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westwhere2023-05-15 05:49 pm
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Entry tags:
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- arc vi,
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- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: river song,
- doctor who: the doctor,
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- test drive,
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- umbrella academy: allison,
- umbrella academy: five,
- untamed: lan sizhui,
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- zettai karen children: kumoi yuuri
the sunken | part i
Welcome to the first log of Arc VI: the Sunken, which covers 15 May – 2 June and doubles as a test drive meme.
Back/forward date as needed! The calendar date suggestions are indicative.
The TDM is open to everyone! If you decide to apply to the game, you can get an invite from current players or the upcoming enabling meme — or participate in the test drive meme and get in touch @
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Test drivers can use this post for logs and network posts — old timers, please make your network posts at
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LOST AT SEA | TEST DRIVE TOURISTS
You wake, gasping, in a stormy sea, your thoughts slowed to a confused trickle. Skill, floating wood or a kindly stranger — who you can’t understand — help you to reach shore.
Villagers discover you collapsed on sand and provide critical (if rickety) communication and translation devices. They say you are in Sunken Yancai, a fishing village progressively overtaken by waters and cursed by the secretive ‘ladies of the lake’ to transit through time.
- ■ Rescuers group newcomers and supply questionable village couture, warm meals and accommodations in abandoned, half-flooded homes or spare small boats anchored in Yancai’s waterways. Huddle up, recover your strength and don’t think too hard on why your memories are hazy over the next three days.
■ Come morning, you visit village leader Quanze Tsaymien, then the sorceress Karsa — who explains you are otherworlders summoned into Akhuras by undead lords who wish to weaponise you in their battle against humans and one another. Karsa is an associate of the Merchant, who leads otherworlders towards ancient transport beacons east.
■ One such beacon rests dormant in Yancai. The group must infiltrate the village and wait a few weeks until it shifts to a point back in time when the beacon was active.
■ Newcomers are handed passport papers with their new identities in Yancai, where they may be known as a bankrupt merchant, perpetually drunk sailor, whale hunter, raft surveyor, mermaid who has just gained their legs, crab collector... feel free to invent a dutifullyhilariousapt role for their seaside sojourn.
OLD TIMERS | THE DRIFTING
You dragged yourself here in a haze. You arrived long ago, as if in a dream. You were born and bred in this village. In truth, your memories of reaching lively Yancai feel nebulous and alarmingly inconsequential.
Characters are facilitated new identities and dwellings by the Merchant, or believe they have had them all along.
- ■ A weary Karsa warns to say nothing to party members with altered memories, until the sorcery that affects them runs its course.
■ Memory-altered characters progressively regain their memories within three to five days (by 20 May). They have their memories partially or fully back at night ( midnight to 5 a.m.). Throughout the day, memory regains can trigger migraines, eerie confusion and paranoia.
■ Hauntings begin once characters have fully regained their memories.
■ Once everyone is ‘back to normal,’ Karsa explains that Yancai periodically transits through time. The memory alterations are a magical solution endorsed by the village council, which ensures locals mentally weather these shifts. Villagers continue to blithely accept you as part of the community.
(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH
Karsa reunites the existing party and newcomers, issuing first assignments. The Merchants’s information suggests the beacon of Yancai will be online once the village travels in time within weeks. A dubious Karsa asks the party to check on the beacon, located in the former House of Commerce of the largely inundated merchants’ district. Reach it by rowing boat.
- ■ Villagers say the Master of Commerce, a famous musician, took precautions against intruders.
■ All ground and lower floor entryways of the palatial House were boarded to restrict flooding. To enter, pick locks or climb the putrid stairwell towards upper balconies.
■ Inside, the hissing of running water — and, in the lower levels, of thin, slippery leeches whose bite numbs your limbs, while they attempt to feed. You seem to experience pronounced vertigo when entering any decaying rooms covered in black mould.
■ The beacon is located on a dais in the basement vault room, where water rises near 1 meter. Only a few scattered scrolls and golden decorations remain among decorations, while a large ceiling carving writes, greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.
