westwhere | sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

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sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

WHO: Everyone ever + the local Sa-hareth squad.
WHEN: Arc I: Sa-Hareth arrival.
WHERE: Sa-Hareth citadel, salt mine, the old jailhouse,
WHAT: Our intrepid heroes get commandeered into the frosty unknown.
WARNINGS: the glorious undead, background House of Dew mentions, at least one person's terrible sense of humour.

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[Eleven frowns, but bends to pick up a stone and skips it off the ground ahead of them. It rattles off into the dark and successfully startles a few others along the way. He offers a sheepish, apologetic smile]

We probably.. shouldn't draw much attention to ourselves..

( Wei Wuxian also comes to a stop, brows subtly quirking. It's not like he spends overmuch time staring at himself in reflective surfaces, and the times he does tend to turn toward inward reflection, especially these days, but he does know what he looks like. Not as well as some certain, nameless individuals, but his face, yes, he's very familiar with that, and to some extent his build, and while he's already dismissed any associated aches or pains from their liberation out of external undead forces, his mind's busy cataloguing other details and trying furiously to plan and...

... gets derailed into blank, mute surprise seeing features that look so remarkably familiar. Ignoring the robes, the hair, or the fact his own is only bound up right now in a singular tail, not his usual, but one he's mimicking after several of the unremarkable workers they're brushing up against in all their tight eyed wariness.

He briefly wishes he had access to any means of checking his relative ability to have been pulled into some kind of illusion array, but he hasn't, and he's not seen any indication of such so far, just being drugged at a distance and watching the movements of a kind of undead he hasn't even dreamed about before. Ergo, he relaxes the lines of his shoulders and smiles in a way that doesn't translate to easy emotion in his eyes, but a sort of wry acknowledgement that life is, inevitably, stranger than it seems.

So he lifts a hand and waves. Hey, good looking, how're you doing today? )

[ At first she had thought it might be nice to have some company when the little boy was chained to her, but apparently she's just no good with kids because he doesn't seem impressed with her no matter how she tries to communicate. The fact that he can't speak any of the languages she knows is disheartening, and makes her wonder just where he could be from. Unfortunately, the poppy-induced fog she's been kept under keeps her from doing as much as she normally would to get her points across. It's startling how alert he seems in comparison, but that's youth for you... Not that she's old, but she's certain to be older than him! Why would they capture a child, anyway? She actually understands why they would capture her. She's an elf. But why a human child?

She tries to be subtle so as not to upset a child when testing her magic, but it's hard to miss when she uses a large splinter from a rotting waste bucket nearby to slice into one of her fingers. Disgusting and disturbed! It must look so. Her expression is only one of puzzlement while she mutters in her native tongue and snaps a bloody finger. It was bad enough that she couldn't access her other magic, but whatever has been done to her has stunted her blood magic? They did something to her blood. It angers and frightens her, and however the child responds to her strangeness is largely ignored at first.

By the time night falls, Merrill is seriously considering testing to see if she and the child can squeeze through the bars... It might break some ribs, but they're both exceptionally small compared to the average human. How can she get her idea across, though? Would a child be willing to hurt himself to be free? How would they handle the guards in that state? How could she get her magic back? She needs her equipment, but oh she's so tired all the time between the sedation and the random labor that she has to try to do despite a reluctant partner always digging in his heels.

She doesn't see who breaks them out of their cell, the chaos and urgency enough to drive her (and fortunately her cell partner) forward. It's hard to know where to go... She really does need a weapon! And somehow she has to make sure that a child doesn't die on her watch, oh dear. And yet it's all she she can do to stumble to keep up at first. Especially when she feels a whisper and a chill brush against her neck, just as it had so many times earlier in the day.

It gets her to stop right in the middle of a dead run, stumbling and jerking forward just a bit when Five tries to keep going, but for now managing to keep him right with her. ]

I knew it. There are spirits here... Are they helping us? Oh, you can't understand me. I can't understand them...!

