deercountry | january catch-all for some guys!

Lan Xichen retires to his room a broken and miserable man, collapsing into his bed and willing sleep to take him. Things would be... not better in the morning but he could, perhaps, start to pick up these messy emotions, tidy them up, put them on a shelf somewhere and occasionally take them down and examine them with fondness, not anguish.

He falls into his dreams, and does not even realize the change that occurs.

Lan Xichen awakes, naked and alone in a strange room that looks a bit like his home in the Cloud Recesses, but very much is not.

He finds some clothes, folded and put away and very much his and dresses quickly before exploring the room. It looks lived in - there's a canvas and paint supplies, and when he peers under the cloth covering the painting, there is a portrait of a woman who bears a striking resemblance to his fiancé.

Further exploration reveals several reams of paper, covered in what is very much his own calligraphy next to a device.

He reads through each page twice, sometimes thrice, in disbelief, and wonders just who Jin Guangyao is? He doesn't know anyone by that name. Perhaps Sect Leader Yao had joined the Jin somehow...? The only other Yao he knows is Nie Lianfang, formerly Meng Yao.

That gets him to his feet immediately, tucking the peculiar device along with the nigh novel this... other him wrote into the folds of his robes, and he hurries out the door, calling for his betrothed, hoping that he is safe and well.

Edited 2023-01-03 00:15 (UTC)

The door to the bay room directly opposite Lan Xichen's in the courtyard opens up at his call, and Meng Yao steps out into the crisp morning air, looking--not frightened, precisely, but clearly unsettled, though the relieved smile that breaks across his face when they make eye contact is immediate.

"Xichen," he says, tension going out of him quickly as he crosses the flagstones to greet his betrothed, to reach out and take hold of both his hands. "Huan-ge," he goes on, intimately affectionate and still very unsettled, despite his smile, "please reassure me that I am not losing my mind." He looks up at the odd, alien sky pointedly, then gestures down at his own clothes. He's dressed in robes he managed to find for himself inside his (??) rooms, though they are a bit tight around his shoulders and biceps, as though intended for a man with a slightly more slender frame. He tries to give his shoulders a roll to see if there is any give in the fabric--and there really isn't, if the slight snick of thread tearing along a silken seam is any indication. He winces, then carefully tries to slip the golden outer robe from his shoulders. This clearly isn't going to work.

"This Meng Yao does not cultivate with a sabre," he remarks a bit dryly, because clearly if he did, these clothes might actually fit. He folds it over his forearm as neatly as he can manage, then peers up at his betrothed, frowning some. "I don't understand what is happening. But are you well?" He reaches up without a moment of hesitation or a shred of guilt to touch Lan Xichen's cheek, something he's done countless times before--so why does some part of him feel like weeping when he does this? (He blinks at the sensation, confused, but in another instant it's gone.)

"...A-Yao," he breathes in a rush of relief. If Meng Yao is here, then things cannot be so dire. They have been through so much already and come through triumphant.

Xichen leans into the touch and wonders why his heart aches like those days when he and Meng Yao had gazed at each other with such endless yearning, until Mingjue had thrown up his hands in frustration and formalized their engagement with approval from Lan Qiren.

Jin Guangyao, not Meng Yao, his mind helpfully supplies, and something clicks into place from the letter from his other self.

"He's probably slighter than you. The other Xichen is a bit broader than I am as well."

Largely because that other Xichen had a good seventeen years on this younger counterpart and had filled out a great deal in that time. Their height and build were roughly similar, but only roughly. Still, robes that were too big were infinitely preferable to robes that were too small, and he couldn't bear for Meng Yao to have to suffer.

"Would A-Yao prefer to borrow some of my clothes until we can get him something that fits properly...?" he asks innocently, only a slight lift of the brow suggesting some ulterior motivation.

That remark about Lan Xichen's counterpart being a bit broader in the shoulders has Meng Yao lightly pursing his lips to moderate the smile that still manages to dimple his cheeks, because that's a very nice mental image. Something to look forward to, one day.

It is almost enough to distract him from the dearth of useful information his own counterpart has left behind to guide him. ("Nie Huaisang is here." "Lan Xichen is here." "Wei Wuxian is here." Are the accompanying screeds of poetry beside each name intended to reveal something useful? If there is a pattern there, he will need more time to puzzle through what it means.) His mind, busy as ever, begins to circle back to it, to make some comment about this Jin Guangyao into whose shoes he has stepped, when Xichen suggests, ever so innocently, "Would A-Yao prefer to borrow some of my clothes until we can get him something that fits properly?" And Meng Yao's eyes grow quite wide, because he knows that look, Lan Xichen. He knows it very well.

"Xi-ge..!" He steals a quick glance around them, but of course, there's no one else in this courtyard. There's no one else here at all; it appears that he and Lan Xichen have this siheyuan all to themselves. And yet, if anyone might appear in this city each month, well, knowing their luck, Sect Leader Nie could be the one to catch them. (Again. He colours recalling it.) He gives Xichen a mildly reproachful look, still pressing his lips together to stifle a smile. "A-Yao would graciously welcome a change of clothes," he says, then raises his eyebrows and adds in a whisper, "and only a change of clothes. What if Chifeng-zun is nearby?"

Xichen too recalls with fondness and only some embarrassment of Nie Mingjue finding the two of them entangled in the gardens after slipping their poor, distraught chaperone. The fifteen or so minutes he and Meng Yao had spent locked in ferocious mouth-to-mouth combat (saber training indeed!) had been more than worth hour long lecture from Mingjue, and his own uncle's further admonishments about preserving their virtue and that they weren't teenagers anymore, for goodness sake, Xichen what would your older brother think?

