Warning: wet dog!

[scots_wolf]

Outside, there is a brief but energetic thunderstorm this afternoon, thunder and lightning giving patrons quite the show over the lake, with torrential rains and a bit of hail as a supporting act.

When the back door opens, some water is blown in as well. When it closes again, the bar is up one dripping wet Scottish murderer, and one dripping wet and rather smelly white-and-brown dog.

Urquhart's blond mane looks colourless as it's stuck to his back and shoulders, pulling awkwardly when he moves his head. The plaid fabric he was wearing (not quite a kilt the way they have them in the future, but getting there, historically speaking) is drooping off him, dripping all over the floor, the water-logged wool looking mostly black now. He wasn't wearing much else to begin with, and now he might even be considered insufficiently dressed. Blond fuzz is stuck to his skin everywhere, throwing his considerable muscles into unusually sharp relief.

However, before he gets himself dry, Urquhart gets a big towel from the bar and bends over to towel his wet dog dry. First things first: - and Urquhart grew up in a place where you always, always took care of the animals first.

After that, he'll dry himself and get something both hot and alcoholic to drink. But that will have to wait.


[[OOC: Warning for nudity and sex on the Orpheus thread!]]

Comments

[the_cupbearer]

"Don't you look a mess," comes a gentle voice tinted with a smile. Ganymede is dry, thankfully, in a loose shirt and trousers as he lounges on a chair.

He's got a box of blood oranges and a paring knife, working leisurely at peeling and sectioning.

[scots_wolf]

"We are," Urquhart says, looking up at him. "While you look enviably dry and otherwise delicious."

[the_cupbearer]

"As always," he chuckles. "Would you like a space to dry off?" he asks, setting his knife aside.

[scots_wolf]

"I'll have to have one," Urquhart says. "Or the Goth will pop out from somewhere and arrest me for nudity."

Because he really needs that wet plaid off sooner better than later. It's clinging to all the wrong places.

[the_cupbearer]

"Would you like to come to my room, then?"

Ganymede can dry the dog off while Urquhart changes. "There are plenty of towels there, at least. Is Teja still after you?"

[scots_wolf]

"I must admit he's let up lately," Urquhart says, standing straight. "Thanks, I'd like that."

He hasn't used his own room in a while, and has no idea about its towel situation.

"I don't know it it's because Teja has new fish to fry, or if he finally realised that I don't actually mean to break his precious rules."

Or because the Fool had all but made him admit that he'd got it on with Urquhart, in the forge, very very shortly before the projected end of the world.

[the_cupbearer]

"Oddly enough, I don't think I've ever broken any," Ganymede says conversationally, leading up the stairs with the box on his hip. His room is newly decorated in the style he'd have grown up with, comfortable and airy.

"Still don't get on with him, do you?"

[scots_wolf]

"Not really, but he's mostly leaving me alone now," Urquhart says, following Ganymede while dripping all over the carpeting. The dog follows, luckily not leaving too horrible pawprints, as Urquhart already dried his paws.

[the_cupbearer]

As the floor is tiled, it shouldn't be much of an issue in his room, and Ganymede isn't concerned with the hallways.

"Should I ask what you bribed him with?"

[scots_wolf]

"That remains a bit of a mystery," Urquhart says. "Myself, probably."

[the_cupbearer]

"I wouldn't have thought him the type," he says lightly, providing Urquhart with a towel and bringing a spare for the dog, next to whom he kneels to clean him off.

[scots_wolf]

"Oh, he is," Urquhart says, towelling his hair.

The dog lifts his head and offers his throat and muscular chest for drying.

"He's apparently always been, never knew him otherwise. But I don't remember what precisely happened in the forge, as it was the apocalypse, and I ended up dead for a bit before that was over. Messes with my memory all the time. I say, do you have a comb?"

He tugs at his hair, which is badly tangled.

[the_cupbearer]

"Not to enjoy men," Ganymede laughs, "To be bribed."

He's competent with the dog and is done shortly, rising to get a comb with a soft smile. "Let me untangle your hair. Do you want it plaited?" he asks. He's used to this part of life; spending several centuries as a sort of manservant and lover does have that result.

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus is settled by the fire with his guitar, not doing more than strumming idly when the man and his dog come in.