[ She knows they need to leave, but if a spirit is trying to communicate then it could be important. She also knows she should be more alert to try, but what if she never gets the chance to return?

Then someone else bumps against her in the night: a guard. With a loud yell, Merrill trips backwards and turns to try to fling herself and Five to the ground with her staying on top in case the guard strikes. She doesn't have a weapon but she can kick out in a panic to try and slow him. She knows it won't do anything to something undead, though. To be this helpless in battle is alien and terrifying to Merrill, and to not have complete control of her own motor functions is even worse. ]

There. The tide and undercurrents, notes feeble and pace known, and the lean tremble of Wei Ying's voice, guiding the song.

"I wonder." When Wei Ying will remember, when Lan Wangji will forfeit the name. A world of nebulous and yawning uncertainty, glimpsed between even breaths, adjusting to fresh axis. Ground, shaking. The air, shedding weight, barely burdened by reverberation when the client's groan trickles out again, syrupy and diffused. 'Please,' 'Mercy,' 'Thank you.'

He is walking, morning sun trailing long shadows when he drags his husk from the wall, and Wei Ying, by limp wrist, like a child (Sizhui) behind him — excusing them both, tatters of a tug binding the parting courtesy. Discretion is the better part of misplaced value. He tires of sharing reunions with every soul of Dafan mountain, the cultivation world, a destitute institution of wanton pleasures.

"Fleeing already?" he murmurs with a sketched glance behind, delivering Wei Wuxian to the square of scrub-cleansed wood and idle straw, where Wangji's bowl of lathers waits, half-emptied. The cloak, Wei Ying's cavalier manner, the air of apologetic frenzy — outside, the weather weeps in trinkets of threadbare snow. Like it, Wei Ying proves flimsy.

Unbidden, he remembers the alms owed, thin rivulet of qi welling from his fingertips to the soft insides of Wei Ying's wrist. A tentative proposition, with Lan Wangji's own strength curtailed. More, to spare later.

[ Impulse, habit, the educated gamble: half a blink, and the body beside his stumbles, and Lan Wangji's arm's learned in the way of an instinctive catch, splaying to the side to break a fall that never brokers itself. He waits, but Moran recovers, his breath and his stance and his footing — until he can be trusted to hold and keep himself, Wangji's hand slow to withdraw from where it perches to fetter the man's shoulders.

Wei Ying's likeness in many things, then. So be it. Inevitably, they lure attention in ways Lan Wangji wishes tapered and tame. A small girl, shielding behind her mother's skirts, seem to draw her carer's eyes, pointing the fumbling Moran. A break seller stares, brazen, before Moran's stability convinces him that all is well enough, and better to leave strangers to their own affairs. ]

Walk. [ Walk, then. Walk, Lan Wangji's fingers tentative on Moran's elbow, short of claw and hook. If they are mobile, they limit their exposure. ] Master Moran. [ Firm, slow. ] You have a sickness?

[ Fair arguments before, better discourse — but shadowed by silver, glimpsed, and the electric taste of magic in vicinity. No matter distant threats, if only lives in a body so close to Wangji's own.

Careful calculation depends on disclosure. Do they trust each other enough for transparency? Have they earned it so? ]

Arche glances over with a confused wrinkle of his nose for a second, then just gives a little shrug. He's curled up himself just nearby with his head leaned back against the stone behind them, staring vaguely toward the brightening sky.

"I've had worse," he says shortly. "Not bleeding and the drugs are fading a bit. I shouldn't be a hindrance."

Though his head feels clearer even through the fatigue, however, when he reaches out his senses in search of the Force he still gets only a vague sense of vertigo in return. If he weren't so tired this definitely would have progressed from 'unsettling' to 'alarming' by now.

One of the other refugees, carrying the second little bag Arche managed to slap together, has pushed themselves back up on fatigued limbs to shakily make the rounds of the group. When it comes to his turn, Archeval accepts another broken-off piece of biscuit with a grateful nod, and takes a careful little sip from the singular small container they found that could carry water. They're definitely lucky even to have this much.

