Let's Not Talk About That

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 along 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.

Bizarre sleep schedules come with the territory for those with baby dragons. Weyrlings, though few in number compared to the rest of the Weyr's sizable population, are some of the most frequent odd-place-at-an-odd-hour inhabitants of the area. It's so late that some might call it early, but that hasn't stopped F'yr from appearing in the caverns that house the hot springs, covered in blood except where it's obviously been rubbed roughly clean around his eyes. He stops at the side of one of the larger pools to drop small satchel of bath items and his towel and peel out of his clothes (with squicky sound effects), his body a mottled russet-and-skin-tone beneath. At some point, he must have lost his farmerly modesty because he doesn't seem bothered by the fact that he's wearing only blood; he could be a painting, a statue, a piece of modern art, but he's really just a resigned weyrling who eases into one of the largest pools to begin scrubbing vigorously at every part of himself since nothing seems to have escaped the massacre of… whatever it was, maybe just F'yr's questionably existent dignity.

RHODELIA DID NOT FALL ASLEEP IN THE HOT SPRINGS. THERE IS NO PROOF AND NOBODY WILL CONVINCE HER OTHERWISE. Even if her head was dipping perilously close to the water, only to snap back up once she hears those foot-steps. The bleary eye-wipe is an all too frequent gesture in these sleep deprived days/nights filled with baby dragon antics. F'yr's avant gard anti-fashion statement doesn't even merit an eyebrow raise, just a slight clucking of sympathy from the other side of the same pool he chose to settle in. "Finally got him to settle in to wrestle those evil-doers in dream land? Looks like it was a tough fight."

F'yr's sharp turn toward Rhody might mean he maybe didn't see her there. Maybe it was the blood. He did start with the scrubbing at his face, after all, but now he can see her and he blinks once at her before sighing and rubbing hands over his face. "Yes, through yet another door." Whatever he means by that. "It's a cave this time. Probably because the last place I took him to 'hunt' was the dragon pool." His brows furrow as he pushes hands through his hair and then reaches for his small satchel on the pool's edge to seek out the bag of soapsand one-handed. "Did Ina take a long time to go down tonight?" Glorioth still isn't having anything to do with things that resemble normal sleep patterns. He goes and goes and goes and then CRRRRRRASHES into a dead sleep, which at least frees F'yr up for a good many hours and makes it so he gets bigger chunks of sleep, even if it also means he has to stay awake for longer stretches as the flip side of that lucky coin.

Seeing as Rhodelia can't really remember where she was in the whole scrubbing routine before nodding off resting her eyes, she grabs some more of the smell-good scrubby stuff to start attacking her hair. "Depends on your definition of long. Getting her into the barracks wasn't the hard part. But then she insisted on telling bedtime stories to everybody that was still awake. To help them sleep better. And then when she ran out of clutchmates, I think she tried to tell stories to Leirith, and Xermiltoth and the weyrlingmasters dragons…" Sure it sounds cute, but Rhody realized the RUSE for what it was pretty quickly as just another attempt not to fall asleep. "At least there is only so much damage he can do while fighting in his sleep? Dragons don't sleepwalk, do they?" Her eyes widen as that new possibility just suddenly occurs to her and with how clumsy waking baby dragons are, sleepwalking ones would definitely be a nightmare.

To F'yr's credit, he does not profess how adorable that is, but instead grimaces his sympathy before dipping down to wet his hair so he can start working up a lather in his short locks. "You'd be surprised, or maybe you wouldn't." Surely Rhody has seen the times F'yr has woken up to blankets and pillows stolen off his bed, sometimes from under his head, shredded and strewn about the wallow with a still, apparently sleeping, dragon amid the fabric-and-down carnage. "There's no sleepwalking, yet," but THANK YOU FOR THAT REASON TO NOT SLEEP EVER AGAIN, RHODY. F'yr looks just as perturbed by the idea. "Ugh. Can we just… not talk about our dragons? I mean. I love them. You know I love them, but just for … thirty seconds, just thirty, can we talk about something that has nothing to do with them?" It's a sudden burst of frustration that has zero to do with Rhody and possibly everything to do with the russet-suds dripping into his eye. He ducks and rinses. "How are you?" Is it possible for the former assistant to answer that without talking about Inasyth, too?

