deercountry | it's hard to be charming and smart and disarming

Entry tags:

it's hard to be charming and smart and disarming | november catch-all

Who: Jin Guangyao + select closed prompts + additional starters to come
What: After a near-miss with qi deviation, Jin Guangyao makes an effort to just, you know. Take it easy. This is easier said than done, because this is Trench, not a spa resort. (Also his blood is glowing through his skin occasionally, which is not ideal, and he is learning all about zealots.)
When: Throughout the first half of November.
Where: His home in the Willful Machine + The Sanctuary in Crenshaw + other locations as specified.
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.

Content Warnings: None currently but will update as needed.

I. Convalescence at Home (Open to existing CR)
[ooc: set during the week and a half of November.]

Jin Guangyao does not manage idleness well. Which is a shame, because idleness is what he has in abundance for the first two weeks of November.

He spends his time on mandatory bedrest for the first few days as his golden core gradually repairs the damage he inflicted upon it during his and Nie Huaisang's brush with death, able to do little more than occasionally sit up in bed and eat whatever food his friends are able to prepare after scrounging around in his cupboards. (More often than not, they simply order something for delivery, which saves everyone a lot of trouble.) But once he survives the most precarious stage of his recovery, it is good for him to get out of bed, to stretch his legs and move about his home. 'Light physical activity,' is what a doctor might prescribe, and so that is what he does, predominately in the form of some light housework, guqin practice in the courtyard, and meditative tai chi.

By the time this two-week period of homebound convalescence is up, he is chomping at the metaphorical bit to leave the house and do something useful. But he can't, and he's pretty cheesed about it.

II. The Sanctuary (Closed to Palamedes)
[ooc: set towards the end of the second week of November, after he is no longer homebound ~~and a bit pissy about it~~.]

His first destination upon finally being granted a bit more freedom of movement is the Sanctuary in Crenshaw.

It is impossible not to be drawn towards the tall sakura tree at the centre of the courtyard, and so Jin Guangyao does not even try. The energy that suffuses the place is indisputably positive and balanced, and he can already feel the effects of it soothing the ragged edges of his meridians, which still feel like recovering burn wounds, if burn wounds happened to your qi. (Just little cultivation problems.)

He is hardly the only person hoping to derive some spiritual relief from the tree today, but there is space near one of the roots for him to comfortably fold himself into a lotus position, and to meditate. So that is precisely what he does.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He hasn't quite been mother-henning over Jin Guangyao, despite the impulse to make sure he is prioritizing his health. But he is still familiar enough with the other man's restlessness, how often he pushes himself to his limits and beyond, that he cannot help a bit of fretting.

He occupies himself with helping with the household chores and has learned a great number of new things. For one, modern appliances are very convenient. For another, they are very loud. And so while the dishwasher and washing machine wash, he's opted to step out and enjoy a peaceful, late autumn day.

It's the sound of the guqin that draws him magnetically towards the courtyard more than anything. In most regards he would have listened at a safe distance, but these days, music puts him in almost a near trance. If a rather dazed looking First Jade of Lan happens to sit down to listen, eyes closed and a pleased, tranquil smile on his face, then one can blame the effects of his blood.

It certainly has nothing to do with how much he's missed hearing Jin Guangyao play.

Edited 2022-11-04 19:32 (UTC)

It is the same meandering melody that he was playing the day that they reunited, the one they wrote together in the Cloud Recesses, and one that he often reaches for when he wishes to hone his skills without having to expend spiritual energy in the process. Anything that involves utilizing qi is right out until he receives a clean bill of (spiritual) health from the other cultivators around him. In his current situation, he works with what he has.

He doesn't so much look up from his playing when Lan Xichen arrives as shift his gaze, and then smile, just a little. "This one thought Zewu-jun would have grown tired of hearing this song by now," he remarks, though his fingers keep moving across the strings without interruption--but then he frowns as a note skews just a touch flat, and so pauses to carefully twist one of the tuning pegs. Then he settles his fingers back on the strings and tests it again; yes, much better.

