Fedor's Courtyard
It's night time and the courtyard is now dark. The windows in the building surrounding it on the three sides are all dark as well. The shikk'ahns that were wandering the courtyard are gone – probably asleep in some small side pen. The wind blows through the leaves in the fruit trees, breaking the silence with a soft rustle.

Sitting with his back against the wall is Layth, the servant of Aisha. Next to him sits an overturned bucket upon which glows a single candle. He's humming quietly to himself and looking rather bored.

Despite being late at night, this is still a resort town, and some still like to party. The faint sounds of some rich man's late night get together echo off the cliff walls, partially masking the 'thyip, thyip' mantra of feathered wings. From the direction of the elevator, something winged approaches from the sky.

The keen ears of the Lapi do catch a bit of the wing noise and he cranes his head towards it. "Ah, it is about time," he says to himself and stands up. "I wonder if she'll hit a wall on landing," he muses and retrieves both his candle and the bucket.

Tasha doesn't hit a wall, but she does stagger drunkenly after landing. As she's bragged before, she does this sort of thing a lot, in many ports, so maybe she has some practice. Either way, landing without hitting something seems to be the extent of her skills, for she clearly stumbles around, hooves clip-clopping, until she falls against the outer wall for support. "Oi, 'o put this 'ere," she mumbles.

Layth heads over to Tasha. "Ah, the conquering hero has returned. Were you victorious in your battles with loneliness?" the Lapi inquires and then proceeds to pull her tunic back up her left arm to preserve her modesty in the courtyard. His nose wrinkles and he says, "A thousand pardons, but you do appear to have lost a battle with a few kegs. Phew."

Tasha squints at Layth suspiciously as he pulls up her tunic, head tilted, eyes half-concealed by fallen strands of hair. Then she pokes him in the chest, perhaps harder than she might have if she wasn't drunk. "I don' need no ledgure … leshure … words from you," she insists with all the haughty dignity she can muster. "You wouldn' know fun i' bi' you on your arse." Then, as if to prove it, Tasha reaches over and gooses the bunny.

And Tasha finds rather hard flesh to try and goose, too. Underneath that fur, Layth is solid. His reaction is just a mere shrug, too. "I'm not here to give you a lecture. I'm here to take care of you," Layth explains and then holds up the bucket. "And to make sure you do not vomit on our host's floors." He then considers something and asks, "Can you walk, or would you prefer I carry you?"

"Are you gettin' f- … " Tasha stares at Layth, brows narrowed in concentration as she takes a moment to slowly sound out the word she's looking for," … fr … fresh, tha's i'. Are you gettin' fresh wit' me? I don' need no one to carry me! Never di' never will!" The woman pushes off the wall, staggers three steps away from it, then shakes her head, wobbling. "I can TAKE CARE OF MEself!" she announces to the world, louder than remotely necessary for Layth to hear.

"I'm sure you can," Layth remarks and then simply walks over and clamps a very firm grip down over Tasha's muzzle. "You can also be quiet and not wake our hosts, do you understand me?" he says, and for once, sounds rather forceful about it, too. "You are going to come with me. You need a bath and your clothing needs to be cleaned. After that, I will show you to your room."

If looks could kill, Layth would probably need a mortician about now. Grabbing at Tasha just seems to incense her, and she lifts a hoof to kick, clumsily, at the man.

The kick connects, but given Tasha's tipsy state, there isn't a huge amount of force it. The Lapi is knocked back a couple feet and lands hard on his butt. The bucket he was carrying bounces across the ground with soft thumps. He shakes his head and pushes himself back to his feet. The Lapi's eye twitches as if debating what exactly he wants to do versus what he should do. "You want to fight me, then?" he asks quietly, then sighs. "All I asked is that you do not disturb the hosts who have very graciously put us up for the evening. I had prepared you a hot bath, and was going to wash your clothes for you."

Tasha's still glaring when the Lapi falls, and she keeps it up, looking like she might try and hit him, until he explains himself. Then, almost like magic, she calms down. "I don' like bein' grabbed by no strange men," she tells Layth, sounding indignant, hurt, and slow. Then, still wobbly, she wanders over to him and clumsily tries to dust him off. "I's jus' 'ow I am. Don' know abou' no strange men, sometimes. All tha' grabbin' an' wha'no'," she adds, her words trailing off into a mumble. Luckily, Layth's ears are sharp enough to hear all of it.