Rhodelia might be widely optimistic and assuming all that carnage was like a midnight bathroom or water break, a brief bit of consciousness for some necessary (or destructive) business before returning to naptime! As for the sleepwalking, she gives a shrug. "At least there's almost always a weyrlingmaster on duty." Although they both know by now that's not a sure-fire way to stop wandering baby dragons. RIP living caverns door. She is content to just sit in silence, nodding her head at F'yr's outburst, while she scrubs away. As for how she's doing, her face scrunches up as she considers just how to answer that question since they have all been so entwined with new lifemates over the past two months. "Complicated? Still trying to figure everything out? And you?" She at least manages not to mention Inasyth by name, so that's close enough, right?

The flat look F'yr gives Rhodelia says everything that needs to be said about their dragons' superior abilities to avoid the Powers That Be. It's not the weyrlingmaster's staff's fault, not in the least. Who can stand in the face of Glorioth and Inasyth's combined MIGHT AND CLEVERNESS. Not their riders, anyway, as time has proven, alas. RIP feelings of control. F'yr moves across the pool not to be too near the gold weyrling, but closer, more comfortable for conversation, even if he's bringing a little cloud of blood with him. He stops shy of where she'd have to share in that fate while she gets clean. "Complicated is a good word for it. I'm still trying to figure out what to write my family. If I should write them at all after I wrote them to tell them I wouldn't be coming home, whatever happened at the hatching." He stares at the water a moment before he starts working suds down his neck and onto his shoulders and pecs. "I miss paperwork," he confides quietly. "I haven't gotten time to really read anything since Glorioth." OOPS, WAY TO BREAK YOUR OWN RULE, F'YR, but at least that probably releases Rhodelia from its momentary (CRAZY and IMPOSSIBLE) confines. "R'hyn once told me that Xermiltoth wanted him to keep learning, to better himself. I think that's why he gave me that dictionary." The one Rhody's firelizards DEFACED, A MILLION YEARS AGO (it seems like anyway). "But Glorioth doesn't want anything to do with anything that includes my sitting down. He wants to be out and doing and doing and doing and going and—" FOREVER. "Sometimes it feels like I've gained everything and lost everything. Does that make any sense? I'm still me, but I can't do half of the things I loved." He looks to Rhodelia's face, motions stilled while he searches her expression and then goes back to rinsing.

Bless the smiths that figured out how to get a circulating water supply in the springs. Bye, bye bloody water. As F'yr brings up family and writing, whatever color was in Rhodelia's face drains out as she freezes, eyes wide. It's with a tiny voice that she finally breaks her own statue impression. "Shit… I never wrote to my family." Ever. In the whole just about five turns she's been in Xanadu. "Do you think they would have noticed?" Considering her sister is a harper… that particular grapevine almost certainly stretched continents. Some news is way too big to ignore. She does at least wince at the mention of dictionary even if it HAS been mostly restored. "Give it time? I've never seen a full grown dragon that demands all of their rider's attention every waking minute or nothing would ever get done. They're still babies right now. Eventually they'll get more self sufficient and you'll have all the time you want for paperwork. Or farming. Or whatever." That's mostly just parroting back the wise words someone else might have told her.

F'yr's stillness is a reaction to Rhodelia's, his movements stalling as he looks at her, watches that color go and frowns. Thankfully, she speaks what's wrong before he has to ask and his brows dip down. "Uh," is not a first encouraging response, but he's probably still sorting out what's most needed here, and face it, he's t i r e d. "You could write them?" He suggests in the next heartbeat. "Maybe I won't write mine again," he shrugs AS IF IT DOESN'T MATTER, which anyone who's met him more than once would probably understand as an attempt at self-deception. "It's not like any of our families are entitled to know what goes on in our lives, even if it sometimes feels like they once were. If they really wanted to know, wouldn't they write?" They, their collective families. Maybe F'yr hasn't received anymore letters from home since before the hatching. There's certainly something there but he goes back to attending to his cleaning. "I'm not sure how I'm going to handle lessons with him. He doesn't want to do anything that we're supposed to be doing and practicing. He doesn't need practice for the things he wants to do, he's sure." He's always sure. Though F'yr is often downright indulgent of his ridiculous lifemate, tonight he sounds exhausted. "Maybe the weyrling staff would have advice. I don't like the idea of asking Leirith to try to sit on him for lessons, or Ina, even," he glances askance at the goldrider beside him because technically one day Ina ought to be able to do that, if it's called for. "I'd rather sort things between us myself, you know? Shouldn't I be able to?" That's a little wistful, perhaps already a little resigned to the future necessity of asking for help.