"Have I ever tired of Lianfang-zun's playing?" he asks, letting the melody drift over him. Even the flat note only incites a small, playful smile.

Lan Xichen looks in absolute bliss (it's the blood, really it's the blood!)

"He has always a fine aptitude for the guqin."

All other things being equal, he is sure Jin Guangyao would have outshone even him and his younger brother on the strings. It has always been such a tragedy that he did not get to start training as young as they did.

It takes him mere moments to pick up the threads of the dropped melody, and with a small, satisfied smile at the corners of his lips, he lets the notes fill the silence that follows, rather than keeping up a patina of small-talk. They have never needed to fill silences to be comfortable in each other's presence.

(He does lift his eyes from the strings every so often to study Lan Xichen's expression, though he is always quick to look aside, should he be caught staring.)

Eventually, the melody winds down to a close, and he stills his fingers on the strings. There is no real reason for him to consider the thoughts in his head at this moment as being something he ought to confess to, except for the clear fact that he did omit it in its entirety when explaining to Lan Xichen his experiences with the draugr last month. And he had promised he would try, hadn't he? To be honest.

He takes a breath and admits softly, "I played a piece from the Purification Tones last month. To help someone. Mike-xiansheng." He looks to Lan Xichen's face and waits for his reaction; he holds himself very still.

Lan Xichen's eyes flutter open at the admission. His brow furrows as the first thought darts through his mind, unbidden, unwanted, and thoroughly dismissed. Everything he has heard about Mike from Jin Guangyao has been nothing short of fond.

The brief surge of tension drains from his body, his expression settling into something more neutral.

"Was it able to help him? I have not yet had an opportunity to practice musical cultivation to see if it remains effective here."

He looks to Jin Guangyao now, curious, and the other man is a mirror of his own posture moments ago; tense and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"...A-Yao."

Gentle. Gentle. But do not run from this. Do not bury it. Do not let it fester. Lance the wound and attend it step by step. There will be a scar, but he can live with those.

"Is it Mike-xiansheng you want to talk about, or is it something else?"

"It was," Jin Guangyao answers Lan Xichen's first question--that the cultivation technique was effective, that he was able to provide Mike relief from his pain--though his body language remains guarded even as his sworn brother's eases into something recognizable as neutrality. It is far from the worst reaction Jin Guangyao could have expected--but he doesn't know what he'd been hoping for, either, and that nebulous sense of failed expectation from both of them tightens something in his chest, a knot of old string that will require more than just a single heartfelt conversation to loosen and unravel.

Gentleness is the correct approach, however. Lan Xichen seems to know that better than Jin Guangyao does himself. To be gentle, but to ask, to try to understand.

It would be helpful if Jin Guangyao had the answers for him readily prepared and available. Instead he just directs his eyes to the guqin strings, plucks a few idle notes to give his hands something to do, and shakes his head. "No. I don't know." (He sounds like Huaisang, how painfully frustrating.) "Er-ge wished for me to be honest with him, and so I am being honest."

Mostly. He knows the shape of the question he should probably ask, but digging down into the soil to exhume it makes him afraid of what else he might unearth in the process.

He smiles when Jin Guangyao affirms that it helped his friend. A brief, small thing passing over his face, but it is warm, and fond, and even a little proud.

No. I don't know.

The smile dims as his gaze turns inwards. It's a fair answer. It's one that's been rattling out of him for the past several weeks. He had been so confident once, and now all he knows he never knew anything at all.

But he's starting to put the pieces of his shattered worldview in order, though not yet together. That is a long way off.

"If there is something A-Yao would like to say or ask, I will endeavor to meet his effort and answer as truthfully as I am able."

His eyes dart to Jin Guangyao's sword-hand ever so briefly.

