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poorlittlesange) wrote2022-10-06 02:52 pm
poorlittlesange) wrote2022-10-06 02:52 pm
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[he dutifully watches the cartoon bear video. he is increasingly disturbed by the cartoon bear video. ...he closes the cartoon bear video.]
I regret that I don't understand the purpose of this video.
Edited 2022-11-17 16:57 (UTC)
USER ID: WHENINLANLING (JIN GUANGYAO)
Greetings, Taro. This one is called Jin Guangyao.
Yours is not the first message this one has received in error. Let us hope that the issues the network is experiencing are corrected soon. It is dangerous for the people of Trench to have no reliable means of communicating with one another.
USER ID: WHENINLANLING (JIN GUANGYAO)
Messenger hawks? How fascinating, and impressive. Did Uchiha-gongzi train his hawks for this purpose himself?
The purpose is to sell toilet paper. Which, hey, it's functional, but I wouldn't call it cute. Why they chose bears? My guess is to make people feel all warm and fuzzy and sentimental so they choose Charmin. And so Charmin gets their money.
I just like the bears.
I just like the bears.
[mike has been having problems manifesting things. unintentionally ...undoing things to great annoyance and a small bit of dread. videotapes, videotapes, videotapes - the last one tossed unceremoniously into the ocean after watching approximately twenty seconds of. (it has reappeared elsewhere in trench, though he doesn't yet know this. maybe mariana just likes this film, who knows.) but what he sends in an image. it is not a cursed image ...well, not completely.
it's a video of a harp. it's gorgeous, expertly crafted, but for the fact that it's melting like a dali clock. it slowly unmelts only to re melt again. the room it is in looks as if a cyclone has hit it. the walls are covered with photographs of a woman, of a girl, of a tall man in a baseball cap. it's hard to tell, but mike is in some of these photos. in some his face looks blurry. too many bottles to be anything but bad decisions litter the floor - a stray beer can here and there.]
I did it. I remembered. It isn't RIGHT but I REMEMBERED!
[mike: not generally a capslock kinda guy.]
it's a video of a harp. it's gorgeous, expertly crafted, but for the fact that it's melting like a dali clock. it slowly unmelts only to re melt again. the room it is in looks as if a cyclone has hit it. the walls are covered with photographs of a woman, of a girl, of a tall man in a baseball cap. it's hard to tell, but mike is in some of these photos. in some his face looks blurry. too many bottles to be anything but bad decisions litter the floor - a stray beer can here and there.]
I did it. I remembered. It isn't RIGHT but I REMEMBERED!
[mike: not generally a capslock kinda guy.]
Edited 2022-11-26 04:55 (UTC)
[Jin Guangyao does not fully understand what he is looking at. the harp, yes, this he recognizes from the time he has spent browsing the network on his omni, admiring musical instruments from worlds and times ages apart from his own. but watching it distort itself and melt before his eyes is--it's unsettling, in a way that other altered images he's witnessed so far on the network are not.
that isn't what holds his attention, of course. it's the photos on the walls where Jin Guangyao can make out the vague, indistinct shape of his friend's face, of a child and a woman. it's the chaotic state of the room and evidence of alcohol consumption--in clear excess--and, naturally, the change to Mike's text-messaging convention. (it's not clear if what Jin Guangyao sees is in capslock, exactly, but he can still detect a change.)
he does not text back. he makes a voice call.]
USER ID: WHENINLANLING (JIN GUANGYAO)
that isn't what holds his attention, of course. it's the photos on the walls where Jin Guangyao can make out the vague, indistinct shape of his friend's face, of a child and a woman. it's the chaotic state of the room and evidence of alcohol consumption--in clear excess--and, naturally, the change to Mike's text-messaging convention. (it's not clear if what Jin Guangyao sees is in capslock, exactly, but he can still detect a change.)
he does not text back. he makes a voice call.]
USER ID: WHENINLANLING (JIN GUANGYAO)
Mike-xiansheng, what have you remembered? Where are you right now?
[he does not think to switch to text, and he's a touch manic, but not without reason.]
