tense winter soak

Jackal sighed, relaxing back against the rocks of the natural hot spring. She loosely holds her cigarette between her fingers, though it wasn’t exactly lit anymore. It’s more the habit of it now, the hot fog of steam serving the same calming purpose as those small bursts of smoke that usually ripple up and emanate from wherever she may be. Jackal may have ignored more than a few signs to bring said damp, unlit cigarette into the hot springs, so sue her. It’s not like anyone else is here to be annoyed by the vague passing concept of second hand smoke.

And that’s entirely intentional, too. Most people like to visit the hot springs on early mornings, bright days, or early sunsets. Nah, fuck that. Jackal wants to be able to enjoy the warm blanket covering her from the cold, not have to spend half the time glaring at some bun who can’t take a hint. The best time to visit the beautiful natural springs is when it’s 4am and no one else would even dream of walking through the cold to get there. 

She shimmies slightly, tucking her legs beneath her on the rock shelf. The only thing emerging from the water now is her head from neck up, and a single cigarette holding hand. She’s warm, and the outside world is cold, she’s alone and she feels safe. Nothing could be better.

Or… hm, or could it? She rises from the water slightly, drifting over to where she set down her singular ratty towel and the rest of her belongings. Jackal doesn’t bother suppressing the full body shiver that comes from the change in temperature on her upper body (like she normally would. Can’t have people thinking some plain old cold can shake her), and reaches over to dry her hands off jussttt enough. 

She fiddles with the zipper on her back, shoves the disheveled pile that is her bra, jacket and jeans out of the way, and dries her hands on the towel just enough to unlock her MP3 player (she’ll listen to music on her phone when she’s dead and buried, thank you very much), and cranks the volume as loud as the little bastard can go. It’s, unluckily, not very loud. 

But, it will do. She shifts her new floating spot to be right next to the semi-blaring speakers, tilting her head back and sinking back mostly into the water. 

Peace, she thinks. She shuts her eyes, and lets herself be lost in the warmth of the water and the calming music.

Over the tinny speakers, the singer wails like a kicked dog and says all manner of profanity and truly detailed violence with the backing bass and drums driving them even harder.

 Peace and tranquility.

And then there’s a ’‘clunk-tink-tink, clunk-tink-tink’ noise. Like someone walking in heels that has made the devastatingly foolish decision to walk on stone with them. But the steps are consistent, and approaching, and Jackal wishes the speakers on her MP3 went louder so she could use it as a ‘person wearing high heels to the hot spring’ repellant. 

She peeks a single eye open, and glances at the approaching doll. Then she quickly snaps it shut. Nope, she’s not engaging with Angora in this situation. 

Jackal doesn’t have the mental fortitude to play whatever social game is required to keep pace with the richest woman in Burrowgatory. She’s not exactly had many run-ins with her, as Jackal does her damn best to avoid the most populous parts down here, and Angora does the opposite. However, what she has heard about her from Hops was nothing good. Nothing good at all. The best path for her here was to just relax and continue to blare her music, and hope that the lack of class and engagement made both of their soaks a solitary experience. 

Angora has no clue why this succubun is at the hot springs at 4am, but truly, she can’t think of anything she cares less about right at this moment. It is cold outside, and her outfit consists of so little fabric that warms anything at all. The price she has to pay to look as stunning as her, it seems.

Either way, the hot springs are calling, and she has enough money to not care if anything grows damp on the rocks. She shrugs off her coat and shimmies out of her dress, undoing the choker and stepping out of her heels. Despite the speed in which she goes from fully dressed to mostly nude, it’s all done with practiced precision. Instead of folding it, which she would normally have some servant tend to if it was not 4am, she piles it up and off the rocks, away from the water. 

It is still freezing, and she hustles a bit faster than is typically demanded by her composure into the water. For a moment, it sends a shock up her system as if she had thrown water in a pan of hot oil. Then, it settles, and she’s able to sink peacefully to her shoulders. The warmth is beautiful, and it would be peaceful if not for…

Whatever sounds seem to be playing out of the garbage speaker the succubun seemed to have set up. Now that Angora’s mind was not fixated on stopping the blasted cold, it turned to the next inconvenience. The sea-green horns of an envy succubun with low-tier music taste who was fine with sharing it to the world. She looked half asleep, which was all the more reason to have that mottled garbage off. 

“Darling,” she says, her voice slow and honeyed over the gentle stream of the hot springs. “Would you turn that off?” It wasn’t a request, and it didn’t really sound like one. 

Jackal grits her teeth (which are now sunk under the water of the hot spring). She grapples with fraternal twin motives in her mind. The first, her general attitude towards people who clearly thought themselves better than her. The impulse that comes with that tells her to give this shithead a one way ticket to Go-Fuck-Yourself-Ville, to try and get the tinny speaker to blast even louder with even more profanity. 

The second, subtler but smarter impulse tells her that it will go badly for her. That this gentle hot spring relaxation will turn into a whole mess of everything if she tells the richest woman in Burrowgatory to fuck off, and those consequences may ripple onto those she cares most about protecting. She doesn’t know how much Angora knows about her Gremory raised brethren, but the way that Hops spoke about her was almost like a nightmare under the bed wielding a weapon of debt and a golden tongue.

So, Jackal makes the smart decision instead of the heart one. She snakes a damp hand out of the hot springs and shuts off the MP3 player. She doesn’t say anything when Angora hums approvingly. 

As Angora gets comfortable, taking up more of the hot springs than needed for her slim frame, Jackal skulks to the exit. She doesn’t even bother fully dressing until she’s out of eye sight.

Seems like she’s going to have to switch her late night soaks to 3am.