October Catchall | Open

[binghua]

WHO: Xiao Xingchen and YOU!
WHEN: October, whenever chaos isn't trying to eat this crew
WHERE: Here and there
WHAT: Xingchen just trying to vibe, you know. Doing this and that. Trying to avoid Xue Yang. (He probably won't avoid Xue Yang.)
WARNINGS: Nothing in mind at the moment except probably his standard sads, but will update if necessary.


[ooc: I'll match format, follow your heart!]


1. garden variety

[After the poisoning at Macaluso's banquet, and then Xingchen's (admittedly) poor decision to call out Vannozza along with him, and then everything that has transpired with the witches and the dragon and -

Well. Xingchen really should keep his toes in line if he doesn't want to cause the rest of their group more undue trouble. So he plops himself down on a bench in the palace garden, unmasked and unadorned in Taravast's fashion. He doesn't plan on going very far, anyway, unless necessary.

But then, what use is a blind man really in a place like this?

So he sits there, trying to find some peace in the quietness of the garden, smelling the flowers and steadying himself like those plants. They can't move. They can only rely on the earth and trust that their caretakers will not uproot them needlessly. Maybe if Xingchen can find that same trust, he'll be able to...well. Carry on with everything that's happened to him in the past couple of months. But trust, he's learned, is hard-won. He's not a flower, either. He has legs. Legs that can carry him away from all this if they must. Legs that carried him down a mountain not even that long ago.

...Maybe his master was right. Maybe leaving the mountain really is a bad decision. How much hardship could he have saved everyone if he had just stayed?

Xingchen exhales harshly, knowing these thoughts will never solve anything, no matter how incessant they are. So he gets down on the ground, crosses his legs, and tries to meditate. Become one with the flowers, maybe. Though that has its own connotation, something that's been crossing his mind more often than it ever used to.

He needs to get a hold of himself. Hopefully one day it will work.]


2. happy little accidents?

[Xingchen retreats to the garden again, but this time he can be found with a large pile of papers beside him on the bench, along with a little bowl of black paint, and a paintbrush in hand. It's not quite what he's used to, not from when he could still write a few years ago, but it's what the servants were able to procure for him. Beggars can't be choosers and he's been close enough to a beggar to understand that entirely.

He hunches over this pile of papers, holding his sleeve back with one hand while the one holding the brush starts to hesitantly glide over the paper. Or, well, that's what he had hoped for. The paintbrush isn't meant for writing; the resistance against the paper isn't as giving as a writing brush would allow.

And, of course, he can't even see what his hand is producing.

In his mind, he can see it all clearly. He just wants to write his name, wants the muscle memory of his fingers and his wrist to produce something that should be simple enough, something that used to be simple enough.

晓星尘

From the get-go, however, it all feels wrong. Again, this brush isn't meant for his current task, for starters. But he pushes through and finishes. Or hopes he finishes. Have the strokes crossed over each other? Realistically speaking, they must have, but he just can't tell.

So he pulls that paper away and lets it float to the ground at his feet. And he tries again, much to the same feeling. It doesn't feel right, but he can't tell for sure, and already he can feel that frustration flow through him. His hand grips the brush tighter than necessary. He presses the brush harder than needs to be done against the paper. He can see his name so easily in his mind, he can imagine his hand gliding over the paper without mistake, but none of it translates!

He drops another sheet to the ground. He starts again.

He fails again.

He fails again.

He fails.

How many pieces of paper litter the ground, he doesn't know, but to anyone passing by who can read such characters, his strokes are at times disconnected and at other times bleed together into an illiterate blob. He tries again, his wrist flicking a by now familiar dance that he's sure results in nothing and he tosses that to the ground, too, before sitting up, the sullied brush dangling from his hand over the side of the bench.]

What did you expect, Xingchen? You really are a fool.


3. drink responsibly

[So maybe some nights Xingchen gets a little restless. Maybe some nights he takes to the streets and follows some of the louder crowds. Maybe some nights he ends up in a bar.

