Shower Scenes

[Anonymous]

Alright, this was actually suggested by Draconian, but she is lazy so I have to get this ball rolling. The idea is as a writing exercise you write a scene of one (or more) of your characters in the shower. Sounds fun, yeah 8D

I was going to start off with Bart, but, well, Bart masturbates in the shower. And, well, I don't think anyone wants to read that XD So *tag* next person is it!

[Anonymous]

Oh no no no no no. I think we /all/ want to read that Rina >:3

[Anonymous]

|: Pretty sure it's just you, Choco.

I don't want a writing exercise to turn into ' write your dude jerking off in the shower'. X|

[shinigamikitsune]

You could always write the shower scene for Bart.. just sorta gloss over the masterbation scene.. or put ***Insert Masterbation Scene Here!***  ^.^

[Anonymous]

Alright, I'll do it first.

Ahem:




Marshal washed himself. That is all, because showers are /boring/ unless you wank or screw. The end.


8D

[Anonymous]

Llewellyn returned to his house after a long night of debauchery and convenient memory loss absolutely drenched in blood. Not just average battle-grade covered in it, but soaked to the bone (ha), so much that his shoes and handy rolling suitcase/cooler/knife carrier would need a good hosedown. He could feel it between his toes, and it was disgusting.

Wait, no it wasn't, he decided with a rather less-sane-than-usual grin.

He brought his things into the house silently and shut and locked and locked and locked the door, left the carrier in the kitchen, and took himself into the bathroom. He immediately stepped into the shower, trying to keep the faux suede shower curtain as clean as possible, turned the water on hot and started peeling his clothes off. He rinsed his shoes carefully and set them on the bathroom floor, peeled off jacket (minus metal things), shirt, pants, stockings, underwear, thoroughly rinsing each article of clothing before anything had time to set in. He wrung out the clothes to the best of his ability and hung them on the curtain rod piece by piece, hoping certain garments would decide to shrink this time.

He sighed laboriously and let his hair down, flinging the hair tie to the floor of the shower, and ran his fingers through it, feeling a pleasant sensation as the water scalded his bloodstained skin. Despite all the stress and physical labor it entailed, Llewellyn always felt better after hunting. It allowed him, instead of taking out his creative homicidal urges on his coworkers, to release them on whatever unsuspecting passer-by caught his eye. In the opinion of those who knew about him, it was a better deal for all who mattered. Besides, he could look forward to a day with fewer remarks on his gaunt figure, fewer excuses to make. Who doesn't like that?

After a few diligent run-throughs with heavy-duty shampoo and a twice over of all his angles and hollows, he felt sterile again. Of course, he'd have a bit more washing to do after he'd put away his leftovers, but that was to be expected. For the moment, he wrapped himself in black towels and set about finding work clothes. The night wasn't over yet.

[Anonymous]

Incen wins.

XD

The way you wrote that makes me think he was playing...

He was playing in it wasn't he? >_>

[Anonymous]

Yes, a lot. xD Only other way is to kill like, three of them.

He was probably laying in the hollow abdominal cavity, the sicko. Head in ribcage.

[Anonymous]

Oh Llyn. How I <3 thee. So much!

[Anonymous]

[center:2vdkul1s]Remi! [/center:2vdkul1s]


Five A.M.

Remi couldn’t remember a time when his digital clock didn’t flash those horrible numbers at him. Even when he was mourning his wife, he woke up like clockwork, sleeping in gave him horrible headaches, so he’d go and have scalding hot showers.

Take the sleep away.

Take the psychological pain and turn it into burning pinpricks on his body.

 Sort of like he was getting up to do now. Pushing himself up off of his navy coloured bed, the blankets tucking themselves in with a passive telekinetic tendril, pillows fluffed up, Izya’s teddy bear on the night stand on the side of the bed she used to sleep on. Remi was dressed in plain black boxers, sliding off his hips, the tip of a scar leading down under them to lick at the top of his thigh.

The same as everday. He’d pause in front of the mirror and stare at himself. Scars didn’t make him look manly. His lack of ear-points didn’t make him look manly. His lack of left nipple made him look a little freaky. Though not all that many people have actually seen him topless, Remi wasn’t vain as much as he was self-concious, giving himself a pastel pink glare at the mirror he reached behind his back to softly finger the almost-but-not-quite-there of even older scars.

He was glad his parents had removed the wing buds. Remi would have removed them himself by now anyway if they hadn’t. Removing his boxers and kicking them into the laundry bin Remi turned the hot water all the way and flicked the nozzle to turn the rushing water into well... A shower.

