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

Mercifully, Huaisang does not spill all his artwork over Jin Guangyao's courtyard. It's not that kind of crisis, and no matter what mood he's in or what kind of complicated feelings he might let fester in his heart, Huaisang won't throw his stuff everywhere knowing full well Guangyao will hobble around in his barely upright state to pick it up for him.

Not that kind of crisis. Just the normal kind, where he needs to be dramatic for a bit and he'll feel better. Caomeimei chirps up a storm from his shoulder, leaving Huaisang to tut at her and murmur about her noise-making (only one of them needs to do it, you see), which is probably what he's doing instead of noticing the way dear san-ge can't cross the courtyard without taking those micro-breaks of his. Probably. He's not fretting, at the very least, so there: that much dignity can be maintained.

Now then, with a noise of certain anguish, "My heart is cold enough when I look at these awful prints!!" He holds up his fan and closes his eyes, like— such is the horrible truth of his existence. The prints are bad, though. "San-ge can make whatever he wants!"

That is to say, the lapsang souchong will have to do, but like, it's a concession. Huaisang mercifully leaves him in peace to prepare the tea, fluttering away to sit and arrange his pitiful art on the table in a very careful and deliberate way to show it off, even if it's just clumsy first attempts. Only then does he turn to look at the fox.

"This one would have brought you a rabbit, but san-ge said no." So mean of him.

The lapsang souchong, in that case, will clearly not do at all. Jin Guangyao quietly and without further comment about it tidies the tin away and, after another considering glance over his shoulder at Huaisang, selects an aromatic green instead. A bit lighter for the season, but anything stronger than that is likely to distract Huaisang a bit too much from his own fussing, and sometimes it's better just to let him get it out of his system. He brings the water on the wood stove to a boil and carefully dispenses the loose tea leaves into a small clay pot--then, after some thought, decides to add a few of the western-style pastries to the arrangement that Shen Yuan had brought over earlier. They're still quite fresh, and full of strawberry preserves beneath the flaky and buttery exterior, surely that will help as well?

...He adds several napkins, to be on the safe side.

"Xiao meimei has already had her lunch," Jin Guangyao remarks when he at last brings the perfectly arranged tray of tea and treats out to the table. He balances it precisely on one hand while clearing the prints to one side of the table, so that he can lower the tray without spilling anything on it. (He'd have been an excellent server in another life, and probably just as bitter about it.) Then, settling himself on the opposite seat from Huaisang, he flicks out his sleeves, pours his friend his tea first, and then reaches for the woodblock, not one of the prints, to examine it.

"This isn't pear wood," he muses aloud, turning it this way and that. He looks up at Huaisang. "Did you bring your tools with you?"

Ah, a fine choice of replacement tea, how thoughtful of him. Huaisang hums- "This one said it would have been a treat rabbit"- but fine, fine. She already had her lunch. Caomeimei hops along his shoulder to twitter away in his ear, and whether or not his answering snicker is because he understands bird speak from his omen, he shan't elaborate.

Thank you for being gentle with his prints, though, although they are garbage. He accepts his tea and frowns over it - for the woodblock, not the tea itself. The aroma is quite soothing, actually; really, the finest possible choice...

"Everything in this city is a cheap disappointment, san-ge." They don't even have the right kind of paper? What is the point? His tools are in a charmingly attractive pouch hanging from his waist (it matches his outer robes, a lovely cream color today, perfect for sulking in), which he pauses to untie and place on the corner of the table for Jin Guangyao to judge, as well.

...And. There are snacks here. Such intrigue. "What are these?"

At Huaisang's fussing and complaining, Jin Guangyao makes all the appropriate "mm" and "hmm" sounds as necessary at all the correct intervals, nodding with sympathy while otherwise not engaging directly until he's asked a question. Then: "Shidi called them cheese and strawberry danishes," he explains idly, though he is already reaching for the pouch full of tools as Huaisang sets it down on the table. "There is also a 'croissant,' and 'pain-au-chocolat.'" At this he looks up from inspecting the tools to give Huaisang a look that is almost mischievous. "I think Huaisang may enjoy those the best. Please, take one."