Layth brushes her hands away and dusts himself off. "I am not here to accost you; I was here to make sure you could find your room and get cleaned up. I was also going to tell you that starting tomorrow I was going to try and teach some Olympian to Aisha, and thought you may wish to learn at least a few basic phrases so you can do things there without an escort," he says, voice shifting back to his usual, neutral, tone. "And I would have figured after the time on that ship, I would not be strange, either."

"I ain't never talked to you, an' you're always so … fourmal. Farmal. F-o-r-m-al. Li' you is some lordling, tryin' to keep the stick in yer bum strai'," Tasha says. She looks herself over as she talks, then tugs on one side of her tunic – only to make the other side slide off her other shoulder. She frowns at it, as if wondering how it tricked her. "I spen' lots'o time wi' people on shyips. Ships." She shrugs. "'Course, I go' to tell you," and she leans closer to say it, "I'm jus' a lil' drunk, an', an' you gave me a righ' flasbick. Bock. Flashbock. Memory."

"I know you're drunk; that's why I didn't simply get up and knock you flat," Layth flatly replies matter-of-factly and then motions for her to follow him. "As for being formal, that is the culture of where I grew up. As a slave, you have to be formal and polite to everyone. An impolite slave could be beaten, castrated, or even worse. I do have some instinct of survival and I've seen enough bloodshed in my lifetime and prefer to keep mine flowing in my veins."

Tasha follows, her wings flapping now and then whenever she wobbles too crookedly. "You need to lighten up. Did'n Aisha or Cal-i-co, or Iaron say you weren't a slave no more? I know, you nee' to ge' drunk an' find yourself a girl, mate," the drunken woman advises as she tries not to run in to anything.

Layth guides Tasha through a dark part of the house into a small back room where a makeshift standing blind and a wooden tub full of steaming water waits. He motions to the blind and says, "You can disrobe there. Just leave your clothes draped over it and I will deal with them. You can get into the tub from the blind. I won't look," he says. "As for being drunk. Well, drunk, and Amazonian, are not usually a good combination, Lady Tasha."

"I ain't no lady," Tasha insists as she swaggers across the room. "I'm jus'," she pauses to yank her tunic off and toss it over the blind, "… Tasha." She fumbles with the rest of her clothes, but leaves her shiny bits on. After that, she tosses the rest of her clothes over, including a bundled one that just hits the floor. Then, she walks over, naked as her name day, and plops in the tub with a sploosh.

The Lapi collects the bundle of clothing and carries them to a smaller bucket. He shakes each out and makes a peculiar expression with his eyebrows when something falls from the bundle. He shakes his head, then drops the clothing into the water in the bucket. Picking up a short stick to stir it with, he says, "Soap is to the right … Tasha."

Tasha grabs the soap with wet hands, only to spend several seconds trying to get a good hold on it. Finally, the soap shoots out from between her hands and skids over near Layth. "Oi, stupid thin'," she curses, then she gets out of the tub to go get it.

Layth pauses in stirring to look over at Tasha. "You would be very popular if you worked in the Harem club," he notes and returns to stirring her clothes slowly. "And I do beg to differ, you are a lady. Wet like that, well, a thousand pardons, but it's fairly obvious."

The woman pauses long enough to look at herself, grabbing her breasts and eyeing them. "I s'pose I am. Even 'ad some artsy pain' me up." She lets her chest fall, and stalks after the soap. "I jus' ain' no noble lady, wantin' all tha'. I'm jus' Tasha – the bas'ard." Carefully, Tasha bends over to grab the soap, then snatches it up and carries it back to the tub. "Goin' to be Cap'n Tasha some day, an' I'll make me own name."

"Your father left you, then?" Layth inquires, canting his head slightly. He then mixes some soap into the water.

"Aye." Tasha lathers the soap between her hands, then begins scrubbing hard at her face. "Mum says 'e was some noble lookin' for a goo' time, an' she was snogered. Snogkered. Snookered. I thin' tha's why she gives me a 'ard time 'bout the men I li'." The woman peers down at herself, then grins toothily. "I don' thin' it's workin'. I 'ad me a fine bird today, I did."

