| PHD 280: The New Shave |
| Summary: | Panda is introduced to a new shave, from a new side of an acquaintance. |
| Date: | PHD 280 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Head - Deck 10 - BS Hestia
"Yeah, thanks man," Panda calls from the sinks, waving one hand at the departing techie. "We're even." In one hand is a disposable razor. The other comes back to his face and pinches a corner of his cheek. The skin is tugged and stretched, and the blades come back to scrape the thin white film (and hair it covers) from Dorian's face.
Nudity is standard fare in military life, what with shared sleeping and bathing areas. In her own culture, there is nothing shameful about nakedness. Indeed, it is the most natural state. All the same, Ninaza still hasn't gotten used to being so exposed to Outsiders and is thus more covered than was her pre-Holocaust norm. Emerging from one of the many showers after wringing out her long, long hair, the damp towel is wrapped about her waist, leaving those more than hip-length tresses to conceal the uppermost of her womanliness.
The drizzling Godiva hair isn't entirely lost on Pandorian, it's just that any inspection through the mirror he might normally make of just how well they cover is hijacked by a series of sporadic curses. "(Cocksucker!)" he hisses, and "(Shitballs!)" An appearance is made by the classic "(Dammit!)" supported by a clenched hiss. It all comes to a head with the clattering of the shaver on the floor and a howling, growling epithet whose specifics are too scathing to reprint. Panda's holding his cheek, hopping on one leg (since one of his bare feet has landed on the razor, resulting in a crunching sound), going through the litany of angry words.
The cursing catches the young woman's attention, not so much because she understands half of what is being said, but because the howling and growling is something that simply registers. And there he is, that increasingly familiar Marine. The one prone to injury. Faintly, Ninaza's mouth quirks and she makes a light-footed advance. "Pandorian Ajtai." Pahn-doh-ree-ahn Ahj-Tye. "Enough you have to fight, yet you still injure yourself. There is a lesson you are being taught. Cycles and patterns are for a reason." Smoothly sinking to her knees, the crushed razor is carefully brushed aside, only for her attentive hands to reach for the lifted foot, in such a manner that Panda can lean against the sink basic for support.
The unexpected 'floor' under his lifted foot almost throws him over backwards, but Panda's too distracted running through the woman's sharply accented words in his head to overreact. "Enough I have to…" he begins, but stops with a growl. "I got enough to worry about without gettin' chopped up by shitty razors," he snarls. The lack of good humor fades, though, as her actions bring some relief. Panda's able to collect himself and support his thigh against the sink enough to start wiggling his foot from her hand. "C'mon, my feet're nasty," the Marine says quietly, "you don't have to do that."
"Nasty?" she asks. One can even hear the brow furrowing in her tone of voice. She doesn't look up at the man, though, for she's busy examining what, if any, injury there might be on the sole. Gentle as her gestures may be, they also are swift. The healer will heal. It is the will of the Great Mother. "How is it feet can be nasty?" It is now that green eyes peer upward, a bit concerned. "You would kick me?" Evidently, someone is unaware that nasty can mean gross in addition to meaning mean. That same someone also does not appear to be disgusted by aforementioned nasty feet. Carefully, her hands ease down his foot, only to gingerly retrieve the remnants of razor, so that no one else steps on them. Her other hand again carries a small shower bag. That done, Ninaza stands, damp hair and all, depositing the items in the sink, now aware that the Marine has a cut on his cheek. "It is my duty," she unequivocally notes. So, yes, she must. With astute eyes and gentle hands, she seeks to examine that injury, too.
"What-no, no, what the hell," Panda stammers, peering down at the woman. At first, at leaast, but more and more it's at the fall of her hair. Hey, it's Panda after all. "No, I mean, I wear boots all the time and stuff, they're all leathery and gross." He chuffs while she inspects his foot: The callouses have a bit of a flap and a gouge in them from cracked plastic and dull blade, but the flesh is compacted too much to bleed in any noticable amount. Maybe when he goes to bed he might have a little pinkish spot on his socks. Sort of like the smears on his cheek where the nicks and creme have mixed. The woman's rise brings a guilty snap to his gaze, Panda staring into the mirror, trying to make it look like his attention's been there the whole time. To break the ice he jokes, "Yeah it's so bad when Engineering runs out of sandpaper, instead of breaking open a new box they just have some Marines rub their feet over whatever needs to be smoothed down."
