Maraas rubbed his eyes, mindful of his claws. He’d slept in later than he’d first thought. The sun was already coming in brightly through the blinds. It had been a long time since he’d been able to sleep like this. Oversleeping certainly felt good in practice, but the consequences of breaking his routine left him still slightly tired. If Ketojan’s presence had affected his patterns in anyway was hard to tell, but he had a suspicion it might have.
“That is…very good,” he responded, looking to Ketojan with a small amount of surprise. Him having no nightmares of places Maraas couldn’t comprehend was reassuring. Especially after using the magic of blood. He had expected them to get worse, not better. It was good to know. Ketojan wasn’t as he was yesterday, anyway and that brought relief to him.
He rose from the bed, going over to the wash basin. He could at least try and wash some blood off and maybe the water would awaken him fully. Changing the water was needed, as it was still tainted brown by the blood Ketojan had scrubbed away last night. He stripped after he’d done so and began to scrub away as much of the blood as possible. Being quick about this was preferable since he knew that it was one of the days when Norah came around to collect linens that needed washing. There was a small fee for this service but Maraas wasn’t just a passing guest here, so it was worth it.
As he did so, his mind was drawn to a point of contemplation. He’d been called Kadan. At the time, he was startled, surely, but he wasn’t sure how else he felt beyond that. The most he could do, he decided, was wait until Ketojan used the term again. Bringing it up was a task that he wasn’t up to, considering the depth of what calling one Kadan meant. It brought up a strange feeling in him. For him, perhaps it meant more now then it had in the past. To be called so now and to call someone so in return, he realized it meant no longer just camaraderie to him.
The door opened abruptly just as Maraas was pulling a clean pair of pants past his hips, startling him. Norah floundered for words, apologizing as she backed into the hallway once again. He bristled with embarrassment when he realized Ketojan wasn’t entirely dressed when she entered. She continued to apologize profusely even after she’d left, waiting to complete her task. “No apology needed, Norah, we are running late,” he explained, his voice just loud enough to carry to her. “You were not intruding.”
“I should have knocked first, that’s on me,” she called back, clearly not accepting his attempt at making her feel less awkward. He hurriedly tied his pants comfortably around his waist. He didn’t want to prolong Norah’s duties any longer, and the embarrassment was still fresh in him. The weight of gold returning to his neck made him feel less exposed somehow, even as Ketojan’s gaze went unfelt by him.
When she entered the room for a second time, it went much more smoothly though there was still tension in the air. Tension Ketojan seemed to not pick up on. Understandable, as Ketojan wasn’t used to the tiny nuances of human culture. Maraas himself struggled with them still every now and then.
He gathered the clothes he and Ketojan had shed, placing them into a basket she had set down beside her. “The blood… I apologize,” he frowned. She quickly amended that she didn’t mind. The Hanged Man did have many occupants who were also of a less than honourable profession. She gathered the sheets once Ketojan had moved for her. He was fairly observant, so he took note that she didn’t look at the other grey one. Clearly she had seen more than she cared to.
She continued to carry on in such away, not looking at Ketojan as he told her of their plans. The heat of embarrassment was on her face. She was uncomfortable. Maraas’ brow creased for a moment in thought. He had also been so, when too close to Ketojan. This was… embarrassment? Was he embarrassed of being so close? It was a confusing feeling. Now that it was comparable to embarrassment he had to wonder what he was so embarrassed of.
They turned to leave, make things slightly easier for her and he was better for it. Staying here was only inciting thought in him he didn’t have the time for at the moment. Norah halted them briefly to warn them of the human’s Templars downstairs. She was loyal to the customers first. “Thank you, Norah,” he spoke when he realized Ketojan was not about to. Maraas could feel that he had wanted to bring it with them. He could not leave his halberd behind, though he felt doing so would make them equal again. If he did not bring it, he was unarmed, while Ketojan was never unarmed. They passed the Templars on their way out of the Tavern and Maraas didn’t hesitate to give them an intimidating look.
As they traveled to the baths, not far from the Hanged Man as it were, it seemed as if questions were Ketojan’s favourite pass-time. Once again, Maraas humoured him.
“Not far from the Tavern.”
“Many bas. Humans, elves, and dwarves.”
“When we are clean and there is nothing else to be done.”
The public baths in Lowtown were not as large as the ones in Hightown, from what Maraas could tell, but he preferred it. It was less coin to get in and there were less bas to stare at him. They had seen his kind before but it was as if they never realized that they must also satisfy the most basic of needs. The clerk wasn’t surprised to see him, at least. The lady had seen him a number of times before this, and would see him again.
