Jin Guangyao looks sharply towards the sound of Huaisang's voice, but what he sees first is actually a puzzled and bespectacled archivist who is standing about six feet away from him where he's still bent into a kowtow on the floor. They're blocking the narrow footpath in a range of shelves holding arcane archival texts devoted to blood powers--specifically one Sleeper's donated works on how they'd leveraged their paleblood capabilities to offset the weaknesses that had accompanied them to Trench. Dimly, Jin Guangyao recalls that was the whole purpose behind their visit here today; here, to the Arcane Archives, which is not the Unclean Realm in Qinghe, or Jinlintai in Lanling City, or the bloodbath that was his killing of Wen Ruohan in the Scorching Sun Palace. That can't explain how he came by the bit of antler that is now clutched tight enough to shatter in his hand, but as soon as he realizes just what it is, what has happened, he gets to his feet and flings it away as if stung by it--
--and where the antler clatters to the ground, a colourful oriole suddenly bursts forth from between two boxes in a tittering flurry of feathers, spooked by the sound. She flits straight to Huaisang's shoulder and alights there without any hesitation. (hello, friend, she loves you, take her home, please.)
The elderly archivist lets out a startled yelp and nearly drops his armful of delicate papers to point at the bird--like they could possibly have missed it, thanks--and exclaims indignantly at Huaisang, like this is his fault (somehow), "You can't bring a bird into special collections! Get it out of here right now! And," he adds tartly, snatching up the antler and brandishing it back at Jin Guangyao, "take your garbage with you, it isn't our responsibility to--"
Jin Guangyao rounds on him. "You keep it!" he snaps back, vicious in the way only a terrified, cornered animal can be, "I'm not touching that wretched thing again!" (The archivist recoils, frightened, and scurries away, because he is not paid enough to deal with this shit.)
Wild-eyed, white-faced, and without even the pretence of cordiality, Jin Guangyao watches him hurry away and struggles to catch his breath, his body still flush with adrenaline and shame. When he turns to look back at Huaisang again, he can barely sustain eye contact with him for longer than half a second before he has to look away again. Instinct has him lifting a trembling hand up to straighten his hat, only to remember even before his hand is halfway there that his hat is gone, he lost it months ago. He curls his fingers in on themselves tightly.
"If Huaisang does not mind," he begins again unsteadily, still unable to meet his eyes, "I would like to go home now." Go home, and pretend none of this happened, which would be much easier for him to do if evidence of this shared memory wasn't presently perched on Huaisang's shoulder preening its feathers.
no subject
Jin Guangyao looks sharply towards the sound of Huaisang's voice, but what he sees first is actually a puzzled and bespectacled archivist who is standing about six feet away from him where he's still bent into a kowtow on the floor. They're blocking the narrow footpath in a range of shelves holding arcane archival texts devoted to blood powers--specifically one Sleeper's donated works on how they'd leveraged their paleblood capabilities to offset the weaknesses that had accompanied them to Trench. Dimly, Jin Guangyao recalls that was the whole purpose behind their visit here today; here, to the Arcane Archives, which is not the Unclean Realm in Qinghe, or Jinlintai in Lanling City, or the bloodbath that was his killing of Wen Ruohan in the Scorching Sun Palace. That can't explain how he came by the bit of antler that is now clutched tight enough to shatter in his hand, but as soon as he realizes just what it is, what has happened, he gets to his feet and flings it away as if stung by it--
--and where the antler clatters to the ground, a colourful oriole suddenly bursts forth from between two boxes in a tittering flurry of feathers, spooked by the sound. She flits straight to Huaisang's shoulder and alights there without any hesitation. (hello, friend, she loves you, take her home, please.)
The elderly archivist lets out a startled yelp and nearly drops his armful of delicate papers to point at the bird--like they could possibly have missed it, thanks--and exclaims indignantly at Huaisang, like this is his fault (somehow), "You can't bring a bird into special collections! Get it out of here right now! And," he adds tartly, snatching up the antler and brandishing it back at Jin Guangyao, "take your garbage with you, it isn't our responsibility to--"
Jin Guangyao rounds on him. "You keep it!" he snaps back, vicious in the way only a terrified, cornered animal can be, "I'm not touching that wretched thing again!" (The archivist recoils, frightened, and scurries away, because he is not paid enough to deal with this shit.)
Wild-eyed, white-faced, and without even the pretence of cordiality, Jin Guangyao watches him hurry away and struggles to catch his breath, his body still flush with adrenaline and shame. When he turns to look back at Huaisang again, he can barely sustain eye contact with him for longer than half a second before he has to look away again. Instinct has him lifting a trembling hand up to straighten his hat, only to remember even before his hand is halfway there that his hat is gone, he lost it months ago. He curls his fingers in on themselves tightly.
"If Huaisang does not mind," he begins again unsteadily, still unable to meet his eyes, "I would like to go home now." Go home, and pretend none of this happened, which would be much easier for him to do if evidence of this shared memory wasn't presently perched on Huaisang's shoulder preening its feathers.