October Test Drive Meme!

[reddosmod]

OCTOBER 2022 TDM

Another month, another test drive meme! Our test drive memes are open to anyone interested - regardless of whether or not you join our game!

All Test Drive Memes are game canon. Players can choose to keep their TDM threads canon or not. TDM threads can be used for AC and can be used as your writing sample for your application.

Our TDMs serve as a way to build into the actual lore and worldbuilding of Deer Country and we strongly encourage everyone to enjoy and participate! Current players are always welcome to pull prompts from the TDM to reference on the Network or bring into logs as well as tag out to new characters top-leveling on the TDM itself.

Characters will always be able to actively die during TDMs as this is an extremely dangerous world. You can still have this be game canon! Check out how character death in Deer Country works here.

If you have any questions about the TDM, please ask down below!

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: A snowy, rocky beach in winter. ]
[Image Two: Bowls of mushroom soup and bread. ]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Dali painting of the moon as a city]
[Image Two: Twisted, warped cityscape]

Prompt Three
[Image One: Monster choking a sleeping person to death]
[Image Two: Death hovering over a sleeping person]

BONUS PROMPT
[Image One: Liminal Space image of a nondescript room with strange ledges]
[Image Two: Cenobite woman with borg-like attachments to her face]

[NAVIGATION]

TDM Questions • Reserves • Taken • Applications • Full Navigation

[Jump to Comments]

STANDARD ARRIVAL

WHEN: First Week of NOvember
WHERE: The Farther Shores/The Boardwalk, Koz's Orphanage
CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

---

You're one of the lucky ones. Your journey is smooth sailing and you wind up exactly where you're supposed to: on the Farther Shores. You grow out of your squid body without a hitch, either with the help of another Sleeper or one of the Wakers, and you get to discover this new world. All new Sleepers might take some time to find their bearings. It might be tricky to remember how to use your body parts the way you're supposed to. You might stumble around the beach or forget how to talk - but don't worry! It'll come back to you sooner or later.

Hopefully, you've found something to wear, either in your Welcoming Bag or otherwise, and can start familiarizing yourself with your surroundings. Maybe you help some other squids out on the beach. Waking up sucks! You feel for the little guys. And hey, maybe you're hoping one of those squids is a good friend...Stranger things have happened.

SEASONAL DETAILS ON THE BOARDWALK
This is not the greatest month to wash up on the Farther Shores. It's November and you'll pretty much immediately hate it! The waters are frigid but not quite frozen yet, but that won't make your arrival any less uncomfortable. Thankfully the Boardwalk seems well-stocked with heavy blankets and furs to give to newly awakened Sleepers. Barrels of hot chocolate and hot alcoholic cider are readily available to warm people up. There are several stalls selling hearty soups willed with mushrooms, potatoes, beans, and other filling components.

Fresh baked bread and pastries are sold on wax paper. Enjoy a steaming cinnamon roll or croissant or just your standard bread and butter. Many bakers have set up temporary stoves and seem to invite teaching Sleepers how to cook and prepare bread and pastries. Maybe knead some dough, learn some tricks of the trade. If you help out ab baker, they might even thank you with a sack of flour or other ingredients for bread!

Like last year, as the Moon shifts to Bone, whispers and hushed talk begins anew among the Trenchies about The Tower. There are whispers that something feels wrong. "You know Trench is his body, right?" one might say. "But look at what's been happening. Is everything alright?" There is nervousness, agitation. Trenchies can't seem to put a finger on it. One of the old fishermen mutters under his or her breath if overheard in this time. "Long time since we tried to leave the Tower's shield. Hope didn't bring anything back from out there. World's a strange place."

None of them seem to have anything specific to add. They just seem nervous for some reason.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

IMAGE OF THE SELF

WHEN: Halloween through all November
WHERE: All of Trench
CONTENT WARNINGS: Distorted Reality, horrifying cityscape images, mounting paranoia, displacement

---

"They say that Trench is the body of the Tower." It is a saying so often repeated during the Bone Moon season that it becomes more of a mantra. Whether or not it is actually true remains a hotly contested debate between Arcane Scholars and Disciples, one of the few times that neither side fully agrees even with themselves. Yet, if it is true, what happens if the person whose body serves as a city begins to have an identity crisis of sorts? That certainly seems to be the case this month.