"If you need it, come lean on me," he tells Eleven quietly, with pursed lips, glancing the other man up and down before starting to gnaw on the rock-hard food a little bit.

"Won't have you falling at the eleventh hour after we've gone to all this trouble. Wasteful."

[ First, a woman of ill repute, biding her chance to relieve a merchant's wares.

Then, to shed her clothes, as concubines do.

Now, to lure men to the vendor's possessions, perhaps through the batting of lashes or the fresh flush of her cheeks, or the simple persuasion of a well-balanced body, carefully splayed beside fruit and stone.

There is a riddle to Lan Wangji's new companions to which he is not entirely certain he means to see the solving. Mouth slow, still gasped, he struggles to worm more than utter the proposition, then the objection, both into diffused being. Hesitates, finally, until he betrays himself enough to touch the girl's arm with the tapping of two fingers, to nudge it up, so her sleeve might fall and stretch and illustrate: ]

Offer him the trim.

[ Lace or fair stitch work, finery. A wretched thing, to sell part or whole of the clothes on one's back, but here they find themselves — negotiating pieces of their dignity. ]

"Oh dear, there you are!"

The bright, cheerfully British voice floats over from the woman in once-pristine white and green dress, looking like she'd stepped out of a victorian period piece. But she doesn't seem to notice the drastic differences in their dress as she steps up beside Five, giving him a smile and a wink, before turning her attention to the man.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive my son, it's been just a dreadful ordeal getting here. Those armies, and all..." She makes a vague motion behind her and the man takes the bait.

"Oh," he says, "the-"

"Yes!" Winnie interrupts quickly before he can get too far. Leave just enough to make them fill in the blanks for themselves. "Precisely! Just dreadful. I'm sorry we disturbed you, it's just..." She looks at Five with a furrowed brow, as if she does want to speak but is oh-so-honorably making herself go on, for his sake. It doesn't matter that her and Five look nothing alike; clearly he takes after his father. Obviously. "Well, we'd really like to get to the mainland, but we've just lost everything just trying to get here safely..."

She even tears up, sniffling as she dabs at her eyes, lower lip jutted out in a pout.

[ The stone's throw: ungainly, but efficient, despite the boy's hesitations. It stumbles and ricochets, upsetting the balance of a minor agglomeration of a handful of pebbles more —

But tellingly, startles no other creatures from death or waiting's sleep. No further rats, scuttled. No darker predators, in their wake. There is a dearth of wetness, captured by salt, that leaves his lips aching, his mouth raw. He licks, slow and in convenient, rakes his teeth.

Finally, accepts uncertainty only as feverish discomfort, not the stirrings of caution, triggered by an unseen more. To waver now is to miss dear opportunity. He knows better than to waste time. ]

Agreed. [ A nod, gentle, ahead. ] The path is clear. We go.

[ And he starts them — arm stretched to the side, half to catch purchase on the nearest wall in the gut of the corridor, half to offer the child some shielding behind the stretch of his sleeve. ]

The rationed portion feels like it only serves to incense his hunger than whet it, but he hopes his body can draw strength enough from it until they can secure something more.

In the light, he's able to see his companion more clearly, take in self-same weariness and the evaluating look he's given to add weight behind the words. But even with that, he's still not sure how to take it- or perhaps he's simply too weary to take offense.

"Thanks," he sighs, deciding to interpret the offer as well-meaning in spite of its delivery. While he hopes he won't need to accept, he's just as worried he may have to. "...For your help in all this, too."

He's an easy tag-along, biting down on his tongue and letting questions percolate without straining through them to give them voice. Most aren't helpful, the kinds of questions they don't have concrete answers for, and some are informational, giving him a breadth and scope of Lan Zhan's experiences so far, while others are babble, his own form of relief tamped down because these halls have ears through thinner slats than face runs for Jiang Cheng a (presumed) world away.

