[Open] It's getting hot in here

[showsnopiety]

Who: Caren and anyone visiting the hot springs!
When: Post dungeon, could be right after fail/success, could be days after
Where: Hot Springs of course
What: There's a hot springs, so now there's a hot springs episode.
Rating: Could be a p-13 and beyond because some people are only wearing towels in this place.





[Win or fail, everyone needed a reason and a way to relax. With the fall of the towers, there was all sorts of good things to come from it. Some would say it was the birds; and others would say it was the hot springs.

The large, large pools of heated water. Sure, they could be used as a way to get all steamed up (or even steam punk) but after all that hard work, everyone deserves a break!

Bring your swimsuits, your towels, your drinks and snacks-who knows, you should be able to find them in the bazaars, or even on Airy. It's time to soak in the heat!]

Comments

[moreasleep]

[He felt no pressing need to inform Sion of his predicament. Let him find out in his own time; he had just woken up, after all. Besides, he was willing to take fault for choosing this spot to relax. Sion had just looked so peaceful in his slumber that it looked like a good idea to join him.]

More like several moments, but don't worry, I don't think anyone else noticed. It's Rory, by the way.

[Clearly, he was not this Ryner person. He chuckled with genuine amusement, not derision. Now that Sion was awake, he leaned back and let the water rise up to his chin. The heat did wonders on his sore muscles and already he looked years younger just having a moment to relax. The smile on his face was also true, because he was happy, because the hairs still tickled, and because he needed no other reason than to respond to Sion's own smile.]

So why're you so tired? You didn't get enough sleep, or you need mana?

[He held his hand out, casually offering a mana transfer to give him a quick boost of energy. However, his fingers were entangled with the man's silver tresses.]

[sunderings]

[ Both is the true answer to the question Rory poses, but this, of course, Sion does not say. Instead, the King responds only with a shake of his head, golden eyes first falling upon Rory's outstretched hand (and at the sight, his own smile deepens—the source of the tugging, he should have known it hadn't so simply been part of his dream), then lifting in brief survey of the man. This surely is the Hero he'd met on that winter's day (blue eyes, thin as a rail, and much taller than him), and yet... ]

Something in you has changed, Rory. [ He reaches, then, not for the sake of mana transfer, but to tend to the matter of freeing the Rory's hand from its cocoon of silver strands. Fingers expertly coaxing the errant locks loose (naturally, Sion boasts mastery over taming his own hair—he is the one who sees it styled into a plait every morning!), he makes short work of untangling the man. ] Somehow, you seem lighter.

[ As though some burden had been lifted from him, leaving Sion to speculate about what it might have been. ]

There. [ —he announces upon completion of the task at hand, satisfied with his work as he withdraws, the silvery fall of his hair trailing after him. ] You've my apologies; it seems to have a mind of its own, at times.

[moreasleep]

[To his observation, Rory merely shrugged.]

And you look like you haven't changed a bit. Pretty, as always.

[He was not willing to put any effort into thinking about what had happened to bring about the change. He had wasted too much of his life on thinking, worrying about others, about himself, and unanswered questions. His mind needed rest just as much as his body.

Finally freed, he raised his arms high above his head and he stretched and yawned. A cacophony of popping and crunching sounds rolled down from his neck to the middle of his back. He had appeared thin in winter clothes, but now, without a single article of clothing to hide his frame, the full extent of his poor diet was clear. Notwithstanding the muscles he had gained from a life full of hardships, he had scant weight on his bones.]

You're fine, I've seen far worse. I'm talking almost as big as I am and dragging on the floor here.

[Sion's pristine locks paled in comparison to the mess that was Ciaran's hair. He laughed, thinking that if it had been his hair trapping him that it would truly be a dangerous situation. He turned around so that his arms draped over the edge of the spring and he rested his head on his hand. There were abrasions on his arms, here and there, and no doubt on the rest of his body as result from his trek through the dungeon, yet he paid it no mind.]

At least take some mana. Come on, please, I've got a trick to show you.

[His eyes looked playful as he offered his hand.]