He ignores the pastries for now and instead selects one of the small chisels from amongst the ones available, and leans in to examine the designs that have been painted onto the woodblock surface. Much of this is simply him following his own instincts and having an eye for detail and the way that things ought to go together; sorry, Huaisang, he won't be redoing all of your prints for you, but he will gladly make the end result look tidier.

The ink on the wood is long dry, and so Jin Guangyao does not feel any reservations about gently touching one of the raised edges of the wood with his fingertips. "These raised edges need to be shaved down more." He looks up at Huaisang and asks, even though he already knows the answer, "Would Huaisang like me to take care of it?" He does have so many pastries to enjoy and tea to drink, after all.

Thank goodness for Jin Guangyao's uncanny ability to both pay attention and not pay attention to what he's saying at the same time. Huaisang hmms over the pastries, ultimately picking up the recommended pain-au-chocolat and a croissant, the latter just because it looks the plainest, and he's going to pick it apart to feed to caomeimei, who flutters down to sit on his knee for just this purpose. She gets treats whenever, unlike that poor, poor xiao meimei, who does not get a single rabbit. Sad for her.

So, appropriately fed and indulged, Huaisang's complaining tapers to a mostly-quiet observation of what Guangyao is doing with the wood block. He knows, objectively, that he did something wrong to this block that can't be blamed entirely on the quality of materials; good on Guangyao to figure it out for him, as always.

The question, then, of course: Does helping Huaisang count as housework? Is he not, in fact, helping Jin Guangyao to feel better? QED.

He wiggles his bitten pastry in the affirmative, an affront to proper cultivator manners (and definitely on purpose). "San-ge can do whatever he sees fit! This one will watch and learn, so that san-ge won't have to step in the next time." Really. For sure. Absolutely, this is the truth.

At that declaration, Jin Guangyao's answering smile is a crack through his polished and mannerly mask that brings out the dimples in his cheeks and puts little lines at the corners of his eyes. But that warmth and affection for the melodramatic young man sitting across from him, always on the cusp of some minor arts catastrophe or another, has always existed beneath the pristine lacquer of Jin Guangyao's public face, and so he feels no real reservations about letting Huaisang see it now.

He gives his head the smallest of shakes, laughing a little. "You know I don't mind," he tells Huaisang and regards him fondly for just a moment, looking brighter and healthier despite his pallor. Then he refocuses himself and sets about making his first, precise changes to the wood block.

When next Huaisang turns to offer a bit of flaky pastry bit to caomeimei, there is a new presence seated primly and inquisitively by his side. Xiao meimei's saffron-coloured eyes are following the movements of Huaisang's hands with keen interest, though she would never be so presumptuous as to leap up and snatch something from his fingers. No, she is the height of propriety--though perhaps she does spare a slightly admonishing look towards her Sleeper for having the audacity not to allow her to accept a gift.

Jin Guangyao catches that glance and it is clear the moment he relents, for he sighs and then gestures with the tool in his hand. "Go on then," he murmurs, and returns to the delicate task of chiseling down the ragged edges of the woodblock, leaning close enough to carefully observe his work but not so close that any errant wood bits could end up in his eyes.

"You know I don't mind."

Huaisang does know; Huaisang remembers, and isn't it remarkable, one's capacity to remember in startling clarity the most mundane of things? He remembers the smaller courtyard at Qinghe, the one where he would arrange Jin Guangyao's gifts every time he brought more and lavish praise upon the craftsmanship, the delicate precision of the artworks, all while Jin Guangayo would gently insist they all suited him very well, just as suspected. Somewhere, one of Huaisang's many birds would whistle something light and airy as if to match the day, the crisp air, the delight in hosting company.

