(1313-01-14) Discourse at the Baths
Summary: Jacinthe enjoys a bath at the temple and is confronted with a foreigner.
RL Date: Thu Jan 14, 2021
Related: None
jacinthe tancred 

Temple Baths — Naamah's Temple — City of Elua

A large circular window of colorful stained-glass depicting Naamah is framed by two crescent shaped ones, sitting further up the wall as to allow for generous lighting during the day, with the shades of the glass used in the center painting the interior of the Temple Baths in colorful hues. The light beige tiles of the stone floor are arranged in a pattern, spaces between filled with darker shade mosaic stones. The changing area is divided into two spaces, hidden away behind semi-opaque drapes. Here, visitors can leave their clothing and move over towards the pools that are filled with the warm waters of a hot well, a faint layer of steam lingering occasionally in the air directly above the waterline. A larger pool of white marble is in the center, between two smaller pools that offer room enough for two or three people each. At the edge of the pools, trays are provided at regular intervals, some holding various flagons of bathing oils while others hold bars of flowery soap and other bath implements.

Acolytes of Naamah, clad in the red flowing robes of the temple stand at the ready, to provide towels or robes when needed and make sure a peaceful atmosphere is maintained within the baths.


The temple of Naamah is open for everyone - even princesses that have dared to slip out from the palace grounds into the city, becoming thus a headache to their Cassiline. This one princess seems to be a particular case of these headaches, and she looks quite content, lingering in a pool to the side. Her blonde hair has managed so far to stay dry, her features a d'Angelinely beautiful, and she looks young, younger than twenty but not by much. As a thin veil of modesty, she seems to wear a bathing gown, light blue of color, that clings to her shape above the water line and floats below. Not too far from her there is someone lingering in the baths, his features far less relaxed but on the contrary, very attentive and observant. He is clad in some bathing garb as well, but he seems a little restless, glancing now and then to the woman in his charge as if waiting for her to announce her return to the palace.

Another potential headache comes in, that of a towering Skaldi who nonetheless through his ties to one of the noble houses is permitted entry, if not quite everywhere, to at least the baths. Knowing a bit of the local religion likely helps. He carries a towel, but there is no attempt at modesty besides that, a relative abundance of body hair and a thickset build among other things making him stand out from most local men. He stops on his way through the pools, pausing to look into the one the princess herself has occupied. "Is there space?" asks he, in his fluent but accented d'Angeline.

Tristan lets out a low, almost inaudible sigh, and he shoots Jacinthe a sharp glance. His opinion on the matter is evident.

Even if Jacinthe doesn't grace the Cassiline with returning that look, she may as well have caught it from the corner of her eye. Herr attention for now seems to be focused on the tall foreigner towering over them at the edge of the pool. She considers. She bites her lip, tilting her head a little as she takes in the view. "There is," Jacinthe finally allows with a sweet smile. A faint tilt of her head to the space opposite of them. "Would you join us?"

"Thank you, my lady." He's plenty self-aware enough to realize that she is not alone, but does his best to pretend not to feel the Cassiline's eyes burning upon his extra-broad back. Nor does he miss the signs of her high station even if he's not completely sure of what -that- is yet. After that, he steps into the pool, towel set aside, settling down with a little comb to use first for his beard. "It is a fine evening out, though cold."

"It's 'Your Highness'," the princess corrects him with a sweet smile. "I am Princess Jacinthe de la Courcel, niece to the king." Another tilt of her head in the direction of her companion, "And this here is Tristan Verreuil, my Cassiline who is to look after my safety." Her Cassiline watches the froeigner with concern, as if Jacinthe were a fly, and Tancred a spider. "What is your name and your business in Elua?", he inquires quietly.

"Princess," the Skaldi amends, getting comfortable enough nonetheless but refraining for now at grooming his beard. Not like he has nefarious plans to make him nervous, right? "Well met, to you and your guardsman." He inclines his head just so, bright blues pensive. "I am called Tancred. I am working for House Baphinol. They are staying here now at the capital for some time."

"Monsieur Tancred," Jacinthe greets softly, and her eyes look considerably more friendly than those of her Cassiline. She also is curious, studying the man attentively, and that beard of his. "You have facial hair," she states the obvious. "Doesn't that feel odd? I would think it must feel odd. I have heard that foreigners have to shave to remove this facial hair from their faces. In some places, such as the city states of Caerdicca Unitas and Aragonia, this is quite common practice. From where do you hail, Monsieur?"

"Some of your men sport beards, but it is not as common here. Many people are asking me how it feels and it is often itchy, your highness, but it is easier for some to grow and maintain than to shave often, and it is the fashion. It is also very warm, when it is in the winter, and sometimes women of this land are asking me how it feels against them." Honest, this one, though Tancred favors a fairly flat affect and delivery. His Skaldic origin is obvious in look and accent, but he does confirm it, voice lowered some. "I am of Skaldian blood, your highness. My tribemen would wear beards in large braids, and their hair combed into knots."