Xingchen knows he shouldn't, or at least he should keep himself in check, but when some of the other patrons keep enabling him, keep saying, "Just one more!" it's easy to get swept up in the moment. It's easy to let the chatter and the music and the warmth envelop him and reassure him that just one more - or two, or three... - isn't a problem.

Except, well, he's still just a single blind man in a part of the city with which he's not entirely familiar, and with a compromised sense of balance on top of it all. If only he had a friend to lend a shoulder to lean on for a minute or a kind hand to help lead him back home.

Maybe he won't get lucky at all and someone will ply him with just one more.]


4. wildcard

[Eyyyyy you know how it goes, hit me up, fam.]

Comments

3

[scrapgege]

[Xue Yang did ask Xie Lian to watch out for Xiao-daozhang, and truth be told, Xie Lian would have done it even without that. He likes the other man too much, sees too much of himself in him, to want any harm to come to him. They've both suffered in parallel ways, the only difference is scale, and scale doesn't matter when your heart is taken out of your rib cage and stomped on.

His pirate persona means he often ends up in those vaguely menacing taverns, and so he does notice the other man quite easily, making his way towards him - and stepping on a few toes as he does.

He manages to make himself a space right next to him - there might have been some elbowing for it, disarmed by one of his usual brilliant smiles. People hesitate to come at him because of his supposed reputation, and because he keeps smiling at people, which they interpret as him choosing not to beat them to a pulp.]

Daozhang, you've had a lot to drink...

[binghua]

[The wine here is rich - probably drunk by the rich, too - but the glass is warm and comfortable in Xingchen's hand, so he sees no reason to complain about it. And when he feels a new presence all but barge it's way next to him, Xingchen smiles and turns to face them to his best approximation. He overcorrects, however, and has to grab onto his new friend to keep from falling out of his seat. Not that it seems to bother him too much. He giggles as he finds his precarious balance again and cups both hands around his wine glass. But then the visible part of his face lights up when he recognizes the voice of his new friend.]

I know!

[He's louder than necessary, too.]

But everyone here has been so kind and taken good care of me, so I can't just say no... Listen!

[He takes a generous sip of his wine, then, well, blindly reaches out toward a fellow patron nearby. Maybe they've been by his side for a while, maybe they've just slotted their way toward the bar. Who knows? But Xingchen doesn't seem to notice or care.]

Listen. What do you call - no, hold on. What kind of ghost has the best...the best hear -

[More giggles overtake him and he collapses against Xie Lian, his wine cradled to his chest as he shakes with a punchline known only to him.]

[scrapgege]

[The good mood and laughing are probably brought about by the liquor, and it's not really a good idea to let Xiao-daozhang drink too much... he'll probably regret it come morning...

But the man has had precious little to be joyful about lately. Is it really that bad to let him have this moment? Xie Lian knows it won't solve anything, but he also isn't cruel enough to deny someone a moment of oblivion int he middle of excruciating pain.

And Xiao-daozhang's laughter is infectious. He hasn't even managed to tell the joke he was aiming for, but Xie Lian still starts smiling, and then giggling himself as the other man leans heavily onto him. He puts his arm around Xiao-daozhang's shoulders.]

Daozhang, if you don't finish the joke, how can I know if it's funny?

[binghua]

[The joke is rattling around in his head in its entirety and Xingchen truly wants to get it out, but it's just so funny and the wine is too good and, now with Xie Lian's arm around him, he feels comfortable and safe. He simply can't finish the joke, not right now. He just wants to enjoy this moment for as long as he can.

So he keeps giggling and shaking, at least until he manages to take another sip of his wine. He's collected himself for the moment.]

Mm! But you're laughing already!

[Therefore, the joke must be funny regardless. And it is! Xingchen knows it is.]

[scrapgege]

I guess so, haha!

[A bit of warmth, a moment of laughter, he can't really deny that to this man, but... he also knows that drinking means probably trying to forget, and there is good reason for that, just...]

Are you alright, daozhang? I know this isn't an easy time for you right now...

2. happy little accidents?

[funnylittleclown]

[ His approach had been quiet until he stepped on one of the dozens of sheets of paper that littered the garden grounds like fallen leaves. He stopped to pick up the sheet, turned it over in his hands a few times, before finally deciding he now held it upright as it was meant to be viewed. ]

Ghost carrot? Do they have those here? I shouldn't like to meet one!

[ The Doctor picked his way more carefully between the scattered pages until he was close enough to peer over the shoulder of the artist. ]

Oh, this is interesting. Yes, very interesting... They've given you paint instead of ink though, haven't they?

[binghua]

[Even amid his disappointment in himself, Xingchen's ears still pick up that noise, that approach of someone else. He'd rather not deal with other people right now, but then he did decide to make this scene in a public area, so he has only himself to blame.

Ghost carrot, though. He can't help but be a little offended, when he's trying his best and someone comes along to joke about his attempts. But Xingchen sits up and lets that comment roll off his back as best he can. He's not a duck letting water roll off his feathers exactly, but he'll try.]

I was given what was available. I shouldn't waste something more useful, anyway.

[funnylittleclown]

[ Ghost carrot for this is what the characters scrawled across the page seemed to read to him. There were quite a few other pages that were only blobs of color or maybe they were meant to be Rorschach ink blot tests. It was difficult to say really but they were still very interesting. ]

What? Art like this a waste? I quite like this one.

[ A second discarded paper was picked from the ground. It was one of the more blob-like creations but held just so, at a certain angle, well it almost looked like a bunny. ]

They're not what you were trying for?

[binghua]

[Art, he calls it. Xingchen breathes out a short laugh, not convinced by such words.]

You may keep it, then.

[He places the brush in the bowl, hand lingering to make sure it doesn't tip out or anything.]

No, I...I was trying to write my name again.

[And judging by his own intuition and this man's reactions, he definitely did not manage it.]

1

[bearshermark]

[The palace garden is nice. When the weather's been fair, Eleven has taken his study books and papers down to read in a more pleasant atmosphere than his room. ..Though now, it's more in the interest of avoiding distraction.

Eleven settles on a bench with a soft laugh to himself, then breathes surprise just as soon as he spots a familiar figure]

Oh.

[Xingchen. He inhales with a will to greet him, then thinks better of it. In the sun and surrounded by nature is how he prefer to meditate himself, after all. So he simply sends a smile in his companion's direction and attempts to turn focus onto his healing studies]

[binghua]

[Despite his attempts, Xingchen hasn't been able to fall into a meditative state. Whether it's his own thoughts or the slight breeze rustling petals and leaves just a little too much or even the presence he feels of someone else utilizing the peaceful place, he just can't settle down.

He breathes out again, still clearly frustrated, and instead reaches out for whatever flower is nearest him. There's a scent that's been coming to him that might also account for his inability to focus. He touches the soft petals, then gently cups the bloom and leans in, inhaling deeply. It's lovely, sweet, a little spicy, but not overly so. In the back of his mind, Xingchen is reminded of jasmine, though the shape of this flower is all wrong.

He runs his fingers over the petals again, calming himself with the velvety feel. He's still not feeling quite as he would like, but this does help. So, keeping his voice quiet so as not to disturb anyone else here, he speaks to the bloom.]

Thank you, little one.

[bearshermark]

[Naturally, anything beyond the paper he's studying is far more interesting. Eleven finds himself watching Xingchen with a slight smile and a quiet roll of fondness. He doesn't mean to speak, but the question rolls off his tongue before he's manage to think better of it]

Do you have an affinity for nature, too?

[binghua]

[Turning his head toward the voice - one he recognizes now - he shakes his head.]

Not an affinity, no. I just appreciate it.

[Or, well, as much as he can without sight.]

I assume you do? For more than fire, that is.

3

[lancifolium]

[ While she had been spending a good deal less time frequenting the parties thrown all over the city by the various gentry, now and again Lily put in an appearance to keep up her cover. As the resident tipsy, gambling socialite, drinking had gotten the better of her for the first few weeks in Taravast, though she was learning to pace herself now.

That didn't mean she was the portrait of sobriety when, after teetering down the steps of a well-to-do house where a soiree still raged she spotted Xingchen's willowy silhouette looking just about as wobbly as hers must. ]

Hey! Hello!

[ The right amount of drink always got Lily in a very cheerful mood, and she was all smiles when she jogged up to Xingchen's side. ]

Having a late one too?

[ She could feel herself wanting to tilt, and gently rest a hand on his arm in hopes of centering herself, all while pleasantly chattering away, her voice quieter as she glossed over the matter of her cover. ]

Bloody lucky I don't lose everything at those card tables, this persona isn't precisely one for the thrifty.

[binghua]

[Wobbly is a good word for Xingchen's current state, but at least wobbly is still upright. He drank too much tonight, but then his tolerance never has been terribly high. Now all he needs to do is figure out exactly how to get back to his quarters. That was already a tricky task when he was sober, but it has gotten significantly more difficult. His mental map is spotty at best right now. He probably shouldn't do this again, but at least his mood is floaty as opposed to oppressive. If only he could sacrifice his sobriety all the time. How much easier it would be to get through the days!

These thoughts float away as soon as he hears a voice call out to him. He thinks she's calling out to him. Is that presumptuous when he can't actually verify? But then his mind starts to catch up and he recognizes the voice. Ah, she must be calling out to him. Xingchen stops, swaying a little as Lily reaches his side. She's talkative, something that both amuses and relaxes him. While he doesn't know Lily well, this familiarity is nice to feel and her mood is definitely high. He laughs a little, letting that wash over him, too.]

One. Or two. Three? It's hard to tell.

[If he thinks hard enough, he probably could recall how many glasses made it to his hands, but right now that's too much work. He'd rather listen to whatever Lily chatters on about.]

Ah, that is tricky, that is tricky. Have you made any money at all?

[lancifolium]

They all run together after a time, don't they? I might need you to help me stay upright.

[ Content to teeter along in familiar company Lily stayed by Xingchen's side, her hand still resting on his arm, hoping to help him stay on his feet as much as he was her.

Grimacing at the question about her luck at the card tables Lily gave a shake of her head. ]

Not exactly, more often than not I break even, and I'll only play a few hands for appearance's sake though of course, that's when all the blokes start being generous with drinks. I know they want you to lose but Morgana, what a pushy lot.

[binghua]

[He laughs at the admission that she's not quite stable, either, lifting his free hand to cover his mouth.]

I will do my best, but if we both end up on the ground, please don't think less of me.

[But with the knowledge that she's not in any better shape than he is, Xingchen focuses his steps more carefully, definitely not wanting to end up on the ground. Upon hearing of her troubles, though, he leans in a little closer to her, almost gasping with astonishment.]

They're very generous! I've had this experience, as well, and I'm not even gambling!

[He pauses, and giggles a little again.]

It's a good thing I'm not gambling. I don't think I'd get very far.

2

[thesuspense]

What do you need to write for if you can't read it anyway?

[Xue Yang finds the question as justified as his very presence here, having walked up quietly and then crouched down near Xingchen. He hasn't been in direct contact with him for a considerable amount of time, surely more than long enough to fit whatever criteria one wants to go by. Any criteria he wants to go by, anyway.

Now he's close to him again and he takes the opportunity to study his face, his eyes lingering on his throat. No more mark he's left with his mouth there, but also no red line. All that matters, that one red line that's haunted him so long.

However justified he may feel, he's also not entirely stupid, as may be betrayed by his stance for anyone capable of seeing. He's ready to jump up and make distance, draw his sword to block an attack if he has to. But he doesn't plan on attacking Xingchen himself.