Huaisang remembers falling over himself into Lanling, collapsing into a seat for tea among everything golden and the perfectly-framed sunlight, and regaling Jin Guangyao with his many woes of this or that and being patiently received. Given sympathy and kind words and advice instead of scolding, and the inevitable turn to whiling away a handful of hours in almost-quiet, except for when he has another sudden idea to chatter about. It's the peace and comfort Huaisang remembers now, the fondness on Jin Guangyao's face seemingly projecting back through every memory and gleaming unabashed in Qinghe where he was always so very reserved, and in Lanling where he had to be so proper.

It truly is remarkable to remember so much in an instant, to think oh, so that is what lived under all those public faces. Huaisang tells himself he had assumed; now he supposes he does, in fact, know.

He knows a lot of things ~~ironically~~. Remarkable as well is the stain of knowing.

But here is the present, and Jin Guangyao relenting about xiao meimei's time for treats, and Huaisang brightens with a dash of little-brotherly mischief in the look he gives him before pulling off a piece of croissant for the omen (bigger than caomeimei's, naturally, this meimei is not a bird). "It's flaky and quite delicious," he says, which hm, he supposes he got from his own omen just now, go figure, "And not as messy as a rabbit, so this one will avoid san-ge's stern frown about cleaning up."

Ha. In the meantime he steals a glance at the rescue work being done to his woodblock. "Er-ge showed me a..." A, hm. A thing. A picture moving. ~~what are videos~~ "It was on the omni, about cutting the wood. Was I wrong?"

"...And not as messy as a rabbit, so this one will avoid san-ge's stern frown about cleaning up."

"San-ge is relieved," Jin Guangyao responds primly, though his lips purse into a smile as he works. He's relieved, and clearly enjoying himself, and so can't begrudge xiao meimei her treat as she graciously lifts herself up onto her little hindquarters to accept the bit of pastry as it is offered out. Having delicately taken it between her teeth, she trots over to her cushion, where she turns herself about once or twice before settling in to enjoy the snack.

Still focused on the chiseling, Jin Guangyao shakes his head at Huaisang's question. "No, I think it is the quality of the wood," he says, and holds the wood block out for Huaisang to see it for himself. "We use pear wood for our woodblock prints back home, but I think this must be oak, given how easily it splinters." A pause, and he is quick to reassure, "But Huaisang's hard work is very clear from this!" It is, he isn't just being polite, please believe The Eyes, they are very earnest! "I think that Er-ge will be delighted by your efforts. He is an artist too, and I am sure that nothing will make him happier than to see how A-Sang's craft improves over time."

(Speaking of The Eyes, they do become nearly incandescent with affection as he speaks of Lan Xichen. ~~He isn't subtle at all, help him.~~)

Oh, and there goes xiao meimei, not ready to linger close and inevitably be bothered by caomeimei, it seems. Huaisang watches the fox leave before turning his attention back to Jin Guangyao, leaning his elbow on the table and picking at the other pastry with a slight frown. You know, because he's bad at an art thing? Leaving aside that he wasn't born a talented artist, this is the most shameful thing he could possibly present to others.

And so the hasty assurance that he tried his best earns a scoff and a wave of his hand, like please, he knows it is truly terrible... The Eyes are earnest and he believes them, and the woodcut is bad; two things can be true at the same time.

"Er-ge doesn't need to see anything besides the final result, san-ge," he says, raising an eyebrow. This first effort will be their little secret, yes? Great, thanks.

...Now, as for the incredibly overt eyes of affection, and the way Jin Guangyao handles the woodblock and chisel with such relative ease, well, "Why doesn't san-ge take up any art? Er-ge could teach him to paint."

That raised eyebrow and pointed tone is observed and noted. Jin Guangyao relents with a little tip of his head and sets the woodblock back down. Consider this a kept secret; he's very good at those. (Unfortunately.)