"Errands," he murmurs back, lips curled into a half-wry expression, "Information. Things we won't get just from being in here." Fleeing into an unknown world is not a lark he plans to indulge, not lacking all context, no matter how good he's been at adjusting on the fly in the past.

The familiarity of qi merits a blink and a widening of eyes; he shifts, brings his free hand to press down over Lan Zhan's, smiles and shakes his head. "How much has returned?" Of his gifts, of his cultivation. Wei Wuxian has no way to track it, only his own absence of a sense that slowly makes itself known again, but it doesn't carry with it much warmth, only understandings.

Lan Zhan remains injured at his temple. He doesn't need to offer what he has, for bruises that heal well enough on their own. "Did you come through the mines? Were you in the jail?" Two places he's heard about from others of their ragtag rescued group, so far all unfamiliar, but growing known in little ways. An array of ages, more skewed young, none elderly. If they're summoned, as was said on the plateau, perhaps that distinction is inevitable.

[he watches with a slightly concerned expression, and no amount of relief as she seems to finally compose herself. he's not very used to comforting crying women, and his track record doesn't speak very kindly in that regard either.

His gaze follows her as she tugs at the rope, and for once, lack of words doesn't seem a hindrance to understanding the feeling here.]

... There's nothing sharp we could use to cut it.

[Also, what sort of country is this, locking up men and women together and tying them up together. Clearly uncivilized.]

[The little stumble, and the glowing show, attracted some attention, no wonder, and Moran does start walking again when prompted. He's fine, not showing any sign of being weaker or even overly affected.

The hand on his shoulder made him bristle in a distant way, and he squashed it down, not wanting to attract more undue attention and also understanding the gesture was born of concern. he has not disclosed his full identity to many of the new companions so far, so can he be annoyed at what they cannot possibly know? That would be unfair.

But he does gently take his arm back. He can walk unaided just fine.

Now, disclosing about this... Well, it was only a matter of time before this would happen, and he has no reason to hide it.]

Hardly, Master Lan. Although I was born with it, it is no weakness of mine. Not that it is entirely pleasant either, mind you, but it is no hindrance.

In my world, we have Star Masters. I am one of them, and this is simply how my power manifests.

[the small wave seems to startle Moran into moving, taking cautious steps closer.

As he approaches, more differences will become apparent. The hairstyle, yes, simple but elegant, the delicate silver pin with its pearl speared through the topknot. The robes, a little worse for wear, but obviously silk, embroidered with silver thread, several layers so fine they are sheer. The build too. they have the same height, but Moran is bulkier, his frame more filled out, the results of commanding armies and fighting on battlefields.

But their faces, almost identical. The stranger, thinner, has hollower cheeks maybe. but the nose, lips, ears, all the way down to that little spot right next to their lips, all of it is there.

This makes no sense at all, in a way, but given what has happened until now, it's not even the strangest thing Moran has ever seen. He just reminds himself that no, he has not developed his nephew's propensity for cloning himself, so obviously there's another explanation.

He gives a small nod as he stops.]

My apologies. I was startled for a second.

[ No matter how much Five tried to ignore her, he's not stupid. There's not one person or being here that he trusts, and that includes the cellmate he's currently chained to. As if her ears aren't enough to tell him that there's probably a reason they put her in here with them. They're obviously not normal.

He hears the snapping of wood, even if she is trying to be discrete, and it brings him out of his thoughts. His mouth opens but he says nothing, watching in morbid fascination as she plays with her own blood. What... He keeps on staring until he can be sure she's not suicidal or otherwise planning to murder him. No matter how many hours pass, he's not entirely sure on the latter part, and it's not like he's been able to hold a conversation with her to find out what she's thinking. Whenever she looks at him, he paints on a smile like he isn't entirely disturbed.

When night comes around, he's still at it, concentrating as hard as he can on his fists while still keeping an eye on his pointy-eared friend. Then the alarm sounds and suddenly they have an opening.

