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lb_leeHi everybody! This story was one of the ones that won the bonus poll for Foolathon, and it was prompted by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ysabetwordsmith, who wanted "it seemed like a good idea at the time". It's an Infinity Smashed story, but requires no context, in the same vein as Carrying the Dead and Third Language.
A Clean Citizen is a Good Citizen
It takes Thomas a month to hit the bathhouse.
It’s not that he likes being filthy. It’s not even that he’s prudish. It’s just that his Pidgin Sign is limited to, “hello,” “goodbye,” and “I’m sorry.” He’s still making tons of stupid tourist mistakes, and he really, really doesn’t want to make one of those while naked and surrounded by monsters.
Unfortunately, Treehouse doesn’t follow the same rules of housing that Texas does. In Texas, even the crappiest house has a bathroom. They might not work, but they exist. Treehouse, on the other hand, seems to think as many things should be communal as possible, and the concept of a private bathroom is a completely alien concept. With the help of a telepathic translator who looks like something John Carpenter has nightmares about, Thomas asks the home-seller about one, only for them to both stare at him like he’s from another planet.
Which he probably is. But still. Bathrooms! Who doesn’t build bathrooms?
He can handle the outhouses. They aren’t built for his anatomy, but hey, he’s outdoorsy, he knows how to shit in the woods. But baths are another thing altogether. He does have a fireplace, but it’s not big enough to heat bath water in one go, and heating the second batch usually cools off the first, so he can either try to get the temperature right, or just scrub himself quick in a bucket of ice water. Also, he makes the mistake of buying the first soap he sees and it nearly takes his skin off.
Finally, Thomas decides he’s had enough. After one particularly filthy shift of shoveling manure, he goes to the bathhouse.
It’s a big adobe dome building, standing out among all the wood. Steam billows from a chimney. Standing on a little platform is one of the town criers, sweeping its legs, gesticulating for all to see. Later, when Thomas’s Pidgin Sign abilities are better, he learns what it’s saying:
“Baths! Baths! Cleanse body, soul, and community! Dust baths, oil baths, mud baths, water baths! A clean denizen is a credit to the community! Fortify yourself against disease!”
It takes some direction and a lot of pointing but Thomas finally figures out where he’s supposed to be and gets to the hot water bath part of the bathhouse. And it’s amazing.
He already knew that Treehouse was built at the top of an old volcano, but he always figured it was dormant. Apparently not; hot water is bubbling up from the ground. Some of it spouts from the wall, like showers, but it’s the baths that really catch his eye. The room is built in a series of clay and stone terraces, so that the hot water spills from the top and pours into basin after basin, getting successively cooler along the way. The wastewater gets filtered off, presumably to join the river. The room is warm, muggy, and the smell of sulfur isn’t as bad as the chlorine Thomas is used to.
There are a few other bathers, reptiles mostly. One of them is tossing hot water over herself with her wings and neck; the others are just soaking and chatting.
Thomas isn’t sure if it’s rude to ignore other people, so he goes over to that pool. The water doesn’t feel too hot to his hand, so he strips down.
“[Something-something] newcomer!” The big blue reptile signs. “Hello!”
“Welcome!” sign the rest.
Thomas doesn’t smile—he’s already figured out that means anger here—but he waves, which seems to entertain them all. He slips in.
And oh man, the water is perfect. For a moment, Thomas just luxuriates in the feeling of a hot bath without hours of work, and feeling the sore muscles loosen up.
Then he sees everyone’s looking at him funny, drawing back a little like he smells bad.
“I… bad?” Thomas signs.
The blue one signs slow and careful. It takes a few reiterations, but finally, Thomas gets it: the pools are for fun and socializing after getting clean. The spouts against the wall are for getting the grime off first, so that he can get clean and not get this basin and the ones below it filthy for everyone. And Thomas was working with manure. No wonder everyone was looking at him funny.
Thomas hastily jumps out. “Sorry!” That sign, at least, he’s good at. “This… one. First.”
“First time?” Big Blue signs.
“Yes.”
And all the old geezer reptiles’ eyes light up. “First!” They say, as though this is a grand pronouncement. “First! [Something-something]!”
Then they all surge out of the water, signing too fast for him to understand but obviously excited about it. The red winged one shakes the water off her wings and glides over to the spout; Big Blue wraps his tongue around Thomas’s arm and drags him along. They plunk him down on the clay floor and start pouring water over him, and the orange one starts scrubbing his chest.
Oh no. They think he’s never had a bath before in his life. They’re trying to teach him.
Thomas has never felt so mortified in his life. They must think he comes from Planet Dumbass! And he can’t explain it to them because his Pidgin Sign is crappy.
For a while he sits there, marinating in horror and shame, until he realizes that on some level, they’re right. He doesn’t know how to bathe here, and they don’t seem mad; they’re trying to teach him. So he lets them be good citizens.
And they are. They show him how to mix the soap with water to the right dilution for his skin. They show him how to pick the right scent for his body type, which is apparently a thing here. They seem a little baffled by his hair, but utterly fascinated by the way he scrubs it, and they check him for lice and ticks. All the while, they sign encouragement like he’s a little kid, and when he’s done, they give him what he’s positive is the Treehouse version of a standing ovation. Then they take him back to the bath basin and chat about town gossip.
Okay, so maybe he’s still a dumbass. But maybe that’s okay.
ysabetwordsmith, who wanted "it seemed like a good idea at the time". It's an Infinity Smashed story, but requires no context, in the same vein as Carrying the Dead and Third Language.A Clean Citizen is a Good Citizen
It takes Thomas a month to hit the bathhouse.