"What if Chifeng-zun isn't nearby?" he counters, lips curled in a playful grin. "We can search the grounds if it will put A-Yao at ease to be alone in his betrothed's quarters with only this most humble gege."

It seems the alternate versions of themselves were far better at sticking to propriety, but Lan Xichen got the feeling they were a bit older if the clothes were aught to go by. Perhaps married life left Meng Yao a touch more svelt, or he had sought out less physically demanding means of cultivation?

With their situation, dual cultivation was always a sound option after all, and Xichen could be an excellent cauldron. He's a veritable well-spring of spiritual energy, though his other self had made no mention of such things.

Probably something to look forward to then.

Edited 2023-01-03 03:00 (UTC)

Meng Yao smiles patiently, and indulgently, at Lan Xichen's flirtation. It's a decidedly oh, you, sort of expression, one he's utilized many times in the past in response to such overtures. He rests a hand on Lan Xichen's chest above his heart and allows himself the delightful pleasure of imagining how handsome his Jade of Lan will look in Nie Sect steel, silver and green (and how best to work in every homage to the Cloud Recesses that they can manage into his new clothes). Contemplating such domestic logistics softens his cheeky smirk, because they won't have to dance around the matter like this for much longer.

...it's a fun little dance though, he can't deny it. He lets his hand linger on the silk after smoothing out some non-existent wrinkle, peering back up at Lan Xichen through a frankly alarming quantity of long eyelashes. Time to deploy The Eyes (Coy). "A-Yao is always at ease in Huan-er's company." Boy this silk is so nice, that is surely the only reason he continues to run his fingers across it. ~~he'd be twirling his hair around his index finger if he were that kind of babygirl and this was a 90s high school romcom for straight people~~

Then he refolds his hands neatly behind himself and takes a sidling step backward. (These seams are tugging across his shoulders, though.) "We can search the house together, if Huan-er would not mind fetching this one a change of clothes first." Which, it is implied, he will be changing into in his own rooms. In private. (For now.)

Xichen does not watch the way Meng Yao's fingers trail along the seams of his robes under the pretense of smoothing them. He can feel them just fine, thank you, and A-Yao's eyes are far more arresting, the way the lashes occasionally flutter over his betrothed's warm, brown gaze.

We can search the house together, if Huan-er would not mind fetching this one a change of clothes first.

Xichen beams, and rounds his arms and gives a short bow.

"This one will be back shortly."

They have their dance, and they know the steps well. This part of it is delicate and, well, not subtle (they are well past the point of subtlety) but it is careful; a slow and proper waltz to avoid long, long lectures about the importance of preserving one's virtue for their wedding night. Xichen is fairly certain that neither his, nor Meng Yao's greatest virtues are stored in in their chrysanthemums, and their marriage won't be an abject failure just because they proceed with some matters a little sooner than is typically expected. Instead, it has become a game between them simply of who can hold out longer.

And so, Xichen is to be the perfect gentleman and heads off to collect the aforementioned robes with, perhaps, a little more bounce in his step than is strictly proper.

Once Meng Yao is changed into something that won't rip if he has the audacity to move his arms, they can, at last, get their bearings.

~~honestly the less time either of them spend contemplating the elaborate floral metaphors that Lan-xiansheng had neatly constructed around all of their premarital education, the better~~

Pleased with Lan Xichen's cooperation, Meng Yao waits patiently in the courtyard for him to return with a change of clothes, and in the meantime he examines the wards placed at strategic intervals around the courtyard interior. He parses their meanings neatly--evil repelling, warming, and a few others, most written in calligraphy that resembles his own... or, perhaps what his own calligraphy should aspire to, given how little time he has available to devote to such pursuits now (much to Meng Shi's eternal chagrin). He takes a few idling steps towards the parlour door and nudges the door open just enough to peek inside: strange, he decides, but--ah, it looks like his counterpart also makes judicious use of labels and note-taking, so perhaps it won't be too difficult for him to make sense of the machinery.

He slides the door closed again and looks back towards Lan Xichen's door (he's not impatient, not a bit), bounces on his heels a little, and then spots the door to the little building behind this Jin Guangyao's bedroom. He has to lean a little bit to the side to get a decent look at it, but from the shape of it, it resembles a family shrine; he can vaguely make out the shapes of memorial tablets positioned on an altar.

The grief that sinks its teeth into him, that forces tears to his eyes, is as confusing as it is upsetting. For the space between two breaths, there's a yawning chasm of pain in his heart--and then it's gone again, leaving behind only the vague afterimage of someone else's suffering. Meng Yao blinks someone else's tears out of his eyes and quickly composes himself, then walks over to the shrine and slides the doors open.

The two memorial tablets are elegant in their simplicity, rendered with obvious care. Meng Yao stares at the names and the dedications below them, and tries to make sense of what he's feeling. He's still trying when Lan Xichen tracks him down. "Xichen," he murmurs, "look."

The names Jin Rusong and Meng Shi stare back at Lan Xichen from the tablets when he finally finds Meng Yao. One name is familiar, someone he knows to be both alive and well. He'd passed several pleasant hours in her and her son's company, drinking tea, eating sweets, and discussing music and poetry.

The other name is... not familiar. But he can fathom a guess.

Jin Guangyao had likely had a son or a beloved nephew who had passed on. Both deaths must have been devastating.