"But if he would rather change the subject, that too is understandable. I will be ready when you are."

After all, the point of this was to understand, and if Jin Guangyao felt too pressured to explain then he'd just be repeating Nie Mingjue's mistakes. There was one important thing to understand about him, and that is that when Jin Guangyao felt cornered, that was when the deceit came out.

Deceit, and sometimes the fratricide. As one does.

(Though his Er-ge should understand by now that he was never in any danger from Jin Guangyao in that respect. Whatever harm Jin Guangyao did bring down upon Lan Xichen, it happened as an unintentional and tragic consequence of his other decisions, his other crimes, his reactive violence against his circumstances. He would never turn against Lan Xichen, would twist himself up into any conceivable knot or shape to avoid being placed in a position where that possibility even existed, because--well. He stops that thought.)

Jin Guangyao continues to pluck idly at the strings, some part of his mind naturally following the thread of a composition idea that he must have been toying with for some time. He keeps up his pensive experimentation with this new melody even as he searches out the right words for... whatever it is he wishes to speak about next.

"The draugrs," he decides with a little sigh, and it becomes clear that he is going to take the gentle 'out' that Lan Xichen has provided for him, at least for now. "I could use weighting talismans to immobilize them and both Hensheng and Chord Assassination to dispatch them. This place does respond to our capabilities--but this lowly one is confident that Zewu-jun would have mastered each foe peerlessly." This last said with a sideways glance and a hint of a smile. we're cool. ~~maybe a little flirty idk.~~

Completely understandable. Sometimes you just got to kill a man. Besides, he's not about to hold Jin Guangyao responsible for something he didn't do yet.

And maybe never will. Books on a shelf, as Shen Yuan said. Some only different by a single character.

(This er-ge knows. Part of him always knows. The one time he acted on impulse, and now he will spend his life regretting it. But Huaisang couldn't let his vengeance fail, he couldn't let Jin Guangyao live, and that was exactly what Lan Xichen was going to do...)

He listens to the idle plucking gradually taking shape into a melody, letting his thoughts drift along with it like the breeze. When the subject turns to draugrs, he knows his opening has been gently rebuffed and Jin Guangyao has opted for the exit.

Lan Xichen only nods to himself in acceptance. Another time, then. Because they have that, at last. Time.

"Would Lianfang-zun wish to go on a night hunt together then?"

His own smile when he cracks one eye open to look at Jin Guangyao is very polite and respectable, as is expected of the First Jade of Lan, and certainly not something that could be construed as a coy smirk.

Edited 2022-11-05 22:39 (UTC)

One, two, three more plucked strings, that last note hanging in the air until it begins to fade, and then Jin Guangyao peers back at Lan Xichen across the guqin. He looks--almost startled, enough that he forgets about their little game of manners for the moment, his eyes widening just a fraction (you know the look, er-ge). Then the shadow of a smile at the corners of his mouth quirks once, just a little, and he has to look back down at the guqin strings again and presses his mouth into a line, but there's no hiding his joy at the invitation--or the heat that has risen into his cheeks.

"Er-ge must know that I would like that, very much," he admits softly, and oh, he can't tolerate this--this unexpected giddiness, and the anxiety that seems inexorably wrapped up in it, and so he draws himself up with effort and starts to rise to his feet. "Perhaps once I am well, we can discuss it in more detail." The night-hunt. He is definitely just talking about the night-hunt, and not--anything else.

He begins gathering his supplies, evidently intending to put his guqin away, just to give himself something to do, to distract himself.

Edited 2022-11-06 00:22 (UTC)

Yes. The night-hunt. Nothing more.

Lan Xichen's cheeks and ears certainly haven't taken on a faint tinge of blue.

"Yes. When A-Yao has recovered, we will speak on it more."

There is a pointed smile at this. He knows Jin Guangyao is restless. Lan Xichen knows he'd rather walk around on two broken legs than be laid up for even a few hours, but a qi deviation like this is serious. He could lose even more than his limbs if he doesn't take it seriously.

