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entrancelogs2006-11-25 01:09 pm
cryopathic.livejournal.com) wrote in entrancelogs2006-11-25 01:09 pm
email log: Saix and Vexen, complete.
Who: Vexen ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cyrophilia and Saix falltheseventh
Where Room 412 (Vexen's Room)
When: Evening, November 24
Rating: PG-13, for mentions of spanking! ... What?
Summary: Theentirely platonic and not at all romantically involved, honest roommates prepare for the ball. Sort of. Mostly, it's Vexen washing Saix's hair.
the Story:
For all that they speak frequently enough on the journals, Vexen tends to be surprisingly quiet in their own room, conducting his business wihtout ever doing more than occasionally lean over to announce his general intentions to either stretch his legs by conducting brief walks around the room, pacing like a restless cat until he inevitably tugs Saix out to walk with him in the hallways.
It's never for long, though. His ribs don't hold up well to the strain of so much exertion, even if he is getting better.
Today, when he turns around in his chair and cranes his neck to peer at the berserker, the situation is decidedly a different one.
After all, they have a ball to attend.
"Saix." It's a call for the berserker's attention, whatever he may be doing at the moment.
It seems for the day that Saix refuses to touch the journals. Though his mood has been significantly better lately, he'd manage it well if Elphaba wasn't so persistant and dense. Such an incredibly foolish and stubborn woman. He supposes that, for all he knows, Luxord finds that attractive.
So he's been spending his time carving... something out from wood.
A pointed ear twitches faintly and the berserker lifts his head, turning it so he can look at the scientist from the corner of his eyes. "Yes, Vexen?"
If there's anything they don't discuss for any length of time, it's Elphaba. Vexen has his own reasons for avoiding the topic, mainly being his preference for keeping his roommate in a less acerbic mood--for whatever reason, Saix and the witch disagree on a ridiculous amount of topics, and he's given up on making sense of why they insist on talking to each other despite it. Personally, he'd avoid talking to anyone he detested as an unneccessary waste of effort.
Not that Saix can, of course, detest anything. Regardless, he's not eager to spend time cloistered in one place with a prickling berserker, and it's in his interests to keep him relatively... content, he supposes.
He leans forward slightly, ignoring the way it stretches his ribcage. "The ball. Do you intend to prepare at all?" It's the following evening, after all.
"I suspect that the closet will offer something to me, should I require a different state of dress." Saix shrugs a bit. "Unless you wish for me to hurry and prepare myself? As I understand it, you wanted to brush my hair, did you not?"
Whatever he seems to be working on, Saix is content to set it aside for now. "I see no reason to rush, is all."
"It probably will." Vexen supposes that much. His own outfit, neatly pressed and bleakly military as it is, is already hanging quietly from an hanger on the wardrobe handle. He doesn't trust the mansion not to switch outfits on him if he chooses to keep it in the closet.
"As to your hair-- we'll need to wash it first." Vexen's expression may be a tad wry, even as he pushes himself to his feet. "If its gone unbrushed for that long, it's probably matted."
"Hopefully nothing too embarrassing." Saix hasn't wanted to check for part of that reason, though he supposes he should very soon.
The talk about his hair makes the berserker wrinkle his nose a bit. Honestly, he sees nothing wrong with it. Simply because he's chosen to not brush it really means nothing, after all. That is, in his opinion. "Mmm, yes. Everyone at the ball will be plagued by despair if I don't properly comb my hair," he mutters.
"Mm." Faintly, the scientist arches a brow. "Perhaps not, but good hygiene never hurt anyone." He pads over to the berserker and holds a hand out, beckoning. "Besides, now I'm curious about whether that actually is your natural hair color."
He inclines his head, faintly, in the direction of the bathroom, a smaller chamber connected to the main room by a fairly basic white door. The room's plain as well, save for desks and furniture; slowly, however, signs of life are creeping into the sterility. "Come on, then."
There's certainly a number of ways to take that line in the worst possible manner. Saix doesn't quite... sputter, but he gives Vexen a look before he stands at the motion. "You make it sound like I don't ever bathe," he grumbles. "Which, I assure you, is certainly not the case."
"Just don't braid my hair and I won't give you much a fuss." It's spoken wryly, not to be taken entirely seriously, it seems.
Not that, of course, Saix has a sense of humor.