At random times, it just happens. You're walking from one place to another with your friend. You just stepped out of a lantern network teleportation circle. You open a door. Suddenly, everything is just wrong. It feels like you are in a surrealist's nightmare. Walls appear to be bleeding concrete in all directions. Stairwells twist impossibly, as if M. C. Escher himself were the architect. The pathway to where you intended to go warps and transforms itself into a perilous, twisted monstrosity that you have to navigate. Worse? The way you got here is just gone behind you, leaving you only the path forward.

Navigating this isn't impossible, but you will definitely need help. It might be that one has to stand on another's shoulders to get over an obstacle and then help them up. Maybe someone very small has to crawl into an opening to reach the door handle so the way through can be found. It varies, and the effect lasts only as long as it takes to get where you're going, but while you're here the reality continues to shift and some of these twistings could easily crush you! Don't tarry too long!

NOTE: The physical danger here is from environmental hazards. Feel free to choose any you like, but they will all return to normal when your character reaches their intended destination. Trenchies know nothing about this, though if one asks one of the former wastes, they will ward themselves as if against evil. They know something, but they dare not speak and will whisper hurriedly that the sleeper had best not talk too openly about this. "Best not to draw attention right now."

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP

WHEN: Last Week of October through the first week of November
WHERE: At Home, in your bed
CONTENT WARNINGS: Severe Insomnia, Sleep Deprivation, Deprivation induced hallucinations and mood swings

---

Something is clawing at your mind from the moment that the first signs of the cold coming. You can't put your finger on it, but even as you see the people of Trench preparing for the next month's arrival of sleepers, you can see they feel it too. Something claws at the mind and for a few people in Trench, this becomes a very literal problem. The thoughts are so overwhelming that you can't manage to find a good night's sleep. This problem is especially prominent for new Sleepers, who seem prone to arriving with terrible bouts of unexplainable insomnia.

That sounds simple enough to deal with, right? Perhaps some sort of sleep aid, or working oneself to exhaustion, and you can power through it, right? No. Nothing seems to work at first. Searches for a monster are futile. Warding and incense seem utterly ineffective, and no matter how hard you try, night after night you cannot sleep. You are terrified of falling asleep. If you fall asleep, you may never wake up! Even characters who do not fear a mortal death feel themselves compelled by this, and the longer that they do not sleep the more corruption risks them at its door. A night or two missed is one thing, but eventually irascibility sets in. Hallucinations may eventually start to crop up. The body needs REM sleep. It needs dreams, yet the horror that threatens the person will not allow them to sleep, for fear that it will come for them while they sleep. What 'it' is, they do not know.

There is only one solution. For those who already spend time with others? This is a simple thing, but they must still agree to do it. You can solve this curse only if you do not sleep alone. Another must stay awake for the vigil through the whole night. Simple enough given their insomnia, but they will be assailed by their own horrific lack of slumber. Only, after you have had a good night's sleep, be sure to care for the other who was so kind to you. Why? Because anyone so unkind as to not help their erstwhile companion sleep after they have finally gotten rest will find out that those fears were not unfounded and the next time they sleep, they really do not wake up!

Death, in this rare case, comes in the form of a heart attack. Its source is unknown, and all that the sleeper will remember is the worst nightmare of their life as they lay in bed, dying in soundless screams. So, be sure to take care of each other, sleepers!