Lily! My wife, she---
---she played the harp. She played one of these. I can't remember what it was called, but yesterday I couldn't remember anything about this. Suddenly it was just there, like a light went on in my head, and instead of another videotape I get this.
Big cat. Predator? God dammit. Shit, it's right there. [he's ...close to the name of the thing, just not making any sense to anyone unfamiliar with harps - and possibly even those familiar with. he's looking for lion > lyon & healy. it doesn't come.]
I can't get it to stay still.
[this fact has gone into his omni notes with the other things he remembers and then forgets again. sometimes re-reading them will trigger re-remembrance, but not always.]
I'm in my room at the Station, why?
[nothing strikes him at the moment that could be concerning about the visual. he's used to it - and his small beach house had seen similar states, only the photographs were less numerous and confined to his desk drawers.]
Lily! My wife, she---
---she played the harp. She played one of these. I can't remember what it was called, but yesterday I couldn't remember anything about this. Suddenly it was just there, like a light went on in my head, and instead of another videotape I get this.
Big cat. Predator? God dammit. Shit, it's right there. [he's ...close to the name of the thing, just not making any sense to anyone unfamiliar with harps - and possibly even those familiar with. he's looking for lion > lyon & healy. it doesn't come.]
I can't get it to stay still.
[this fact has gone into his omni notes with the other things he remembers and then forgets again. sometimes re-reading them will trigger re-remembrance, but not always.]
I'm in my room at the Station, why?
[nothing strikes him at the moment that could be concerning about the visual. he's used to it - and his small beach house had seen similar states, only the photographs were less numerous and confined to his desk drawers.]
[the Sanguine Station, yes. he recalls it. already he is methodically gathering up some supplies and tucking them quickly but efficiently into his qiankun bag: talismans, his guqin, the dwindling supply of cinnabar which accompanied him to Trench, among others.]
May I come see the harp for myself, Mike-xiansheng?
[it's as good an excuse as any to come check on his friend in person, and to assess whether his room is now host to resentful energy or some other malevolent force.]
May I come see the harp for myself, Mike-xiansheng?
[it's as good an excuse as any to come check on his friend in person, and to assess whether his room is now host to resentful energy or some other malevolent force.]
[utterly distracted, because he's managed another videotape in the meantime. one tape, no soup.]
Yeah, yeah! That's a very good idea.
[please make sure he's not hallucinating again. he's ...pretty sure he isn't. however: delmira is now attempting to roll a few bottles out of the way and under the bed. not all of them, because that would be covering up a possible problem, but they are a tripping hazard so ...a compromise!]
Yeah, yeah! That's a very good idea.
[please make sure he's not hallucinating again. he's ...pretty sure he isn't. however: delmira is now attempting to roll a few bottles out of the way and under the bed. not all of them, because that would be covering up a possible problem, but they are a tripping hazard so ...a compromise!]
[he ensures that there is a reassuring smile present in his voice, the kind he usually reserves for assuaging panic in an emergency. it's usually quite effective.]
I will be there soon. Please take care.
[he makes good time crossing the city via his flying sword capabilities--it's always easier to do this when one isn't recovering from a qi deviation, isn't it--and so perhaps only ten to fifteen minutes has passed since he ended the call. alighting on the ground outside the Station, Jin Guangyao sheathes his sword, straightens his robes, and lets himself inside. it does not take him very long to make his polite inquiries and to receive directions up to Mike's room, and so up he goes. outside the door, he knocks twice and announces himself.]
Mike-xiansheng? It is Jin Guangyao. [a pause,] May I come in?
I will be there soon. Please take care.
[he makes good time crossing the city via his flying sword capabilities--it's always easier to do this when one isn't recovering from a qi deviation, isn't it--and so perhaps only ten to fifteen minutes has passed since he ended the call. alighting on the ground outside the Station, Jin Guangyao sheathes his sword, straightens his robes, and lets himself inside. it does not take him very long to make his polite inquiries and to receive directions up to Mike's room, and so up he goes. outside the door, he knocks twice and announces himself.]