One month, the letter had said. They would return to their world in one month. But here was a glimpse into the lives of other versions of themselves, and while Xichen was no stranger to bouts of melancholy, he had been feeling such much more intently upon awakening here and wondered if it was due to some connection or another to this... other version of him.

He pulls Meng Yao into the safety of his embrace.

Like books on a shelf, the letter had explained, Each one with only a few small changes made, until you got to the end of the row, and last was a very different story from the first.

"A-Yao's mother is at home, and safe, and alive," he assures softly, pressing a kiss into his hair. "When we return, we'll all have tea together again. That is our reality."

These were only echoes of another life, a different life, a glimpse at what could have been if some factors had been changed. For all Xichen knew, Jin Guangyao was a completely different man to his betrothed - nothing more than a stranger with a familiar face.

(He knows, too, that's not true. He cannot fathom any version of himself that would not look at A-Yao with love and warmth.)

"This is not your pain to carry. But we can light incense and say prayers in the absence of our other selves, if that is A-Yao's wish."

Meng Yao leans into the comforting and familiar warmth of Lan Xichen's arms and rests his cheek against the place where his throat and shoulder meet, but his eyes remain on the shrines--on Jin Rusong's shrine, specifically. He stares at the characters written there: Jin Rusong, son of Jin Guangyao and Qin Su. It is startlingly easy for him to accept what Lan Xichen assures him about his mother--that Meng Shi is waiting for him in her Qinghe pavilion, prepared to fondly scold him for locking horns with Nie-xiong again over some trivial matter--because either she is, or this entire experience is a bizarre dream, in which case he will awaken in his own bed soon and all will be as it was.

Perhaps a different sort of person would feel more pain over the thought of having a child who has already died. But in this, too, it is easy enough for Meng Yao to separate himself from, because whoever Jin Rusong's father was, whoever Qin Su's husband was, it was not Nie Lianfang.

It's the 'Jin' name that won't let him go. And it has been twisting itself in and around his mind since he first reviewed the notes left behind for him in his private rooms.

"Why is he a Jin?" Quietly, almost like he's speaking to himself, though he does eventually pull away just enough to look up at Lan Xichen. He frowns. "Nie Zhengqing is my father. Why would this Meng Yao ever abandon his sect?"

"I don't know," he says softly, rubbing slow, soothing circles between Meng Yao's shoulders. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"So much about their lives is different. The other me mentioned a younger brother and a nephew that do not exist for me, and not a single mention of Wangji. Perhaps Jin Guangyao has different blood ties as well...?"

Lan Xichen racked his thoughts for an explanation. If (and given how much was already so different, it is big if) all other things were the same or similar, one scenario did come to mind.

Given Meng Shi's former profession, Meng Yao's paternal parent could have been in question. Clearly it was another cultivator and likely a toss up between Jin Guangshan and Nie Zhengqing...? Perhaps that Meng Shi had been a concubine of Jin Guangshan rather than Nie Zhengqing. It would explain the memorial tablet -- Jin Furen was notoriously jealous and cruel, and Jin Guangshan was far more ruthless than the affable face he showed the world. The Meng Shi he knows is a clever and resilient person, but even she would not survive that den of vipers. It would also explain why Jin Guangyao was a Jin, but did not share a generational title with Jin Guangshan's son and nephew. He was notoriously cruel to any bastards that came to validate their name, he doubts he'd be much kinder to one that he legitimized.

"Your father is a fair and just man," he says. "If there is any question of your parentage, then I am sure he is already aware and I doubt he cares. He claimed you as his son, raised you as his son and he has never had anything but pride in you. The people who live here... they are only reflections of lives that might have been. You have parents and brothers who love you. A betrothed who loves you. Do not chase this other man's shadow."

His eyes fall to the tablet of a lost son and he shakes his head and he feels that echo of melancholy and grief that is his and yet not. Something has transpired between these other versions of them, something that leaves an ever growing feeling of dread in him.

"I do not think we would like to be in either of their shoes."

"No," Meng Yao agrees quietly, eyes lingering on the memorial tablets for a moment longer, before he sighs and turns his face into Lan Xichen's neck. "No, I do not think we would."

He bridles a little at his betrothed's words as much as he draws comfort from them; how like his Lan Xichen to always see the best of intentions in everyone, including Nie Zhengqing. His father treats him kindly, it's true, though their relationship has always been one that is more cordial than affectionate. Which is fine by Meng Yao; he lived the first ten years of his life with only his mother's wisdom to guide him, and that has served him very well indeed. A father's acknowledgement and protection is, in his estimation, far more valuable than his love, and Nie Zhengqing has provided that to his son and concubine in spades. Meng Yao feels no bitterness on that account.

It's the not knowing the truth that runs counter to his nature. Meng Yao's thoughts have turned not towards whatever quagmire of misery his counterpart is labouring within in his own version of their world, but towards his own parents, and what they may have kept hidden from him.

But he is also a very effective multitasker.

He slides his hands down Lan Xichen's arms to lace their fingers together and walk backwards away from the shrine, back into the courtyard and rather tellingly towards his bedroom. "How considerate of Huan-er to bring this A-Yao a change of clothes." He stops in front of the door and leans back into Lan Xichen's space, noses the skin at the angle of his jaw once before laying a chaste kiss there. The suggestion that follows, however, certainly isn't: "The cold makes unfastening these gold clasps so difficult. Could this humble Meng Yao impose upon Huan-er for his assistance?" There's not a trace of coy flirtation in his eyes when he leans back to peer up at Lan Xichen's face ~~which means he is absolutely propositioning you, xichen, it's happening~~.