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

THE VEINS OF THE TOWER

WHEN: November 1st (And only November 1st)
WHERE: Beginning anywhere, ending in A Nightmarish Place
CONTENT WARNINGS: Liminal Space, Disorientation, Hints of horrible monsters, Possible Death, Insane Zealotry, Mutilated Bodies

---

Rumors have lingered since the first encounters two months ago of a 'space between spaces' that people could accidentally fall into that this occurrence has not been entirely limited to the month it first happened in. Every once in a while, on unusual days, it has happened since that time. There appears to be little rhyme or reason to it, but it has happened again. Maybe you took an accidental step backwards. Or maybe you were crazy enough to have identified some spot you disappeared before and you were actually experimenting with the effect every day to see when it happened. You know, to chronicle the dates it happen, to keep a record, to understand it better, all of those sorts of things that cause some sleepers to poke things that are Better Left Alone because that's what some sleepers do with their free time, and then they touch the spot with something and suddenly they and everything around them are sucked in. How you got there is not important. You're here now, wherever here is.

Only this time its different. You're not in the spot you were last time, and in the distance you can hear shuffling of feet. Dread enters your heart, as you know that you do not have the means to fight whatever it is. You have an overwhelming urge to run, to flee at top speed. You and whoever is "lucky" enough to be with you must run as fast as you can, around corners, a roaring, inhuman scream echoing through the hallways, slamming into walls. You can't quite see it, not unless you want a swift, awful death at least. But around a corner there is salvation, an elevator shaft and the door is open. Frantic scrambling, running and jabbing buttons will cause the doors to close, just as something black like a giant hand grabs the far wall. You hear the rush, the scream. The elevator shudders three times as something pounds on it, but you're safe. Or, are you?

Instead of the usual moldy hallways, you see what looks like a hospital hallway. Anyone who lived through the nightmare may have awful flashbacks, but nothing is chasing you this time. The impossibly stretching hallway seems ceaselessly unchanging, each door locked, at least until you happen to notice a grate on one of the overhead air conditioners open wide. If you are curious enough to crawl up and into it, you're treated to a long scramble through the passageway, right up until you hear voices, menacing ones in the distance. Crawl quietly!

A grate emanating ugly, light is up ahead. As you and your companion work your way over, you're hopefully not heard. Through the grate, you see something awful. Two mutilated and disfigured figures speak while a third, calm and ordered looking woman listens. She seems to have mutilated her throat such that she should not be able to speak, and the other two appear have performed torturous experiments on their own flesh, their twisted visages that of the 'Zealots' that the Sleepers sometimes whisper about in fear. "It is almost time for the harvest. We made the quotas last cycle but only barely. The need is greater. Sacrifices must be made," one hisses. The other nods vigorously. "Yes. The situation is decaying. We have to move to stop this before it gets out of hand."

Before they can say more, however, the third woman looks up, directly at the grate. She smiles once, and a voice echoes from her throat as what appears to be a mouth inside of it moves, her own lips unmoving. "Continue this discussion later. It seems the problem has worsened. We will need to step up security in the meantime." She reaches out a hand and wrenches. The air shimmers around them and suddenly the duct you are traveling in collapses and breaks beneath you. Instead of falling into the farm, however, you find yourself falling through darkness for what seems an eternity, until you collapse hard to the pavement, in front of the entrance to the Gate, your breath coming back to you slowly, shakily.

NOTES: Death is possible should a sleeper assault the first creature. It is a being of impossible angles and blackness, is itself unkillable and will rend its victims to oblivion through brute force. Fighting the Zealots is not possible through this prompt. The grate cannot be opened in time to exit into the Sleeper Farm and engage them. However, the astute will be certain that there was for a moment an actual entry through and into the Sleeper Farm, somehow. Those familiar with these locations will recognize them as being Floor 1, the Stalls

[JUMP TO TOP]

CODING

Comments

[baiyueguang]

[Even if Cold Bloods weren't particularly susceptible to the sounds of music, Lan Xichen would have been lured by the string of notes drifting through the air.

Familiar. Heartachingly familiar and he's not sure if it's hope or dread or some terrible convergence of the two swelling in his chest.

He follows the melody, and when he can't go further, he follows along a wall blocking his way until he finds a door. It opens at a touch, and he is not blind to the talismans set so neatly, scrawled in a familiar hand. He doesn't realize his hands are shaking.

