Cleanliness in Clear Weather
The weather is clear, the wind refreshing. Lately, the days have been mild enough for comfortable travel, and I even found a nice clean puddle. Dipping my hand in the water, it's a bit lukewarm. This temperature should be fine.
"Unnie, how is it?"
I flash a thumbs-up at Hope, who's looking worried. Her face lights up.
"No, today is that day."
On a bright, sunny day like this, there's only one thing it could be, but the chat window is completely clueless. Guess there's no helping it. They live in a different world from us. It's only natural they can't understand our situation when they can do it anytime in their peaceful world. Sometimes their carefree attitude pisses me off, but it's also bitterly enviable. That leisure from refusing to face the truth right in front of them. That's why just imagining their faces when they finally believe it gives me the will to keep going. At least before we reach Eden safely—or before we die.
I shove down the dark thoughts and put on my usual impassive face.
"In simple terms, it's bath time. And while we're at it, time to wash these filthy clothes clean."
The chat goes wild at the word "bath." I get what they're thinking, but anyone would think we're about to show the bath scene. This isn't that kind of stream. Their over-the-top reaction makes me let out a hollow chuckle.
A chat catches my eye, and I'm dumbfounded.
"Of course we do. You think we don't wash? We do laundry when we can afford the time."
In a world like this, cleanliness is essential. Wandering all day means dust and sweat everywhere. The stench is inevitable. Staying dirty is uncomfortable and unhealthy. No matter how ruined the world is, you can't forget to wash.
"In a world like this, finding decent water—let alone hot water—is tough, so we can't do it often. That's why we do it when we can. You feel gross after just one day without washing. Imagine living like that every day."
I sigh, lamenting our harsh life.
"You guys must be so jealous, bathing every day."
After grumbling and lecturing on the importance of baths, the chat floods with skeptical voices.
"What are you talking about? You think fuel to melt snow grows on trees? Waste it, and we won't get far before freezing solid."
We stockpile fuel from refueling spots we find on the road, but luck doesn't favor us often. Empty spots mean striking out, and even full ones have limits on what we can carry. We have to use limited resources wisely. Waste isn't allowed.
"Anyway, everyone close your eyes while we wash."
"Wait, you actually wanted to watch us bathe? Perverts?"
I ignore the nonsense and set the drone on the back seat of the Kettenkraft. To prevent another bunny girl outfit fiasco, I tie it down extra securely this time—no wiggling. This should hold, right? But instead of chaos, the chat goes eerily quiet.
"What... it's off."
If it's gonna shut down, warn me first. I could've skipped the tying hassle. It turns on and off at its whim. We've had the drone for a month now... or so, but I still don't get how it works. Is this shutdown coincidence? Or is it protecting our privacy? Whatever. Pondering mysteries won't yield answers.
I head back to the puddle.
"Unnie, come on in already."
While I was distracted, Hope stripped and hopped right in. The water's shallow, only up to her waist. She grins ear-to-ear, clearly loving the rare soak.
What if this got broadcast? Curiosity hits—what would happen if they aired us washing? Probably flagged for lewd content, channel banned. But the drone's different. Mysterious link between past and future. Would normal rules apply? Nah. Pointless to wonder. It's off anyway, and no way I'm exposing our naked bodies.
"Did you stretch first?"
"Yup. No worries."
"For real?"
"For real~"
"Last time you tried jumping in without, and I caught you. Don't forget."
"Unnie, that was... yeah, that's why! That's it!"
What's "that"? I squint suspiciously, and she flails in panic before diving underwater to escape. So damn cute—I smirk and start undressing. Brr, goosebumps every gust. Way colder naked. I hurry into the water.
"Eee..."
Thank god it's lukewarm. Not hot, but bearable chill. Normally I'd scavenge a drum or pipe to heat it, but nothing usable around. Even if there was, boiling's a hassle.
If only I could shower with hot water endlessly... I bury the nostalgic ache and scrub with Hope, splashing. Our discarded clothes go in too—scrub scrub, filth pours off. How grimy were they?
"Unnie, don't those scars hurt?"
"These? Just scars now. Pain's long gone."
"Your body's so pretty... but all those scars make me sad."
"I'm just clumsy, bumping everywhere. Listen to me or you'll end up like this—be careful."
Scattered scars on arms, legs, back. From village life with survivors—my childhood home. Not from beatings or assaults. Back then, skeptical about surviving this ruined world. Memories of peaceful times made it worse. So I'd roam dangerous spots under pretenses like scavenging or adventure. I'd return battered; Grandma scolded fiercely. Supplies lingered then, so medicine left scars, not worse. After adopting Hope, I roamed less.
Heavy thoughts end here. I grin mischievously.
"Huh, Hope, you've plumped up a bit? Eating well's paying off—you're all chubby now."
"Eh? Really? I don't feel it."
"Can't fool my eyes. See? Poke here—belly's all soft and squishy."
Baby fat, so doughy. Recent food luck helped. Still skinny compared to 21st-century kids—needs more. So soft, chewy like dough.
"Ahaha, t-tickles! Unnie, s-stop! It really tickles!"
"Just a little's fine."
"Ugh, then I'll... hyah! I'll tickle you too!"
"Sudden attack's danger—ahaha! S-stop! My bad!"
After playing, we hang laundry to dry in sun and breeze. Naked by fire or we'd catch cold. I light one.
"Hope, wear this too."
"Oh, from that fashion show building?"
"Layer up—nice and warm."
Clothes grabbed from there. Fabric's useful; picked good ones. See? Already handy. With fire going, heat water, add black powder. Murky brew bubbles, sweet cocoa scent wafts—Hope's mouth gapes.
"Careful, hot—blow on it, sip slow."
"Hooo—. Hehe, sweet."
"Tasty, right?"
"I like this. Unnie's coffee is just bitter and gross."
Coffee, not "curbi." Adult drink, not for kids. Glad some cocoa powder left. Running low—hope we luck into more.
"Warms you up."
Nothing beats a fire for that. Crackle crackle, sipping cocoa—Hope leans on my shoulder.
"Old-time people bathed in hot water daily?"
"Some did, some didn't."
"Eh? Really? Thought it was just us roughing it."
"And... we find hot water sometimes. Like 1-2 out of 10."
"Eek, too few."
"Cold water's rough, huh?"
"Refreshing, but warm's better. Soaks in nice."
"True."
Sip cocoa.
"Hope Eden's got tons of hot water. We'll soak forever."
"Mm... but too long makes me dizzy."
"Still feels good."
"Yeah."
In this peaceful vibe—
"Eek!"
"Hope, what?!"
"Something flew on my face."
I peel paper off her cheek. It's a map, circled spot nearby. Flip—faded writing, readable. Survivor's note? Rare food cache close by.
"Unnie, what is it?"
"Says tasty stuff nearby?"
"Eee?! For real? Let's go?"
"Hmm... what to do."
Writing's old. No guarantee left. Survivors aren't all nice like before. Risky detour?
"Clothes drying—no thinking till then."
Now, warm by fire, clear skies, fresh bath. Perfect.
—just 1-2 seconds, like a glitch, then off again.
More than skin, those back scars burned into minds. Why such brutal marks on that beautiful smiling girl? Curiosity about the mysterious channel's star deepened.