But then that last observation arises, and Jin Guangyao has no choice but to recall his recent awkward conversation with their beloved er-ge--you know, before the traumatic onslaught of hallucinations kicked in--and a bit of colour appears in two rosy spots high on his cheeks. He purses his lips again and resumes his diligent work on chiseling down the splinters on the woodblock, because frankly these conversations are always easier for him if he has somewhere else to direct his attention, something to keep his hands busy. "This one has no real gift for such things, Huaisang," he insists and applies a polite little smile to his lips, because he has no complicated feelings about this topic at all, of course. "And Er-ge has already taught him--"

His hand slips, just a fraction, as he says, "the guqin," but he covers it well and fixes his minor error without looking up. (No. Let's not discuss the guqin around Huaisang.) "...this one has already taken up enough of Er-ge's time since we all arrived in Trench."

You know, it was Huaisang's own mistake to ask. He leans back on one hand and dangles the remaining scrap of croissant above caomeimei to have her flutter up towards it, to give himself something enjoyable to look at while he bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper. Yes, the fucking guqin, of course, just give him one moment here to let the hot bubble of righteous indignation to simmer back down in his gut; to stop rattling his own bars and spitting about how complicit everybody is in a lot of things.

No, it's not the time for that. This is the time for caomeimei's treats and Jin Guangyao's watery doe eyes over Lan Xichen, ordinary things that don't press sharply on his heart. He'll brick up a tomb around it, that's very Nie-quick-fix of him, ha—

"You live in the same house, though," he says, harmlessly, pursing his lips to give Jin Guangyao a look of genuine concern. These brothers, what are they doing? Huaisang shakes his head. "It's not this one's business how san-ge spends his time, but— think about it."

A brief quirk of a smile, earnest but not too earnest, like he's finally learning how to not be pushy. Ahem. The earlier moment has passed into a dull throb in his cheek, and that's fine, he exists here in the better space again: concerned that his elder brothers are going to wander in circles and go nowhere. He gestures at the woodblock.

"San-ge is good at this, at least."

It's fortunate for the both of them, perhaps, that Jin Guangyao is so focused on saving his own face that he does not look up to scrutinize Huaisang's too closely--at least, not until he makes those observations, and then Jin Guangyao has to look up at him again.

"You live in the same house, though. It's not this one's business how san-ge spends his time, but--think about it."

He's confronted by that little smile, one that seems shockingly aware of the delicate subject its bearer is encroaching upon, which is more than evidence enough for Jin Guangyao to decide that, fuck, he knows, doesn't he?

(The narrator: this, too, is called dramatic irony.)

Jin Guangyao sets the chisel down carefully and reaches for the little clay teapot to refill his cup. When in doubt, tea--and deflect. "Ah, Huaisang, this one is sincere--he truly has no talent for such things, and would not wish to waste our er-ge's time. But you do have a gift for it," he insists and nods to the woodblock again. "The oak wood may not yield to the chisel as well as pear, but you have a good eye for design and form, and that is something this one does not possess." Then his eyes light up and he smiles again, yes, the perfect distraction--

"Why don't I take you shopping in Cellar Door?" he suggests. "I have seen a number of specialty shops since my arrival here that might sell supplies we can repurpose for your art. Then you can try your design again and see how your work progresses when you have everything you need in front of you."

Ah, tea and deflection, a masterful move. Huaisang dutifully listens to Jin Guangyao's deflection, finishing off the last bit of his pastry and wondering if this thing - the er-ge thing, the most obvious thing in the world - was supposed to be a secret? Like, from him, specifically? It's been how many years and how many yearning looks he's errantly witnessed? Please.

But alright, it's a fine deflection, and it isn't really his business, besides.

"More specialty shops...?" Like... the one er-ge took him to? He does not say this, because he is being polite about the deflection, but he'll remember which shop they needn't bother with, when it comes to getting finer quality materials. "This Huaisang would be happy to go shopping with san-ge! Ah, do you think my design is too complicated for a first try...?"

(It probably is, but he'll expire if he can't have at least three birds per artwork.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject