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I found it under your bed, so my assumption is that he's at fault. Not that I'm holding it against him. I don't believe he can control that tail of his as much as any of us would like him to.

[Torgal whines again as if to remind the two humans that he is right here and can hear them, but it just makes Jill laugh a little as she too ruffles his fur, fingers brushing against Clive's. The hound's been already forgiven for any past and future crimes, so no need to worry there.]

Ah. [It's a soft sound, barely above a puff of air. There is a pleased note to it, though her next few words counter that.] I do appreciate it, but please, go first. I still have to take my hair down.

[Which will take time and in turn, means the water will get chilly and then what will they do? Throw out perfectly good, just cold, bathwater? Or use a piece of crystal that's better off saved for emergencies? Silly, that. Clive can wash up while she goes to battle with the tangles.]

Are you certain you don't need assistance?

[While Jill's hair is most certainly lovely, he would never have the patience to maintain it on his own head. Especially in their line of work, which involves far more dirt and monster guts than any lady ought to be dealing with on a regular basis.

Still, if she insists, though he'll have to refill the tub after; Jill is certainly not getting into whatever mess the water is about to be the moment he gets in there. Clive begins to unstrap his gear with practiced ease, placing them in as neat a pile as he can manage for the time to the side. He'd as well brought a simple pair of clothing to wear afterwards while he gets his armor properly cleaned as now, and that lays next to it.

That done, he steps into the tub, letting himself sink into the water with a content sigh. Hot water is always a balm to sore muscles.]

Have you learned how to braid in the last few years?

[She's absolutely teasing him with that question, knowing the answer already, but Jill can't help but ask anyway. Saying no isn't quite an option; to be honest, if he truly does want to help, she'll let him. After all, nothing's quite as relaxing as having someone else do your hair.

Jill glances over at him climbing into the tub, taking in the sight of his nude backside. It's not a big deal to be naked around each other these days, not since that night on the beach, but she still very much appreciates the sight of his rolling muscles and broad shoulders. There's only one thing ruining the view.]

Only if you let me help with yours.

How hard could it possibly be?

[Look. It's strands of hair. He knows how to knot ropes in a dozen different ways; lightly tying some hair together should be a breeze. Clearly.]

I wouldn't say no, though I doubt it will take long. Still, I won't complain.

A bit more difficult than you'd expect, but if you believe you can do it...

[This will end badly, won't it? Still, never let anyone say Jill doesn't have full faith in this man.]

Good, because I do need something else to do other than stand here and watch you bathe. [She laughs softly, moving closer to the tub, hand open with her palm up.] The soap, if you will, my lord.

[It will very likely end badly. But who knows? Enthusiasm might win.

Maybe.

Perhaps.

Clive shifts a little in the tub to take a bar of soap that lays nearby, pressing it into Jill's palm.]

And here you are, my lady.

I'm forever indebted to your favor.

[Jill kneels down next to the tub, though it's not truly to mark her faux civility to his former higher station, but so she can dip the soap into the water, wetting the cake all around. It takes just a few seconds to work up a soft later that she unceremoniously applies to his hair where she click her tongue at the mess.]

I should be grateful that it was a band of wasps and not a Morbol, but this is just as unpleasant.

[Yet she still keeps at it, working the lather down to Clive's scalp and watches as the angelic white suds turn into horrifyingly brown foam.]

Edited 2023-07-13 00:04 (UTC)

I'll keep that in mind.

[He hums, leaning into the touch. The satisfaction of feeling cleaner aside, Jill's hands feel nothing short of lovely in his hair.]

If it was a Morbol, I dare say we would have been sprayed with soapy water at the dock before even being allowed in.

[A pitcher rests nearby, close enough that she doesn't need to move much to grab and fill it with bathwater. With a gentle touch to his forehead, Jill guides Clive into leaning his head back so she can rinse out the soap. Last thing either one of them needs is soap and dirt going into those precious baby blues of his.]

Sprayed? I lean more toward believing we would have been thrown into the lake itself, much less allowed on the boat.

[Clive does as asked, letting his eyes slide closed.]

And really, I doubt I would even blame them.

[It's a quick rinse that gets most of the dirt and gunk out of Clive's hair, but Jill's not done yet. She soaps up her hands again and gets right back in there, but this time, she's working slower in firm strokes, aiming for relaxation over cleanliness. If anybody deserves it, it's Clive.

She doesn't reply immediately, but when she does speak up again, her voice is much softer, almost a hush, lending well to the pampering.]

I think Torgal would. We never did get a chance to teach him how to swim.

[At the sound of his name, the hound huffs from his curled up position on the floor. It doesn't take a translator to interpret that he has no interest in swimming or being thrown in a lake.]

I imagine a brave, fearless hound such as him would have no trouble managing a little bit of water.

[The corners of his lips curve up in a smile. Oh, he knows that if he tried to toss Torgal in a lake, the wolf would manage to kick him in before he got close.

Meanwhile, he continues to let himself relax. Physical comfort was something rare to nonexistent in the days since Phoenix Gate... Until now, at least.]

The lake's a little more than a bit of water. It's no mere puddle after a spring shower, Clive.

[She can feel him begin to loosen under her fingertips and that's enough encouragement for her slide her hands down to the nape of his neck, pressing the pads of her thumbs against the tendons there. Everything feels so tight on Clive, but Jill doesn't blame him. It'll take more than a few minutes to work out years of stress and injuries, amongst other things.

But she's trying her best even if there isn't much certainty in what she's doing. Jill's never been the recipient of a massage herself--nothing past a good scrubdown by the Rosarian ladies-in-waiting years ago--but playing things by ear seems the easiest thing to do.]

And Torgal is a little more than a simple hound.

[There's another wolfy grumble and muffled woof from the wolf in question, but Clive just chuckles again.

As Jill continues, he begins to further relax, bit by bit. There's no shortage of stress and tightness built up in him, but her deft fingers are doing wonders on his muscles.]

Mm...

[Instinct tells her to press harder in some spots, where tension balls up into tight knots, and tread lightly in others where it seems a bruise or two (maybe five with how many battles Clive gets into) threatens to bloom. The soap lather helps her fingers glide across his skin, making a path along the curve where shoulder meets neck.]

Am I doing this right?

[He's not complaining, but she also knows Clive well enough that he'd suffer through the worst of things in stoic silence. Better to actually make him speak up with a check-in.]

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