"Parents' are strange. My mother left me to die in the snow when I was five," Layth notes and fetches a scrubbing board. "And considering what fell out of your clothing, I can guess you did more than meet. Not that it's any of my business, of course."

"I 'ad me honor guarded by Sir Lemon," Tasha explains, then laughs. "Aaron knows 'is stuff. 'Course if 'e don', I'll tie 'is ears in a kno' an' say i's his." The woman extends her arms, now, and takes turn soaping them up. "I don' know why we bover – bother wi' parents. If I me' my father, I'm goin' to brain 'im one. You ough' an' brain your mum twice."

"My mother is bigger than either you or I. She was an Amazonian warrior, a full blood, not like Lady Circerae who is likely half or so. It would not be wise to brain her, as you put it. But then, it's not like we'll ever meet her. I don't even know if she's still alive. Nor do I really care, to be honest," Layth comments and starts scrubbing Tasha's clothing … really scrubbing a few spots. "And, to explain … being called a lady doesn't imply you are noble, simply that they are offering it as a term of respect."

"I'd still try an' brain 'er, bi' or no. I've kicked a few Rhians in the jewels an' made 'em sing the 'igh note, I 'ave," Tasha insists. Then she dunks her head, shakes it off, and begins soaping her hair. "Is tha' 'ow i' is? You're a funny lot, you Abuians an' what's-it Amazones. In Rephidim, we only call them hill folk ladies an' such. Them nobles, in their fancy 'ouses full of their shiny things." Tasha sighs, as if that's where she'd rather be, too.

"To use an old phrase, money doesn't buy happiness, Tasha," Layth quips then holds up some of Tasha's soggy clothing for inspection. And then, oddly, Layth glances to the lemon and tacks onto that old phrase " … lemons do."

Tasha laughs at that, grinning. "Oi, they sure do – if you know 'ow to pick 'em."

"It's not the picking, it's the placing," Layth remarks absently and goes right back to scrubbing a spot on the clothes. "For future reference and something I learned while working at the harem club … get the guy to place it. It will be more fun for both of you."

Tasha turns her head to look at Layth consideringly. "I 'adn't though o' tha'. 'Couse, only thing I thin' mos' men are thinkin' of placin' righ' ain' a lemon," she remarks.

"Not a very good partner, then. They should be just as concerned about you having fun as them having fun," Layth comments, then sighs and shakes his head. "I think you sat on someone's sandwich at the bar. You have mustard stains on your left buttock."

"I jus' 'it 'em if they're no' doin' i' right. Or bite 'em." Tasha stands up long enough to examine her buttock and scrub it off.

"Er, your tunic bottom, ah, nevermind," Layth comments when Tasha stands. He actually even laughs for a change, apparently having a really interesting mental image right about then.

"Don' you laugh a' me," Tasha demands, though not forcefully. "An if you're goin' to be cleanin', clean me wings. C'mere."

"Actually, I was picturing you in the heat of … well. And then suddenly smacking the guy on the side of his head and telling him he's doing it wrong," Layth notes, then drops the clothes back in the water to soak for a bit and heads over to the tub. His brow furrows briefly and he just picks up a soft bristle brush.

"Oh, is tha' i'? I've done tha," says Tasha. She settles back in the tub and props her feet on the edge, spreading her wings.

Deciding not to use water at the moment, he just brushes along the wings and follows the flow of the feathers to be careful not to break them. "We may be in Dianus for a while, you realize," he comments. "You will need to take a bit of care while there."

"I know, I know. Calli was all kinds of lady when she tol' me about 'er customs. I'll jus' be some frea', I guess, no' tha' I care," Tasha agrees. "Oi, an' I think I 'ave some grass in me tail, too."

Layth actually leans over Tasha and looks her in the eyes. "You are not a freak," he says, then disappears back behind her to continue working on her wings. "I'll deal with your tail when you stand," he notes.

Tasha reaches back and fumbles around until she pinches something, though she seemed to be reaching for Layth's cheek. "Ain't'chu sweet," she says, sounding like she means it. "I guess you're all righ', even wit' all that stick."