Rhodelia eyes widen a little bit more (as if that were even possible) at the mention of letters. "What would I even write? Sorry I snuck away in the middle of the night and you never heard from me until now… oh, by the way, I impressed and uh… she's gold. BYE!!!" Kthxbai is probably not the best way to end a long overdue family letter. As for her family writing first, she gives a shrug. "Maybe… but it's not like I actually told my family where I was going. Sending a letter to every Hold and Weyr on Pern labelled TO RHODELIA seems like it would have been a bit of overkill." Maybe an option for the more protective parents, but those were not Rhody's family. As for F'yr's down-in-the-dumps exhausted musings, Rhody ignores any of those traces of blood that might remain and reaches out to pat him on the shoulder. It's not a lot, but at least some hopefully reassuring contact from a non-dragon. "You'll figure it out. Aren't farmers known for being stubborn after all?" Look, there's even a wink to go with the joke. "But Glorioth chose you because you were what he needed, even if he didn't know that, right? Maybe it was the fact that you love to learn." And yes, Inasyth will totally sit on anybody if needed, asked for or not.

F'yr's hands come up in a helpless gesture. "So don't write," is his next brilliant suggestion. "I mean, unless you want to see them, don't worry about it." He tilts his head a little before his expression shifts to something more thoughtful. "Don't you have everything you need here? Or is it just that you don't have everything you want yet?" He leans slightly into the contact because this is a man who had just discovered the joy of friendly contact with just about everybody who would tolerate it from him when he got himself one tiny baby who just wanted ALL his attention for himself, and maybe he's a little starved. He probably would take friendly contact from Rhodelia even when he's not starved if the past is anything to signify. "Stubborn," he repeats with a slight tug at the corner of his lips, making almost a smirk but possibly closer to a rueful half smile. "I think I have everything I need here, if I really think about it. I'm still working on the want parts. But that takes more time, energy and ability to think than I presently have at my disposal." Still he's doing some thinking because he huffs a silent laugh and looks over at Rhody with a wider smile. "Oh, Glorioth chose me because I'm what he needs. But it has nothing to do with my hobbies." His expression softens to something achingly tender as he looks down at the water and slowly sluices it across his forearms. "He chose me because I would love him. Because I would support him. Because I put others before myself. That's what he wants… needs in a lifemate." He gives Rhodelia a wry smile. "I was worried I wasn't enough before the hatching," he can talk about it now. "That I needed to be something or someone different than just who I am, but just who I am is exactly who Glorioth needs me to be." And that's good enough to get an incandescent smile.

"I don't want for anything," Rhodelia mutters. It's not like she's ever really been one with a long list of demands from life anyways, but she'll shake off the muttering with a shrug and slink a little bit lower in the water. "I think it's really just a matter of what would be more awkward. Writing them a letter or just waiting until my father appears down here one day and I have to explain in person…" A shudder for the thought, although F'yr's own comments get a bit of a smile. "Your hobbies are part of you. And he might need them, even if he won't admit it. Besides, once they get a bit older, I may know where to find a couple other books that involve some very important library scouring to help save the world." At least, that's one of the plot points. F'yr can probably fill in the rest based on that other book she let him borrow once-upon-a-time-before-weyrlinghood.