The door was kept open - no one visited anyway, and it was his house.

Stepping into the shower, he clenched his teeth, the near boiling hot water burned at his back, it hurt. It was a good step into reality, made the ache in his chest go away. Brought it out on his back. Steam still coated the bathroom, even though the door was partially open and he gave a stretch, his back, butt and thighs beet red from the heat of the water. He leaned in, ignoring the heat of the water and turned that down and the cold water up until it was at a decent heat, still on the hot side but not scaldingly so. Grabbing a loofa and soap he washed himself raw, ignoring his chest which he later wiped down carefully with a soft cloth so he didn’t pull at the skin that had already gone through so much.

After washing his hair and brushing his teeth ( Yes, brushing his teeth in the shower ) he stepped out of the shower, turned it off and scrubbed down with a plain white towel before throwing that into the laundry hamper along with his discarded boxer shorts.

Walking out the bathroom, leaving the door open so the mirror would unfog, Remi dressed for the day, stealing a quick peak at the clock. Five thirty. He sighed. Another day.

Always another day of the same thing. Casting a glance at the empty side of the bed, Remi licked his lips and fixed the collar of his shirt before leaving the room to return to it later and repeat the same morning process tomorrow.

[Anonymous]

It took a while for Darsche to get away from his work, lasting long into the night- long enough for most lower-ranking Pilots to be returning from a night out on the town, if that's how they chose to spend their free hours. And even then, it took even longer for him to even consider sleeping- he had too much energy, still. Filing bureaucratic paperwork all day made a man go mad from the inactivity, and Darsche was no exception to that.

An intensive hour in a training simulator finally put sweat on him. Though it wasn't as if he'd worked up a deluge of  perspiration (that, he could scarcely imagine), he felt more than sufficiently dirty enough that the mere thought of retiring immediately made him feel slightly ill. He knew that there were some species out there that didn't mind sleeping in their own bodily fluids and musk, but he certainly wasn't one of them. Yes, he was one of those horribly inconsiderate individuals that got up and showered immediately after the deed was done, those few times that he actually had intimate relations with people.

Stepping in through the door, he wiped his feet on the small little mat he had placed near the entrance- there was no need to track all the filth he'd accumulated throughout the day around his living quarters. After about ten seconds of this, he promptly grabbed the rather baggy pair of boxers that he always had hanging off the door handle and made his way into the bathroom, memorization alone keeping him from tripping over anything. He also reached down to grab his two fluffy blue slippers and brought them in- he didn't like walking around with cold feet in his own living space.

Closing the door shut behind him, it was then all a matter of pulling down his makeshift covering (pants wasn't quite the word for it, after all), tossing it aside, and fumbling for the handle. Oddly enough, he stood there nude for a few minutes, grabbing around blindly for the handle that would start his shower. Pathetically, the longest part of his shower usually consisted of starting the water. Finding the handle after quite a bit of fuss, Darsche pulled it and hit the little switch beneath it, immediately starting the shower. He didn't bother waiting for it to get hot- he turned the dial towards that setting, yes, but he stepped in the moment the water started to flow.

There was no need to waste anything, after all. Though he shuddered at the sudden splash of unseen, freezing droplets of water that cascaded against his hot skin, he nevertheless made the most of what was given to him. To assure that he never lost a bar of soap, he had special dispensers installed onto the wall- and he only needed two, at that. With no need for shampoo or hair conditioner, he saved himself the unneeded hassle of trying to figure out which liquid was which. The dispenser that hung just below the shower head gave him the powder-based soap that he desired for primary cleaning. Reaching blindly for it before feeling the cool metallic dispenser, he pushed the button, allowing the soap to billow out onto his hands.

Every part of his body had to feel scrubbed before he went to bed- mostly the areas around his head. The three tentacles that came back from his skull, though not extremely sensitive at the base, had to be scrubbed carefully around the tips, where they were the most dexterous and hurt the most if he scrubbed over-zealously. Rather than risk the ends any harm, he moved them forward to cup some of the warming water, the projections scooping soap from his hands and lathering up each other. Acting much like a pair of hands, they were able to scrub themselves with the rough but effective soap.

Standing away from the direct line of water just long enough to scrub his face, neck, and ears thoroughly, Darsche let his eyes stay open even as the now hot droplets bounced off of the opaque lenses. To ignore this part of his routine... to close his eyes as the shower washed the soap down away from his skin was to assure that his eyes would darken over with natural discharges that he could not see. Not that he could see anything else, for that matter. While most species instinctively closed their eyes to impending contact and shrieked instinctive warnings whenever they were touched, Darsche's eyes had grown accustomed to the warming mist and steady percussion of droplets against them.