"Mm, yes. I'm sure you take your annual shower whenever you happen to be caught out in the rain." He's not entirely serious either, although his expression is bland as he pulls the bathroom door open. The space beyond is purely functional, the shower and bathtub combined into one. He's discovered that-- like the closet-- the bathroom has a tendency to provide whatever's necessary at the moment.
"I would never dream of it."
In this case, shampoo. Vexen squints at the bottles at the edge of the bathtub. "Well, apparently you can either choose to smell like 'Passionfruit Dream' or 'Apple Fantasy."
He doesn't supply Vexen's remark with a verbal response, mostly snorting in faint annoyance.
The berserker does, however, give him a look at the possible scents. "How about neither?" Saix growls. "Hmmph. I suppose I would prefer to smell like apples than passionfruit, though reluctantly." Honestly, he finds this to be almost pointless, but he can't exactly... argue the point with Vexen.
It's just not up to him to decide on this.
"I somehow doubt you'd want to smell of peach or coconut," Vexen murmurs back, taking the appropriate bottle in hand. "Sit by the edge of the bath and tilt your hair back, would you? Into the tub." Presumably, of course, he intends to have Saix rest the nape of his neck on the edge of the tub-- it's narrow enough-- and let his hair spill into the tub itself.
He's not about to wash the berserker's entire body, after all.
Fortunately, the shower head is of the detachable sort, and it's far enough that he has to step into the bath to reach for it while VII arranges himself.
"Hnn," is Saix's grand response, which may or may not agree with what Vexen has to say. However, he continues as usual, obeying the academic's command and sitting against the bath before leaning his head back a bit hesitantly, frowning faintly as he looks up at IV.
"Don't push yourself at the dance party," he murmurs, sounding only slightly concerned.
Though he knows that whatever worries gnaw at him are less of simple master and servant basics and seem to be more inclined towards simply worrying about a companion now.
He doubts he wants to even consider anything else beyond that. It wouldn't end well, he knows.
"I'll be fine," Vexen tells the berserker, coming in closer with the shower head firmly in hand. He sets the bottle down briefly to turn the water on, fiddling with the temperature of the water for a moment; his next words are perhaps a little difficult to hear, given the noise of the water spurting into the tub.
"You'll be there, in any case. I doubt you'll let me get into much trouble." Not, of course, that he would go seeking it. The academic reaches forward into the stream of water to test the temperature. His hands have been bare since Saix moved in, and it seems he's never seen a need to don them since.
"Here-- check if the temperature's fine with you." He speaks a little louder now that it's an actual command.
"I intend to look after you very intently," he murmurs, closing his eyes a moment. If he can help it, nothing will happen to Vexen. Saix isn't going to fail again.
It's almost a little worse that he can't even find Luxord.
The berserker's eyes open, then he reaches out faintly to touch the water. "Mm. A little cold," he remarks a tad wryly.
"Hm." It seems IV sees no further need to comment, but personally, he's a bit distracted by the way Saix words that-- not that it's important.
"Sorry." He reaches over to turn the hot water up, slowly, so that the berserker has time to tell him if it's too hot instead. "Better?"
"Much. Thank you." Saix settles once more, shifting until he's comfortable enough with his eyes closed. This will be, no doubt... a bit of an odd interaction.
No one's really washed his hair before, obviously.
The first task, of course, is to wet Saix's hair. Vexen's a bit apprehensive about that, considering he seems to imagine it will turn moplike and unwieldy at the touch of water.
He straddles the edge of the tub and leans over Saix, pausing a moment to roll up his pant legs so that they avoid getting wet. Since he's been spending almost all his time inside the room, he hasn't had much inclination to wear footwear either, so his feet are bare where they press against the tub bottom and the bathroom tiles. The shampoo bottle is settled firmly between his thighs to keep it from dropping off as he goes about his work.
"Very well, then." Now that the diviner's approved of the heat of the water, IV brings the shower head over and directs it at the mess of blue strands, using his free hand to begin sifting through Saix's hair.
It's a good thing the water's warm: his fingers are a touch chilly.
Occasionally, he's been pat on the head before. Most of the time, Saix isn't sure how to take it, whether it be an insult or playing to Xigbar's remarks on him being nothing more than a hound at times, but there is a distinct element to him that is animal-like, of course. Fingers shifting through his hair is an unusual but not unpleasant feeling.