Xichen knows his fiancé well enough to tell that his answer is unsatisfactory. He knows why, of course. He has, on more than one occasion, been accused of too much optimism and often it is not unfounded. But he does believe Nie Zhengqing and Meng Shi had the best intentions if there even was uncertainty surrounding the identity of Meng Yao's father.

There were too many factors about the lives of these other versions of themselves that were wildly different to presume nefarious intent.

They would likely talk more about this later. For now, Xichen would take the time to think more on these shocking revelations and temper a more thorough response. These were, of course, only his initial impressions. They were far from having all the answers.

He lets himself be led away, gently closing the door to the shrine behind him, his cool fingers tangled in the warmth of Meng Yao's, and then they are leaning into one another and Xichen's head turns so Meng Yao's is tucked neatly under his chin as his free hand encircles his betrothed's waist and he hums a quiet acknowledgment at Meng Yao's mention of the clothes.

This has always been the part of their dance he most loved. The casual intimacy, the way they could simply seek the other for calm and comfort. Xichen could let himself get utterly lost in it without a single regret. While he certainly loves his older brother and his uncle dearly, they have always been distant in ways that left his soft heart aching for some unnamed thing. A warmth and tenderness that Meng Yao met and so warmly reciprocated.

Xichen's eyes flutter close, letting the chaos of his thoughts settle in the warmth of their embrace. They have time to put these pieces together, if Meng Yao wanted, if the fascination with these strangers with their faces was too much to ignore, he'd have his Xichen there to support him in the endeavor.

The cold makes unfastening these gold clasps so difficult. Could this humble Meng Yao impose upon Huan-er for his assistance?

Xichen's eyes snap open, and he pulls back, searching Meng Yao's face for any sign this is just one of their usual games. When left to their own devices, they are certainly prone to ever-escalating improper flirtation that may or may not have further led to some even more improper heavy petting. But they'd never quite reached the point where either of them were ready to take things a little further (and Xichen might remark that it was because they hadn't had the opportunity, but that wasn't true. They'd had many. And it wasn't as though they were waiting for their wedding night, however much others might insist they should; they just weren't there yet and they hadn't felt hurried. As wonderful as that destination might be, their journey there was equally pleasing.)

He cups Meng Yao's cheek, and leans in to touch their foreheads together, the clasp of his white ribbon cool against his beloved's skin.

"...Is A-Yao certain...?" he asks gently, thumbing his cheek. After what you saw...? goes unspoken but it's there in the worried furrow of his brow.

Meng Yao lets his eyes slide closed and purses his lips to contain his smile, but doesn't stop it from dimpling his cheeks. Lan Xichen possesses many, many (many) fine assets, but his tender heart may be the one Meng Yao cherishes most.

"Huan-er," he says softly into the space between them and slips his fingers through the hair at the nape of Lan Xichen's neck, "should trust that A-Yao knows his own desires." He brushes the tips of their noses together," then draws back enough to meet his eyes again.

Then he raises his eyebrows, and suggests innocently, "Unless Huan-er would rather wait outside?" A slow step backwards towards the door, and Meng Yao tugs very lightly on Lan Xichen's sleeve to draw him closer. He's trying very hard not to smile.

Xichen may as well be made of air for all the resistance he gives to that light tug of his sleeve. He follows Meng Yao into the privacy of his room, toeing the door closed behind him as he moves into his betrothed's space.

"A-Yao," he murmurs, bringing their noses back together, hands alighting on his shoulders and skimming along the too-tight silks to trace the straining seams. He wonders about this other - Jin Guangyao. Meng Yao was never big and broad like Xichen, Wangji, or Mingjue, but Xichen would never call him petite either. Had this Jin Guangyao made himself small? If he was among the Jin, that was probably what was expected of him, and the thought of his betrothed ever having to do that, to have to beg permission just to take up space and as little as possible at that, sends a rush of fury through him.

He cradles Meng Yao's face between his hands, and surges forward into a kiss, desperate for assurance that his betrothed wasn't diminished, was allowed not just to survive but also thrive the way the other, apparently, was not.

When he pulls back, he smiles, warm and fond and a touch mischievous.

"...Now about those clasps A-Yao mentioned...?"

(Let us hope for the sake of everyone else who possesses a pass token into the siheyuan that nobody feels like paying either Nie Lianfang or Lan Xichen an impromptu visit this morning. It's still quite early; he suspects not.)

Meng Yao returns the kiss gladly when he receives it, though he tries to gentle and soothe some of the intense feeling that Lan Xichen pours into it. Not because he couldn't be, you know, into that a bit later, but not now, not just yet. When Lan Xichen parts from him to smile, Meng Yao allows a smile of his own to quirk up the corners of his lips, then cuts his eyes past Lan Xichen's shoulder to the chaise lounge beside the bed. He juts his chin towards it before peering back at his betrothed's face, his eyes quite dark. "Sit."

Then he takes a few careful steps backwards towards the bedroom window shutters and neatly draws them closed, which is a very useful narrative mechanic for indicating that this scene has now faded to black. 🎀

Whatever expectations Fitz had about Madam Generosity's Snake Den are obliterated the moment he crosses the Red's threshold and takes in the club's dramatic transformation. It's the serpentine decor that grabs his attention first, of course, because how could it not? And if he stands in the foyer for a moment soaking it all in like a sponge, he at least tries not to block the more animated party-goers as they seek out drinks, dance partners, or other entertainment. The light and sound and colour on display here outpaces even the most ostentatious of banquets thrown in Buckkeep Castle during Regal's heydey, and while Jamaillian influences certainly livened up both Winter and Springfest by the time Fitz returned to court, even a real banger of a bard's song featured no synth-pop to drown out the sound of his own internal monologue. There had also been a distinct lack of glittering disco balls suspended from the rafters of the castle's Great Hall.