A cut is a cut and needs to be disinfected. It just so happens that she has some astringent in her little bag, so, a cleaning she does. "Be still," she quietly instructs. Never mind that's it's going to sting a bit. As for leathery feet, "They are gross, why? They are kept clean." The Saggie certainly doesn't have soft soles. Wilderness living cultivates a certain hardiness. "Your calluses, you mean? They are evidence of hard work and a means to continue such." A fan of metrosexuals, she is not.
Her voice is like snipping shears cleaving the puppet's strings. Pandorian stays quite still, responding to the command without a thought. "Well, clean as I can," he offers, eyes dipping once again when she goes to take care of his heel. "How 'bout your hair? I mean, damn, y'know?" the Marine explains vaguely. Thankfully, he digs a little deeper. "Kitty's on her last bottle of shampoo, Callie's scrounging for something that don't turn her hair into straw. You've got, like, eight miles of hair. How's that work out?"
"Kitty?" Which sounds more like Kee-tee, but clipped. "There is a cat aboard the ship?" Cue equal parts bemusement and delight, for she very much likes animals. As for her hair, she replies while rising, "To wash? With water and herbs." Really, she left home with a frakkin' frakton. "Certain extracts, I lack now." Which means that it is far from ideal shampoo. "When I am able to grow my plants, I shall make shampoo for Callie and maybe for the kitty." Foot and face tended to, Ninaza's attention turns to the stubble. This means returning to the bag to remove a spool of thin thread, which she measures out and shears with her teeth, then folds. "I shall finish for you, yes?"
Panda stifles a snicker, just shaking his head. "There's uh, there's no cat on the ship," he says at length, his mind still somewhat spinning at Ninaza's description of her way. The Marine nods to her offer, albeit warily, eyes on the string. "It's just what we call my sister Katherine," he says slowly.
Knotting the thread to make a circle, she starts to twist it in the middle some 10 times. "You have a sister, here on the ship? How wonderful for you." Really, it is, and her heart rejoices for his good fortune, even as she privately laments the absence of her own loved ones. "It is best that you sit." And no sooner than he does, Ninaza will get to work, removing the stubble via the ancient art of threading. It goes fairly quickly and stings a little, but damn if the man's face isn't smooth by the time she finishes.
It's all he can do to let out a serene sigh and limp off toward one of the changing benches with Ninaza in tow. "It's all that keeps me going sometimes," Panda says quietly on the way over. "Once in a while I avoid her for a day or two, just so that when I do see her…" Word fail him there, Pandorian able to give her but a weak smile and a shrug in explanation. Now seated, he stares straight ahead, wincing now and then at the little tugs.
Words are not necessary. It appears that she understands how he feels, conveying such with a mild nod and a certain kind of smile. "When I am reunited with my loved ones, I shall also rejoice." The likelihood of that never happening does not appear to cross her mind. Finishing up, she softly says, "There." Not a single stray hair on his cheeks, chin, jaw or neck. It also won't grow back as quickly, having been removed at the root. "Enjoy your visit with your sister," she smiles, pleasantly but subdued. "For now, pardon me. I must dress and get to sick bay."
Panda is left petting his cheek, staring in wide-eyed wonder at her. Never once did he make any noise to suggest reunion were impossible. That might be from the way he was staring straight forward, like a man at a barber shop. Afraid to move and muss the job up. "Thank you, yeah. Yeah, of course," he adds quickly, flashing his hand as he turns around. "I owe you one."
"No. There is no debt, merely honor and consideration." Then, with nothing more than that parting mudra of hers, she departs.