Briefly he opens his eyes. He blinks a moment, staring up at Vexen and glancing over at how the academic is positioned over him.
That's not awkward at all.
He closes his eyes again. It's not as if he has much else to do but sit still and let Vexen do as he pleases.
The hair-- he still feels, partly, that it's a bit of a generous term-- turns sodden and heavy as the water soaks in, but for all that he's eager to untangle the strands, he keeps his movements slow and careful.
After all, haste makes waste, and tugging sharply on Saix's hair won't help anything.
"Hmm. More manageable than I expected." The comment is made absentmindedly as his fingers shift deeper, actually brushing against scalp now. Every time his fingertips encounter a knot-- and there are several-- he patiently worries at it, although he privately has to wonder if taking a pair of shears to it all would be easier.
But somehow, he doesn't think he likes the idea of the diviner with cropped hair.
"Hn. So glad that it's higher than your expectations," Saix mutters quietly, tilting his head a little as the scientist works through it. "Certainly not like fur, is it?"
He says not much further than that, going quiet as he feels the fingers continuing to comb through his hair, brushing by his scalp. He certainly wouldn't mind if he scratched there, either, but.
Of course, he says nothing of the like. Honestly, it's just best to keep his mind blank.
"Hmm. I was thinking more like a thistle patch, actually." The academic's fingers card through the hair as gently as before, and despite the wording chosen, it seems he's feeling more and more good-humored.
It's something he'd never want to say aloud, but he enjoys this sort of thing, the sort of contact that comes of working with one's hands and speaking to another. It's... comforting.
His fingers snag on a rogue tangle, tugging sharply at Saix's scalp. "Ah. Sorry." The academic hisses in apology and moves the hand to rectify the oversight. Saix's hair is wet enough now that he can set the shower head down and let it run into the tub, heedless of the water bill, and let both his hands work on VII's tresses.
"Not sure which description I'd prefer, if I had to choose."
The sharp tug comes as a surprise to him, though he knows he has tangles in his hair. His eyes open partly and he growls softly, "Aa-ah." Saix glaces at him, then shuts his eyes again. "Nn. It's fine. Just didn't expect it," he mumbles as reassurance. Nothing really worth an apology over.
"Hrm." Vexen says nothing more, seeing little to comment on.
For a few moments, the academic's hands leave Saix's hair, and the next sound is the snap of plastic as the shampoo bottle is pried open. Vexen stares for a moment between his hands, the shampoo, and Saix's unwieldy crop of hair.
He seems to decide that pouring it onto in his hands would be a pointless exercise; instead, he pours a generous amount of the stuff directly onto Saix's head and begins to work it in, fingers driving right down to scalp now as he vigorously lathers it up.
It feels a bit more soothing and less annoying than he originally presumed it to be. The berserker slowly relaxes into the feeling. Though the shampoo and the academic's fingers are chilly at first, he adjusts to the temperature properly as the lathering continues, the tips of fingers scraping against his scalp.
It's not a bad feeling.
Though the scent leaves something to behold.
"Hnn, I'm going to smell like apples for days," he grumbles.
Vexen keeps a fairly constant rhythm going, methodically kneading fingertips and knuckles against Saix's head and gradually working his way to the ends of his hair, section by section. As each part is fully lathered, Vexen pulls it to the side, leaving him free to work with the rest.
"Mmm?" He wasn't expecting to hear the berserker speak. "Well, it's not a bad scent. I'm rather fond of the fruit-- green apples with sugar and cinnamon are quite tasty. Admittedly, this doesn't do a very good job of imitating the aroma." Artificially made perfumes can only do so much, but it could be worse.
"My only annoyance is that when you think 'Luna Diviner', you don't think of apple scented." Even the creation of his original wasn't exactly meant to be particularly cheerful, even if his first master had high hopes. Physical protection and awkward bouts of divinity -- that's the extent of it.
"It's not awful, though, I suppose," Saix agrees reluctantly.
"Perhaps the Luna Diviner needs to think of a new title, then," Vexen remarks tartly, fingers scraping a little harder along Saix's scalp in silent scolding. "'Luna Chef', perhaps, or 'The Pastry Diviner'. 'He cooks, he cleans, he dowses!'"
He may be trying not to smirk, although it's hard to make out if it's an expression of pleasure or simply a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"I think I've given you far too many cookies," Saix remarks, not quite wincing at the harder scrape. "I'm rather glad that you didn't choose our titles, honestly Vexen. Though admittedly I'm not so much a 'diviner', eh."