It turns out he should have been more focused on breaking the chains. Everything in the air feels strange here, and Five keeps his focus ahead of them rather than letting himself linger. This could have been so much easier in any other circumstance, but in the chaos he can barely keep his feet under him even before the girl trips him up by stopping. He's already got a glare fixed on her, not even caring what she said this time, but soon after she's acting like a shield and throwing herself on top of him. ]

What are you doing? [ He seethes and scrambles to push her off so he can see what it is she ran into. She's already kicking the truly ugly guard before he has a chance to react. Shit. At least it lands. As satisfying as it might have been to take out some frustration, fighting isn't an option. He can already see others moving ahead, so he grabs her arm to help her the rest of the way on her feet to get her to follow. ]

Get up, come on. [ They need to come up with a system. Reluctantly, he takes her hand, at least so they can move in tandem before the guard recovers. In the meantime, he needs to find something they can use to break the chain... A rock, anything.

They're easy targets like this. ]

1. hero to zero, at 60 m.p.h. [Salt Mines]
The stinging salt in her cuts is part of what keeps Rachel jolting out of her still semi-drugged haze. She still felt ready to throw up, and she hadn't been able to break out of her shackles on her own. She was willing to blame that on the nausea and the drugs, but she still felt weirdly weak. Is this how everyone else feels?

She turns to the nearest co-escapee. "You seen Temple of Doom before? 'Cause I'm definitely getting that vibe. If someone tries to rip out your heart, run."

2. i've crawled my way out of here before but i keep on coming back [House of Dew]
Cuts, scratches, abrasions, everything was coming up ouchies for Rachel. Having a scrub had helped; at least getting the salt off of her made it feel less like she was, well, having salt rubbed in her wounds.

She'd never been to a brothel before. Truly, she wouldn't have known where to find one. At first she'd been pissed to see kids wandering around, but once she was assured they were merely assistants with nothing unsavory happening around them, she was ready to relax. Good - she'd have hated to Hulk out on her gracious hosts.

Speaking of, she'd found herself asked to accompany a few of the working girls out as a discreet escort for some money. Girls had to look out for each other, and since she was getting her strength back, she was more than happy to do so.

It's nice to be able to take a breather. You'd probably be able to find her resting at the House of Dew if she's not shadowing one of the courtesans, but she seems a little bit wary, even at rest, like she's ready to bolt despite no apparent reason to distrust their hosts.

3. intoxicated, higher than the iss [House of Dew, also]
Rachel dug through her backpack, looking for something. When she couldn't find it, she stood, zipping the bag and slinging it onto one shoulder.

"Hey, anyone seen a..." then she stopped, faltering. "There's a...I'm missing something."

4. i'm not getting out of here this time, i brought a lemon to a knife fight [wildcard!]
[just jump in or hit me up at

chatvert if you want to plot!]

[ Her tiny little kick couldn't have bought them more than half a second, and she's scrambling back to her feet to follow after him only moments before the guard lunges to grab empty air. Getting confused as to which direction Five wants to go amongst the dingy paths where everything looks the same, Merrill flails to reach for him at the same time as trying to run in the opposite direction. The result only sends her right into an (empty) weapons rack where the chain gets stuck. Thinking that one of the guards has grabbed the chain, Merrill kicks out again but unfortunately this one lands right on the small human attached to her.

The silver lining is that her friendly fire stretches the chain out far enough to trip the guard when he makes another lunge, thus knocking him into some barrels and promptly freeing the chain from the rotting rack. ]

By the Dread Wolf! What happened?!

[ There's no time to think, they have to go. This time she tries to find Five's hand to hold so that she can track him better while trying to scramble away again, not even realizing he's who she just accidentally assaulted. ]

Five was currently in the middle of posturing and trying get across with a look that he's not joking when he makes those threats. The man who towers over him didn't seem to get it, and so he would have been happy to demonstrate. But just then they have company.

It takes him a few seconds to switch gears and realize what's happening when the woman interjects. If he'd noticed her before, he definitely hadn't given her more than a second look until that moment. He's been wondering if they all came from different times, and her dress seems to confirm that well enough for him. Even without the wink, it's clear what she's doing. Smart.