[sunderings]

[ A trick, is it? Again, there is the offering of Rory's hand, and it is almost humorous, ironic even, that Sion should be the hesitant party now, reluctant to take the gesture of good will where he'd extended the very same to the other man, once upon a time. Trust has precious little to do with the matter, it is only that, by virtue and by nature, Sion is stubborn, determined as always to progress on his own where he may, but...

He does not overlook them, the abrasions which tell a tale of Rory's time in the Gisela Towers, no more than he fails to notice the cut of the man's frame—truly, the man is a reed, and if Sion has one regret, it is not leaving Rory with the tray of gingerbread cookies they'd received on that day in thanks for raising a snowman!—and that is why he reaches out, in the end. It is so small a thing, to take Rory's hand, and it will only help the both of them.

Closing his eyes (and suppressing a yawn which had been inspired by Rory's own!), he forges a link of mana exchange with palm pressed to palm, his fingers curled about the other man's. ]

If this trick of yours fails to impress— [ Ever so slightly, Sion's voice lilts in play: ] —I will make you regret calling me pretty.

[ But only if. ]

I should also like to know what manner of man or creature boasts hair long enough to rival your own height.

[moreasleep]

Oh that's terrifying, I'd better do my best, then. I'll tell you more later, if I live through this.

[He could not help but smile. The man had a good sense of humour and Rory found himself enjoying his company. He firmly returned the grip around Sion's hand and the flow of mana was welcoming relief to his fatigue. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

As he exhaled, he began to push his mana forth through their connection. The move was sudden, seeking to greatly accelerate the amount of mana Sion would normally have from this simple exchange. While Rory did not gain any mana because of this, he did not lose any either. He precisely measured the amount of mana he poured out to maintain this balance.

The feel of his mana was not quite light, but empty, devoid of all duties, purpose, and compassion. It had instead turned into something selfish and carefree. While this was the same face from several months ago, he could not have been more different.]

[sunderings]

[ Oh. Truth be told, he's a little startled by it (as much is evident in his sharp intake of breath, the brief widening of his eyes), the sudden surge of mana through the link of their hands. In theory, the technique is nothing if not sound—Rory's mana output is only the equivalent of what the two of them might be able to generate together, leaving Sion with double the regain, and Rory himself with nothing, save for the task of maintaining the balance of the equation. Altogether, it is a marvelous trick, though it is also something which the King would have given protest to, were he not so distracted by the feel of Rory's energy.

Realms away from here, Sion had once prided himself upon his ability to read auras, how attuned he'd been to the energy flow of the world. From a great distance, he'd been able to sense the killing intent of his enemies, discern for himself the nature of all living things, and stay calamity before it could befall those otherwise unable to ward against it. In Enprise, he has long since come to terms that he is no longer (and may never be) that which he once had been, that the skills once intrinsic to him have been dampened, and yet...

Yet he cannot help but wonder at it, how unchanged Rory is or isn't. As the King finds himself renewed, growing less lethargic by the minute, he is able to more keenly focus upon his companion, finding the void within the man troubling.

But this concern, of course, does not show upon Sion's face. It manifests only in a thought, a silent pledge, that he will check in on the other man again and soon, to see for himself if this mood of Rory's has dissipated. ]

You survived the Gisela Towers, did you not? It would be a pity if you could not survive me.

[ A soft laugh: ] It is no sleight of hand, your trick.

[moreasleep]

[It was enough to see the startled look on Sion's face. If only he could have taken a picture of it, he would frame it on the wall. Giving his part of the mana up for it was a fair price. Even better, recognition was something he had never sought before, but it felt nice to have it.]

I got out of there alive, if that's what you mean. Can't say the same about my teammates.

[He said it casually, as if he were commenting on the pleasant weather. The mana transfer over, he curled his arms into a nest to rest his head upon. While fatigue still tugged at his senses, he was not about to fall asleep yet. It was nice to have company and he did say he would tell more about the one with the impossible hair.]

His name's Ciaran. His hair is black and curly, it's even worse when it's wet. Washing it is a nightmare. I don't think he's had a haircut in his entire life.