He squints up faintly, though the expression doesn't go unnoticed -- even if it could be part of his imagination or not.
"Well, no. Perhaps you should look into being a lawyer as an alternate profession; your certainly object enough." He peers down as he takes up one of the heavy locks of hair by Saix's face-- overgrown sideburns or bangs, he can't tell the difference-- and begins to shampoo that as well. "Keep your eyes closed; this will sting if it gets in your eyes."
"I don't take 'professions'," Saix grumbles. There's still a faint point to his existence, even as a Nobody -- at least, in his opinion of things. He still maintains what he's been created to do, at least.
Not that it's up to him.
"Hmph. Yes, 'mother'." The berserker shuts his eyes at the command.
"Be a good boy or you'll be in more than a slap on the wrist, my dear." With Saix's eyes shut, Vexen can afford to snort in disdain.
"I'm almost done, at least." He pushes his fingers through the last remaining tangles in Saix's hair, using the lather to his advantage.
"Hmph. Am I going to be sent to bed without my dinner?" His lips curl, not quite into a smirk, but certainly something taunting, even if he doesn't look at Vexen.
The difference is noticable, what with the fact that Vexen can actually comb his fingers properly through the berserker's hair now with little resistence. It's still fairly thick and he could at least use a trim, but that's the worst of it in any case.
"Spanked, actually." Vexen sniffs haughtily. "And then sent to stand in the corner with a bucket of water on your head. I doubt that'll do much to discipline, you, naturally."
Lathering done, he reaches over for the shower head again, breath hitching faintly before he recovers. Ah, better not to try that again. "Time to rinse this off," he informs the berserker-- and without further ado, that's what he begins to do.
Honestly, he can't quite help but cough when the scientist mentions being spanked.
Quite frankly, Saix is going to blame the rest of the residents in the mansion for influencing such ridiculous ideas in his mind. Bothersome, really, making all these claims about the two of them.
"Very well then," he responds stiffly to the announcement.
If Vexen finds the cough odd, or understands its cause, he chooses not to comment, and completes the rinsing off with remarkably little fuss. "There you go." He nods at the berserker, then shuts the water off and gingerly stands up and away from the tub.
"Here." He fishes a towel off the rack and passes it to Saix. "Dry off." His own wrists and forearms are wet, so he takes a towel for himself as well.
Accepting the towel, he sits up and shakes his head a bit, wet strands dripping. Saix squints faintly, wrinkling his nose at the scent before he rubs at his hair to dry it off. "Hnn."
After a moment, he slows the brisk pace to rub at his tresses, then pauses. "Hrm. ... Thank you," he mumbles, a bit muffled under the towel.
Heaven forbid he let himself be heard when he thanks a person.
If Vexen hears the berserker thank him, he gives no sign, but once he ascertains that Saix is done drying his hair, the academic propels him back into the main room with surprisingly more gruff embarrassment than one might expect.
The next few hours are somewhat... interesting. As if tackling Saix's hair with shampoo wasn't enough, the academic spends a good long tim dragging his own brush through the diviner's hair, easing out the last of the tangles with a vengeance. He speaks consideringly of a trim when it nearly breaks in two, but ultimately, the idea is discarded. Saix is left with a mane of hair that, while it could in no way be considered typical, is certainly at the very least sleek.
At least, until he continues to neglect it.
The closet is investigated shortly thereafter; Vexen waves Saix off and sees what he can find, only to slam the door shut and suggest that the berserker try to fish for his own clothing instead. He doesn't explain what was in the closet... but the expression suggests it wasn't anything pleasant.
It's most likely that, come after the ball, Saix will neglect his hair again. Though for now, it doesn't look terrible, just... not particularly trimmed well. Throughout his former life, no doubt the berserker took a knife to his hair rather than a pair of scissors.
Saix raises a brow when Vexen demands he find his own clothing. Very well then, he supposes. Trying the door open, he reaches in and finds...
He's not sure really what he finds.
Pulling it out, Saix gives the dark blue waistcoat a look, frowning a bit, as if the kind of dress is completely unfamiliar with him, the way the tails... dangle and all.
And the shoes are quite... shiny.
"Huh," is all he has to say about it.