In short, it's a bit of a sensory overload experience for him, but he looks more momentarily awed by it than overwhelmed to the point of discomfort.

Anyway, there he hovers in the foyer in his fancy outfit gifted to him by Madam Generosity, and he's holding two iridescent green jello shots in each hand, which were breezily foisted upon him by a cheery server mere moments ago. He hasn't quite decided what to do with them yet. (Does--does he eat it? ...just swallow it whole? why couldn't they have handed him one of the champagne flutes instead)

"I don't know how I'm meant to consume this." He turns towards Huaisang at his side, befuddled and clueless, and offers one to him with. "Have you tried these before?"

(Notable, also, is that he isn't avoiding the subject of Huaisang's sabre still stowed away in his room here in the Red; there's a low-grade awareness of it as a persisting issue that lingers like a deep water current in the bond that connects them via Nighteyes. But Fitz won't push the issue--not right now, anyway, not while he is instead trying to work up the will to broach a completely different subject. Maybe the liquid--uhh, gelatinous?? courage will help with that.)

Edited 2023-01-18 16:46 (UTC)

[shortly after Shen Yuan's video call to the group chat announcing his return from his transmigratory walk-about, Jin Guangyao drafts a short text message of his own. being short does not mean he hasn't mulled over the details of it at length, but one does want to be clear on the particulars with an announcement like this. he does his due diligence in running the details past Lan Xichen, takes a breath, and hits send. there. no take-backsies now.]

Greetings, and best wishes to you all for good fortune and prosperity in the new year.

Please accept my apologies for my absence over the last two weeks, and permit me the opportunity to make amends by sharing news which, I hope, will be received warmly. Lan Xichen and I are to be married. The ceremony will be private, but we wish to commemorate the occasion with a small gathering at the siheyuan afterwards, where we will provide light refreshments. You are welcome to bring a guest provided we are given advance notice so that the warding talismans may be adjusted. Please also inform us of any food sensitivities so that we may accommodate them.

We will provide more details once we have determined an auspicious date for the ceremony.

Warmly,

金光瑶
Jin Guangyao

蓝曦臣
Lan Xichen

[so. spontaneous confetti spawns as he reads this, nbd. it's just raining down from the ceiling of his room in all the colors. the porgs are trying to catch it in their open mouths, but it doesn't seem to be dangerous. is it possible that it's edible? hell, maybe it's colored insect confetti - stranger shit's happened.]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Congratulations! ♥

[did a teenager help him with that face at one point and he saved it? yes. was he just waiting for this? maybe. (it's also yes.)]

Edited (oop a name) 2023-01-23 02:28 (UTC)

[oh no, now he's going to blush, he hadn't thought about this part, that there would be responses. and ones that contain emojis no less. Jin Guangyao nevertheless finds himself smiling back at this message from Mike; maybe he even shows it to Lan Xichen.]

Thank you, Mike-xiansheng.

[a moment's hesitation; should he say it? he should--though he is sure to mark the follow-up text as 'private.']

This one is very grateful for your words at the Sanctuary party. You were right.

I can be smug about being right, sure, I'm sometimes that guy, but I can't even be smug about this. I'm just happy for you two.

Glad to see something else good come out of all of this.

And I guess it's time for me to take a little shopping trip.

[Mike will simply have to lean on his pre-existing familiarity with Jin Guangyao's dry and understated brand of humour to read the light teasing in his response.]

Perhaps Mike-xiansheng may be permitted a little smugness, this once.

[he's earned it. there is a short delay, and then another message arrives shortly afterwards.]

I know it may seem unnecessary, but I wish to dissolve my marriage to Qin Su before Er-ge and I settle upon a date.

[...he also enables auto-deletion of these text messages within the next hour, just in case. (in case of what? who knows?)]

[that humour is actually caught! but just once? you're killing him, jgy.]

I see. Well, if a smug limit's been imposed, then who am I to break the rules?

[because he's such a rule follower.]

I'm sure we can scare up something binding here. Or unbinding, as it were.

[that's a cool feat but ...is it really necessary? but mike would not argue with "in case". you never know. especially here. a short delay and:]

So, it turns out that I've got my divorce papers here. I'll walk them over when it's a good time, and maybe that's a start.

[he never ...signed these.]

[well that's a fortuitous turn of events--for Jin Guangyao, at any rate. he isn't sure what it means for Mike, or for his marriage, that his divorce papers materialized here. he decides not to ask about it. (not yet, anyway.)]

I have some time now, if Mike-xiansheng is free.

[he's free. and it's not as bad as all that, he was at the moment they appeared, ruminating on his own situation - and if he had or had not signed the papers. his omni held the notes that he was divorced and that he was separated. his mind in its current state remembers a divorce, but no separation.

the papers call his memory into question.

so he addresses them, like you do, when you're using a token to enter a friend's home. because he assumes. so he'll either arrive there talking to papers alone, or talking accusatorially to papers in front of an audience:]

Listen, you. I see what you're trying to do. She's not here. But that doesn't mean you can't be useful.

[Jin Guangyao has used the intervening time to prepare his home for guests, which really just entails a bit of tidying up in the parlour and preparing tea. he is setting the tray on the table in the parlour when he hears the gate to the siheyuan yield to an expected visitor, and so steps out into the courtyard to greet Mike with a warm smile.

which means he does overhear at least a bit of the one-sided argument that his friend is having with the papers in his hand. Jin Guangyao, predictably, pretends that he does not notice.]