When Jin Guangyao begins to pack up, Lan Xichen's expression flickers with disappointment.

"Is A-Yao finished? Or would he perhaps like it if this one played for him a bit...?"

He is about to gather the instrument into his arms to bring it back inside when Lan Xichen extends that offer. Jin Guangyao pauses and tries to remember when it was that he last heard his friend's playing, and finds it is more difficult than it should be for someone whose memory is usually such a sharp and reliable tool. It must have been quite some time, in that case.

"I would like that," he says softly, simply, and steps off to the side with a gesture at his abandoned chair so that Lan Xichen can seat himself. (He notes, too, the strange blue cast to his friend's ears, but this alarms him far less than it would have if he hadn't already gained at least some passing awareness with what Trench has done to their blood.)

Lan Xichen exchanges seats with Jin Guangyao with a small nod of his head. There's a faint rustle of silk as he adjusts his sleeves in a swift and graceful gesture before plucking a few scales. As expected, Jin Guangyao kept his guqin in impeccable condition, and a small, satisfied smile passes across his lips.

The melody begins simple enough; Jin Guangyao may even recognize it as a variant of a whimsical tune played around inns and restaurants -- something Lan Xichen must have heard and enjoyed when he stepped down from the Cloud Recesses on some investigation or another. It was far from the usual tranquil fare he often played, even when he wasn't. The tempo was almost upbeat, and though simple, he added his own complex bridges between sections of the composition to keep it lively.

It's certainly a meandering song, like a babbling brook carrying autumn leaves on some grand chase, twisting and turning in an playful dance among the swirls and rapids of its current. There are even errors when he plays, though his reflexes and instincts are good enough to incorporate them into the tune, and the tempo of it means his hands do not carry the same slow grace, but the staccato fluttering of a flock of sparrows.

He isn't playing for anything associated with cultivation, but rather for the sheer joy of entertaining a dear friend, to encourage him as he recovered from sickness and bolster his morale.

Unlike Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen remembers the last time he played for him. Nearly six months now, and it was their last truly peaceful moment together before...

...before.

He cherishes the memory, and from time to time he pulls it out and polishes it of so it doesn't fade. How they sat in companionable silence as the last notes faded (the last song, even then, so elegant yet so very restrained), how they had walked the gardens of Jinlintai, speaking quietly, and the warm setting sun bathing Jin Guangyao in vibrant gold as they bid farewell.

This song eventually ends too, on three bright notes like the drop of shooting stars, and Lan Xichen emerges from something like a daze, staring down at his hands in disbelief, as if he wasn't sure he'd been the one to play so audaciously.

"...Er-ge?"

It isn't that Jin Guangyao did not enjoy Lan Xichen's playing, because what an absolutely absurd notion that would be. No one with even passing familiarity with the guqin could spend a moment listening to Lan Xichen play without recognizing him immediately as a master, and Jin Guangyao has had many years to witness that mastery for himself, to see Lan Xichen grow in both his skill and command of the instrument until there was hardly another soul alive in the cultivation world who could compare to him. He's swept up in the performance as he always is, but it's the journey the notes travel this time that is new, and exciting, and alarming, frankly, and that is why the expression Jin Guangyao now wears is one of concern, his eyebrows drawn together into a little furrow over his very wide brown eyes.

"Er-ge," he says again, and reaches out unthinkingly to touch his forearm, "are you all right?"

Faint hints of blue colour his cheeks and the tips of his ears and fingers, and even through the silk of his sleeves his arm feels unusually cool while his pulse is racing.

"I ...am. I'm not sure what came over me just now."

He stares down at the guqin, as though it could possibly offer any explanation for his sudden (and, by his standard, downright brazen) impulse.

"I had wanted to play you something light and happy, but the one I had in mind was far more ...restrained. My apologies."