■ Some tiles of the marbled floor stand out as you wade — step on one, and all doors abruptly slam shut, while dozens of obscured holes in the wall start to rapidly spill water, threatening to fill the room to the ceiling within the hour. You hear the tinny, waning sound of a village song played from a hidden source.
■ To stop the pouring water and open the doors, sing the song you hear, or find the music box that produces it amid debris on the water-covered floors. Wind it, and it plays its song in reverse, revealing the voice of a laughing elderly man who says, Depressingly, Anurr was right to worry.
■ Don’t forget to check the beacon — and report back to Karsa that it looks structurally untarnished.
THEY SLEEP
After surprising revelations at previous citadels, Karsa tasks you to investigate just how… permanent death is in Yancai. Villagers share that their dead are buried in a strange rite at sea — part of which will take place within days.
- ■ The dead are ‘entombed’ in one-man sarcophagi ships with carved and chained lids that depict their likeness. These burial boats are set at sea on the first day of each season and return three months later.
■ Join the harbours around 22 May, when mourners gather to receive the burial boats. Characters must pretend to be greatly anguished relatives, acquaintances or debt collectors to join the grieving.
■ The boats float towards you, seemingly of their own volition. Gaze afar and spot a boat carrying a man in black — the same who haunts some characters — who observes until the last burial ship has reached the piers, before he disappears.
■ Sailors draw up the boats and unpeel the untouched chains and lids, to reveal… no corpses. Peer closer and find neither biological signs (stench, liquids) of discomposure, nor the magical chillness of spaces where cadavers have lingered long. Scratch marks litter the inside of some boat lids.
■ Mourners seem grateful that the waters have ‘accepted’ the bodies. Some say that their relatives whose boats have yet to return must have been stolen by the ‘ladies of the lake,’ a villainous witch coven. Speak to mourners or sailors for clues.
■ Linger long near opened burial boats, and you feel tempted to throw yourself into the sea, slowly losing consciousness — until someone rescues you.
AMONG US
On 25 May, village leader Quanze Tsaymien drags the chained and half feral mistress Miang-si to households and Yancai’s largest market square.
The young woman, he says, was seduced by the ladies of the lake — the furtive witch coven that condemned Yancai to time travel. Luckily, the village elders have… coaxed Miang-si back onto the righteous path.
- ■ Miang-si is brought door-to-door to point out her 'accomplices.' Ill at ease, villagers whisper of similar witch hunts leading to false accusations and blood-curdling repercussions.
■ Both men and women are suspected and brought before Miang-si. Perhaps she takes an eerie interest in you, getting especially close to catch your scent, touch or remark on (in)visible hurts, or even dotingly kiss you. If you whisper quickly while she’s near, you might be able to ask one question.
■ If you are patient and kind to Miang-si, she briefly squeezes your hand as she withdraws. Within the hour, you find blood writ on your palm that warns, Our fat moon rises red.
■ If you are agitated, or if Quanze rushes her during your visit, Miang-si erupts into sudden, side-splitting cackling — while you find yourself croaking like a toad, or transforming into one and retaining human speech. The spell dissolves after eight hours.
■ Quanze’s long-suffering men say this sorcery breaks faster if you kiss one of the curmudgeonly emerald toads that hide in some of Yancai’s lakes. Catch one such delightful, slime-spitting creature or barter it from merchants at a costly premium.
ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
A full moon is set to rise within days of Miang-si’s visit, on 27 May — just as Yancai shows signs of time shifting. Villagers are prone to stilling and staring askance, seeming lost or adrift.
The village itself evolves: one moment, the same house appears freshly new, then drowned, while waterways overfill with water, then seem barren. Overall, the village deteriorates.
- ■ That day, the sun suffers a midday eclipse, while droves of black birds circle the woods and village outskirts, attacking those who come close.
■ The waters increasingly thicken and darken, preventing boats from entering certain waterways.