She flashed a friendly look she no doubt gave everyone. She could not afford to be anything but polite, running a bath house. Much like Norah, but he had the distinct feeling her smiles were faked. She recited the fees, though it was not needed. Maraas had already readied the normal ten silver and passed it to her. “If you’d like access to the heated pools, it’s only an extra five gold,” she chimed quickly.
Maraas gave pause. The heated pools were often less populated, that was true. Few in Lowtown had five silver to throw around unless they were mercenaries or thieves. He also considered that this was Ketojan’s first time at a bath house. He knew the Saarebas would appreciate it either way, but five extra coins would make it just that much better. Maraas pulled the five coins from his pouch and gave them to her also, nodding in thanks.
The day was bright and new, if hot. Ketojan almost felt at home under the high white sun were it not for the bas about their path. Again they would not stop staring.
But Maraas seemed happier and didn't mind answering questions. Ketojan wondered if he was always in such moods. Some small part of his mind suggested no, he was not. It was likely the Saarebas who had thrown Maraas - 'nothing' - out of balance.
His thoughts were becoming sharper, day by day. But not sharp enough to dwell on the voice, and so Ketojan followed complacently in the sunshine.
Many questions later they finally approached the baths, to the mage's surprise. Ketojan hadn't expected humans of Kirkwall capable of engineering such a thing. The aqueducts of Qunandar were magnificent, even if he had only seen them veiled and from a distance. Apparently humans had figured out a similar system, if inferior.
The building was old, if beautiful. Ketojan liked the blue tile; he hadn't seen the color much in Kirkwall. Too much red, never enough of the soft color.
Now that he thought of it, Maraas' eyes were blue as well. Just to make sure, Ketojan leaned over the warrior's shoulder to check. Yes! Blue, like flax-flowers. It was unusual for a Qunari.
Inside the cool, tiled house were the sounds of water and quiet chatter. Even in the early morning the humans were cooling off. Not so different from his own kind. While Maraas traded silver Ketojan watched the finer-dressed bas drift towards the more colorful rooms with the intricate tiles. Others in simple clothes stayed in the white and blue rooms, and many of them were elves. Why didn't they wear bright clothes as well?
But it was time to leave, it seemed. Maraas was walking to the intricate rooms without pause. They did not wear finery; was it alright to go? Ketojan assumed so, even if they decorative bas were looking at them strangely. He met their glares with a lowered head, a silent challenge to the sour faces.
They walked through the atrium unaccosted, though disapproved of and into a rounded dress room. Here many of the fine people had hung their clothes on the wall, as he suspected they must do. So much dressing in Kirkwall. Ketojan was unused to doing it himself, still, and took several moments longer than Maraas to strip.
"We will need more clothes. Yours are too wide and short, Kadan!" Ketojan complained, catching himself once again. Kadan. It had slipped out uninvited, as many words did. The mage did not have Maraas's control.
Standing naked among the fine clothes, Ketojan noticed the bas had not lingered. It seemed wherever the Qunari went, human and elf quickly fled. He did not mind. Their stares were uncomfortable. Looking at Maraas, Ketojan tried again to discern their differences.
The warrior was stronger, heavier and lacked the softness of wrist and ankle Ketojan had. Maraas did not have Ketojan's long face or hands. He was the oak to the saaarebas's willow, in build. He liked the comparison.
The washing room was unoccupied now, and Ketojan could not wait for hot water. He longed to scrub his horns, which itched in the heat. Left uncapped, they would soon start to split. He should tell Maraas-
Stripped naked with the other saarebas, save for collars. It was not bad, but not comfortable. The Arvaarad's hands were rough and quick, making sure they were taken care of. Ketojan hated how they pulled his hair, scraped his horns but it did not take long, usually. Unless there was blood, he would wear his robes again soon and they would move on to the hunt with raw skin and light steps.
It was...not the best memory. He had never regretted such things before. Now they seemed...low. Ketojan shook his head, snapping back to the hot day and the blue tiles.
The scrub room was lined with troughs of water, sparkling with sun from the open ceilings. It was beautiful. More than the rest of Kirkwall. Or perhaps it was Ketojan's love of water; he was not yet honed enough to sort the difference. They would scrub here before soaking, he reasoned. That was what the bas seemed to be doing, if quickly and with sideways stares. Soon they were alone here, too, and with doors closed.
"There is soap! And brushes. I hope there is a soft one," he murmured, wondering how he would wash on his own. That too, was new, though there were no soft cloths like in their room. Hesitantly, he reached towards a short tub of creamy, yellow-white soap, smearing it over his hands. What do you bathe first? Reaching for a ladle of water the handle slipped between his fingers and clattered to the floor. He frowned.
"This is not as easy as I had hoped, Maraas," he frowned. "Will you show me?" Tentatively, he brushed the hair from his face, only to smudge soap in his eye. This was harder than he thought.