"No, of course not." F'yr returns with too much dismissiveness, conspicuously not pressing the matter of what wants Rhodelia clearly doesn't have. And if he also gives her one of his too innocent puppy looks on the heels of it, that's probably just his face tonight. HE BUYS WHAT YOU'RE SELLING, REALLY, RHODY. "Why would you have to explain? I mean, you're going to be a weyrwoman, Rhody. You'll equal him in rank and have more standing than him here anyway. You wouldn't even have to see him if you didn't choose to." F'yr might even be offering his muscle to make sure that Rhody's father was shown the figurative door if she didn't wish to see him, not that Ina couldn't handle that if need be (or Glori, but that could end poorly). "I did bring him a map from the library once. He was impressed by that." That much is wry and F'yr's eyes go to the ceiling while he works on cleaning parts safely under the water. (LIKE LEGS. MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER, PLEASE. THEY'RE WEYRLINGS FOR FARANTH'S SAKE.) Speaking of that book, "I do still have your book. I'll get it back to you. I just haven't had a chance to finish it." There's something more, but maybe that's a topic for another time.

Peril of being eternally indecisive, Rhodelia might also believe what she's selling, at least for the moment. Unless it's a little extra sleep she could want at the moment, but she does wince as soon as the w-word is mentioned. "That's terrifying. And while I could just not see him, it might not be the best option for Xanadu's wine supply…" Look at her and some basic knowledge of Pernese politics already. Her father isn't the MasterVintner, but he is a master and has some strings to pull. And even baby-Ina knows you don't mess with the wine. "As long as you can convince him it's absolutely crucial to a quest, you should be good. And dragon memories are short. After a few days you can probably start reusing the same excuse again." Rhody didn't have quite as much scrubbing to do seeing as she wasn't the one covered in blood, but she's doing a darn good job extending how long it takes, maybe just so she doesn't have to face the cold autumn-just-turned-winter air. The mention of the book not being finished gets an eyebrow raise. "Ohh? Well, I'm in no hurry to have it back. Wouldn't want it to possibly be added to Ina's bedtime story rotation."

F'yr's grunt and mutter of, "I like ale better anyway," probably means that he has Rhodelia's back regardless the cost to Xanadu's wine supply, but he's not pushing the young woman to push her father away in turn, just staunchly in her corner should the need arise. But then, she knew that of him already, didn't she? And being in her corner, in no way, prevents F'yr's movement from slowing and then stilling so that he can turn first his head toward Rhody - chin pulling to the side and down, giving his head a speculative tilt before he even turns the rest of the way toward her to point not just one finger, but one finger from each hand at her. It's almost fingerguns, but only if fingerguns as they're used in a hold up: "Are you suggesting I lie to my lifemate? The treasure of my life? The center of my universe? Lie?" He effects a tone that makes the notion sound blasphemous. THE GALL, RHODY, THE GALL. "Do you lie to Inasyth?" It's hard to say if F'yr is kidding or not; he's certainly exaggerating whether he is or not. And finally, finally, he says, "I'm having trouble with the characters, I think. I'm just not sure I see how they even remotely — I mean, casually sure, I could see it? But it sounds like this book wasn't going for casual coupling?" His cheeks color a little, but at least he's saying the words aloud. "They don't even seem to like each other as people." That's what has him hung up. His issue probably is that he's thinking about the plot of a romance.

"Vintners also make ale," Rhodelia is being a total party pooper with the fact and her scrubbing turns into more splashing until she ends in a sigh. "But I guess at some point I need to put on my big girl pants and face them again." Even if she does have a lot of folks in her corner, probably best to meet on her own terms instead of surprise encounter. As for the accusations of lying she gasps and clutches a hand to her chest in faux-outrage. "LIE? Never!" Read frequently. "I prefer to call it elaborate storytelling." Whatever helps them to sleep at night. Or day. Or whenever they can sleep. As for the problems with the romance characterization, she can't help but snicker. "I think you might have missed the point…" And the point really isn't the characters themselves.

"I've been sober this long…" The stubborn farmer replies without batting an eye. But he also murmurs, softer, "If you need anything…" She knows he's here, right? Because F'yr's so very here. He doesn't move closer because… well, hot springs, and weyrlings, and drawn boundaries, but he's still here. It's important enough that he stops scrubbing (and he must be nearly done despite the starting point he was handed). He goes back to it while he smiles at her, entertained by this dramatic show. "I might try it," he'll concede. There are some lifemates with whom a little falsehood is a survival technique. But with a dragon who has a code, even if it's not really the one anyone expects, he's going to have to toe that line carefully. "Then what is the point?" She had to know she would be asked, by that confused puppy face no less. The one where he tilts his head a little to one side and if he had ears that could prick, they'd prick, or flop, or whatever, but his brows definitely ridge upward to complete the classic look.