It’s not that he likes being filthy. It’s not even that he’s prudish. It’s just that his Pidgin Sign is limited to, “hello,” “goodbye,” and “I’m sorry.” He’s still making tons of stupid tourist mistakes, and he really, really doesn’t want to make one of those while naked and surrounded by monsters.
Unfortunately, Treehouse doesn’t follow the same rules of housing that Texas does. In Texas, even the crappiest house has a bathroom. They might not work, but they exist. Treehouse, on the other hand, seems to think as many things should be communal as possible, and the concept of a private bathroom is a completely alien concept. With the help of a telepathic translator who looks like something John Carpenter has nightmares about, Thomas asks the home-seller about one, only for them to both stare at him like he’s from another planet.
Which he probably is. But still. Bathrooms! Who doesn’t build bathrooms?
He can handle the outhouses. They aren’t built for his anatomy, but hey, he’s outdoorsy, he knows how to shit in the woods. But baths are another thing altogether. He does have a fireplace, but it’s not big enough to heat bath water in one go, and heating the second batch usually cools off the first, so he can either try to get the temperature right, or just scrub himself quick in a bucket of ice water. Also, he makes the mistake of buying the first soap he sees and it nearly takes his skin off.
Finally, Thomas decides he’s had enough. After one particularly filthy shift of shoveling manure, he goes to the bathhouse.
It’s a big adobe dome building, standing out among all the wood. Steam billows from a chimney. Standing on a little platform is one of the town criers, sweeping its legs, gesticulating for all to see. Later, when Thomas’s Pidgin Sign abilities are better, he learns what it’s saying:
“Baths! Baths! Cleanse body, soul, and community! Dust baths, oil baths, mud baths, water baths! A clean denizen is a credit to the community! Fortify yourself against disease!”
It takes some direction and a lot of pointing but Thomas finally figures out where he’s supposed to be and gets to the hot water bath part of the bathhouse. And it’s amazing.
He already knew that Treehouse was built at the top of an old volcano, but he always figured it was dormant. Apparently not; hot water is bubbling up from the ground. Some of it spouts from the wall, like showers, but it’s the baths that really catch his eye. The room is built in a series of clay and stone terraces, so that the hot water spills from the top and pours into basin after basin, getting successively cooler along the way. The wastewater gets filtered off, presumably to join the river. The room is warm, muggy, and the smell of sulfur isn’t as bad as the chlorine Thomas is used to.
There are a few other bathers, reptiles mostly. One of them is tossing hot water over herself with her wings and neck; the others are just soaking and chatting.
Thomas isn’t sure if it’s rude to ignore other people, so he goes over to that pool. The water doesn’t feel too hot to his hand, so he strips down.
“[Something-something] newcomer!” The big blue reptile signs. “Hello!”
“Welcome!” sign the rest.
Thomas doesn’t smile—he’s already figured out that means anger here—but he waves, which seems to entertain them all. He slips in.
And oh man, the water is perfect. For a moment, Thomas just luxuriates in the feeling of a hot bath without hours of work, and feeling the sore muscles loosen up.
Then he sees everyone’s looking at him funny, drawing back a little like he smells bad.
“I… bad?” Thomas signs.
The blue one signs slow and careful. It takes a few reiterations, but finally, Thomas gets it: the pools are for fun and socializing after getting clean. The spouts against the wall are for getting the grime off first, so that he can get clean and not get this basin and the ones below it filthy for everyone. And Thomas was working with manure. No wonder everyone was looking at him funny.
Thomas hastily jumps out. “Sorry!” That sign, at least, he’s good at. “This… one. First.”
“First time?” Big Blue signs.
“Yes.”
And all the old geezer reptiles’ eyes light up. “First!” They say, as though this is a grand pronouncement. “First! [Something-something]!”
Then they all surge out of the water, signing too fast for him to understand but obviously excited about it. The red winged one shakes the water off her wings and glides over to the spout; Big Blue wraps his tongue around Thomas’s arm and drags him along. They plunk him down on the clay floor and start pouring water over him, and the orange one starts scrubbing his chest.
Oh no. They think he’s never had a bath before in his life. They’re trying to teach him.
Thomas has never felt so mortified in his life. They must think he comes from Planet Dumbass! And he can’t explain it to them because his Pidgin Sign is crappy.
For a while he sits there, marinating in horror and shame, until he realizes that on some level, they’re right. He doesn’t know how to bathe here, and they don’t seem mad; they’re trying to teach him. So he lets them be good citizens.
And they are. They show him how to mix the soap with water to the right dilution for his skin. They show him how to pick the right scent for his body type, which is apparently a thing here. They seem a little baffled by his hair, but utterly fascinated by the way he scrubs it, and they check him for lice and ticks. All the while, they sign encouragement like he’s a little kid, and when he’s done, they give him what he’s positive is the Treehouse version of a standing ovation. Then they take him back to the bath basin and chat about town gossip.
Okay, so maybe he’s still a dumbass. But maybe that’s okay.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-21 07:38 pm (UTC)Oh man, I hear that! We went to an onsen once, back in high school, and I loved it. It's saddening to me that now that I'm tattooed and very visibly trans, I probably won't be able to do one again, unless we invest in a private one.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-21 07:48 pm (UTC)--Hikaru
no subject
Date: 2018-05-21 07:53 pm (UTC)Yeah, I'm sure they're super-pricey!
At least where I live, there's a trans-friendly communal hot tub place, which is the closest to onsen I'm likely to get to, this side of the pond!
no subject
Date: 2018-05-21 07:56 pm (UTC)--HIkaru