And fighters said that the eyes could not be trained. Posh and poppycock.

Another handful of the abrasive powder, and he could feel the minute scratches invisibly score his skin. His nature did not allow for anything to go unscrubbed- least of all his feet. The feet that were calloused through the years, the feet he couldn't see, but could feel the roughness of every time he had to wash. There was no convenient stone that he could scrape across them- though he had a loofa at one point, he could never seem to find it when in this state of exhaustion- it quickly became a hindrance, and since he also didn't know when to stop scrubbing the feet that had long since lost most feeling, became painful, as well. It had been thrown out quickly.

And again, another rinse- this time in a deluge of steaming water that did nothing to change the hue of his vermilion skin.

The second soap dispenser held a moisturizer, and was perched quite nicely on the wall opposite of the shower head. After rubbing his hands, arm, face, neck, and tendrils with the blessedly cold cream, Darsche gave himself one last time to stand beneath the shower and rinse off the fluid that would have otherwise felt sticky and disgusting to him after a few hours.

Only then did the fumbling for the handle resume, and as always, he found it faster at the end of the shower than at the beginning. Steam that he could feel around him collected around his unblinking eyes, to the point where they too needed to be dried- a quick but nevertheless conscious blink wiped off the excess droplets. One psychic bump, and he could feel his towel- reaching out for it, he dried himself off, trusting the soft material to get all the moisture he couldn't feel all that well in the now heavily misted room.

Once his body was dried, he handed it up to the tentacles on his head, letting them grab the towel and drying themselves off as he set about finding his toothbrush. A few grabs, a few guesses, and he'd found everything he needed- muscle memory took over. By this point, nary a conscious thought swam through his mind- he was exhausted. He needed sleep, if he was to fulfill his duties the following morning, however few hours it was.

Slipping on his boxers and stepping into the blessedly soft slippers, he turned off the light to the restroom, plucking out another pair of underwear from the closet adjacent to the bathroom and throwing it over the door handle for the following night.

Another night. Another night of what he hoped would be a good enough night of sleep to carry him through the corporate world.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

[Anonymous]

Ooh, I wanna try too...

---

The Alizee was a small ship, barely big enough for its three inhabitants. When it came to showers, they had to take turns and try not to waste water.

Today, it was Tish's turn.

The short, slim thief/spy/bounty hunter squeezed into the small space that served as their bathroom and locked the door, not to actually keep anyone out but to stop the damn thing from springing open in mid-shower. No one wanted to see his skinny bare ass anyway.

He tugged his pants off and kicked them away so water wouldn't drip all over them, repeating the exercise with his underwear before slipping inside the narrow cubicle.

Now came the tough part, trying to get the water at a tolerable temperature as quickly as possible. Most ships had regulators for this, but Benny broke the thing off by accident once and they never got around to fix it. Taking a deep breath, Tish turned the water on, and screamed when he got suddenly drenched with a torrent of ice-cold water. "Oh God Dammit!" He swore, fiddling with the faucets. Somehow, it managed to go from glacial to scalding without going through all the other stages. Tish cursed louder as he reversed the temperature again, this time finally stabilizing it at merely "cold". Oh well... not that he wanted to linger in there in the first place anyway.

The man worked quickly, scrubbing himself with a scrap of soap... where did they get soap, anyway? Meketh probably traded some, she was the one who spent the most time in the shower. The girl used flower-scented shampoo, for God's sake, what the hell was that good for? She barely ever stepped outside the ship! He never used much of the stuff himself, just enough not to smell like anything in particular. Maybe that was why his blonde hair was turning red at the tips, although he suspected there was another reason behind that.

As soon as he was able to run his fingers through his hair without meeting a tangled mess, Tish stopped the water and hopped out, grabbing his towel to dry himself. His teeth were chattering from the cold, and the dry, old piece of cloth scraped against his skin more than it dried him, but at least he was clean now. Boxers and pants went back on, and Tish stepped outside the bathroom, ready to face the world.

Back in her control room, Meketh deleted the video. Tish wasn't nearly as interesting to film in the shower as Benny was. The big guy sometimes burst into song as he washed himself, it was *hillarious*. Besides, she had enough footage of both men to last herself a lifetime. Not for, er, that sort of thing, but it was always worth a laugh, especially since she could control exactly what temperature the water was supposed to be in there from her cozy seat here.

[Anonymous]

Way to be creepy, Meketh. =D

[Anonymous]

Meketh LOVES being creepy.