"Some of our men? Very few, I would think, and then only those that have some foreign ancestry in their families," the princess replies, her slightly haughty tone expressing a certain opinion on the matter. "Beards you'll see on a d'Angeline…" She smirks faintly, "will hardly be more than a bit of scruff. It doesn't look nice, if you ask me. Beards may have the advantage to hide bland looks, but to conceal beauty? Where would be the sense in that?" Her Cassiline doesn't shift his expression at all, when Tancred states his origin. He probably already guessed it. Jacinthe however looks a little surprised. "A Skaldi in service of House Baphinol? Now, this is remarkable. Considering the fact that Skaldia has been and still is, at times, our enemy."

"It is not so different from the manner in which gentle-women and often men as well of many lands paint and dress themselves in different ways. If your prince or king were to grow a large beard, had he the ability, I think it will be more popular," the Skaldi opines, as diplomatically as possible, though along with his candor she may have noticed his relatively flat affect in general. "The tribe neighboring ours wore long mustaches only, and I as well thought it silly, but it was their pride." He nods once, likely used to the 'problem' of his genetic origins being questioned, vocally or otherwise. "It is, yes, there are few of my people here, and for good reason, though in the past the tribes of Skaldia have been trade partners as well, I was told."

<FS3> Jacinthe rolls Politics: Failure. (3 3 1 5 5 4 5)
<FS3> Jacinthe rolls Composure: Failure. (2 5 2 5 6 2)

"So far, my uncle is unable to grow a beard," Jacinthe quips sharply. "He is of pure d'Angeline blood. So this will never be a fashion trend he could start even if he wanted to. As for princes…" Her shoulders lift in a shrug. "My cousins are less blessed in that regard." As she spills her venom, it is at least offered with a sweet smile. "The next king of Terre d'Ange might grow a beard. But if he does, I will let him know how odious I would find that."

While likely unused to the courtly, diplomatic bite, Tancred doesn't appear to take much offense. Maybe it's not in his nature, unlike the Skaldi stereotypes. "He would be king nonetheless, your highness. He may put a decree to declare them less so, and in public you may have to agree." He may be joking - it's a bit hard to tell. Still, he does admit - and try to change the subject : "I think it suits your womenfolk well, that you grow no hair away from the scalp.""

<FS3> Jacinthe rolls Composure: Great Success. (7 5 7 7 1 8)

"He will be king. His highness, the Dauphin, Prince Cléon de la Courcel." Jacinthe's lapse in composure is already dimming as she regains it slowly. "I will make sure to give him my opinion, wicked little cousin that I am." Her Cassiline has followed the exchange impassively, with only the faintest roll of his eyes. The topic change may be welcome, and the implications of it don't seem to baffle Jacinthe apparently. "Why that?", she quips, "Because we are usually orderly clad to make sure we don't catch a cold down there?"

"It means their beard does not tickle me back, your highness." Another locally-branded joke by Tancred. When in Elua, after all. He does lower his guard enough to start to brush through said beard after a glance at the Cassiline in the background. "And it is easy on one's eyes, before or after. Your people's gifts are shared even by those with mixed blood."

"Oh." Jacinthe seems to be open to jokes, at least her blue eyes twinkle a little as she shakes her head. Tancred can feel Tristan's eyes on him when he starts grooming that beard, but the Cassiline stays quiet, remaining observer rather than taking part in the conversation. "It is a gift, yes." The princess agrees, as she lets her gaze drift. "And one that is strong even in those of mixed heritage. There is a reason the angels didn't have facial or other body hair - it is so much more aestethic. I take it then, that you've been intimate with our kind?"

Tancred seems to keep it in good shape, so there aren't many kinks to work out, maybe a little bit of oiling is in order later. The hair on his scalp is a shorter, coarser blond, needing only a pass. After that, he contents himself to soak instead of scrub and his eyes wander to the Princess's neckline. "I have. While you do not like it, some are fascinated by the beard, or sometimes they simply want to see my sword," he supposes, adding more thoughtfully, "There are other gifts I am more astounded by, than that."

"Personal preferences may vary," the princess opines haughtily. But his impertinence does at least manage to amuse her. "Monsieur Tancred, I must ask you to dim your attempts at flirting. I am neither interested, nor am I in your league. I gather that you aren't a foreign emissary of station, nor even of noble blood, or you wouldn't be a retainer in service of a noble house." Lifting her torso a bit further out of the water, Jacinthe is well aware of the bathing dress that clings to her shape. "These gifts you won't partake in. Have I made myself clear?", she asks softly but with some determination.