Vexen chooses not to comment, but the waistcoat apparently meets approval, once it's proven to fit the berserker adequately.
After all, he hangs it up next to his own coat.
cyrophilia and Saix falltheseventhWhere Room 412 (Vexen's Room)
When: Evening, November 24
Rating: PG-13, for mentions of spanking! ... What?
Summary: The
the Story:
For all that they speak frequently enough on the journals, Vexen tends to be surprisingly quiet in their own room, conducting his business wihtout ever doing more than occasionally lean over to announce his general intentions to either stretch his legs by conducting brief walks around the room, pacing like a restless cat until he inevitably tugs Saix out to walk with him in the hallways.
It's never for long, though. His ribs don't hold up well to the strain of so much exertion, even if he is getting better.
Today, when he turns around in his chair and cranes his neck to peer at the berserker, the situation is decidedly a different one.
After all, they have a ball to attend.
"Saix." It's a call for the berserker's attention, whatever he may be doing at the moment.
It seems for the day that Saix refuses to touch the journals. Though his mood has been significantly better lately, he'd manage it well if Elphaba wasn't so persistant and dense. Such an incredibly foolish and stubborn woman. He supposes that, for all he knows, Luxord finds that attractive.
So he's been spending his time carving... something out from wood.
A pointed ear twitches faintly and the berserker lifts his head, turning it so he can look at the scientist from the corner of his eyes. "Yes, Vexen?"
If there's anything they don't discuss for any length of time, it's Elphaba. Vexen has his own reasons for avoiding the topic, mainly being his preference for keeping his roommate in a less acerbic mood--for whatever reason, Saix and the witch disagree on a ridiculous amount of topics, and he's given up on making sense of why they insist on talking to each other despite it. Personally, he'd avoid talking to anyone he detested as an unneccessary waste of effort.
Not that Saix can, of course, detest anything. Regardless, he's not eager to spend time cloistered in one place with a prickling berserker, and it's in his interests to keep him relatively... content, he supposes.
He leans forward slightly, ignoring the way it stretches his ribcage. "The ball. Do you intend to prepare at all?" It's the following evening, after all.
"I suspect that the closet will offer something to me, should I require a different state of dress." Saix shrugs a bit. "Unless you wish for me to hurry and prepare myself? As I understand it, you wanted to brush my hair, did you not?"
Whatever he seems to be working on, Saix is content to set it aside for now. "I see no reason to rush, is all."
"It probably will." Vexen supposes that much. His own outfit, neatly pressed and bleakly military as it is, is already hanging quietly from an hanger on the wardrobe handle. He doesn't trust the mansion not to switch outfits on him if he chooses to keep it in the closet.
"As to your hair-- we'll need to wash it first." Vexen's expression may be a tad wry, even as he pushes himself to his feet. "If its gone unbrushed for that long, it's probably matted."
"Hopefully nothing too embarrassing." Saix hasn't wanted to check for part of that reason, though he supposes he should very soon.
The talk about his hair makes the berserker wrinkle his nose a bit. Honestly, he sees nothing wrong with it. Simply because he's chosen to not brush it really means nothing, after all. That is, in his opinion. "Mmm, yes. Everyone at the ball will be plagued by despair if I don't properly comb my hair," he mutters.
"Mm." Faintly, the scientist arches a brow. "Perhaps not, but good hygiene never hurt anyone." He pads over to the berserker and holds a hand out, beckoning. "Besides, now I'm curious about whether that actually is your natural hair color."
He inclines his head, faintly, in the direction of the bathroom, a smaller chamber connected to the main room by a fairly basic white door. The room's plain as well, save for desks and furniture; slowly, however, signs of life are creeping into the sterility. "Come on, then."
There's certainly a number of ways to take that line in the worst possible manner. Saix doesn't quite... sputter, but he gives Vexen a look before he stands at the motion. "You make it sound like I don't ever bathe," he grumbles. "Which, I assure you, is certainly not the case."
"Just don't braid my hair and I won't give you much a fuss." It's spoken wryly, not to be taken entirely seriously, it seems.
Not that, of course, Saix has a sense of humor.
"Mm, yes. I'm sure you take your annual shower whenever you happen to be caught out in the rain." He's not entirely serious either, although his expression is bland as he pulls the bathroom door open. The space beyond is purely functional, the shower and bathtub combined into one. He's discovered that-- like the closet-- the bathroom has a tendency to provide whatever's necessary at the moment.