Layth tries to brush away Tasha's hand. "Just something I learned. It doesn't matter so much what people may think of you, but what you think of yourself. And hearing you say it and how you refer to yourself … I worry that you think too little of yourself," he says and rubs the shoulder where he was just pinched.

"Thin' too little o' meself? I thin' 'alf the crews thinks I think too much. Haw," she japes. "Don' you worry abou' Tasha, she can worry abou' 'erself."

"So sorry. I've seen you naked, so I must worry about you now. Why, I'll have nightmares for weeks," Layth says, sounding completely serious, too.

Tasha twits around to put her head on the rim of the tub and eye Layth, rather as if she were trying to figure him out. Undoubtedly trying to figure out if she had been insulted or not.

Layth holds the serious expression for a bit, but ends up smirking slightly in the end. "A thousand pardons, the stick must have fallen out," he offers as an excuse.

Tasha stares at Layth a long moment, then says, "I better pu' it back in."

Layth chuckles. "You know, you might want to get out of that water soon or you'll end up all curly and people will mistake you for a Gallee," he notes.

Tasha's eyebrow goes up, then the rest of her. She stands up, naked, with a hand on her hip. "I wouln' wan' to give you nightmares," she teases him. Then, she reaches down and plucks at Layth's ears, like she did with Aaron earlier in the day.

As Layth's ears are messed with, he reaches sideways and grabs a towel. The Lapi holds it up to her and grins, "Then use a towel, oh temptress of painters in the desert. And turn around so I can get the grass out of your tail."

"'Fore long, why, I be' I'll be the talk of Abu Dhabi," Tasha insists as she turns around. "Don' ge' any idea back there, you." She flicks her tail.

Layth starts brushing out the bits still stuck in her tail. And perhaps in a moment of revenge, or perhaps not. But in any event, something gooses her. "A thousand apologies, the brush slipped," comes the reason.

Tasha straightens when goosed, ears shooting up. She twists around and shoots Layth a suspicious look – then smiles. "If you grab me tail again, I'm grabbin' yours," she warns.

Layth gives Tasha an innocent look of 'what'? He then offers her the brush and says, "I need to hang your clothes. There should be a robe to the side you can wear tonight. I'll show you to your room when you're ready."

Instead, Tasha drops in to Layth's lap. "I don' know, I'm kind 'o comfortable 'ere," she insists, then blinks, bleary eyed.

"Yes, but if you stay here, the household will be shocked in the morning," Layth notes and looks at the now bleary and still somewhat drunk woman … who is getting him all wet now too. He slips one arm under her legs, and then other around her back, just under her wings. And with a bit of awkward shuffling picks her up with a grunt. "You really need to get some sleep. I'll carry you to your room; it's just down the hall."

"Aye, you do tha'," Tasha murmurs, laying back and wrapping her arms around Layth's neck. For support, of course.

Layth carries Tasha out of the room and down the hallway as quietly as he can manage. He peers around warily, hoping no one else has woken up due to the various noises. Regardless, in short order he makes it to her bedroom door and nudges it open with his knee. "The bed is a little short, but I hope it will be adequate," he says.

Tasha looks up, then around, shrugging. "I've slept on a lo' worse," she replies. A bit more looking around, and then she lets her head flop against Layth's chest as she yawns.

The Lapi carries her over to the bed and lowers her down onto it. "Ah, you can let go now," he says quietly.

"An' if I don'?" the woman inquires, spreading her wings out and grinning unsteadily at the man.

"Then there would probably be a lot of uncomfortable questions tomorrow morning as to why I was in your room all night," Layth points out with a small laugh. "And, I still have to deal with your clothes before I get some sleep."

"Oh, all righ'," Tasha relents, letting go. But not, that is, without giving the man a kiss on the nose. After she's down, she grabs a sheet and yanks it over herself as she curls in a half-ball. "Well, nigh' then." Her eyes close.

Layth gets a blanket and pulls that over her too. "Goodnight, nightmare," he comments with a small grin. He reaches over and puts out the only candle in the room with his fingertips. The Lapi then slips out the door and closes it quietly behind him.