"I am under no such illusions," the Skaldi retainer replies to the Princess, and for once he can almost be caught smiling. (The beard makes it hard to tell, one more minus points for beards.) "As you wish, your highness, though I was thinking it amused you to listen." He lowers his head, but continues nonetheless with his previous thought, undeterred, and he picks up his comb to rinse it in the water. "Gifts of the body, as I was speaking - I have never seen it done, but your women all have a power that others do not - and some are more blessed than that, to be sure. Scions, they are called. Are there many?"

Her Cassiline has an eye on the foreigner, and there is some tension in Tristan, as always, when he is out with Jacinthe - his duty requires him to.

"It does amuse me," Jacinthe admits with a melodious chuckle. "It does. I am not quite sure though to which gift you may be referring? Scions of the blood of angels means that all of our noble families are descendants of Elua and his Companions. The purer the blood, the more likely the benefit. Depending on the ancestor angel, these gifts will vary." And with that said, Jacinthe leans againt the edge of the pool, easing back into the water. She blinks, and it is as if a warm aura surrounds her, growing slowly, before it dissipates again.

The Skaldi makes a gesture with his left, fingers pinched, then flowing, intending to resemble a fire. "That you must light candles to Eisheth," he explains, and then after that the hand sinks back into the water after scratching at some of his chest hair. He may have a faint sense of the aura, but it's fleeting and perhaps he does not recognize it for what it is. "I am apologetic that I am not well-versed with the angels, though I am made to study them, but said gifts are said to be related to those ancestors in their field, save for Cassiel." There is a pointed look towards the Cassiline. "Not in blood, at least. In spirit, yes."

"Why, yes." Jacinthe realizes with a lift of her brows. "We d'Angeline women have to light our candle to Eisheth, before we can get with child. Were you referring to this as a particular gift? I don't see it as such, as this is what we are — but I do pity the foreigner women who need to take herbs even before they have been blessed with matrimony."

Tristan raises his chin a little, at the mention of Cassiel. "In spirit," he confirms quietly.

"It is hard to recognize a gift unless you realize its lack," Tancred opines, turning back away from Tristan in the background. "Although I am no woman myself," clearly, "so I suppose what I consider it matters less." He raises a hand from the water, damp, to rub over his eyes. Then follows another change of subject, curious wondering. "Your highness, if I may be asking, where are you in the succession? Does the king himself dictate to whom you will be wed?"

She shrugs her shoulders as Tancred closes the topic, not adding any more to it, with all having been said on the matter, at least from her point of view. To the new subject, she replies, "I am… eigth in line, at the moment. And yes, my uncle has a say in the matter. Most probably, I will be married off to someone powerful, although I am hoping that I'll be able to stay in Terre d'Ange. I don't really want to go abroad."

"That is understandable. There is no place better than the homeland for some." Tancred is savvy enough to get why. The Skaldi begins to rise to his feet, turning to pick up his towel and clamber out of the bath, but works both left fist and right as if they had a lingering soreness before drying off. "Is there ever a time you consider being reborn, as something other than what you are?"

<FS3> Jacinthe rolls Religion: Failure. (2 4 5)

"Yes, Monsier," Jacinthe agrees with the nod of her head and a smile. She does not avert her gaze as the man climbs out of the bath, some vague curiosity lingering in her expression. "I doubt I will be reborn. Why should I? I am here now, to live my life and to be what I am."

The Skaldi realizes he is misunderstood, which does permit more time to notice while he's thinking, hey, people do get hairy there, or other this-and-that. The towel is slung over his shoulder. "If you could choose to live as something else than what you were born to be - now, what would you be choosing?"

Now, that is a very unexpected and personal question. It doesn't help much that distraction is offered through the view of such foreign and interesting appearance. "I would choose," Jacinthe declares after a moment of contemplation, "to live as the princess I am, but without the requirement that I have to marry. Now, that isn't much to ask, is it?"

Coincidentally, that's a time that Tancred decides to give the towel another pass at the pits, the midsection, then below the waist but above the knee. "It is not. I suppose that I, too, wish to be a princess." With that, he turns to take his leave, but bows before that as he ought to. "Thank you for the time, highness." There is time to respond before he's gone.

"Very much likely," Jacinthe replies, furrowing her brows a little. "But you should perhaps wish to be a pretty princess, Monsieur, or you'd be in for some disappointment." She straightens a little in the pool, enough to allow her eyes to follow Tancred to the changing area, but then she eases back into the warm water with a soft sigh.

Not too far from her, there is another, albeit slightly more masculine sounding. As Tristan exhales, some of his tension leaves him, as the potential threat of the foreigner now leaves them to their previously shared silence.

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