Mike-xiansheng? It is Jin Guangyao. [a pause,] May I come in?
[don't mind the paper ghost hanging over the door frame. mike has bumped his head on it for two months, complained about it endlessly to anyone with ears, but he could take it down and he has not. it will probably not even brush jin guangyao's head because he's small enough to avoid it.]
Yes, yes!
[comes the cry, again repeated, as the door swings open to mike's surprised (not horror stricken) face, nodding first at the other and then toward the harp, which has not slowed its melting any. it's a pleasant enough sound when it moves - a little hum of the strings and the sounds of trickling ...fluid. if one isn't looking at it the sound might be mistaken for a little fountain.]
I made that. I put everything I remembered into my Omni, in case I forget. And you see it, right?
[the room could be messier. it's bottles mess and clutter mess (books, videotapes, he's managed to delete the bike), a neat little stack of jars - so neat they seem out of place, but it's not ...food mess, not dishes. it's not filth: just chaos and a few glass eyes.]
Yes, yes!
[comes the cry, again repeated, as the door swings open to mike's surprised (not horror stricken) face, nodding first at the other and then toward the harp, which has not slowed its melting any. it's a pleasant enough sound when it moves - a little hum of the strings and the sounds of trickling ...fluid. if one isn't looking at it the sound might be mistaken for a little fountain.]
I made that. I put everything I remembered into my Omni, in case I forget. And you see it, right?
[the room could be messier. it's bottles mess and clutter mess (books, videotapes, he's managed to delete the bike), a neat little stack of jars - so neat they seem out of place, but it's not ...food mess, not dishes. it's not filth: just chaos and a few glass eyes.]
[it might have brushed the top of Jin Guangyao's hat if he still had his hat. as it is, the paper ghost receives only the barest of bewildered glances, before he greets Mike with a careful smile and bow, and then steps across the threshold into his room.]
Please forgive this one for intruding so suddenly. [this he says with a moderated dose of The Eyes, not yet deployed at maximum power, but enough to hopefully allay any irritation he may have provoked at imposing upon Mike on such short notice. (and if they also grant him the opportunity to assess his friend's physical state, to ensure that he isn't injured, that is just an added bonus.)] I simply wished to see--
[and he does. the chaos is noted in a slow, sweeping glance; like taking a panoramic shot of the state of things before filing it away in his photographic memory. but it is the harp that he fixates on first and foremost. his eyes widen a fraction further, and he takes a few hesitant steps nearer to it.]
...how does it make music shaped like... that?
[--and then he notes the trickling... something, and steps backwards once, carefully.]
Please forgive this one for intruding so suddenly. [this he says with a moderated dose of The Eyes, not yet deployed at maximum power, but enough to hopefully allay any irritation he may have provoked at imposing upon Mike on such short notice. (and if they also grant him the opportunity to assess his friend's physical state, to ensure that he isn't injured, that is just an added bonus.)] I simply wished to see--
[and he does. the chaos is noted in a slow, sweeping glance; like taking a panoramic shot of the state of things before filing it away in his photographic memory. but it is the harp that he fixates on first and foremost. his eyes widen a fraction further, and he takes a few hesitant steps nearer to it.]
...how does it make music shaped like... that?
[--and then he notes the trickling... something, and steps backwards once, carefully.]
I don't know. It's ...wrong. They're not supposed to melt. It just keeps melting and reforming, but it never stays solid enough to play...
...I can't play it, anyway. And it never stays.
[there it goes, descending into a puddle again with a soothing sound (more soothing if one isn't looking, probably) and an equally bewildered (well, more just befuddled) glance at the idea there's be irritation. he'd said to come, and he knew it had been a possibility when he showed the harp over the message that jin guangyao might want to look at it. he's glad to have a second set of eyes on the thing - (even if they are those eyes) even just to confirm he's not descending into madness again. he isn't injured on any level - there's an actual healthy level of color in his face. his eyes are alert, not even bloodshot today. it's possible the harp shocked him sober - or he could be making some small life changes.]
Sorry about the mess. I've been busy.
[auditioning books for a new job. spawning tapes. drinking.]