■ An exceedingly bright moon and a diffuse lunar replica rise with nightfall. Come midnight, the village is alive with the sounds of ripping, structural collapse and shrieks. Tar-covered corpses emerge from the waters, clawing on and climbing up piers. They swarm, drawing passers-by into waters to drown them. Help them — and foremost, yourself.
■ Light and fire keep the dead at bay. On some waterways, wildfire now spells, WHAT IS WET WAS WRONGED
■ Weaker alone, fresh corpses climb into your rowing boat, pretending they are innocents who seek shelter. They betray themselves by speaking very slowly, struggling to keep track of the conversation or obliviously peppering it with details of their death. They stubbornly ask questions about you, repeating your answers, and become violent if you say they are dead. Push them into the water at first opportunity.
■ Quanze Tsaymien and other men of the village take arms, urging villagers to barricade in the nearest home, harbour or warehouse and weather the night. They advise to be silent and beware the dead who imitate living voices, warning not to touch any black mould or water that suddenly appear in your home — which alert the dead of your presence within.
■ Some dead try to tear you apart, while others seek to feed you a disgusting, tar-like black mould. A small taste of it makes you sluggish and feeble for two-three hours, while an entire fistful can kill.
■ If the undead infiltrate your house, hold your breath, do not move and keep from screaming. The dead have weak sight and olfactory senses and might pass you by, as long as you stay silent. It can be more efficient to fool than kill the dead.
■ By 5 a.m., houses start to replenish themselves, gaining a new appearance, while water and mould retreat. The dead withdraw into waterways. Outside doors have been marked with blood: vertical lines tell how many living people remain inside; horizontal ones count how many within died overnight.
■ You step to seize a brave new day — while Yancai enters a new time period (further details due in the next plot update).
NOTES
- ■ The game enabling meme goes up on 25 May.
■ Hit up available NPCs here or in their new inbox!
■ QUESTIONS.
Lan Xichen | The Untamed | Tourist
At first he thinks he is dreaming, likely having a nightmare to take him away from the events at the temple, but no. The water is very real, as is his choking, and this place can't even be mistaken for a broken-down Lotus Pier because of all the strange mold and even stranger people. The only other thing that feels real and not like he is disassociating from murdering a close (albeit manipulative and sickening) companion is his grip on Shuoyue, trembling slightly.
When an old couple usher him to come sit with a band of similarly out of place folks, he makes no trouble and quietly sips the soup he is given. Although, if Nie Huaisang pops up and says he doesn't know what is going on, Xichen thinks he may not be responsible for his own actions.
( arrival ii. memory haze. )
For three days, Xichen's memories feel like fog. He can't remember how he ended up in water, in the middle of nowhere called Yancai, being conscripted by undead lords ...
Because he most certainly is not, is his first reaction when he hears that. He doesn't say it aloud, instead frowning as he listens intently with his head cocked in mildly polite (massive disrespectful, if you know how to read a Lan man) disbelief. When handed his new papers, he blinks slowly in exasperation at the title there: Lotus Picker.
Are there even any flowers around? The passport isn't even trying.
( arrival iii. asdfghjkl network. )
Offputting though the device is, he witnesses other people using it and decides he is going to figure out what to do with it too because frankly he is tired of Not Knowing things. Xichen sits on a stray bench and cycles through all the odd abilities the object boasts, finally starting to record.
Then it stops.
Records again, for longer this time, to show him arching a brow at the sight of himself on the little screen.
"Hello?"
He touches his own face to see the mirror-image comply like a reflection, as when he spoke, and gets promptly distracted by being asked for help by someone off-camera. The screen tilts and he can be heard saying "Of course, yes," in an obliging tone, though the video doesn't die for a good thirty seconds after that and just shows the floaty legs of his skirts wherever he is walking, banging off his thigh.
( ill met by moonlight iv. chopchop. )
The corpses fall like wheat before Shuoyue, though Xichen also attempts to play Clarity on Liebing purely to see how far he gets. Not very is the short answer, defaulting to cutting off their arms so they can't climb or swim back out of the water again once slammed back in.
