He washed, rinsing his hair and skin off until he was practically pink. He checked his skin for lesions. Carefully, he rubbed beneath the torc, bracers, and bangles, working the cloth under them until he was able to pull the cloth through. He buffed his skin with another cloth soaked in an oil that left his skin gleaming and soft. The smell was a deep note to the tang and floral notes of the other soaps. While his skin dried, he took one last cloth and buffed and dried the wealth of gold and gems across his body.
“Wha’s in it?” Fearchar eventually mumbled, interrupting the pale man from his ritual. Eoin looked up, having forgotten where he was. Myrrh, camphor, basil, frankincense, musk, oud, jasmine, rose, beeswax- he rattled off ingredients as he pointed between the bottles and the crock.
Fearchar blinked blankly at him. “Aye, my fault, Ah got none a’ that,” Fearchar admitted, laying his head back down. Eoin shrugged and finished his ablutions. He glanced back at his clothes on the hook and wrinkled his nose. If he was going to be clean, he was going to be clean. He got up from the hearth and went to his duffel and pulled out clothes.
He set aside a stack of fine linen undershirts and stockings and dug deeper. From the tube, he produce a pair of white breeches, but not quite made the way Fearchar was used to seeing the mainlanders wear. They rode at the top of the ankle with small iridescent white buttons and embroidered cuffs, leaving his bangles exposed. Then they ballooned out from there. Eoin drew them up around his hips and tightened a drawstring. Around this, he tied a wide, long red cloth belt. He replaced his clean clothes into his duffel and set a pile off to the side that he planned on washing.
He pulled back on the waxed cloak and boots and took the tub and it’s contents out and dumped it off to the side of the house. He returned and set another bucket of snow to melt in the kettle, then hung the canvas back on the peg at the door.
This time, when he had settled, he set aside a small box of black powder from his apothecary cabinet, a little heating pot, measuring spoon, and cups. His hair fell to curtain his actions from Fearchar. In frustration, he pulled his wet hair back up and twisted it, shoving a silver stick through it to hold the bundle up. He returned to measuring out his powder. He set these off to the side of the fireplace.
Eoin went back to his duffel and produced a folded red rug, elegantly decorated with a yellow mandala and blue notes.
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