Xiansheng, [a short, shallow bow, before he straightens and gestures indoors,] I have prepared tea. We also have chocolate. [a brief pause, and a little frown.] It should be safe.

[famous last words? let's hope not.]

[he's not even self conscious about those words. this man has seen him in every unseemly state imaginable (almost) so what's a few accusatory words at a stack of papers?

what he will be able to see (now that mike has stopped talking to papers) is the find look he gives the little rat shape on the token before he pockets it, and that look is echoed in his smile, which only widens as he extends an arm for a bit of a walking half-hug, a soft pat on the back, of greeting, of congratulations.]

Should be safe? Are we talking "I don't know how old it is", "it fell on the ground" or something like "this could be poison"?

[does he ask where the chocolate came from? no. should he? probably.]

[almost anyone else extending such an arm towards Jin Guangyao would undoubtedly be rebuffed, though he would be polite about it. for Mike, however, he accepts with a rather abashed glance at the ground. but he returns that brief half-embrace, arm about his back for one brief moment. (he'd seen the other disciples within both the Jin and Nie sects behave with such friendly, casual affection towards each other, and it had felt a bit like watching a foreign country. astounding, to have such things offered to him now.)]

It should be safe. But this one has heard stories of a strange Chocolatier whose gifts might... [a pause while he considers the right word,] ...contain the unexpected. [then he smiles, quick to reassure,] Mike-xiansheng may be at ease knowing these chocolates came from a supermarket in Cellar Door.

[once inside, he first offers to take Mike's coat, as a good host should, and then goes to seat himself at the low table in the parlour to pour the tea. he doesn't address the papers just yet; certain rituals of hospitality must be observed first, it's just the way things are done.]

[he'll take a "should be" from you, jin guangyao, and the deadly serious look on his face conveys that. it's a little somber, a little smartass, it's just his way, ok?

welcome to having friends. it's weird, isn't it? and a dad friend at that. you've been adopted, deal with it. (eldritch horrors? eh. friends? OH NO HOW DO I DO THIS! that's super normal.]

I'll have to be on the lookout for that one. You know, to avoid. [cellar dor chocolates? absolutely fine. he shrugs his coat easily, sits and waits for the tea (he knows better than to try and help, this is just jin guangyao's way, and that's also fine.]

So. I've got a few ideas, but I'm not committed to any of them [ha! a look at the divorce papers directly there because that pun was accidental.] I don't speak legalese, that was my agent's job, but I can wade through some of the bullshit. It's more the sentiment than anything else. No property to split up, no ...well, it's just you here, so this should be simple.

There's an easy way to do it, back home. It's reserved for things like when you just don't know where your spouse is. Say, they up and left. You just have to file some papers ...like this, but less complicated, basically saying you tried everything to contact them, and if the court agrees that you did, you put up a public notice for a few weeks in a newspaper. If they don't contact you, then poof, divorce.

So...

...I was thinking maybe that, but using a patron instead. Maybe Doorway? I'm not sure. Feel free to stop me if this is getting to be too much.

"You're going to be normal about this," Shen Yuan sternly tells his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. "You're not going to fuck this up for him or make him feel bad." Of course he's talking about Jin Guangyao.

They seem quite close, Xiu Ya murmurs in the back of his mind. No doubt they'll make each other very happy. Shen Yuan scoffs.

"There's no 'doubt' about it," he insists, pissed off and hurting and still believing it from the very tips of his toes. "They were best friends before; as long as they keep building on that and treat each other right, they'll..." A lump suddenly forms in his throat. He puts his head down on the edge of the sink, groaning, "God, they're going to be together forever, aren't they?"

Xiu Ya is mercifully silent, but Shen Yuan isn't in the mood for mercy. "Do you think if I'd figured this out a month ago, maybe --?" And she interrupts him with a dutiful sigh.

What matter does that make to this version of you, existing in this version of events?, she asks, having apparently learned a bit too much about alternate universes from the experience of shepherding Consort Shen. Do you wish to pine away for what might have been, or do you wish to heal yourself of this wound and move forward?

"Who's pining?" Shen Yuan snarks, but he also straightens up and faces himself once more in the mirror. "Normal," he tells himself sternly. "Supportive. You're going to be happy for him, like a good friend."

And so the first thing he does when he catches sight of Jin Guangyao, half an hour later when they meet outside one of their shared-favorite teashops in the Wilful Machine, is smile bright and happily as Consort Shen, and wave him over with a jaunty "Gege!"

"I saw your message on my way over!" he announces, reaching for Jin Guangyao's arm to give it a playful squeeze as soon as it's within reach. Playful. Happy, supportive. This is how he's choosing to cover up his own heartache.

"I'm so happy for your both!" Shen Yuan looks his friend in the eye and lies directly to his face.

For obvious reasons, Jin Guangyao cannot find it in him to be resentful of the time he lost in Trench. Still, there is much left for him to take care of now that he has returned, and only a small portion of it has to do with arranging his and Lan Xichen's wedding ceremony. (Like procuring himself a divorce, of a kind. That seems pertinent.) He is in the midst of reviewing and quickly drafting up a response to Viktor's network post regarding blood pollution research when he hears Shen Yuan call out to him, and while Jin Guangyao does smile when he looks up to greet his friend, his eyebrows draw together the tiniest bit.