It's almost cathartic to be so brutal after so long sitting idle, working out some of his own personal frustrations on the cursed dead.
1
That's what Ruka tells herself in a mantra in her head, sitting motionless with the bowl resting on her knees as she watches everyone. Her expression isn't particularly harried--she's not upset or defensive. Just...watchful. Taking everything in.
When Xichen takes a seat next to her, she glances at him with open curiosity--everything from his hair (much, much longer than her own) to his robes are interesting and not at all familiar, even less so than things normally are for her. It reminds her vaguely, very vaguely, of a priest's robes.
Wordlessly she offers her bowl out to him as well, untouched from her.
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"Thank you, I have some. It would be best if we tried to eat, I think."
Even though he doesn't want to.
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"It's all a bit...much."
Because how else is she supposed to describe it? It's just...much. Ruka casts a look around, studying the huddled figures stoically. "There's a few of us, but no one seems really surprised we're here." The villagers, she means. They'd provided communication devices for them and everything. Why did it seem so prepared?
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ii
Well, there's this flower, right here, ripe for the picking—Jiang Wanyin is out minding his own business, hale and in high spirits with the sun on his back, the warm sea air crisp upon his damp, glistening skin. His thin robe, soaked, clings to his frame like a swooning damsel, hugging every curve and every muscle. There's actual swooning damsels too, Jiang Cheng only narrowly avoiding bumping into them as they 'accidentally' step into his path with their shopping, their laundry, even a young child or two. Jiang Cheng catches them reliably and sends each on their way with a flustered, wholesome smile. Men clap him on the shoulder as he passes, complimenting his form, teasing him for being off work already, inviting him to drink with them once the day is through.
He remembers a time like this in his life, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder as though expecting to find someone there to talk to. The only times the boyish giddiness slips from his face is when he finds no one there, but it doesn't take him long to recover with so many admirers to greet. Not that he's trying to live up his celebrity status, really. He only meant to take a short walk to dry off after his last dive to save a young child's puppy after it fell off the long pier and was swept out of reach.
Just when he's thinking about turning around and heading back to do another patrol for anyone in need of saving, he thinks he recognizes an unmistakably elegant back, posture proper in ways Lan Wangji can only dream. It makes him do a double take, and—
He steps closer before hazarding a guess, glimpsing that passport and its contents from over the man's shoulder.
"...Zewu-jun?"
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Pikachuexpression that quickly morphs into relief. He can't be having a mental break if Jiang Cheng is here, because how would they be dreaming together? His eyes lift with a smile."Jiang-zongzhu! What are you doing here?" Noticing the sodden state of the other man, his brows twitch in concern. "Are you —?"
Well? Okay? Half-drowned?
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"I..." He trails off, not quite sure how to answer that question. What is he doing here? Taking a stroll to dry off in the sun and enjoy the scenery, yes, but that's not quite what Lan Xichen is asking, is it? But what Lan Xichen is actually asking... It slips out of Jiang Cheng's mind's reach like trying to catch the current of a river and he just smiles steadily on, heartened to see such a welcome face.
"It's my responsibility to keep watch of the waters here. Growing up in Yunmeng Jiang makes one a strong swimmer, so I've taken to it well," he explains, mopping a hand over his face to try to appear a little dryer for present company. "I see you've just arrived...?"
There's that strange, slippery feeling in Jiang Cheng's mind again, but he brushes it aside.
"I'm quite familiar with the village, if you'd like any help acclimating?"
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un: sizhui, image
And a bit more of a face, as Sizhui cups his hands for formal, if cheerful, greeting.
"Welcome, Zewu-jun!"
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"Sizhui. Are you alright? Are the other juniors here with you?"
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"I am all right, Zewu-jun, but from the juniors, only I am here. Hanguang-jun, Senior Wei, Sect Leader Jiang, Lady Wen are here - yes, I know that it seems strange that she is, but this place can bring people in from different times!"
So she's actually alive.
"Are you well, Zewu-jun?"
