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deercountry2022-10-07 02:32 pm
poorlittlesange) wrote in deercountry2022-10-07 02:32 pm
i once knew a man who learned such a thing | october catch-all
Who: Jin Guangyao + select closed prompts + OTA
What: Settling in; an encounter with a draugr; trying to locate some much needed chill; continuing a TDM thread.
When: /waves hands, throughout the month.
Where: Willful Machine, along a nondescript thoroughfare and by the canals; the Pale Sanctuary in Cassandra; the Boardwalk
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.
Content Warnings: Blood, gore. Allusions to memories of a murder victim. Frank discussion of a child's murder (his son).
I. Cleaning house. (OTA)
The siheyuan has good bones. Whoever built it understood the importance of craftsmanship, though whether there is any prosperous energy in Trench for a south-facing house to welcome is anyone's guess. But someone had lived here before, once; there are height marks scratched into the wood of a door frame, seven of them, one for each birthday celebrated by a child. When Jin Guangyao first notices the marks while affixing spirit-repelling talismans to the walls in auspicious locations, he very deliberately does not think of his son.
With the talismans in place within the courtyard and the rooms themselves, he steps outside and onto the thoroughfare sidewalk to affix a few of them to the gate. Trailing behind him is his omen, a lean steppe fox whose winter coat has already begun to come in.
II. Second Death at the Canals. (Closed to Sasuke)
OOC note: Timing of this event is sometime after JGY snags himself an address, and finishes up his conversation with Mike Enslin (see below).
It is late in the evening, well after what passes for dusk in Trench, when the screams rip through the air near the canals. What follows is an immediate mad scramble of bodies and limbs of all shapes to escape the scene unfolding by the water's edge, where a draugr has pinned a man in pale gold robes to the ground by his throat.
Right now, only two things separate Jin Guangyao from death: the first is the blade of his spiritual sword, Hensheng, which he has thrust through the draugr's throat and embedded in what passes for its spine, and which in combination with his faltering spiritual power serves only to keep the monster's still-gnashing jaws from descending upon him. The other is his omen, who has transformed herself into the menacing shape of a large huli jing, and is harrying the draugr with ear-splitting fox-bark screams and yodels that keep the thing distracted, but not deterred. Every so often it swipes ineffectually out at her with the hand not at its quarry's throat, before she lunges away.
The draugr has taken much from Jin Guangyao over the course of the last month to the point where his outrage and fury over the theft of his memories is only overwhelmed by the sheer terror he experiences when the monster at last manifests itself and forces him to look at its face (and forces him to remember a face he wishes he could forget, dead but still seeing him, still hating him, still suspecting his every decision, hesitation or sideways glance--)
Ichor from the gaping throat wound above him splatters down towards him. Jin Guangyao jerks his face away and grits his teeth, and twists beneath the monster's bulk to edge a foot against its stomach--not because he thinks that he has the power to actually kick the thing away, but because any barrier he can put between the draugr's teeth and himself is better than nothing. Still, this is a grim situation, and his eyes dart about himself in terror and outrage as he desperately tries to come up with an escape plan.
III. Exploring near the Pale Sanctuary. (OTA)
The pale, bloated tree at the heart of the Pale Sanctuary does not look like it should be a place of spiritual tranquility. Jin Guangyao stands slightly out of its shadow and considers it in silence, being sure always to keep his expression as inoffensive and absent of any outside judgment as possible. The thing alarms him, there's just no getting around it, and hearing the murmurs among the nearby Disciples regarding just who this entire district was named for strikes him as doubly inauspicious. No one in the cultivation world would think to name a place of spiritual sanctuary and healing after the Yiling Patriarch, surely.
He doesn't venture near the door that leads down into the sanctuary itself--that's a big 'nope, no thank you, not interested' at least for the moment--and instead takes his time walking the circumference of the tree, being sure to give it as wide a berth as possible as he looks it over in detail, committing what he sees to memory.
IV. Encounter on the Boardwalk. (Closed to Mike Enslin)
[continued from here!]
'Napkin guy.' That's a new one. It's much better than his last nickname. Jin Guangyao's expression softens by a hair's breadth of a margin, and though he doesn't smile--that particular mask wouldn't be appropriate, not now--he makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Then, "Thank you," the stranger says, and Jin Guangyao bends his head in wordless acknowledgement of the courtesy.
