fanfavors: (7nj5gsa)
nie huaisang ([personal profile] fanfavors) wrote in [community profile] deercountry2022-11-23 11:23 am

catching them all

Who: nie huaisang and buddies
What: catchall log
When: nov/dec
Where: all places that exist

Content warnings: tbd

🐦🐦🐦
threads below
listenyouidiot: (i'm going to end you)

[personal profile] listenyouidiot 2022-12-20 12:02 am (UTC)(link)
It's been--how long has it been?--since Fitz last raised either an axe or a sword against another man, but the muscle memory of it comes back to him faster than his own awareness of the danger. At the last moment he flings up his axe--something else he hadn't realized he'd been holding, until suddenly, he is--to deflect that first wild, reckless swing from Mingjue's sabre, and the harsh metallic clang of steel on steel is still ringing in his ears as he goes to his knees under the force of that blow. Winded, he stares at the man whose body he is supposed to be picking up from where it had collapsed under its own dead weight mere seconds ago, watching with mounting horror as Mingjue hauls himself and that blade upright again.

Another fool's errand, indeed--what an understatement. He'll be fortunate if is a fight to the death--

--which only heightens the spike of dread that jolts through him like a lightning strike, because he can't tell, suddenly, whether Mingjue views Fitz as his target, or Huaisang. Whatever bond the brothers had once shared hadn't been enough to protect Huaisang from harm; Fitz won't risk the fatal consequences of trusting in it now. "Hey!" He barks the challenge at Mingjue and Skills the demand towards his mind, towards any lingering scrap of awareness that might remain in his mind. "Don't look at him, look at me!" He lifts the axe, not to strike at Huaisang's brother, but to hold his attention with the sharp glint of steel, his eyes hard and fixed on Mingjue's, a transparent challenge from one predator to another, as he sidesteps carefully around the edge of the square.

"Huaisang," lower, steadier, "I'll try to hold his attention, can you--can you stand, can you get someone to take you to safety?"
listenyouidiot: (rough day babe?)

[personal profile] listenyouidiot 2022-12-20 07:11 pm (UTC)(link)
At least the state of Mingjue's knee means that he has one clear 'tell,' which means when he lunges forward with that sabre again, Fitz is able to dodge to the side safely out of range--

--or rather, he would be out of range, if the reach of that sabre was not so wide, and if Mingjue's corpse was not quite so impossibly strong as to wield such a massive weapon like a child's toy. Fitz's sideways lunge gets him well out of range of anything that could kill or seriously injure him, but the sharp tip of the blade nevertheless cuts cleanly through the flesh of his left bicep. A splash of vile-looking green blood arcs away from the site of the wound to spatter across the wall; Fitz doesn't cry out, but seems to bodily shake himself, just once, as if to push his awareness of the pain to the back of his mind to be managed later.

Later, once he has found a way to subdue Huaisang's brother, to subdue him without--without--

The Skill. It had done... something, before. If Fitz can burn that command into what remains of Nie Mingjue's mind, perhaps that could be enough to end this before more blood is spilt, before Huaisang has to watch him die again--or, even worse, be cut down by his blade. He gathers his reserves and focuses his Skill awareness at Mingjue's mind like a javelin, and: "Stop. Stop fighting me." He points towards Huiasang with the hand not wielding his ax, now slick with green blood. "Listen to your brother. Obey him."

Once, he'd poured every ounce of power he possessed into a single Skill command, and he had burned it like a brand into Regal the Pretender's mind: to protect and serve Verity's Queen, Kettricken, and their son, Dutiful, until the day he met his death. Fitz isn't certain he possesses the reserves to deliver such a command to anyone anymore, and he has no way of knowing whether Mingjue, his body as devoid of the spark of life as the Forged Ones had been, could withstand it without shattering. And so he strives desperately for a murky middle ground, but still keeps his ax at the ready, prepared to throw himself between Mingjue and Huaisang again if he has no choice.
listenyouidiot: (a man has regrets)

[personal profile] listenyouidiot 2022-12-29 06:15 am (UTC)(link)
Huaisang reaches for him, and what else could Fitz possibly do but be there to catch him?