He'd admit to watching in amusement as they drip all over the floor.

[scots_wolf]

The dog is big; but the man is bigger, proportionally. Tall and strong and broad-shouldered and hairy, and very very wet. So Urquhart has no problem standing Franz up, holding him by the paws, and rubbing his rather dirty belly dry with that towel. The dog hardly squirms.

Noticing the music, Urquhart looks up and spares the musician a look, and a grin, and a shrug.

Neither Franz nor Urquhart are actually at their shiniest -- anything but!

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus is hardly one to judge by those standards. He's looked much, much worse, after all.

He returns the grin, and the formless tune he was strumming out turns into something not at all unlike a sudden, summer shower.

"Out for walkies?"

[scots_wolf]

"We tried the outdoor life for a bit," Urquhart answers, letting Franz down and rubbing his ears with the towel. The dog makes a rather strange face.

"I'd done it before, and I thought less walls and more glens might be fun. They were. Freshly caught salmon at the camp fire, that sort of thing."

The slight Scottish accent in his voice grows more noticeable as he talks about the life outside.

While the dog is getting drier, the man is still dripping onto the floor, and he keeps pulling at his kilt to keep it from sliding off.

[golden_lyre]

"And now that you're back to civilization, it seems you're in need of a place to dry off," Orpheus points out, though he's impressed the man is taking care of his dog before himself.

[scots_wolf]

Where Urquhart is from, you always take care of the animals first. Even more so if they're animals that are near and dear to you, like your dogs or horses.

Finally, he lets Franz go, being satisfied that the dog is dry enough not to cause muddy armageddon on the bar room floor.

"I guess so," he says. "I theoretically still have a room here, but no idea what's the situation is. Finding a place to get decent would be good, before I get myself arrested."

The end of his kilt is sliding wetly off Urquhart's thigh, exposing more muscle and hair; he just barely manages to catch it before it exposes more. "Oh, damn. Sorry. I don't actually mean to make such a spectacle of myself."

[golden_lyre]

Orpheus smirks a bit at that, his eyes following the sliding plaid. "I don't mind, but don't let the Goth see you," he warns playfully.

"I'm not sure I have anything that would fit you, but you could dry off in my room if you'd like."

[scots_wolf]

"The Goth," Urquhart says, rolling his eyes. "Wouldn't he have a field day, arresting me for nudity at last? Although, I don't know, he's been leaving me alone mostly."

After what the Fool almost made the Goth admit had happened during the apocalypse, there had been something between a ceasefire and a steep decline of interest lately.

Urquhart stands, clinging to his kilt. "I'd be very grateful," he says. "I'm Urquhart, by the way."

[golden_lyre]

"Glad to hear it's not just me he's after, then," Orpheus says, though he doesn't sound at all pleased by it.

He pulls himself to his feet and slings his guitar across his back. "Orpheus," he adds, heading toward the stairs. "Nice to meet you."

[scots_wolf]

Urquhart follows, dripping; the dog follows as well, mostly dry and not leaving pawprints on the carpeting.

"This is Milliways," Urquhart says, "you have a guitar; so I guess you're the Orpheus of Greek myth, not just named after him?"

He starts climbing the stairs, and then clutches his kilt with a muttered curse. "He was after me for a bit," he then adds. "He never got that I didn't mean it personal when I shot him."

[golden_lyre]

"I am, yes," Orpheus says. "Though most people, even here, just think my parents had great ambitions for me."

He pulls his key from his pocket. "You shot him? I wish I'd been there for that."

[scots_wolf]

"Oh good, safety," Urquhart says, as the key must mean the room is near. "And yes, I shot him. Something between a job and a bet. It didn't work, unfortunately. But I tried my best. Crossbow quarrel made by freezing water in a quarrel-shaped mould. They were baffled for weeks. Unfortunately, his then-lover was there, or it would have been even more mysterious."

He shrugs. Sometimes, jobs go wrong.

Unfortunately, the shrug sends the end of the kilt off his shoulder, and hence the entire heavy, waterlogged fabric to the ground.

"Damn," Urquhart says, bending very quickly to pick it up again. A hero of Greek myth should be used to some amount of nudity, but still.