As for the rest--
"Yes," he replies. He looks away from Mike to allow him the courtesy of tidying himself without a scrutinizing audience. There is so very much else happening on the boardwalk to draw the eye anyway; the masks, the lights, the myriad of different beings and bodies that are as alien to him as that tape recorder, if more frightening. When one being makes sustained eye contact with him for too long, Jin Guangyao is quick to avert his gaze in as non-threatening a manner as he can manage, and turns his attention back to Mike.
"Xiansheng, please forgive this one's lapse in manners. I am called Jin Guangyao." Just in case the stranger felt so inclined to actually refer to him as 'napkin guy,' henceforth.
What: Settling in; an encounter with a draugr; trying to locate some much needed chill; continuing a TDM thread.
When: /waves hands, throughout the month.
Where: Willful Machine, along a nondescript thoroughfare and by the canals; the Pale Sanctuary in Cassandra; the Boardwalk
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.
Content Warnings: Blood, gore. Allusions to memories of a murder victim. Frank discussion of a child's murder (his son).
I. Cleaning house. (OTA)
The siheyuan has good bones. Whoever built it understood the importance of craftsmanship, though whether there is any prosperous energy in Trench for a south-facing house to welcome is anyone's guess. But someone had lived here before, once; there are height marks scratched into the wood of a door frame, seven of them, one for each birthday celebrated by a child. When Jin Guangyao first notices the marks while affixing spirit-repelling talismans to the walls in auspicious locations, he very deliberately does not think of his son.
With the talismans in place within the courtyard and the rooms themselves, he steps outside and onto the thoroughfare sidewalk to affix a few of them to the gate. Trailing behind him is his omen, a lean steppe fox whose winter coat has already begun to come in.
II. Second Death at the Canals. (Closed to Sasuke)
OOC note: Timing of this event is sometime after JGY snags himself an address, and finishes up his conversation with Mike Enslin (see below).
It is late in the evening, well after what passes for dusk in Trench, when the screams rip through the air near the canals. What follows is an immediate mad scramble of bodies and limbs of all shapes to escape the scene unfolding by the water's edge, where a draugr has pinned a man in pale gold robes to the ground by his throat.
Right now, only two things separate Jin Guangyao from death: the first is the blade of his spiritual sword, Hensheng, which he has thrust through the draugr's throat and embedded in what passes for its spine, and which in combination with his faltering spiritual power serves only to keep the monster's still-gnashing jaws from descending upon him. The other is his omen, who has transformed herself into the menacing shape of a large huli jing, and is harrying the draugr with ear-splitting fox-bark screams and yodels that keep the thing distracted, but not deterred. Every so often it swipes ineffectually out at her with the hand not at its quarry's throat, before she lunges away.
The draugr has taken much from Jin Guangyao over the course of the last month to the point where his outrage and fury over the theft of his memories is only overwhelmed by the sheer terror he experiences when the monster at last manifests itself and forces him to look at its face (and forces him to remember a face he wishes he could forget, dead but still seeing him, still hating him, still suspecting his every decision, hesitation or sideways glance--)
Ichor from the gaping throat wound above him splatters down towards him. Jin Guangyao jerks his face away and grits his teeth, and twists beneath the monster's bulk to edge a foot against its stomach--not because he thinks that he has the power to actually kick the thing away, but because any barrier he can put between the draugr's teeth and himself is better than nothing. Still, this is a grim situation, and his eyes dart about himself in terror and outrage as he desperately tries to come up with an escape plan.
III. Exploring near the Pale Sanctuary. (OTA)
The pale, bloated tree at the heart of the Pale Sanctuary does not look like it should be a place of spiritual tranquility. Jin Guangyao stands slightly out of its shadow and considers it in silence, being sure always to keep his expression as inoffensive and absent of any outside judgment as possible. The thing alarms him, there's just no getting around it, and hearing the murmurs among the nearby Disciples regarding just who this entire district was named for strikes him as doubly inauspicious. No one in the cultivation world would think to name a place of spiritual sanctuary and healing after the Yiling Patriarch, surely.
He doesn't venture near the door that leads down into the sanctuary itself--that's a big 'nope, no thank you, not interested' at least for the moment--and instead takes his time walking the circumference of the tree, being sure to give it as wide a berth as possible as he looks it over in detail, committing what he sees to memory.
IV. Encounter on the Boardwalk. (Closed to Mike Enslin)
[continued from here!]
'Napkin guy.' That's a new one. It's much better than his last nickname. Jin Guangyao's expression softens by a hair's breadth of a margin, and though he doesn't smile--that particular mask wouldn't be appropriate, not now--he makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Then, "Thank you," the stranger says, and Jin Guangyao bends his head in wordless acknowledgement of the courtesy.