...I can't play it, anyway. And it never stays.
[there it goes, descending into a puddle again with a soothing sound (more soothing if one isn't looking, probably) and an equally bewildered (well, more just befuddled) glance at the idea there's be irritation. he'd said to come, and he knew it had been a possibility when he showed the harp over the message that jin guangyao might want to look at it. he's glad to have a second set of eyes on the thing - (
Sorry about the mess. I've been busy.
[auditioning books for a new job. spawning tapes. drinking.]
[no, Mike is definitely not descending into madness again--at least not about this, given the very slight intake of breath that Jin Guangyao manages when the harp collapses in on itself like water let loose from a glass jar. in spite of the distance he's put between himself and the mystery fluid from which the harp is composed, his expression looks far from frightened; on the contrary, there's an avid, fascinated gleam to his dark eyes--
--but, another corner of his mind reminds him, examining the harp was only a pretext for his visit. the harp will keep... for certain definitions of 'keep,' anyway. he looks back to Mike at his words and is quick to smile agreeably.]
Xiansheng, there is no need to apologize. [a courteous pause before he shifts the subject towards the purpose of Mike's call.] You said that you are remembering things from before, which you couldn't recall yesterday. About your wife? What else did you remember? [a gesture at the puddle of proto-harp goo.] Besides the harp.
[carefully, carefully.]
--but, another corner of his mind reminds him, examining the harp was only a pretext for his visit. the harp will keep... for certain definitions of 'keep,' anyway. he looks back to Mike at his words and is quick to smile agreeably.]
Xiansheng, there is no need to apologize. [a courteous pause before he shifts the subject towards the purpose of Mike's call.] You said that you are remembering things from before, which you couldn't recall yesterday. About your wife? What else did you remember? [a gesture at the puddle of proto-harp goo.] Besides the harp.
[carefully, carefully.]
[it's hard not to look at the harp - there's a predictability in its melting, which is ...weird. but he paces a little as he speaks. it helps him think.]
Her name's always the same, it's always Lily. But other things change, or just go away. Where we met, what she does for a living, if we're divorced or just separated.
[it's not just lily, it's his brother, his daughter, his father, his career. well. his father's more of a constant, but not as much as lily is. katie is farther away, but rips him open much worse. his brother is a shadow.]
But this one's new, I didn't have it in my Omni. [his expression loses a bit more of its mania, turns thoughtful. he's repeating himself, but it's hard to contain this.] I've been taking notes to keep track.
Before we met, she played in an orchestra! [he points at the harp again.] That's the one! It's got a name I don't know. It was in Chicago? Maybe Philadelphia.
When I try too hard to think it all just goes blank. What a rip! The key to remembering is to forget to think about it!? It doesn't make sense.
Her name's always the same, it's always Lily. But other things change, or just go away. Where we met, what she does for a living, if we're divorced or just separated.
[it's not just lily, it's his brother, his daughter, his father, his career. well. his father's more of a constant, but not as much as lily is. katie is farther away, but rips him open much worse. his brother is a shadow.]
But this one's new, I didn't have it in my Omni. [his expression loses a bit more of its mania, turns thoughtful. he's repeating himself, but it's hard to contain this.] I've been taking notes to keep track.
Before we met, she played in an orchestra! [he points at the harp again.] That's the one! It's got a name I don't know. It was in Chicago? Maybe Philadelphia.
When I try too hard to think it all just goes blank. What a rip! The key to remembering is to forget to think about it!? It doesn't make sense.
[...there it is again. 'divorced or separated.' Jin Guangyao's mind latches onto those words without his permission, and it takes a shameful amount of willpower for him to push down his curiosity, because this is definitely not the time for that conversation.]
Perhaps that is the key. Not that Mike-xiansheng must forget in order to remember, but that he must allow his mind to be still and clear so that the memories can return to him.