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iv
So, wielding his own sword (he's yet to name the gleaming beauty that's more beautiful than himself) he cuts down the creatures coming from the water. Hopefully the creatures wouldn't drag himself or this stranger into the water. They, at least, wouldn't touch this other man if he could help it.
"You have wonderful sword form."
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"Thank you, as have you. Are you from —?"
Cut off as the dead surge back out of the water, he drops down to neatly slice off their arms and kick them back into the bay, glancing over to finish his sentence.
"Are you from a particular sect native to these parts?"
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Was he what? Whatever the stranger was about to say is cut off. The dead were trying to come out of the water after them. Another slice of the sword and sending the dead back into the depths has him briefly looking over toward the other giving him a bright smile.
"I am not from any particular sect nor am I native to these parts." No matter how right it felt to be in the place. "You just arrived then?"
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iv. chop-chop sorry your bro's #dramatic, xichen
( They learn this in the first fever days of night hunt training: under moonlight, men bleed dark. True light abstracts colour to absence. Red excuses itself, stain of its vibrancy extending the smear of his wrath and long shadow, together. He moves swiftly, decisively.
By the piers, water wakes, stops and spatters, long licks of it startled when the dead rise, one, and another, and a brother, and dozens after. In Chifeng-Zun's strategy, he was only a guqin and ranged offensive. In Wei Ying's, he is a shield. In his own, the game is simple: Bichen, then blood.
He is blind for the longest time. Hours. Heartbeats. The measure of man is in the tally of his dead, and bones snark underfoot, when he kicks a corpse off wooden planks, harshly. Beside him, the village men fight fairly, or cruelly, or for want of alternative. He does not wish them well.
In the end, a glance, stolen. Glass shot at his feet reflecting hard light, he guts his gaze away — and lands it, with certainty, with the inevitability of satellites orbiting their planets, of children grasping the hems of mother's robes. He finds his brother. But for cleaving a cadaver's throat first, Bichen might have fallen.
Instead, he drifts close, honeyed drag of his feet recalling the old wound, until his brother storms against the dead mere steps away, pursuing his chaos. Lan Wangji does not intercede: there is no use, no need, and blood lines his mouth thickened, saturates his silks. He is unworthily presented.
The crisp green of salted grasses, the weeds of the pier's wet assault his senses, acidic. He takes the knee, one, then the other, and falls abyssally into the forms like better men fall into first love, hands tight. At his uncle's feet, he has learned this: to prostrate well, even blood-savaged in a makeshift battlefield, bend of his back like tight calligraphy, his spine set like beadwork of coarse brushstroke. He holds the bow, gaze downturned, until he knows, he knows his brother watches.
This is no time, with a war waged and death howling sharp between them, for courtesy. He would wish no other moment. )
Lan Wangji bides the sect leader greetings.
i stg
You do not have to do this here.
[ He grips Wangji by the upper arm, bidding him rise so that Xichen can get a better look at him. Wangji seems okay, he isn't emoting and that's usually a good sign. If he were in pain, it would be noticeable to Xichen if not everyone else. The sheer relief he feels in not having to go and search his brother out has him sighing an exasperated smile. ]
Deal with the dead, then we will talk. Do not leave my sight.
[ Not in this unfamiliar, strange land. He will not lose Wangji. ]
: )
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iii. text;
Also, hello.
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This is a very strange way to send letters, I have never used a device like this before. Please forgive my mistakes.
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ill met by moonlight
They are, in the end, men both played toward ends by two manipulators from the shadows. For Lan Xichen, Zewu-jun, perhaps the worst of it in close ties, in shared hearts and memories, where a sworn brother and a sworn younger brother are the masterminds of his own undermining. Were the masterminds of Wei Wuxian's destruction, and his arrival from the darkness he'd nestled within for years, stretched too long and too short in turns.
Now, Wei Wuxian is more than he ever had been in the crying fears of the clans, dancing already to deeper greed and arrogance than his own arrogance had ever boasted, in youth and sincere belief that justice, true righteousness, would be recognised in spite of its inconvenience. That a man could, or should, stand alone, to bear the weight of a world and its censure so that those he loved did not need to.