"I saw your message on my way over!" Too boisterous, too cheery--as is that squeeze to his arm, but it's what Shen Yuan states with such effusive and over-the-top joy next that cinches it: "I'm so happy for you both!"

The pieces of this particular puzzle slot together quickly and neatly. It isn't as though Jin Guangyao hadn't had his suspicions, but--no, no time to dwell upon that now. He is quick to smile warmly in return and dip his head, gracious in accepting his friend's congratulations, however insincerely they are felt. "Shidi is too kind," he tells him fondly when he straightens up, then gestures towards their preferred tea shop. "Let us find a table before the afternoon crowd arrives. And," he adds, both from genuine curiosity and to smooth over any awkwardness that Shen Yuan may be feeling, "Xiu Ya had mentioned you may be acquiring a scabbard for her. Have you had success yet?"

Edited 2023-01-24 22:05 (UTC)

"I did!" Shen Yuan says cheerfully, playing his chosen role with all the stubborn tenacity he once brought to bear -- not at playing the role of Shen Qingqiu, which was a responsibility he tried to duck more often than not, but at being kind to Luo Binghe despite the role he'd been assigned. He's doing this for his friend, not for himself, so that nothing will mar Jin Guangyao's happiness. The possibility that he might play it too far and give himself way simply does not occur to him, just like it never occurred to him that any of the other peak lords might have seen through his performance of Shen Qingqiu.

"Or at least the other me did," he remarks, self-deprecating, as he proceeds Jin Guangyao into the tea shop. "Ah, here --" A quiet word to the hostess has them seated in a booth near the back, where they will be at least partially hidden from view by the other customers. Weapons aren't exactly an uncommon sight in Trench, but that just means people are more likely, not less, to notice and get nervous when someone suddenly pulls one out. And indeed, Xiu Ya is already out in at least one sense; when Shen Yuan takes off his winter cloak, there she is already, tied to his waist with a silk cord that Shen Yuan immediately unties so he can proudly present her, scabbard and all for Jin Guangyao's approval.

"Gege can touch her, if he wants," he says, gently laying Xiu Ya in her scabbard out on the table between him and Jin Guangyao. "Xiu Ya gives her permission."

Jin Guangyao won't be able to hear her actual words if he does -- only Palamedes Sextus has that specific gift -- but he'll be able to sense her approval and affection, clearly felt for all that her nature gives it a strange, non-mammalian shape.

Edited 2023-01-24 23:27 (UTC)

Shen Yuan is bearing up under the present circumstances far better than Jin Guangyao would have been, were their positions reversed--well, no, that isn't quite true. Jin Guangyao would never entertain lurid fantasies of poisoning Shen Yuan, were he the one announcing his engagement to Lan Xichen, rather than some nameless, faceless bride. (He might not have stopped at fantasies, if he'd already had Lan Xichen in his arms once before.)

But such morally dubious thoughts don't have any place in this outing. Jin Guangyao seats himself across from Shen Yuan, and his attention is immediately drawn to the weapon that sits at his waist. He admires the shape of the scabbard as the weapon is laid out before him and leans forward to consider the lines of the weapon, shrewdly appreciative. (Has he been neglecting Hensheng, not to obtain a new scabbard for his own spiritual weapon? The thought truly hadn't occurred to him.)

"Gege can touch her, if he wants. Xiu Ya gives her permission."

Immediately, he looks up at Shen Yuan, wide-eyed, before lowering his eyes again. "This one would be honoured," he murmurs, before reaching out to very gently rest his fingers on the wood of the scabbard. His sense of Xiu Ya is immediately felt, a peculiar and alien sensation that sits unusually in his mind (usually, he's only distantly aware of xiao meimei there), but the rush of strange affection is--it isn't something he can put into words. He welcomes it, but it is difficult not to feel afraid of it, too, afraid that Xiu Ya might see too much.

He withdraws his hand, though not too quickly, and is sure to direct a humble smile towards Shen Yuan as he does so. "Shigu is as refined and elegant as her namesake suggests," he says--to both of them, really, though most of the warmth in his eyes is for Shen Yuan.

Whether it's because Xiu Ya is his bonded spirit sword or because she's his Omen -- a piece of his own soul, if Duty's interpretation is true -- something about watching his friend touch her to tenderly makes Shen Yuan's heart bleed. His smile is trembling, uncertain thing when Jin Guangyao looks back up -- though he does his best to rally when he catches sight of the warmth in his friend's eyes. It would be the worst thing in the world for that warmth to fade, and be replaced with coldness between the two of them.

"Many thanks, from the both of us," he says demurely, and carefully picks Xiu Ya up again, propping her up in a corner of the booth where she could observe them both, in her odd, eyeless way, without being in the way. "Apparently the bloodstones set into the wood should let me manifest and demanifest her the same as any other Omen," he remarks conversationly, picking up one of the menues the hostess had left with them and handing the other, with a friendly smile, to Jin Guangyao. "It still seems to me that I've just added another step to summoning her, but if she's happier this way far be it from me to protest." He shrugged expansively, as though he were but a henpecked husband indulging an overly particular wife. Had Xiu Ya possessed eyes, she would certainly have rolled them at him.

That warmth is not going anywhere, but Shen Yuan of course has no way of knowing that. Jin Guangyao is--not unaware of his own feelings, let's say, but to examine them too closely now strikes him as introducing an unnecessary complication into a dynamic that has, at last, finally resolved itself into a shape that he has spent years longing for. So he does what he always does with inconvenient thoughts and emotions in situations like these, neatly masks them from view, and tucks them away to be dealt with later. Or never.