As for the rest--
"Yes," he replies. He looks away from Mike to allow him the courtesy of tidying himself without a scrutinizing audience. There is so very much else happening on the boardwalk to draw the eye anyway; the masks, the lights, the myriad of different beings and bodies that are as alien to him as that tape recorder, if more frightening. When one being makes sustained eye contact with him for too long, Jin Guangyao is quick to avert his gaze in as non-threatening a manner as he can manage, and turns his attention back to Mike.
"Xiansheng, please forgive this one's lapse in manners. I am called Jin Guangyao." Just in case the stranger felt so inclined to actually refer to him as 'napkin guy,' henceforth.
no subject
"It's been a long time, but I've had sake, does that count? Rice beer, too." A brief recall of a different man, a man who was him but not this incarnation, a friendlier, less worn, thoroughly less broken version that enjoyed a night out with his wife - the clink of glasses, the murmur of long past conversations, muffled, dampened by whatever comfort's at play here, the memory just brushes past and then retreats.
The woman tending the stall greets them with a nod and an incline of her head, and does not look puzzled when she's asked for rice wine, but she does pause to ask if they mean to have it hot or ...cold. A bit of a brow lift on that last option, as though it's an odd one to choose. And perhaps it is, because there's a chill in the air.
Chill seems to be a mood, here. Alcohol might help that along. Hopefully.
no subject
"I will take it hot, thank you." He isn't so presumptuous as to order for Mike, and so turns his attention elsewhere until he has made his decision. Then, once he has, he picks up the threads of their conversation with interest.
"Sake is from a country called Dongying, which is near where I am from. Perhaps," he says, hesitant only because something about drawing parallels between his world and Mike's world feels rather like searching for hope where there is none, "your world isn't so different from mine, in that case."
no subject
Fuck it, Mike can be a follower today - it's hot for him, too. Too chilly out here, and the warmth of it goes nicely with the little hit of acidity and something ...else? This isn't the sake he remembers, but that in and of itself causes a small laugh.
They both know what sake is, though. That's a start. And, yes, in a place where the beaches are full of prosthetics, and the sea is full of squids who are also just like them and yet to wake and be handed a bag with a random assortments of painful memories in them (or is that just him?) ...maybe it's the best start they can hope for.
No tape recorders, but sake. And beer, probably. He didn't get a weird look when he'd mentioned that. "Maybe not as different as ...all this." a general nod around the boardwalk - the mishmash of styles and people and if one looks closely ...things that might be classified as creatures. He's trying not to dive into that, and treat it like a head injury induced Renaissance Festival? Outdoor convention with a small side of Halloween?
It's easy enough to find a bench to sit on, even one with a table if that's desired. Where he hesitates is if he should put his back to the ocean or to the better part of the boardwalk, and eventually will settle on the latter. "Maybe another couple of these and I won't have to think too much about this. It's very..."
The writer has just run out of words for what this is. Nothing quite cuts it.
no subject
"Maybe another couple of these and I won't have to think too much about this. It's very..."
A slow inhalation, exhalation, and a nod. "Yes," comes his succinct agreement, gaze coming to rest on his sake. He lifts the little cup to take a sip of it, then seems simply to hold it and allow its latent heat to warm his hands. (A stronger cultivator would not be affected by something as insignificant as a bit of cold weather, and could warm himself with only the strength of his own golden core. Jin Guangyao must settle for a warm drink instead.)
His eyes follow the steps of a masked person gambolling down the boardwalk, pensive and bemused, and then he shakes his head a little. "I don't understand why we have been brought here. But perhaps there is no explanation for every one of the universe's mysteries."
no subject
(In this case it's nonexistent, except for a pleasant buzz should he have enough of it.)
It is, after all, what got him into trouble. Doesn't dwell too much on the whys and hows behind how he's come to this decision, and he almost catches himself looking for something familiar in his sightline. That's futile. It's not his beach. But he's less likely to see passing people. (Passing children. That's the one that pulls on his heartstrings enough to prick at his eyes.)
"It's a wild guess, just spitballing here, but what was the last thing you remember doing?" A look accompanied by a nod as if to suggest the idea of "before" without having to mention the word. "Did you happen to take a spill and hit your head on something?"
Right now, it's half-hearted. None of this is terrible. It's not even vaguely bad by Mike Enslin Standards. This is ...fine? Which would make it a really well-laid trap, sure, but that's easily waved off, and even moreso after another sip.