"I would never dream of it."
In this case, shampoo. Vexen squints at the bottles at the edge of the bathtub. "Well, apparently you can either choose to smell like 'Passionfruit Dream' or 'Apple Fantasy."
He doesn't supply Vexen's remark with a verbal response, mostly snorting in faint annoyance.
The berserker does, however, give him a look at the possible scents. "How about neither?" Saix growls. "Hmmph. I suppose I would prefer to smell like apples than passionfruit, though reluctantly." Honestly, he finds this to be almost pointless, but he can't exactly... argue the point with Vexen.
It's just not up to him to decide on this.
"I somehow doubt you'd want to smell of peach or coconut," Vexen murmurs back, taking the appropriate bottle in hand. "Sit by the edge of the bath and tilt your hair back, would you? Into the tub." Presumably, of course, he intends to have Saix rest the nape of his neck on the edge of the tub-- it's narrow enough-- and let his hair spill into the tub itself.
He's not about to wash the berserker's entire body, after all.
Fortunately, the shower head is of the detachable sort, and it's far enough that he has to step into the bath to reach for it while VII arranges himself.
"Hnn," is Saix's grand response, which may or may not agree with what Vexen has to say. However, he continues as usual, obeying the academic's command and sitting against the bath before leaning his head back a bit hesitantly, frowning faintly as he looks up at IV.
"Don't push yourself at the dance party," he murmurs, sounding only slightly concerned.
Though he knows that whatever worries gnaw at him are less of simple master and servant basics and seem to be more inclined towards simply worrying about a companion now.
He doubts he wants to even consider anything else beyond that. It wouldn't end well, he knows.
"I'll be fine," Vexen tells the berserker, coming in closer with the shower head firmly in hand. He sets the bottle down briefly to turn the water on, fiddling with the temperature of the water for a moment; his next words are perhaps a little difficult to hear, given the noise of the water spurting into the tub.
"You'll be there, in any case. I doubt you'll let me get into much trouble." Not, of course, that he would go seeking it. The academic reaches forward into the stream of water to test the temperature. His hands have been bare since Saix moved in, and it seems he's never seen a need to don them since.
"Here-- check if the temperature's fine with you." He speaks a little louder now that it's an actual command.
"I intend to look after you very intently," he murmurs, closing his eyes a moment. If he can help it, nothing will happen to Vexen. Saix isn't going to fail again.
It's almost a little worse that he can't even find Luxord.
The berserker's eyes open, then he reaches out faintly to touch the water. "Mm. A little cold," he remarks a tad wryly.
"Hm." It seems IV sees no further need to comment, but personally, he's a bit distracted by the way Saix words that-- not that it's important.
"Sorry." He reaches over to turn the hot water up, slowly, so that the berserker has time to tell him if it's too hot instead. "Better?"
"Much. Thank you." Saix settles once more, shifting until he's comfortable enough with his eyes closed. This will be, no doubt... a bit of an odd interaction.
No one's really washed his hair before, obviously.
The first task, of course, is to wet Saix's hair. Vexen's a bit apprehensive about that, considering he seems to imagine it will turn moplike and unwieldy at the touch of water.
He straddles the edge of the tub and leans over Saix, pausing a moment to roll up his pant legs so that they avoid getting wet. Since he's been spending almost all his time inside the room, he hasn't had much inclination to wear footwear either, so his feet are bare where they press against the tub bottom and the bathroom tiles. The shampoo bottle is settled firmly between his thighs to keep it from dropping off as he goes about his work.
"Very well, then." Now that the diviner's approved of the heat of the water, IV brings the shower head over and directs it at the mess of blue strands, using his free hand to begin sifting through Saix's hair.
It's a good thing the water's warm: his fingers are a touch chilly.
Occasionally, he's been pat on the head before. Most of the time, Saix isn't sure how to take it, whether it be an insult or playing to Xigbar's remarks on him being nothing more than a hound at times, but there is a distinct element to him that is animal-like, of course. Fingers shifting through his hair is an unusual but not unpleasant feeling.
Briefly he opens his eyes. He blinks a moment, staring up at Vexen and glancing over at how the academic is positioned over him.
That's not awkward at all.
He closes his eyes again. It's not as if he has much else to do but sit still and let Vexen do as he pleases.