His mouth hangs open as she goes on, impressed that she even tears up, all while thinking there's no way he's going to buy this. But one glance tells him that she might have just earned their ticket. Well, that's a surprise.

"That's right." He clears his throat and nods slowly. If this doesn't work, he's perfectly willing to switch back to Plan A, but he's willing to be flexible in life-or-death situations. "I don't think we'll take up much room, do you?"

( Time spent near constant starvation, underfed and overworked, wasting away for various reasons and not fighting by sword any longer when it was a weakness and not a strength... he sees differences, too, in this not mirror'd doppelganger as he approaches, and Wei Wuxian steps forward as well, allowing curiosity into his gaze.

He returns the nod with his own, and an easy, small smile. )

I'm going to assume neither one of us presently has any capacity for personal illusions, and that we're not caught in some kind of array for the time being. Startled seems reasonable when running into a double of your own handsome face.

( An uneven quirk of his lips in a quick sort of grin; not sounding particularly concerned over the fact he just called himself and this stranger handsome in what would be backhanded if it sounded particularly sincere and less amused while likewise curious. He lifts both hands, fingers pressed to the back of fingers, arms a circle. Is this familiar? He suspects yes, given robes, the familiarity of garb done more richly, more like what he himself never quite wore, and never quite would. )

Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian.

"Enough to yet pin you to the ground," he trickles down, poison drip and drip and dripping, target aimed, bow strung.

Enough qi restored to Lan Wangji, then, to conclude the threats and conversations that matter. He... suspects, with a cautious glance and a brief assessment of the stretch of Wei Ying's limbs, lean, the fragile concavity of his wrists and ankles, prone to crumbled breaking. Most days, the simple teardrop of qi strength turns battle odds inevitably to Lan Wangji's favour — but here, now, brought to a level, Wei Ying's experience sharpens the sword of his quick wit.

The question of who would win the conflict Lan Wangji means to stoke on principle begs itself. Finds him accepting of compromise, sedate as he kneels, the span of his white silks weeping on the floors beside him. The truth: he is half returned to himself, a vessel unfilled. Aware of his body, more for its fatigue, its glimpsed recovering wounds, its failures. The little he offered Wei Ying was hardly Wangji's own to give, and yet.

A gentleman would find the better manner to refuse a gesture so freely awarded. Let no man mistake Wei Ying, styled Wuxian, of Yiling. Let Lan Wangji too remember, snorting once over his spoiled lather bowl, before dipping one cleansing cloth, rinsing it, and setting it aside for his own use, only to hold out its sibling and entrust it into Wei Ying's care. If he has progressed enough in his recoveries to deny qi, then he may set himself to honest work.

"Mines, emptied." No. He remembers the stench of the caverns, the lack of damp, the harrowing sickness of startled, dead energies. "Haunted. Wei Ying?" Another heartbeat. "Chenqing."

Absent, or unseen before Wangji's eye. As is Bichen.

[ She's worse than dead weight, she's going to get him killed. Five barely gets a step in the right direction before she yanks the chain, then kicks him solidly in the back. Just as well that the weapons rack was empty, because if there was anything left he might have just used it on her. It seems to be sheer luck that the guard trips and the chain gets free so he's not willing to give her any points for ingenuity.

At that very moment he has the nerve to be furious that whoever let them out just disappeared without freeing them from this. How did they expect it to go?

When she takes his hand again, he pulls down at it firmly until she's looking at him in the eye. Once she does, he forcefully points down the way he thought he'd seen others move. That way. Jesus.

His other hand goes to his back and he limps the first few steps as he starts moving in that direction. Just muttering to himself as they go. ]

Do that again and I'm leaving you here.

[ Merrill might not be able to understand his words, but the tone seems pretty clear! It's a tone she's rather accustomed to, and despite being only slightly taller than him, she wilts to hunch lower than him while scurrying to follow. He already seemed to dislike her, but now she can tell it's even worse! Well, it isn't exactly uncommon for humans to look down on elves, so she assumes it must be that. He's young still, maybe she can teach him better!