Rhodelia's face turns super-serious for a moment. "Don't let Inasyth here you say that." For the sober part, not the needing anything. Unless he really wants his mind flooded with a ton of champagne bubbles. She gives a nod at the murmur. "I know. And I will ask, really I will." Eventually, probably, but situation would need to get pretty bad before she's asking for help. At least if Glorioth gets upset about any potential falsehoods, it probably won't last for long! She has a sudden coughing fit at the last question. "I take it you haven't gotten to the dogearred pages?" Somewhere, an archivist just spontaneously burst into tears at the disregard Rhody has for proper book care.

Maybe it's the coughing that has F'yr straightening up like that same puppy, surprised, or maybe it's just a new level of puzzlement because everything else is set aside in favor of a slow, "… Nnnno, I did…" He squints at her, and his face is red, but he's still talking the words about the topic, so progress for him. "Are you saying the point is sex? That… the … story doesn't matter? The characters don't…" He squints harder, like maybe he's missing something because what he's saying sounds utterly preposterous.

"Yes." Sometimes you just need to yank the bandage off with no warning and that's exactly what Rhodelia is gonna do, plus if she coughed any more she might be in danger of inhaling some dirty bath water. Gross. "I mean… someone somewhere might ready it for the characters or the plot, but all that is really just set dressing. Which might be why most folks don't really count them as reading…" She shrugs. Not like she really let that stop her from reading those books anyways. Did someone turn the heat on this springs up? Cause Rhody's face is turning a bit pink as well.

"Oh." F'yr's blue eyes rest on Rhodelia's face, but his expression goes a little distant as he tries to work this through. He's quiet a few moments, his eyes drifting down to the water and then finally they bounce back up to the other weyrling's face. "Rhody," RUN. His tone is alarmingly earnest. "Have you ever…?" HAD SEX. "Had sex?" LOOK, HE SAID IT. Should we say good boy or weep? Jury's out.

Rhodelia should run, especially as the silence draws on. Running would require more effort than she can summon at the moment and so she is still simmering in the pool when F'yr's earnest puppy eyes turn her way. Her face momentarily freezes in a grimace as she gets asked that question. "Yes? I mean… not recently but…" Why is the nearly twenty-five turn old woman justifying her past life choices? Who knows, but she is remaining in the pool for now, even as she draws her knees up to her chest as a form of protection.

"Okay," F'yr doesn't seem to be judging Rhodelia's life choices for what it's worth, although his eyes are back to the water. "I haven't." Had he mentioned before? It's not the kind of thing he just goes around saying to just anyone, but maybe it's come up before an in his tired state he just doesn't remember. It might be just that he offers the information because she answered his none-of-his-business question. In the next moments he ducks under the water, coming up a moment later, fully rinsed and heading for the edge, to pull himself out and snag up his towel. He doesn't explain why he asked, doesn't ask for more information from the older woman, he just leaves it.

"I kinda figured," Rhodelia couldn't help but notice how oblivious how naive her former coworker had been on some topics. At least she softens the rather blunt response with a smile. "It's not necessarily a bad thing. And when it's time, you'll just kind of figure it out." She gives a shrug. While Rhody might not be the best at advice in general, this isn't the worst advice she's ever given. "And besides… don't we have months before that even becomes a practical concern again?"