[a thoughtful look steals across Jin Guangyao's features, shrewd and contemplative rather than compassionate--though he is bending his sharp mind to the task of puzzling through this mystery on Mike's behalf, so if his empathy and compassion wires are arranged a bit differently, surely he can be forgiven that in this moment. he turns in a slow circle around the room while taking in the details again, committing the moment in time to memory, before looking back to his friend. if the brightness that has come into his eyes is any indication, he's come up with an idea.]
Mike-xiansheng, what if I played my guqin for you again now?
Perhaps that is the key. Not that Mike-xiansheng must forget in order to remember, but that he must allow his mind to be still and clear so that the memories can return to him.
[a thoughtful look steals across Jin Guangyao's features, shrewd and contemplative rather than compassionate--though he is bending his sharp mind to the task of puzzling through this mystery on Mike's behalf, so if his empathy and compassion wires are arranged a bit differently, surely he can be forgiven that in this moment. he turns in a slow circle around the room while taking in the details again, committing the moment in time to memory, before looking back to his friend. if the brightness that has come into his eyes is any indication, he's come up with an idea.]
Mike-xiansheng, what if I played my guqin for you again now?
Maybe, yeah. I ...didn't think of that. You sure? I didn't show you this to get something out of you for free, you know. It wasn't that. I was just---
[mind racing, and so many things he hasn't considered.]
---I'm still just excited about it, even if it's a baby step forward. [a bit softer.] It's in my notes now.
There it is. You've got that thing in your eyes that says 'aha!', and it hasn't been wrong yet, so...
...if you want to, if you think it'll help, play away, I trust you.
[it should be obvious, but he's saying it out loud now.]
[mind racing, and so many things he hasn't considered.]
---I'm still just excited about it, even if it's a baby step forward. [a bit softer.] It's in my notes now.
There it is. You've got that thing in your eyes that says 'aha!', and it hasn't been wrong yet, so...
...if you want to, if you think it'll help, play away, I trust you.
[it should be obvious, but he's saying it out loud now.]
[there is the beginnings of a pleased, self-satisfied smirk at the corners of his mouth when Mike pays him that compliment--a decidedly honest expression, for Jin Guangyao, like the cat who got the canary--before he quickly recovers his polite mask and lowers his eyes. like it's one thing to be pleased with himself for having once more cultivated (heh) a reputation for himself as a man who can be relied upon to solve problems, and quite another to look smug about it. that's just gauche.
but then: 'I trust you,' Mike says, utterly guileless and sincere, and abruptly Jin Guangyao looks back at his friend, wide-eyed and stricken.
perhaps in another life and in another world, in the company of another man whose opinion had once mattered to Jin Guangyao so tremendously he'd been willing to kill and die for him, it might have felt like success, like accomplishment, like vindication, to hear those words again. but Jin Guangyao is not in that world, and Mike is not Nie Mingjue. Mike is nothing like Mingjue. Mike has never demanded that Jin Guangyao run the gauntlet to prove himself worthy of his trust.]
Mike-xiansheng--
[Jin Guangyao's voice catches and he quiets himself, then takes a breath, recovering. still, he cannot help it: he rounds his arms and bows, lower than he has before, though not so low that anyoneMingjue from his world might accuse him of obsequiousness.]
Mike-xiansheng honours this lowly one. [quieter,] Thank you. I will strive to remain always worthy of your trust.
[famous last words? he hopes not. not this time. straightening from the bow, he takes another breath and tries to recover his composure.] ...Where would be the most convenient place for me to set up my guqin?
but then: 'I trust you,' Mike says, utterly guileless and sincere, and abruptly Jin Guangyao looks back at his friend, wide-eyed and stricken.
perhaps in another life and in another world, in the company of another man whose opinion had once mattered to Jin Guangyao so tremendously he'd been willing to kill and die for him, it might have felt like success, like accomplishment, like vindication, to hear those words again. but Jin Guangyao is not in that world, and Mike is not Nie Mingjue. Mike is nothing like Mingjue. Mike has never demanded that Jin Guangyao run the gauntlet to prove himself worthy of his trust.]
Mike-xiansheng--
[Jin Guangyao's voice catches and he quiets himself, then takes a breath, recovering. still, he cannot help it: he rounds his arms and bows, lower than he has before, though not so low that anyone
Mike-xiansheng honours this lowly one. [quieter,] Thank you. I will strive to remain always worthy of your trust.