So that is what he does as Mingjue's body crumples to the ground under its own dead weight, and he does not let go even when the unforgiving bite of a winter gale buffets into him from behind, the force of it ripping the memory's remnants away like a bit of loose tarp left to flutter desperately in the midst of a winter storm. But there is no storm, and just as swiftly as that frigid wind arrives to strip away the illusion of Qinghe around them, so too does it peter out into a weak breeze whispering through the dense evergreen canopy overhead. It's only when he feels the bite of his own tears freezing on his wind-burnt cheeks that he realizes he's begun to cry.

When had that started? When had this raw, aching wound at witnessing Huaisang's grief become too much for his heart to carry? The immensity of it brims over like an overfull wine chalice, and the pain has nowhere else to go except out.

Tears have their uses, anyway. They say more than any clumsy words Fitz might attempt to string together, of that much he is certain. Oh, he can pen a screed of introspective memoirs and fill a library to bursting with scrolls of unpublished Six Duchies histories, but a silver tongue had always been the Fool's gift, not his. He looks back at Huaisang in wordless reply, dark eyes blinking away wetness that even now the cold is threatening to turn to frost on his lashes, and can only shake his head once, twice, at the words of thanks. Why, why is Huaisang thanking him?

"Huaisang," he begins, his jaw working, before he abandons whatever it was he'd been intending to say and simply opts to pull Huaisang into a firm hug. A protective arm about his shoulders can't undo the damage of reliving that memory, he knows that. But the air is very cold, and Fitz is warm. He can offer that much, at least.

On the periphery of their senses, Nighteyes flows back into their awareness like a ghost, trekking back towards the cottage through the Trenchwood. He doesn't interrupt.
listenyouidiot: (windswept!!)

[personal profile] listenyouidiot 2022-12-30 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
"You'll make me cry, too."

"I'm sorry." It's an automatic, reflexive apology, low and rough in his throat from the strength of emotions that have caught him off-guard, but even to his ears in this moment it seems a silly thing for him to say. He makes a sound that might be a weak excuse for a laugh, under other circumstances. "I didn't mean to."

His tears still sting his eyes, but Huaisang's fingers on his face are so soft, so gentle--how did this man manage to remain so full of gentleness when surrounded by so much rage and violence? And then he registers just how cold those hands are, and guaranteed to get even colder the longer they stand together out here in the isolated quiet of the woods. Fitz brings up his hands to cover Huaisang's against his cheeks; his callused hands are poor shelter for an artist's fingers from the elements, but he offers what he has, even if it isn't much.

Oh, little brother. Nighteyes' thoughts are softer than lambswool, warm and sad. Fitz allows them to rest in his mind and shelves his private confusion over the wolf's tone for later contemplation. Later, when Huaisang doesn't feel fragile as spun glass in his hands.

He draws in a shuddering breath and unthinkingly smooths down a few loose tendrils of Huaisang's windswept black hair. "Come inside," he offers with a nod to the warm yellow light emanating from the cottage window.
listenyouidiot: (soft thoughts :3c)

[personal profile] listenyouidiot 2023-01-04 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
Even if he's had to dredge the last remnants of his good humour up from the bottom of his heart to muster it, it's an immense relief for Fitz to hear Huaisang try to tease him. Even if he still has tears shining in his eyes, even if he moves carefully, tenderly, as if to walk too fast or too quickly might shatter the parts of him that are still broken, at least he is walking. At least when faced with the choice between sinking down into his grief, to grow cold and atrophied with the familiarity of it, or leaving it behind, he chose the latter. It's a harder choice to make than many realize, until they're faced with it themselves.

"You're welcome to tea," he admits with a rueful little smile, "but I thought you might prefer something stronger."

The inside of the cottage is warm and tidy, if still a bit spare with its furnishings, but Fitz has been diligent about pending the gaps in the walls to keep out the draft, and there's really nothing that compares to the comfort offered by a lit hearth on a frigid winter night. Once they're both inside, Fitz fetches the bottle of brandy down from its coveted place above his stove, along with two glasses. He unstoppers the bottle, pours a liberal amount of the brown liquor into one glass, then glances at Huaisang in silent question. "Brandy?" A pause, before he chuckles once, "unless you'd prefer the tea."