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October Catchall | Open
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.]
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.]
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There's a rising crescent moon. It very thin still, so you can see a lot of stars in the sky because it doesn't give off a lot of light just yet.
It's just above the roof of the palace.
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[A silly and obvious observation, but something about it is comforting to Xingchen. He holds up his free hand to exemplify this, even though he can't see it.
He giggles again, a little muffled in Xie Lian's shoulder.]
I'm gonna tell you something.
[Pulling his outstretched hand back, Xingchen pokes his own chest. Then, he whispers, but it's still too loud to be a true whisper.]
I used to be the moon.
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Really? Well, you are all white and very pretty, daozhang, so I can see it.
[He is going to start them walking randomly. Maybe once Xiao-Daozhang is tired he'll let himself be convinced of going back.]
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Silly.
[Xie Lian begins to walk, though, so Xingchen moves from holding onto his wrist to wrapping his arms around Xie Lian's own. The closeness makes it more difficult to walk, probably, but the desire to be close to someone nice overwhelms him. If he were to let go, who knows where either of them could end up.
A few steps transpire and he speaks more quietly.]
I'm not so pretty anymore.
[No explanation follows, but he does stand up a little straighter instead.]
I bet Xie-daozhang is, though. I bet Xie-daozhang is a lot of things.
[Is he strong? If he managed to ascend to become a heavenly official, then he did something impressive, for sure. Maybe it's a little improper - or a lot improper - but he tightens his hold around the other man's arm for a moment. Hm. He does feel pretty strong. He's holding up Xingchen with seemingly no problem, too.]
I'm curious. You're...As a heavenly official, what do you do?
[He scrunches up his face.]
No, that's not... Are you in charge of spa...spafi...pacif...
[...Ah. Drunk tongue. It's found him. Xingchen shakes his head.]
You're like a god, right?
[As soon as he asks it, he giggles to cover up his curiosity, arms unwinding to once again only hold onto Xie Lian's wrist.]
I'm curious and blunt! They let me drink a lot. I don't drink very often.
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[And then it's Xie Lian's turn to blush. He doesn't like to brag but...]
Back then, people used to call me the Flower Crown Martial God; It was a long time ago, though.
[Don't worry daozhang, he can answer a few question.]
Well, most Heavenly officials take care of the prayers of their believers. Some of them are in charge of specific areas too. I used to be the main god for my country, but it disappeared a long time ago and I don't really have that many believers left at all.
Sometimes, we fight monsters or ghosts, if they attack humans or make things difficult in the human world. I've investigated a lot of these cases lately.
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Maybe what's left of my face.
[He's not vain. Proud, sometimes. But he can't even fall back on his looks when what's inside has become so torn up and disgusting to himself. He doesn't want to talk about it, not if he can help it.
So he listens to Xie Lian's words, trying to file away the glory that old title seems to carry. It sounds pretty. It sounds wonderful.
It sounds like Xie Lian has lost things, too.
But something else tugs at Xingchen.]
I believe in you. You're right here.
[He squeezes Xie Lian's wrist, as if reassuring himself that his remaining senses aren't fooling him. He laughs a little.]
I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk, right?
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Yes, I am right here, and I am real, I swear.
... Thank you, Xiao-daozhang. I wouldn't dare ask, but... if you need someone to pray to, I'll listen.
[It's not like he has so many believers he'd miss a prayer, after all.]
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Praying to the gods is one thing, but to do it when the god is right here, literally within Xingchen's grasp, is something else altogether.]
All I could ask from you is to keep being kind, Xie-daozhang.
[He gives Xie Lian's wrist another little squeeze before pulling away entirely. Not the wisest decision as he wobbles for a second, but then manages to regain his balance. How wide is this street in which they find themselves? Xingchen isn't entirely sure, but he also doesn't hear any running water from one of the canals, so he feels a little safe in just...indulging himself.
The moon is out and, even if it's not particularly bright, he can still imagine what this scene might look like. Maybe the street is lit by lanterns. Maybe it's a little darker than that. But when he doesn't hear anybody walking directly toward him, Xingchen twirls. And then again. But he is still pretty drunk and he nearly trips over his own feet, reaching out in time to brace himself against a wall instead of falling over completely. Embarrassing? Yes. But he still laughs about it, raising one sleeve to his mouth, though it does nothing to stifle his giggling.]
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[He doesn't hold back the other man when he lets go, even smiles a little as he starts twirling about and only steps forward again when he stumbles and ends up having to support himself against the wall.
Then, he is there again, hand at Xiao-daozhang's elbow to support him back up, and Xiao-daozhang's giggle is infectious even if Xie Lian hasn't really drunk anything himself.]
Careful where you steps. Those cobblestones are uneven.
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You have a nice laugh. I like it.
[He tilts his head. Why does that sound familiar...?]
I've said that before, haven't I? Still true. I never heard Zichen laugh.
[...Oh. That slipped out long before Xingchen even realized the thought was on his mind. Not surprising, of course; his old friend is often on his mind, just...rarely spoken of. He smiles and shakes his head, gaining some of his balance back, with Xie Lian's help.]
If I fall, my knees are used to it.
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[He doesn't remember hearing this name before, and he tends to remember things.]
Tonight at least, I'll catch you if you fall, daozhang.
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He's my old partner.
[Xingchen is pretty sure he told Xie Lian that much, that he had a partner once. But then that conversation also led into talk of Xue Yang and why must everything good be overshadowed by such an awful man? He doesn't want to think about him, not now, not ever, not when he's drunk, not when he's sober. His weight falls a little heavier against Xie Lian for a moment as he tries to scoop up his mind from the metaphorical gutter.
The promise of drink was a way for him to forget for a night, so that maybe when he manages to get back to his quarters, he can fall asleep in that bed he shared with Xue Yang and not remember right away. Maybe he should have drunk more if he's still able to think this clearly.
Sighing against Xie Lian, he eventually straightens up.]
I believe it. Xie-daozhang is strong.
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[His physical strength might be one of the few things he did not misuse too badly during his life. At least this way, it's more helpful than not.]
Should we walk a bit longer? Just so you can sober up a bit.
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[Not yet. Not for a long time. He should, of course, because he knows he'll regret this irresponsibility in the morning, but right now he just wants to not be him. Surely Xie Lian will understand that. He's so patient, so nice. Xingchen wouldn't mind if he stuck around all night. Maybe longer.
He can't ask that of him, though. Despite his current selfishness, he isn't actually that greedy.
But even though he wants to spend the rest of this night, at least, in a haze of drunkenness, he does regain enough of his balance to start walking again.]
We're not that far, are we?
[If his memory isn't completely shot, Xingchen doesn't think he had to wander too far before stepping inside the bar.]
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[he does understand, Xiao-daozhang. Right now, his priority is making sure no mishaps happened to you, because he promised he would and also he really likes you.]
Take your time. I don't have anything else I need to be doing anyway and it's a beautiful night.
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[Even if...walking around more will probably make him sober up more by the time they back to the palace. And then he'll be of more sound mind when he collapses into his bed. And...
No matter. Maybe he'll be so tired he'll just pass out. That would be more preferable.]
Can you see the stars?
[Did Xie Lian mention that already? Xingchen can't remember.]
I always liked watching them at night, even if they made me feel small. Kind of insinf -
[This again.]
Kind of...kind of...unimportant. It's humbling. Even on the mountain when, when they felt a little closer, it was still...
[He exhales a little harshly, though not out of frustration, just...a lack of words, probably.]
I wonder if non-cultivators ever look at them and feel like that. Maybe their worries are more pressing. They have to run their households, pray their crops don't fail, ask people like us for help when things get out of hand. Do they have time to look up and wonder? Do they -
[His breathing quickens and he frowns, getting worked up over this pointless question. Xie Lian is still close, he can feel that, and he reaches out to find his arm again.]
I want them to have that wonder, to find joy in the world. To not worry.
no subject
[He listens to Xiao-daozhang's ramblings, not as nonsensical as one might think, and pats the hand that finds his arm.]
Normal people do have their worries, and they probably don't always think to look up... but when they do, I am sure they are as awed as we are. They find joy in small things too.
[Xiao-daozhang really is a good person, Xie Lian thinks.]
I think there's nothing as great as having a full belly and not having to worry about your next meal, you know?
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[His hands gently wrap around Xie Lian's wrist again and he simply holds him there. He probably should have asked permission to touch him...before he started touching him, but he doesn't seem to mind. That should be okay. Still, Xingchen lowers his voice and bows his head a little, sounding sad.]
But it's hard.
[It's hard to be happy sometimes.
He stays that way for a few moments, just holding on, just breathing, just accepting the warmth of Xie Lian's body. And then he takes another breath and releases his hold on him, raising his voice back to normal.]
A full belly is good! Taravast has a lot of food, I'll give 'em that.
[Xingchen gasps.]
Is Xie-daozhang hungry? I'll buy you something. My manners are gone, forgive this one, forgive this one. I should have offered before.
[Throughout his panic, Xingchen reaches inside his clothes, looking for his measly coin purse. Though, upon finding it, he realizes that it's entirely empty. He holds it in his hands for a moment, fingers still reaching inside every corner, but sighs.]
Ah, ah, that's right. I spent it all...
[He doesn't even know if any vendors or restaurants would be open at this time of night.
But how embarrassing.]
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[And just then, he remembers...]
Actually, you do still have some money. I asked the bartender to... kindly give me back your change. Here.
[He'll drop the coins in the purse. It's not that many, Xiao-daozhang did drink a lot, but still...]
Most people want to be happy, but yes, it's not always easy.
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[The jingling of the returned coins proves Xie Lian right, but he still carefully holds the little purse in his hands.]
Thank you. You didn't have to do that.
[He hopes he didn't cheat the bartender out of what he was owed, either, but that doesn't seem like something Xie Lian would do.
Xingchen puts the coin purse away.]
Are you happy?
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[That tugs at him. Xingchen has always thought he takes pleasure in the little things. And he still does, though with the knowledge of what he's done over the last couple of years, that does make future appreciation feel cheaper, in a way. Will he ever be able to go back to his old self? Smelling flowers, listening to children laugh, hearing A-Qing's delight from a hot meal.
Xingchen sets off again, pondering these things. And then he wonders what delights Xie Lian in such a way. He has such a nice laugh; everything should strive to earn such a reaction.
...Oh! But he said something earlier, didn't he? Xingchen remembers, he really does. Stopping short, he already can't keep a little smile from his lips.]
Like -
[He chuckles, but gathers himself admirably.]
Like a full belly, right? Xingchen will cook for Xie-daozhang some time if he'd allow it.
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I'd like that, daozhang. That would be lovely.
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Good. I'm glad! You'll tell me if there's something that doesn't appeal to you, I'm sure. Don't want to disappoint.
[Cooking something a god doesn't like probably is reason enough for some kind of curse.
Xingchen walks again, heart a little lighter with this plan, though he has no idea when he'll be able to carry it out. It will be something to look forward to, though, and hopefully carry him through the darker moments in this city, of which Xingchen has found there are many.
It's still slow-going, what with his drunken state and almost zig-zagging trekking, but the palace is nearby. If there are no more distractions, Xingchen-made or otherwise, Xie Lian should be able to drop him off quickly enough.]
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[Your newfound god eats floor food, Xiao Xingchen, you'll be fine.
They speak of mostly pleasant nonsense and also enjoy a few moments of companionable silence before Xie Lian finally manages to steer Xiao-daozhang back to his door.]
Have some water before your sleep and get some rest, daozhang.
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