Edited 2022-11-06 18:54 (UTC)

--all right, now the blue is genuinely distracting, and coupled with this very stark departure from what Lan Xichen normally opts to play for him when Jin Guangyao has listened to him in the past, it is his turn to be concerned.

"Er-ge has done nothing to apologize for," he chides, but sounds distracted, and he moves his hand to instead grasp Lan Xichen's wrist, turning it carefully over so that he can place his fingertips at his qi point to check his pulse and feel the flow of spiritual energy within him. His brows draw together in concentration as he tries to search for anything that might be amiss; their little group has experienced more than enough drama for one month, in his humble opinion.

"You are very blue," he adds quietly. like, in colour, not in temperament.

Everything feels normal save for the unusually low temperature of his body, but Lan Xichen actually understands why now, as opposed to just the base assumption that he is either dead or dreaming.

(And if his pulse quickens a bit under Jin Guangyao's fingertips, that's nothing new.)

"Shen-gongzi has mentioned that our blood here is... different, and that it is tied to the moon."

He expels a bit of spiritual energy to demonstrate, frost forming along his fingertips as they return to their usual pale colour.

"I can do this now. And it is why A-Yao was glowing before, yes?"

The frost that blooms along Lan Xichen's fingertips at that pulse of spiritual energy startles Jin Guangyao enough that he almost drops Lan Xichen's wrist entirely, but not quite. Still, he feels the chill of it against his own skin, and manages a faint noise halfway between and a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head a bit.

"...And this is why A-Yao was glowing before, yes?"

Now his sigh is more pronounced, and he nods. He releases Lan Xichen's wrist--there's nothing wrong with him, of course, and holding onto him for longer than necessary would not be appropriate for all sorts of reasons--then tugs up the sleeve of one hand to examine his own skin. No glowing currently. "It is a quality of Paleblood, I have come to understand. Under the moonlight it is... well." He figures it's obvious.

He settles his hands back into his lap. "I am still attempting to understand what that means, precisely, about... what we are. How we came to be here." He hardly wishes to reopen the discussion of whether or not he is alive, but it is hard not to wonder if--

"Zewu-jun must wonder whether this one is even Jin Guangyao at all." He couldn't blame Lan Xichen; he's still clearly turning the possibility over in his head right now himself.

"It is the moonlight that gives A-Yao his glow...?"

Something like a pleased smile flickers at the corners of his mouth as a faint blue colours the tips of his ears. He schools his face into polite neutrality, pretending he does not already miss Jin Guangyao's hand on his wrist.

"...I have wondered, yes. But if that is the case, then there is the possibility that I am not myself."

His eyes dart down to the palms of his hands which he folds into his sleeves.

"If there is no evidence yet for such a turn of events, then I do not think it's a hypothesis worth pursuing."

All right, that observation is brazen enough that Jin Guangyao immediately flushes pink and has to drop his eyes. "Er-ge..!" It's an admonishing sort of exclamation, but he can't stop the smile that follows.

And as for the rest--

--no, there isn't anything that follows, he's still too flustered by Lan Xichen's observation about moonlight and his glow--and, perhaps, now he is starting to glow a bit, because of course he is, of course this would happen now.

Lan Xichen's smile is concealed behind a sleeve as Jin Guangyao lights up literally. Hey, he's the one who called him his pure white moonlight; Xichen is escalating the steps of their little dance.

(How many of those do they have anyway?)

"It suits Lianfang-zun well," he remarks offhandedly, eyes gleaming with a warm mirth despite his chilly blood. "Though may be troublesome if trying to remain inconspicuous."

(They are likely running out of steps, which means at some point soon they will have to actually acknowledge the thing between them that they are dancing around. That they have always danced around.)

It's one thing to nurse a wild hope to oneself in private and to seek it out it as a source of comfort when struggling to endure life in Jinlintai, and quite another to see the possibility of it suddenly no longer an unattainable thing, like walking on the mountains of the moon, but a fork in the path diverging ahead. A real path, with dips and pitfalls beneath his feet that he could choose to take, if he wanted to, and make this thing real.

He wants it so desperately that he's already started to lift his hand, to reach out and touch Lan Xichen's wrist again, but then stops himself. He swallows, and lowers it back to the table. There are so many reasons why this is such a wretched idea. Da-ge's death, protecting Huaisang from that knowledge, everything that Lan Xichen has endured, and Jin Guangyao is only beginning to understand the shape of it. He could simply allude, as he often has, in careful metaphors and asides, to any of those things.

What comes out of his mouth instead is a very quiet, "I'm still married, Er-ge."

It's a farce of an excuse, a cowardly sham--just like his marriage to Qin Su. But even that tragic mistake being what it is, he can't bring himself to dishonour her more than he already has.

There is a protest on the tip of his tongue. Your sister is dead, Jin Guangyao.

He swallows it.

It hasn't happened for him yet. Qin Su is still alive, still oblivious to ...everything.

He'll not break Jin Guangyao's heart.

"I know. My apologies for overstepping - I did not have any expectations beyond--"

Beyond our usual banter. It stings that for a moment there was that warm, bright familiarity, where they could speak without acknowledging the thing between them, because it was never something either of them could dare to reach for.

(But it was there. It is there. He suspects it always will be.)

"...I did not have any expectations. I know well what can and cannot be."

Jin Guangyao watches with pained eyes the warmth that had suffused Lan Xichen's face fade and dim, and it breaks something in him to see him hurting, and to know he is the one responsible for that pain. They are hamstrung by their circumstances, and yet--

"Er-ge," he starts again, hesitates, and then grants himself permission, just this once, to reach across the table and rest his hand against Lan Xichen's. It takes tremendous effort to lift his gaze up from where his fingers touch Lan Xichen's hand to meet his eyes, but he does it. Because he's the one who ripped open this wound, and he at least owes his dearest friend this much, and to say it while looking into his eyes.

He purses his lips, then tries again. "Er-ge, if... If things had been different--for you, or for me--if my situation in Jinlintai had not been--" There he has to stop himself and close his eyes, "--what it was." He takes another breath, and if there's a sad, pained little smile at the corners of his mouth, if there's just a touch of unsteadiness in his voice, he can be forgiven that, can't he?

"I mean to say," he murmurs, "that nothing would have given this lowly Meng Yao greater happiness than for you to have expectations of him."

He squeezes Lan Xichen's hand, eyes pained. "Please don't mistake this one's refusal for indifference. Please." It could not be further from the truth.

His throat and jaw are tight, but his eyes are dry. Lan Xichen has long mourned the possibility of them ever being able to change the nature of their relationship. Jin Guangyao isn't saying anything he hasn't told himself a thousand times.

(Except that there once may have been a possibility and Lan Xichen wants to scream before throwing that on the pile of regrets, but he can't. He can't.)

He pushes it down, that awful hope that manages to drag itself out of some part of him every once in a while, and he wonders why, even after all this time, he still doesn't know any better.

"I have never thought you indifferent," he protests, a thin crack splitting his voice. He doesn't shake Jin Guangyao's hand on his arm off, but he doesn't dare reach for it in turn, because if he does he won't be able to let go.

Please, some part of him begs. I already had to let go once.

"And A-Yao has never been lowly in this one's eyes. He has always thought of him in the highest possible regard."

He manages a tight, thin smile, because the ache of putting this to words, putting it to rest is like putting down some pained and starving creature; some cruel and terrible mercy, but the only one available to them.

"As I said, I know what can and cannot be. This has always been enough."

His eyes fall to the hand on his arm, where he can feel the warmth of Jin Guangyao through his silks. He wishes he was warm too.

"Perhaps in another life, things will be simpler for us."

At Home

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