My Warden (COMPLETED)

Bathing

?:?? ?

Lana's fingers parted through the still pond as she spooned a scoopful of water across her arms, her chest leaning off the edge while her hip dug into the stone ground. Without soap, the best she could do was try and scrape the grime off with her nails. Despite the waterfall thundering upwards in the distance, the pond sat still. A green sheen drifted around the edges, not from any algae lurking under the surface or reflecting the sickly sky waiting for a storm to break that would never come. If she twisted her wet hand she could watch the water shimmer like the scales of a verdant fish. Which would probably be some kind of warning to anyone not in the fade, but she couldn't afford to be picky. After five sleeps and two obliterated spiders she needed the wash.

"Are you going to keep looking at me?" she asked aloud. Having only one change of clothes that everyday marched quicker to their own grave, she never fully undressed. They required a clean as much as she did, so why not kill two pride demons with one fireball? Despite being fully covered and spirits not having a sense of modesty, it unnerved her to feel Jowan's eyes focusing upon her as she wet her skin.

"It's not like I have anything else to do, thanks to you," he pouted. He always pouted. There were some aspects the spirit got wrong about Jowan, but that mealy mouth was dead on.

"You're not getting into my mind," Lana sighed, alighting their old argument. In the distance, Nathaniel stood guard -- not that he could do much beyond shouting for help, but it made him happy. It happy. Maker, she was going balmy in here. It'd been too long since she'd seen the third one. It would be nice to have someone to talk to who wasn't going to salute after every sentence or question her every decision.

Sliding a leg into the water and watching it glisten a green as haunting as the fade rifts, Lana wished she had just a sliver of soap. She'd tried everything, even attempted to make her own with the fat off a pride demon's corpse, but that was the most unholy smell she'd ever suffered. Demon rendered lard wasn't going to be on anyone's menu.

As the water licked up her skin, almost as warm as a person's touch, she shuddered. No, it wasn't really soap she wanted. She leapt both legs into the pond, the water sliding up to her thighs. The pond barely shifted from her weight, whatever magic pressed in on this place held it firm and taut. Trailing her fingers against the glass water, Lana stepped deeper into it while her mind slipped back to where it shouldn't.

She expected to have to knock upon the Commander's door but it was thrown wide open allowing all of his minions free range of the place. One of the soldiers leaned over his desk, adding more papers to a pile threatening to topple onto the floor. The soldier's face glanced up and she lifted an eyebrow at the interloping mage.

"I was looking for Commander Cullen," Lana said shifting up and down on her toes. She felt foolish, the sun barely broke the jagged horizon and she had no viable reason to be visiting him at all, much less this early in the morning.

If the soldier could read her mind, she gave no indication to try and stop her. Instead she gestured upward, "He's in his loft."

"Thank you, uh..."

"Addley," the woman smiled.

"Right. Thank you, Addley," Lana bobbed her head in thanks and began the climb up his ladder. Maker's breath, when he picked this room was he trying for the most awkward quarters imaginable? It was one thing to keep near the heart of action - even her rooms in the Vigil sat over the throne room with a view of the courtyard - but this was preposterous. What if he was injured and couldn't climb the ladder? Would he have to sleep on his desk? Maker, he probably would, and wouldn't even complain about it.