Claws and Fangs

Get Clean, Get Dirty

The "bath" is more like a small swimming pool, fed hot water by a pump. I quickly strip down and plunge in and oh my god it's heaven. I actually moan a little, no lie. All the grime and sweat of the past few days just floats off, and for a moment my worries are gone, too. I splash around for a while, then dunk my head under the water and start scrubbing the grit from my hair. I come up beaming like a crazy person, but I can't help it! This bath is magical (in the literal sense for all I know). I feel safe for the first time in... what, has it only been six months? It feels like a lifetime -- like several lifetimes. Wait, six months? That means August has come and gone, taking my birthday with it. Birthdays aren't really important in most clans, especially not in Half Moon, but we try to do a little something special, a nice meal usually. I always wanted a party like the humans had, with cake and presents, but I liked waking up and being older. This was my eighteenth birthday, the one where my father would give a speech about coming of age and participating in clan duties. I would have joined a patrol or been apprenticed to someone. It steals away some of my happiness to realize that won't happen, now or ever.

My fingers are wrinkled by the time I climb out if the water and pull a towel from a stack by the door. As promised, there are clean clothes, if you can call it that. A shiny red dress with thin straps and a hem just short enough to maybe pass as casual that shows off way too much cleavage. I put my other clothes in a basket outside the door that has already been whisked away, probably to be burned, and while walking around naked doesn't sound like a terrible idea the chilly air makes me think twice about rejecting the dress out of hand. I tug it on, popping a few stitches in the seams, and march stiffly back to Mark.

I forget to knock when I come in and find him half-dressed and struggling with a pair of crutches.

"Sorry!" I yelp, blushing hard and turning my face to the door.

"What are you sorry about? I have pants on," Mark says teasingly. "Plus I need your help getting this stupid shirt on, so it's good you're here."

I snatch the white dress shirt off the floor and toss it at him before turning back around awkwardly. If nothing else, at least we're both overdressed. Or we will be once he puts on a shirt. "Tell me when you're decent."

I hear him shuffling around for a minute before swearing and sending the crutches flying, coming down hard a split second before I grab his arm to catch him. I wince when his bad leg hits the ground.

"Are you okay?" I ask, completely forgetting his partial nudity.

Mark pushes himself up and sits down on the bed. "I'm fine," he says, his voice strained. "I told you I needed your help."

I snort and pick up the dropped shirt, carefully ignoring both the fact that he isn't wearing it and my resulting blush. "You couldn't even get one of the sleeves on before you fell?" I joke, pulling it on him and working at the buttons. At this distance I can appreciate his looks without being weird about it, and his smell trickles pleasantly into my nose. Clearly his bath was not as thorough as mine, but I don't mind.

"It's very tricky to put on a shirt and handle crutches at the same time," Mark argues. "Although, now that I think about it, I could have just sat down."

"You mean I don't have to mess with these?" I ask, gesturing at the stubborn buttons. Either the buttons are too large for the button holes or the holes are too small for the buttons, but they're giving me more trouble than I expected.

"I don't know, this angle is very flattering on you," Mark jokes. I glance up, but his eyes are pointedly looking lower than my face.

"Mark!" I squawk, standing suddenly and covering myself. He was looking at my chest?!