stalks that way instead, so hyper-focused on his task that he almost (but only almost) misses his weyrmate altogether. So he slows, stares for a long moment at Percival, and must decide, at some point, that it's every man for himself when he drops that boot near Percy's pool and stalks to R'hyn's instead. Down onto his knees he goes, hauling R'hyn up just enough by two hands that cup his face to press his mouth hard against the younger bronzerider's. "Your firelizard," comes on a gritty growl against lips, "is about to be fodder for the herdbeasts." And then he's letting R'hyn go, rising to turn back to Percival's water and just stand there. For a long time. Does he GET IN THE GREASE WATER, OR DOES HE LET THE BLUE MAYBE-DROWN, POSSIBLY TURN A CANDIDATE INTO A EUNUCH? "You should probably yell a little louder," comes dry with sarcasm. "Maybe he can't hear you." And listen, he's still covering his eye, so at least you don't have to add that to the mounting horror of the moment.

LISTEN, PERCIVAL. YOU DIDN'T NEED THAT RIGHT GLUTE ANYWAYS. That is why it has been commandeered, eighteen little claws skittering to keep purchase on that mound of greased lightning, the whims of water making the eyepatch Gred's stolen straight off the bronzerider's face perch atop his head like a tricorn. YARRR! SHIVER ME TIMBERS, MATEYS. HE'S GOT THE EYEPATCH AND THE BOOTY! Whirling red eyes sight the edge of the pool, wet wings flap-thwapping against Percival's back, as though trying to haul him thattaways by force. LAND, HO. OFF THE STARBOARD BUTTCHEEK. THIS IS A MUTINY. Up the candidate he scuttles, taking full advantage of every slimy trick in the book to make it to the top of Percival's head. THE POOP DECK. No wait he just left there. THE HAIR DECK. YES. NOW RUN ASHORE OR YE'LL WALK THE PLANK! Or you know. Maybe singe an eyebrow, given the little hurp of flame he issues from a gullet stoked with firestone. One of those things. R'hyn, meanwhile, has finally assented to squinting open one eyeball, lazy in the extreme as he watches Percy go from Denial to Bargain stages real fast over there. He almost makes it back to blissful ignorance - almost - when a familiar boot, sock, pair of hands descends into his field of view, and he has exactly two seconds to look up into his weyrmate's face, to register oh-it's-you! pleasure before he's claimed for a hard kiss. "Mmm. M'what?" A beat. "Oh, shit!" WELP. RIP HIS ZEN. GONE WITH THE WIND as he surges up out of the water, yanking his towel around his waist as he just… sort of stands there… and ultimately helps with nothing because… where does he even start? Please wait while R'hyn reboots.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Wait. Percival can't figure out which eye hole to look into. The one with the eyeball still buggin' or the empty socket that's being hidden but still there at the moment. Left. Right. Left. Right. HE CAN'T PICK A HOLE, ILA'DEN. IT'S A TOUGH DECISION, OKAY? THE POSSIBILITIES ARE LIMITED BUT WE CAN PRETEND THEY'RE ENDLESS. Percy's irate glistening greasy self stands up and UNATTACHES the flailing firelizard from his skin with a sharp hiss (complete with velcro rippy sounds!) through his own teeth, and he slides the little monster on the opposite side of the pool in slow movements towards R'hyn's direction. ALL WHILE MAINTAINING EYE CONTACT WITH ILA. Which is a little easier now that the butcher finally decides on the eyeball for now. "Naw, I don't want anymore attention coming my way. This greatness doesn't come for free, you know. Now if you don't mind, sir. I have areas that need special soapy attention. Can't stand the slimy feeling between my cheeks and I'm not talking about this adorable face now." What greatness? The floating grease scum pool being the best kind of censoring there is! THE ANCIENT BRONZERIDER CAN'T SEE WHAT FEAR DOES TO THE CANDIDATES BODY THIS WAY.

VELCRO RIPS. FLITS WITH BOOTY. SO MUCH DEVOLUTION IN SO SHORT A TIME. And while R'hyn climbs out of the pool to stand there and drip at everything (so very helpful, WOULD ELECT AGAIN), Ila'den keeps eye contact with one butcher who — "Do you need help?" Ila'den asks, that brow arching, too slow of a smile coming across his lips — wolfish, and feral, and preceding the husky laughter that comes on the wake of POORLY EXECUTED JOKES. At least, he was laughing, until he chanced a side-eye at R'hyn. Now he's just looking at R'hyn. Look, we could get into how very uncomfortable that look is probably making the rest of the hot springs feel, but it's getting weird so we're gonna leave it at YOU MIGHT WANNA PUT ON THAT EYEPATCH, PERCY. SPARE YOURSELF HAVING TO STARE DOWN ANY MORE SAUSAGES THIS MORNING (IF U KNO WUT I MEAN). It would be against the rules if Ila'den didn't sigh, if he didn't accuse, "You're doing this on purpose," to his not nearly dressed-enough husband as he catches one arm at the wrist, tucks his shoulder in against R'hyn's stomach, and HAULS HIM UP OVER HIS SHOULDERS IN A FIREMAN CARRY. SO SEXY. At least he has the decency to pull some of his hair over the ruin of his eye. "Excuse us, Percival. Important weyr business. Enjoy the…" A beat. "Cleaning." AND OUT HE GOES, eyepatch and boot forgotten. For now. HE'S COMING FOR YOU LATER, PERCIVAL. BE A PIRATE WHILE YOU CAN.

Well. Percival just watches the pair wander off while the ladies in the hotspring look upon them with both horror and adoration. The Candidate? He's gonna stare at the boot and eyepatch, wondering which is gonna have to cover the nether regions if he can't get back to a towel in time. With a sigh, the butcher slides both closer and gets back to the arduous task of getting CLEAN. Once done, a towel is carefully applied, his foot shoved in the single boot, and the eyepatch is put on. WHY? Cause if he's going to have to explain to the Healers what happened to him, he's gonna need some proof… and trophies.

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