He allows his smile to grow wry and laughs quietly at Shen Yuan's commentary, then adopts a reproachful look because what sort of elder martial brother would he be if he did not scold Shen Yuan, just a little bit? "Shen-di should speak respectfully of his shigu," he informs him with a lift of his eyebrows. "She is his respected elder." Still, that doesn't stop his smile from dimpling his cheeks a bit--nor does it stop him from accepting the menu as it's handed to him.

When the server returns, Jin Guangyao greets them graciously as ever and opts for his usual tea, a light and aromatic jasmine that never fails to put him in mind of the heady summers in Jinlintai's Blooming Gardens. He waits patiently for Shen Yuan to make his request and for the server to depart to see to other customers; only then does he ask, "Are you enjoying your new furnishings?" It will serve as a gradual segue into discussing, in a circumspect manner, whether Shen Yuan was well taken care of while he was in his counterpart's world.

"Don't you start," Shen Yuan says wryly, his mood lifting in response to the joke even as he makes a pretense at annoyance. "I get quite enough of that from her ladyship, thank you."

As usual, Shen Yuan spends several minutes pouring over the menu, making a show of possibly trying something new before falling back on one of his usual, tried and true orders: a very dark, smoky black tea, paired with a sponge cake. (Shen Yuan is a creature of habit, and one of his habits is trying to appear more flexible than he really is.)

"I am!" he says eagerly when Jin Guangyao asks after his new furniture, and it's not even entirely feigned -- at least not for now. Later, after he's taken his leave of his dear friend and spent some time reflecting (brooding) on the opportunities he's missed; that's when the bitterness will begin to cut the sweet. But for now the furniture is an exciting novelty, and he's only pretending to complain when he says, "Consort Shen has excellent taste -- although I think he took a little too much pleasure in emptying my wallet." He gives the sword a knowing look, adding, "Xiu Ya wasn't as much of a limiting influence as I'd hoped."

At Shen Yuan's wry retort, Jin Guangyao allows his eyes to widen a fraction in a practiced expression of 'who, me??' innocence--though he keeps it short-lived, and follows it up with a small, self-satisfied smirk at having improved Shen Yuan's mood. He contents himself with folding his hands neatly in his lap and listening as his friend continues on, first by complimenting Consort Shen's taste and then by lamenting the state of his wallet.

That brings a bit of a flush of colour to Jin Guangyao's cheeks, and, "ah," he begins, looking aside. Oops. He dips his head apologetically. "Shidi may lay the blame at this one's feet, if he must. I accompanied Consort Shen on his shopping expedition and," a little smile flickers at the corners of his lips, "provided my opinion about what I thought Shen-di might enjoy." Another short pause, before he ventures carefully: "What does Shen-di think of his new guqin?"

"Oh?" If Shen Yuan was smiling before, now he positively beams, his entire face lighting up with unlooked-for glee. "So, my very own Jin-ge was the culprit," he says, shaking his head and enjoying both Jin Guangyao's mild embarrassment and this evidence of his friend's particular attention and care a perfectly normal, platonic amount.

"I really should have known," he continues, "considering how well everything fits together. I've always admired how harmonious and peaceful Jin-ge's home can be." His own cheeks turn slightly pink; has he perhaps said too much? But he can't just leave it there without mentioning the most important part: "And the guqin is lovely," he says truthfully. "I need a little more practice still, but perhaps sometime we could play together?" This said with all hint of teasing carefully left out, lest his offer be misunderstood.

The fact that he cannot help but sound sad as he says it, just by comparison, is lost on Shen Yuan. All too often the person who understands him least is himself.

"Of course we can," Jin Guangyao replies; his own smile has become a warmer, more artless version of itself in response to Shen Yuan's clear delight at his gift, because nothing brings Jin Guangyao more pleasure than being the source of his friends' happiness.

That makes the way his smile fades all the more noticeable, however, when Shen Yuan poses that question with such wistful sadness in his voice. Jin Guangyao isn't an idiot, he knows the source of that melancholy; he's aware, too, that what he's about to do may only make it worse. Still, he finds it difficult to stop himself.

He reaches across the table and rests his fingers very lightly against Shen Yuan's wrist. "You are dear to me, shidi, and I will always make time for you. This," a pause, because he doesn't quite want to say anything about his marriage out loud, lest he rub salt in the wound, "won't change that."

(It will, of course, but Jin Guangyao has often sought refuge in the warmth and comfort of white lies. And anyway, there's truth in his eyes about some of what he says, anyway: Shen Yuan is dear to him.)

Shen Yuan's face twitches as oddly he looks down at Jin Guangyao's fingers on his wrist, as though he's trying to hide or suppress his first, most instinctive reaction. Finally he shakes himself quietly, and musters a smile; his hand turns to gently clasp Jin Guangyao's just for a moment, before he lets go.

"I'm glad," he says simply. "But shige deserves to be happy too; he should never be afraid to put himself first, if he has to." Translation: I don't want to be a problem, but if I ever become one, put yourself first. Be happy, even if it means living me behind. That's what I want.

"So," he says cheerfully, if more subdued than the bright, trying-too-hard face he'd worn on the sidewalk outside. "Which songs does Jin-ge think I should focus on, in my practice? He must have an opinion, skilled as he is."

january catch-all for some guys!

January Friend

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a night out!! (closed to Huaisang)

text | FROM un: wheninlanling; TO un(s): peerless_hobo, tenskulls, hummingbird; CC: cleansingsong

text: un: tenskulls

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also private

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Action thread

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