It ever was not the way things were meant to be, and here, he is a man part of this group, part of the defense of village and citadel and fortress, and he is strong in the exact ways that struck fear into every greedy, grasping soul in their vaulted righteous clans. He is the Yiling Patriarch, by their naming and their mockery, and the truth of his own path, the one that was not demonic cultivation, no matter the accusations. No matter the title, granted, the same way that Zewu-jun and Hanguang-jun were granted their own. The same way his brother was yoked with Sandu Shengshou, a man in whom grief distilled to festered hope and bitter regret.
Here, Chenqing in hand, at lips, he plays. To curb and coax and guide where Clarity has no sway against the sting of the curse, the driving pulse of the twice dead who claw out of the waters, coated in tar without yet having been formed out of it. A cleansing that might benefit, Wei Wuxian thinks, but the moons rose fat and red, and the village seethes in death and the want of blood, and so he plays.
He turns dead from their intent, redirected away from the village houses, temporary at least. They lumber back into the water, tumbling off the dock into others reaching up, for a moment reducing the load of cathartic death scything that Zewu-jun embraces, as any good Lan, any tempered Lan, should.
(Or as the Twin Jades do, for their own reasons, their own cutting purposes, their own keen edges. It no more surprises him to see it with Zewu-jun than he's surprised in the quick draw that Lan Zhan rarely spares.)
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Pausing in a strike as the dead seem to topple backwards of their own accord, he looks around for the source of the music and spots the (always so ominous) figure that Wei Wuxian cuts atop a roof, flute in-hand and black smog cultivating around where his qi should be presiding. Since the corpses are being directed away, Xichen takes his leave of them and joins the other man outside harm's way for the time being, robes driven to one side by the cold, fluttering breeze coming off the lakes.
Smiling to see him, he sheathes Shuoyue and reaches to pat him on the shoulder.
"Didi." That's a thing back home now. Wei Wuxian has been his family for a while, and many teasing terms of address have ensued (largely to annoy Wangji over dinner, but Xichen would not use them around his brother casually as his teasing is far lighter). He has warm fondness in his gaze, all for Wei Wuxian. "That was helpful, thank you."
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III || Video
[An educated guess, because of the clothing, the headband and the resemblance.]
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[ He will get on board with this
Gen Z nonsensedevice sooner or later. ]Gusu Lan Sect Leader, Lan Xichen. Zewu-jun. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?
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iii. | un: starburst
The way he marvels at his device, as well. She'd never quite handled anything like it when she first arrived, either. Emilia di Carlo tries not to think too hard about the fact that was almost two years ago.
She'd vowed her stay in Akhuras would be short-lived. Time likes to make fools of them that way.
Were they able to help you?
If he needs further assistance, might be she can provide it.
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[ How does he address faceless writing??? Politely, the Lan way. ]
I helped them, in fact. All is well.
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u wanted butterflies
the dead, therefore, receive no mercy.
there's no warning for xichen. one moment, he's fighting alone, and in the next, a massive cloud of bright silver butterflies swarm past him, their wings catching the moonlight and flashing in the air, leaving sparkling trails in their wake. they move like one creature, faster than any natural butterfly's ever been, swift and deadly as they slash through the animated corpses.
and just as suddenly in xichen's peripheral-- a tall, red-clad figure with a sword, the pair of them with such a powerful, malicious aura it's almost a physical presence. the figure glances the other man's way after a moment, single eye sweeping over him as more butterflies stream past him, wings harmlessly brushing his face and hair as they spread through the clearing.
if nothing else, it gives lan xichen space to breathe. ]
justintimberlakestaring.gif IN HIS HAIR
Hairs rise. A shiver runs down his spine. That isn't enough to secure a conviction or opinion on, though. Once his hair is done being fluttered around with, he straightens in the quiet of brief respite that the other sword-bearing man has created, and even turns to face him for a quick bow. ]
Thank you, master. That was ... timely.
~aesthetic~
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