He's just missed him. Is still missing him, missing the parts he'll never have again, but at least this is something. If he can see the disgust on his face again, he'll know that he feels for him.]

I could help you.

[Maybe he should have resisted making that offer.]

[binghua]

[He's in the middle of writing the first character when Xue Yang speaks up seemingly out of nowhere. Xingchen gasps, his hand jerking suddenly, the brush leaving behind a surprised stroke off to the side. A mistake. Proof of his foolishness to have been so absorbed by this futile task that he didn't even hear the other man get so close.

What should he do? He's in no position to fight Xue Yang here, but surely he can't just sit and let this awful man do as he wishes, either.

But all Xingchen can do right now is clutch that brush harshly, the paint seeping into the paper where he has yet to move it.]

Help me? You?

[Even if he wanted Xue Yang's help, he'd refuse out of principle.]

What makes you think I'd ever trust you again?

[thesuspense]

How much trust do you need for ink and paper?

[That seems like a fair question, although the matter of fairness between them is obviously a touchy one.]

If you fear me making a mess, then you should be glad you can't see what you've achieved so far.

[With paper scattered everywhere, the ink dripping...]

[binghua]

You don't understand.

[He responds immediately, voice rising a little with exasperation. He all but slams the brush down on the paper he had been working on, further ruining any progress, and stands up. His feet rustle the papers he's thrown to the ground, but he ignores that in favor of facing where he's heard Xue Yang's voice. He has no idea what he's going to do from moment to moment, but he cannot just let this continue.]

Will you ever understand? I will never trust you again. Not with this. Not with anything.

[It's difficult to hold himself back when his hands itch to pick up a weapon, any weapon, or squeeze themselves around Xue Yang's neck. But wouldn't he find that funny in some way? Xue Yang has already turned Xingchen into a murderer; wouldn't one more death only solidify this?]

2

[wooden_one]

[He's passing by but stops because of a familiar scene though with an unfamiliar backdrop and unfamiliar tools.

He's homesick enough that even the discrepancies don't matter: just seeing someone doing calligraphy is enough to make his chest tighten.

But quickly he notices other things: the frustration with which the man pushes the brush down, the piles of paper strewn about...the bandages around the man's eyes.

He pauses, uncertain about his welcome (he is very rarely welcome), but in the end the sight reminded him, inexplicably, of Mo Ran learning to write, that disciple of his who came to the sect later than most, from a background less privileged than many, learning a skill that should have been mastered already at his age. Mo Ran had never been this frustrated but it couldn't have been easy.

It was that thought, that reminder of times past that made him walk towards the man with quiet steps. He stops to pick up a piece of paper considering, the crinkle of the paper, the sound of his footsteps on the grass and the smell of haitang carried on the wind all give away his presence.]

What were you trying to write?

[binghua]

[Despite his own focus on his futile task and the frustration rapidly taking over, Xingchen's ears still can't help but take in anything new in their surroundings. It's still a little difficult to hear at first, but the steps come to him and he finishes another attempt before putting down the brush with a dejected feeling.

When the other person speaks up, Xingchen doesn't recognize the voice, but neither does he turn him away for his curiosity. He brings it upon himself, doing something like this in a public place.]

My name. I know it's silly to try.

[Considering his blindness. Considering he hasn't properly tried for a few years now.]

[wooden_one]

Says who?

[He said it like he's going to pick a fight with whoever said it was silly.

He dithers for a moment, though there's no outward signs to show it, before he sits down across from Xiao Xingchen, pulling over a blank sheet of paper.]

How well can you sense spiritual energy?

[binghua]

[Oh. That's a far more aggressive response than Xingchen ever expected. Instead of answering in turn, he just bows his head, dutifully scolded. He shouldn't put himself down like this, but it's easy in these moments of frustration that he's very much feeling. It's right of this person to try and choke off the weeds of his self-doubt.

The topic of spiritual energy grabs his attention, though, and his curiosity manages to overcome his low mood. Is this other man a cultivator, as well?]

I have no problems with that.