F'yr's shoulders roll in s shrug of his own as he towels off. "I'm… not really worried about me. Evi was asking me about the sex cards from the carnival and that got us onto that book I borrowed from the healers, but that's not really a beginner's sort of book, not really, I don't think. When I need to know, I'll find someone willing to teach me. Apparently Neith's determined Evi should be kissing by next month and then I guess more after. I don't think she's the only one without experience. It seemed… soon, to me, to be worried about it. It's not like there aren't a lot of experienced people around the Weyr, you know?" And really, he doesn't seem worried about it. There are probably some logistical questions to work out later, but none of that matters to him now, because as Rhody so correctly pointed out, they have months and months yet before it's even a concern. "Besides. I know Glorioth will think he'll be a sure thing for any flight, but I can't really imagine he'll win until he gets the hang of anything, no matter how cocky he is, so I probably have even more time than when we get around to the mating flights lecture." When he finally turns, towel wrapped around his waist to crouch carefully and rummage in his bag for his change of clothes he adds, "I didn't think I needed to worry about you, because you're older than I am and weren't raised on an isolated farm, but I didn't think it could hurt to ask, just in case." There's briefly a flash of something in his expression that might mean it's more than just that, but he's quickly tugging out his clothes and making short work of pulling them on.

When Evi is mentioned in combination with that, Rhodelia's face contorts into a small grimace. "That… just… no!" She shakes her head. "Most dragon plans at this point seem bad. Why would Evi think she should go along with this one? Especially when it's specifically one of the few actual rules we have?" She might also still be thinking of the youngest member of their cohort as a kid in cat pajamas who shouldn't be kissing anybody. As for Glorioth's flight chances, she gives a nod. "Yeah, but there are also a lot of greens in this class." And her own dragon which she's purposefully not mentioning. "He'll probably get quite a few chances. Might want to make sure you're not around whenever Neifith ends up… you know." That's what she'd do if she actually had to worry about it. The last gets a shrug as she finally slips out of the springs and wraps up in her towel. "Just… don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Or you can just go down to the Wherry when it's time and drink until someone finds you." It works for some!

"I'm just glad Ri'tah seems to be showing more sense," F'yr says with a grimace, speaking of the twelve turn old greenrider who was the youngest in the candidate class and still holds that dubious honor in the weyrling class. "He's pretty oblivious to all that. I want to ask K'vir a little about how they handled mating flights lecture and information for him. He impressed really young, too." That's offered with a 'did you know?' quirk of his eyebrow over at Rhodelia. The very young greenrider has been seen with F'yr more than once, with the big blond substituting in for big brother slash older cool but not creepy friend. Given F'yr's pre-impression proclivities for trying to help those in need, it's easy to see why he might have decided Ri'tah would benefit from a consistent person older than he to ask questions of, who isn't a staff member, even if that's just the big man's own opinion at work. He takes a deep breath and then slowly nods, then shakes his head. Maybe he didn't quite catch the name Rhodelia really said because he doesn't question that part. "I… I don't know. I mean, yeah. I'd want to duck that." Neifeth's flight. "But I wouldn't want Evi to get stuck with someone worse or more awkward." That sympathy will be the death of him. "But Neith calls Glorioth 'Twigs for Brains' routinely, so I doubt either of them would actually want to end up paired off for any amount of time. Maybe that would work in my favor. Or maybe I'll happen to be gone." He reaches up to rub a hand across his face. Guilt free passing on a risk? That does sound more his style than intentionally ducking something he might think (misguidedly) as a responsibility.

All those times in the candidate barracks has gotten Rhodelia some serious skills at being able to dress modestly, for others benefits even if she doesn't really care. Just because her back is turned doesn't mean she's not listening. "I think he mentioned that once. Maybe." She wasn't really listening if he had mentioned it. And for Ri'tah's sake it's probably a good thing that Inasyth can't really tell human ages or he'd also end up with an often misguided smothering mothering from the young gold. "She seems to call everybody at least whers, so I don't think that's going to be a stopping point. Greens can't really catch themselves." At least not that she's heard. She turns around, fully clothed and drying off her hair with the towel. "Think there might still be some stew in the caverns?"

The words about greens prompts a bark of laughter from the blond as he cinches the drawstring on his pajama pants and tucks the edge of the worn sweater over top of it before gathering his things, bloody clothes and all. "If only," is the only thing he'll say of greens before F'yr shakes his head and glances down at the clothes. "Might be. Save me a bowl? I'm going to make a quick stop at the laundry," because these are so not worth hauling all the way back to the barracks. With that, he'll shove his feet into the sandals that will surely give him nippy toes on eventual walk back to the barracks and head out to deliver the offensive garments to where they can soak and start their long journey with the laundry staff come morning.

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