Clean and still alive.

Isn't it strange how you never know how bad you smell until you're clean?

I roam the foulest streets in the kingdom. I know every nook and cranny the way an old whore knows a man. So intimate is my knowledge of the capital that I can run the back alleys and side streets with my eyes shut. For more years then I care to remember, I've lived in Britain. My only friends, the only friends I allowed myself, were the rats I would share what food I could acquire.

Living with rats means you don't mind smelling like one. As a matter of fact, it's sort of a social faux pas to not smell like one. Like eating filet mignon when everyone around you has stale bread. It's just rude.

However, since my forced adoption (I can't think of it any other way, yet), I have discovered that people don't like the smell of Eau'de Rat.

Luck seems to have a thing about bathes. It's obvious he's obsessed with them; half of one floor of the house is devoted to a mammoth sized bathroom with a tub the size of a small pond in the middle of it.

My mother, the healer, always preached, "Cleanliness is next to godliness". I think my mother and Luck had the same teacher. One very nagging teacher, who never shuts up and keeps hounding you until you either kill her, or give in.

I gave in. Figured it wouldn't do to kill Luck after I saved him.

Making sure both he and the little girl were out of the house, the first thing I did was unbraid my hair. I keep it braided so it stays out of my way. I used to just lop it off with a dagger every few months, but I found it was easier to just braid and forget it. Forgetting it might sound like a good idea, until I try to remember it. "Rat's nest" is a term I know very well, and it applied perfectly to my hair. It would need a good washing, and I was surprised how long it's gotten.

Next, in my day of torture, I peeled away my clothing and armor. Being so naked made me shiver; I hadn't been without my armor in� I can't even remember when I've been without it. I grabbed one of my daggers and took it to the bath with me; it made me feel less naked, not so vulnerable.

I don't understand all the mechanical workings of hot water and bathes. It's never been a field of interest for me or something I could study up-close until now. Even to my uneducated eye, this room was built by a genius. Pipes and sluices running down, circulating the water from (I'm guessing) the pool on the roof, to beneath the fire I knew was only a floor above in the den to heat it, to the tub and then out. Simple but brilliant, and holy hell was that water hot!

It took me the better part of an hour to get used to the temperature enough to fully immerse myself. Yeouch, hot hot hot. In the years I've been alone, if I had a chance at all to even wash my face it was from cold seawater at the docks.

But oooh, once you get used to it it was heaven on earth. Yep, I understand the bath mania Luck has now. Clouds of steam filled the chamber as I soaped and washed, resoaped and rewashed some more. I worked handfuls of soap into my hair, scrubbing and squeezing the dirt and crud out of the white blonde tangle.

Finally, I was clean. Squeaky clean, with wrinkled fingers and heat-pinkened skin. Wrapping up in a big fluffy towel, another turbaned around my hair, I pad barefoot into the bedroom. Sniff.

Glory god, do my clothes stink! I look at the pile of, for lack of a nicer term, stinky rags on the floor, and start laughing. Not a deep laugh, or loud laugh, that range is out of my ability, but rather a soft, raspy laugh. Well they'll need to be burnt, and my armor, too, because I'm not putting any of that stuff back on!

Rooting through the chests that scatter the cluttered bedroom (I'm beginning to think Luck is something of a rat himself, a pack rat!), I locate some clothing that obviously isn't Luck's, much too small but just my size. I "borrow" it to go shopping and on my way out of the house, I drop my old clothes and armor on the forge. A sudden whoosh and flare of flame and the smell is, as well as nearly all my worldly goods, gone.

Seems like Luck was right, a bath wouldn't kill me.

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> Isn't it strange how you never know how bad you smell until you're clean? > I roam the foulest streets in the kingdom. I know every nook and cranny the way an old whore knows a man. So intimate is my knowledge of the capital that I can run the back alleys and side streets with my eyes shut. For more years then I care to remember, I've lived in Britain. My only friends, the only friends I allowed myself, were the rats I would share what food I could acquire. > Living with rats means you don't mind smelling like one. As a matter of fact, it's sort of a social faux pas to <I>not</I> smell like one. Like eating filet mignon when everyone around you has stale bread. It's just rude. > However, since my forced adoption (I can't think of it any other way, yet), I have discovered that people don't like the smell of Eau'de Rat. > Luck seems to have a thing about bathes. It's obvious he's obsessed with them; half of one floor of the house is devoted to a mammoth sized bathroom with a tub the size of a small pond in the middle of it. > My mother, the healer, always preached, "Cleanliness is next to godliness". I think my mother and Luck had the same teacher. One very nagging teacher, who never shuts up and keeps hounding you until you either kill her, or give in. > I gave in. Figured it wouldn't do to kill Luck after I saved him. > Making sure both he and the little girl were out of the house, the first thing I did was unbraid my hair. I keep it braided so it stays out of my way. I used to just lop it off with a dagger every few months, but I found it was easier to just braid and forget it. Forgetting it might sound like a good idea, until I try to remember it. "Rat's nest" is a term I know very well, and it applied perfectly to my hair. It would need a good washing, and I was surprised how long it's gotten. > Next, in my day of torture, I peeled away my clothing and armor. Being so naked made me shiver; I hadn't been without my armor in� I can't even remember when I've been without it. I grabbed one of my daggers and took it to the bath with me; it made me feel less naked, not so vulnerable. > I don't understand all the mechanical workings of hot water and bathes. It's never been a field of interest for me or something I could study up-close until now. Even to my uneducated eye, this room was built by a genius. Pipes and sluices running down, circulating the water from (I'm guessing) the pool on the roof, to beneath the fire I knew was only a floor above in the den to heat it, to the tub and then out. Simple but brilliant, and holy hell was that water hot! > It took me the better part of an hour to get used to the temperature enough to fully immerse myself. Yeouch, hot hot hot. In the years I've been alone, if I had a chance at all to even wash my face it was from cold seawater at the docks. > But oooh, once you get used to it it was heaven on earth. Yep, I understand the bath mania Luck has now. Clouds of steam filled the chamber as I soaped and washed, resoaped and rewashed some more. I worked handfuls of soap into my hair, scrubbing and squeezing the dirt and crud out of the white blonde tangle. > Finally, I was clean. Squeaky clean, with wrinkled fingers and heat-pinkened skin. Wrapping up in a big fluffy towel, another turbaned around my hair, I pad barefoot into the bedroom. Sniff. > Glory god, do my clothes stink! I look at the pile of, for lack of a nicer term, stinky rags on the floor, and start laughing. Not a deep laugh, or loud laugh, that range is out of my ability, but rather a soft, raspy laugh. Well they'll need to be burnt, and my armor, too, because I'm not putting any of that stuff back on! > Rooting through the chests that scatter the cluttered bedroom (I'm beginning to think Luck is something of a rat himself, a pack rat!), I locate some clothing that obviously isn't Luck's, much too small but just my size. I "borrow" it to go shopping and on my way out of the house, I drop my old clothes and armor on the forge. A sudden whoosh and flare of flame and the smell is, as well as nearly all my worldly goods, gone. > Seems like Luck was right, a bath wouldn't kill me.
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