[famous last words? he hopes not. not this time. straightening from the bow, he takes another breath and tries to recover his composure.] ...Where would be the most convenient place for me to set up my guqin?
Edited 2022-12-16 06:11 (UTC)
[if asked on a day he could sort his thoughts properly, mike would say that jin guangyao has absolutely run the gauntlet without any reason to have done so other than he was there. that should be reason enough if not doubly so. but the question derails his train of thought, though it will find its way round again, it's just a momentary detour.]
Anywhere there's room. Just move the tapes. Or, here---
[all that energy, it's easy to move them, shoving them with his feet into a corner, not noticing if a few of them blink out of existence maybe to reappear in a different corner, or maybe not at all.]
You've got to stop doing that. First rule of Casa del Mike? No more calling yourself lowly, okay? A few weeks after we met, I wandered into the wrong end of the docks three sheets to the wind, that's shitfaced drunk in case you don't know, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in a dinghy, feeling like ten different kinds of shit because someone decided I needed to do a little blood donating. And by a little I mean most of it. 'Cause it sells for top dollar, apparently.
[a rub of his fingers and thumb together, as he casually tells how he almost died.]
And they stole my hat.
You found me in worse shape than that and what did you do? You helped me. Which, you're doing again now, I might point out. So that trust? It's not going anywhere. Why do you think I called you?
Anywhere there's room. Just move the tapes. Or, here---
[all that energy, it's easy to move them, shoving them with his feet into a corner, not noticing if a few of them blink out of existence maybe to reappear in a different corner, or maybe not at all.]
You've got to stop doing that. First rule of Casa del Mike? No more calling yourself lowly, okay? A few weeks after we met, I wandered into the wrong end of the docks three sheets to the wind, that's shitfaced drunk in case you don't know, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in a dinghy, feeling like ten different kinds of shit because someone decided I needed to do a little blood donating. And by a little I mean most of it. 'Cause it sells for top dollar, apparently.
[a rub of his fingers and thumb together, as he casually tells how he almost died.]
And they stole my hat.
You found me in worse shape than that and what did you do? You helped me. Which, you're doing again now, I might point out. So that trust? It's not going anywhere. Why do you think I called you?
[...listen, it's reasonable to say that, while Jin Guangyao has absolutely been, uh, lectured if that's what we call his treatment by Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangshan, and Jin-furen, a number of times in his life. that is likely why he stiffens visibly when Mike's tone changes, at first, but whatever it is he's expecting to hear next it--isn't that.
his eyes shift to one side, then back again. a little crease forms between his eyebrows. ...so, is Mike mad at him, or??]
Perhaps because Er-ge was busy? [he ventures in response to that last question, but look, there's a hesitant little smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. it's a joke! it's at least 60% a joke. still, he inclines his head again, but doesn't bow.] This one understands. Thank you, Mike-xiansheng.
[he hesitates, then sets his guqin down on the table that has been cleared of video tapes, and pointedly does not look at where they reappear in the room, not wanting to draw attention to them when the goal is to get Mike to relax and calm his mind. he settles into the seat on one side of the table and sets about adjusting the tuning pegs, plucking the strings gently with his ear bent to the notes.] Please sit? [a nod to the vacant chair.] Like before, if you remember, with your eyes closed.
his eyes shift to one side, then back again. a little crease forms between his eyebrows. ...so, is Mike mad at him, or??]
Perhaps because Er-ge was busy? [he ventures in response to that last question, but look, there's a hesitant little smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. it's a joke! it's at least 60% a joke. still, he inclines his head again, but doesn't bow.] This one understands. Thank you, Mike-xiansheng.
[he hesitates, then sets his guqin down on the table that has been cleared of video tapes, and pointedly does not look at where they reappear in the room, not wanting to draw attention to them when the goal is to get Mike to relax and calm his mind. he settles into the seat on one side of the table and sets about adjusting the tuning pegs, plucking the strings gently with his ear bent to the notes.] Please sit? [a nod to the vacant chair.] Like before, if you remember, with your eyes closed.