This obviously isn't the teaching moment. Merrill is trying to be sneaky while also trying to be quick, but she isn't very graceful even at her best. If she isn't tripping, then she's blowing their cover, or both at the same time. ]

Why are you walking like that....? Did he hurt you? Poor thing.

[ Why is she even asking when he can't understand her?! Maybe somebody else will understand her, so she'll try to run in the direction of the other voices before the guard can recover and catch up to them. At least it's the direction that the boy wants to go as well!

Making it alive is a big ask, however. ]

The man hesitates, looking between the two. Winnie sniffles louder, with the promising threat to start full-on bawling and drawing more attention. And Winnie's betting he's like most blue-collar men: He'd do just about anything to prevent a woman from crying loudly and causing a scene.

The man's eyes widen and he looks distinctly uncomfortable as Winnie waves her hand and dabs at her eyes, her voice cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry it's just so much." She takes adeep, shuddery breath. "Can we go on board? We'll be out of your hair, I promise..."

It takes another uncomfortable minute of Winnie looking on with wide, watery eyes before he grumbles something about them hurrying up. She places light fingertips on Five's shoulder, a gentle nudge before withdrawing to turn them towards the way up. As soon as they're out of earshot she straightens and grins brightly at Five, no trace of the crying, vulnerable woman from a moment ago.

"Well! That went better than I thought. I would've been quite annoyed if I had to truly cry. Gives me such a headache. Are you alright?"

[ Likewise, he can infer by her tone what she's asking him, like she had no idea what happened. He shows incredible restraint to keep his jaw tightly closed as they move. Hopefully one of the other prisoners is more useful, but he still doesn't know if there's a plan once they reach them. He would probably have been better off doing this all himself. As soon as this chain is off, that's what he plans on. (If he could teleport right now... his frustration keeps mounting by the minute.)

The other empty cells seem to keep stretching as they move further along them. At least, he thought this was the right way. Then he hears a shout and perks up. They must be close.

That's when that strange air circles up beside him. Probably just the atmosphere of this place. Still, his grip tightens to near bruising as he picks up the pace. He's not very tall, but he's got enough energy left in him to sprint the rest of the way if he has to. Maybe if they go fast enough she won't have an opportunity to try and mess this up again. ]

"If we start wrestling, someone will notice," he says, dry enough, but he looks more glad for the pushback than anything else. He'd grown up wrestling a brother, a life of pinning or being pinned, or outright punching each other as you do, and while it's probably not what Lan Zhan means, it's silly enough in the moment, familiar enough in the moment nonetheless.

They don't need to waste energy on this, when neither of them appear to have all that much to spare.

He lifts his eyebrows at the offered cloth, but accepts it, kneeling down in turn and slopping it onto the ground with the awareness of how to do this correctly, and a reminder, "Errands, Lan Zhan. It wasn't an excuse." Before two hands meet one rag and push it forward in a familiar sort of manner, remembered through a growing boyhood, minimally.

Still, it's decent reason for murmured conversation, and he's not on a tight timeframe. He can choose to spend time without struggling through thin snows and slick streets and a foreign despair that feels familiar, seen from a certain perspective.

"Missing," he says, lips pressing into a thin line over the mines. Emptied of living, yes, but not of walking death, and he stares down at the floor before turning his head to the side, shifting his weight, scrubbing. "Along with anything else I'd had with me, last recalled. I came through the mines too. Haunted is one word for it." A realm of undeath he himself finds new, but the scent of all of it... he frowns. "Do you remember much of anything the ones who unchained us all said?"

Enough to be here, yes. Or someone he ran into in the mines remembered. There hadn't been much, but he's been picking at it, trying to understand and having not enough information to claim he really does.

Edited 2021-04-03 23:05 (UTC)

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Page 11 of 27

sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

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Jailhouse

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Ferry

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Rachel "Honey Badger" Silva | OC

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