The hair-- he still feels, partly, that it's a bit of a generous term-- turns sodden and heavy as the water soaks in, but for all that he's eager to untangle the strands, he keeps his movements slow and careful.
After all, haste makes waste, and tugging sharply on Saix's hair won't help anything.
"Hmm. More manageable than I expected." The comment is made absentmindedly as his fingers shift deeper, actually brushing against scalp now. Every time his fingertips encounter a knot-- and there are several-- he patiently worries at it, although he privately has to wonder if taking a pair of shears to it all would be easier.
But somehow, he doesn't think he likes the idea of the diviner with cropped hair.
"Hn. So glad that it's higher than your expectations," Saix mutters quietly, tilting his head a little as the scientist works through it. "Certainly not like fur, is it?"
He says not much further than that, going quiet as he feels the fingers continuing to comb through his hair, brushing by his scalp. He certainly wouldn't mind if he scratched there, either, but.
Of course, he says nothing of the like. Honestly, it's just best to keep his mind blank.
"Hmm. I was thinking more like a thistle patch, actually." The academic's fingers card through the hair as gently as before, and despite the wording chosen, it seems he's feeling more and more good-humored.
It's something he'd never want to say aloud, but he enjoys this sort of thing, the sort of contact that comes of working with one's hands and speaking to another. It's... comforting.
His fingers snag on a rogue tangle, tugging sharply at Saix's scalp. "Ah. Sorry." The academic hisses in apology and moves the hand to rectify the oversight. Saix's hair is wet enough now that he can set the shower head down and let it run into the tub, heedless of the water bill, and let both his hands work on VII's tresses.
"Not sure which description I'd prefer, if I had to choose."
The sharp tug comes as a surprise to him, though he knows he has tangles in his hair. His eyes open partly and he growls softly, "Aa-ah." Saix glaces at him, then shuts his eyes again. "Nn. It's fine. Just didn't expect it," he mumbles as reassurance. Nothing really worth an apology over.
"Hrm." Vexen says nothing more, seeing little to comment on.
For a few moments, the academic's hands leave Saix's hair, and the next sound is the snap of plastic as the shampoo bottle is pried open. Vexen stares for a moment between his hands, the shampoo, and Saix's unwieldy crop of hair.
He seems to decide that pouring it onto in his hands would be a pointless exercise; instead, he pours a generous amount of the stuff directly onto Saix's head and begins to work it in, fingers driving right down to scalp now as he vigorously lathers it up.
It feels a bit more soothing and less annoying than he originally presumed it to be. The berserker slowly relaxes into the feeling. Though the shampoo and the academic's fingers are chilly at first, he adjusts to the temperature properly as the lathering continues, the tips of fingers scraping against his scalp.
It's not a bad feeling.
Though the scent leaves something to behold.
"Hnn, I'm going to smell like apples for days," he grumbles.
Vexen keeps a fairly constant rhythm going, methodically kneading fingertips and knuckles against Saix's head and gradually working his way to the ends of his hair, section by section. As each part is fully lathered, Vexen pulls it to the side, leaving him free to work with the rest.
"Mmm?" He wasn't expecting to hear the berserker speak. "Well, it's not a bad scent. I'm rather fond of the fruit-- green apples with sugar and cinnamon are quite tasty. Admittedly, this doesn't do a very good job of imitating the aroma." Artificially made perfumes can only do so much, but it could be worse.
"My only annoyance is that when you think 'Luna Diviner', you don't think of apple scented." Even the creation of his original wasn't exactly meant to be particularly cheerful, even if his first master had high hopes. Physical protection and awkward bouts of divinity -- that's the extent of it.
"It's not awful, though, I suppose," Saix agrees reluctantly.
"Perhaps the Luna Diviner needs to think of a new title, then," Vexen remarks tartly, fingers scraping a little harder along Saix's scalp in silent scolding. "'Luna Chef', perhaps, or 'The Pastry Diviner'. 'He cooks, he cleans, he dowses!'"
He may be trying not to smirk, although it's hard to make out if it's an expression of pleasure or simply a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"I think I've given you far too many cookies," Saix remarks, not quite wincing at the harder scrape. "I'm rather glad that you didn't choose our titles, honestly Vexen. Though admittedly I'm not so much a 'diviner', eh."
He squints up faintly, though the expression doesn't go unnoticed -- even if it could be part of his imagination or not.