[no. mike is not mad at him. he's just ...he doesn't like the way it makes him feel to hear that kind of talk so casually. it's not like jin guangyao has even fucked up anything - he's here to help, to try and get some answers, to calm mike down from his mania - to just listen and validate his bit of sanity. what about any of that is lowly? the fact that he stiffens just hurts - it's a real indicator of something. he hasn't done it for years, but ...god.
so it's good to see him get it. it takes mike a moment to see it - to get that yes, indeed, that's a joke and love to see it, man. he smiles into a little huff, takes a last look at the harp-thing, ventures a touch before it re-melts, and moves to take a seat, to try and clear or fill or whatever his mind wants to do. at least he's in the presence of a safe person.
sorry, jin guangyao. you are a safe person now. you are trusted. he tries to relax - visibly letting a few walls down, though he's still tapping his fingers against his knees for a few moments until that, too, stills.]
You should charge for this.
[not that he knows how. the money works. yet.]
so it's good to see him get it. it takes mike a moment to see it - to get that yes, indeed, that's a joke and love to see it, man. he smiles into a little huff, takes a last look at the harp-thing, ventures a touch before it re-melts, and moves to take a seat, to try and clear or fill or whatever his mind wants to do. at least he's in the presence of a safe person.
sorry, jin guangyao. you are a safe person now. you are trusted. he tries to relax - visibly letting a few walls down, though he's still tapping his fingers against his knees for a few moments until that, too, stills.]
You should charge for this.
[not that he knows how. the money works. yet.]
(continued from here!)
With the shutters closed, Meng Yao turns back around to lean against the wall and determine whether his instructions have been followed. Fortunately it's easy for him to tell, since the lunar-powered lighting inside the bedroom is activated with only a touch from his fingertips.
It's not that difficult for him to shrug free of his counterpart's cream and gold outer robe, to fold it neatly and then place it on the seat of an empty chair. Then he reaches up to idly toy with the little wooden clasps securing the collar of his under robes. "The clasps are very tricky," he laments and favours Lan Xichen with a woebegone glimpse of his eyes through his eyelashes. (The narrator: the clasps were not tricky at all.) He takes his time crossing the room back to Lan Xichen but does not stop in front of him; no, he reaches a hand out to grasp his shoulder for balance as he slides right into his lap, a knee bracketing each of his hipbones, calves parallel to his thighs.
Meng Yao keeps his grip on Lan Xichen's shoulder firm once he's settled, though, lest his beloved Huan-er get any ideas about trying to hasten things along. He guides one of Lan Xichen's hands up to the clasps at his collar, eyes studying his face with the kind of focus he usually devotes only to his sabre practice. "If Huan-er would be so kind," he suggests softly.
With the shutters closed, Meng Yao turns back around to lean against the wall and determine whether his instructions have been followed. Fortunately it's easy for him to tell, since the lunar-powered lighting inside the bedroom is activated with only a touch from his fingertips.
It's not that difficult for him to shrug free of his counterpart's cream and gold outer robe, to fold it neatly and then place it on the seat of an empty chair. Then he reaches up to idly toy with the little wooden clasps securing the collar of his under robes. "The clasps are very tricky," he laments and favours Lan Xichen with a woebegone glimpse of his eyes through his eyelashes. (The narrator: the clasps were not tricky at all.) He takes his time crossing the room back to Lan Xichen but does not stop in front of him; no, he reaches a hand out to grasp his shoulder for balance as he slides right into his lap, a knee bracketing each of his hipbones, calves parallel to his thighs.
Meng Yao keeps his grip on Lan Xichen's shoulder firm once he's settled, though, lest his beloved Huan-er get any ideas about trying to hasten things along. He guides one of Lan Xichen's hands up to the clasps at his collar, eyes studying his face with the kind of focus he usually devotes only to his sabre practice. "If Huan-er would be so kind," he suggests softly.
Edited 2023-01-07 22:20 (UTC)
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