"Well, no. Perhaps you should look into being a lawyer as an alternate profession; your certainly object enough." He peers down as he takes up one of the heavy locks of hair by Saix's face-- overgrown sideburns or bangs, he can't tell the difference-- and begins to shampoo that as well. "Keep your eyes closed; this will sting if it gets in your eyes."
"I don't take 'professions'," Saix grumbles. There's still a faint point to his existence, even as a Nobody -- at least, in his opinion of things. He still maintains what he's been created to do, at least.
Not that it's up to him.
"Hmph. Yes, 'mother'." The berserker shuts his eyes at the command.
"Be a good boy or you'll be in more than a slap on the wrist, my dear." With Saix's eyes shut, Vexen can afford to snort in disdain.
"I'm almost done, at least." He pushes his fingers through the last remaining tangles in Saix's hair, using the lather to his advantage.
"Hmph. Am I going to be sent to bed without my dinner?" His lips curl, not quite into a smirk, but certainly something taunting, even if he doesn't look at Vexen.
The difference is noticable, what with the fact that Vexen can actually comb his fingers properly through the berserker's hair now with little resistence. It's still fairly thick and he could at least use a trim, but that's the worst of it in any case.
"Spanked, actually." Vexen sniffs haughtily. "And then sent to stand in the corner with a bucket of water on your head. I doubt that'll do much to discipline, you, naturally."
Lathering done, he reaches over for the shower head again, breath hitching faintly before he recovers. Ah, better not to try that again. "Time to rinse this off," he informs the berserker-- and without further ado, that's what he begins to do.
Honestly, he can't quite help but cough when the scientist mentions being spanked.
Quite frankly, Saix is going to blame the rest of the residents in the mansion for influencing such ridiculous ideas in his mind. Bothersome, really, making all these claims about the two of them.
"Very well then," he responds stiffly to the announcement.
If Vexen finds the cough odd, or understands its cause, he chooses not to comment, and completes the rinsing off with remarkably little fuss. "There you go." He nods at the berserker, then shuts the water off and gingerly stands up and away from the tub.
"Here." He fishes a towel off the rack and passes it to Saix. "Dry off." His own wrists and forearms are wet, so he takes a towel for himself as well.
Accepting the towel, he sits up and shakes his head a bit, wet strands dripping. Saix squints faintly, wrinkling his nose at the scent before he rubs at his hair to dry it off. "Hnn."
After a moment, he slows the brisk pace to rub at his tresses, then pauses. "Hrm. ... Thank you," he mumbles, a bit muffled under the towel.
Heaven forbid he let himself be heard when he thanks a person.
If Vexen hears the berserker thank him, he gives no sign, but once he ascertains that Saix is done drying his hair, the academic propels him back into the main room with surprisingly more gruff embarrassment than one might expect.
The next few hours are somewhat... interesting. As if tackling Saix's hair with shampoo wasn't enough, the academic spends a good long tim dragging his own brush through the diviner's hair, easing out the last of the tangles with a vengeance. He speaks consideringly of a trim when it nearly breaks in two, but ultimately, the idea is discarded. Saix is left with a mane of hair that, while it could in no way be considered typical, is certainly at the very least sleek.
At least, until he continues to neglect it.
The closet is investigated shortly thereafter; Vexen waves Saix off and sees what he can find, only to slam the door shut and suggest that the berserker try to fish for his own clothing instead. He doesn't explain what was in the closet... but the expression suggests it wasn't anything pleasant.
It's most likely that, come after the ball, Saix will neglect his hair again. Though for now, it doesn't look terrible, just... not particularly trimmed well. Throughout his former life, no doubt the berserker took a knife to his hair rather than a pair of scissors.
Saix raises a brow when Vexen demands he find his own clothing. Very well then, he supposes. Trying the door open, he reaches in and finds...
He's not sure really what he finds.
Pulling it out, Saix gives the dark blue waistcoat a look, frowning a bit, as if the kind of dress is completely unfamiliar with him, the way the tails... dangle and all.
And the shoes are quite... shiny.
"Huh," is all he has to say about it.
Vexen chooses not to comment, but the waistcoat apparently meets approval, once it's proven to fit the berserker adequately.
After all, he hangs it up next to his own coat.
ooc
Re: ooc
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That and I shampoo hair at a salon. I got a kick outta Vexen washing Saix's hair!
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