He stops on the threshold, the cold realization that he is trespassing (and yet, and yet) dousing out his near trancelike state. He considers leaving for a moment; it could all be a coincidence after all and he is looking for what he wants to see. But he also remembers he has Liebing, tucked away in his arrival bag, and procures the flute, bringing it to his lips.

He plays the answering melody, chasing it back to the one playing just inside the house.]

[poorlittlesange]

[In response, melody ends abruptly, almost as though the player has accidentally broken a guqin string. For a long moment there's no response at all.

Until there suddenly is in the sound of muted, muffled movement elsewhere inside the house, as if someone is quickly trying to find their shoes, or their outer robes, someone who was absolutely not prepared to receive visitors today, but who had made a small concession to their own naive sentimentality when placing protective talismans and arrays around their home. He'd hoped, of course.

One of the doors to the small courtyard slides open, and Jin Guangyao steps outside onto the small flagstone path, still in the process of securing the last fastening of his outer robe in place. Jin Guangyao stops short and stares at Lan Xichen in wide-eyed, incredulous shock.]

Er-ge? [It's him, of course it's him, but he's--different, somehow, in a way that Jin Guangyao can't place no matter how he searches his face for answers.]

[baiyueguang]

[Liebing lowers, and Lan Xichen looks lost.]

Didn't I-

[He can't bring himself to finish that sentence, his denial of that endearment at the temple echoing back to him.

He cannot say it again.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he manages a smile.]

Jin Guangyao.

[One tentative step forward, then another. And another until he is only a pace or so from Jin Guangyao, his eyes fixed on his sword hand (still there, still intact) and then his face (so much younger than he remembers)]

...You look well.

[poorlittlesange]

[There had been, for a very brief moment, the beginnings of a bright, earnest, relieved smile forming at the corners of Jin Guangyao's mouth, and it is snuffed out abruptly, inexplicably, at Lan Xichen's cool response. The look on his face isn't quite stricken--he has too much control over his emotions and how they manifest on his face when he's feeling nervous--but it is a near thing.

He stands very still while Lan Xichen walks towards him, like he can't decide whether he should bow--he should, of course he should, but the intensity in his friend's eyes is so strange that to look away from it even to see to their habitual courtesies would seem... wrong. And so he stands still, eyes wide and blinking. (In the few juvenile fantasies he'd indulged about what this reunion would feel like, this... wasn't like any of them.)]

Zewu-jun is kind to say so, [he answers uncertainly, before his memory catches up to him, and he remembers why he has shut himself up in his house and eschewed the company of the few friends he's made here. He flinches visibly and draws a breath, then gestures towards the simple stone table in the middle of the modest courtyard.] Forgive this one his poor manners, er-ge, please sit. I will make tea. [He starts to turn away to do just that, unable to keep his frown at bay.]

[baiyueguang]

Wait...!

[It's entirely reflexive when he reaches out, fingers closing gently, but firmly around his wrist.

He can feel a pulse.

This isn't some apparition about to fade away, and yet Lan Xichen fears if he lets him out of his sight he'll never see him again.

Jin Guangyao is alive. He's alive, but younger than he remembers him, and Lan Xichen doesn't know what is real anymore.]

Please. Please stay. I...

[His eyes close and he swallows the tightness in his throat because he cannot find the words.]

[poorlittlesange]

[He stops when Lan Xichen grabs his wrist and looks back at him sharply, startled by the touch as well as his tone. Jin Guangyao looks at Lan Xichen, then, takes in the subtle signs of age that have changed his friend's face, and recalls with sudden, crushing certainty what Wei Wuxian said to him outside the Pale Sanctuary.

Adrenaline spikes his blood, and his pulse rabbits like a frightened thing caught in a snare under Lan Xichen's touch. He knows about Nie Mingjue. He has to know. What else could possibly cause the grief so clearly etched into his features?

He tries to steady his breathing. It is difficult.] As Zewu-jun wishes, of course, [he answers weakly, and if his complexion has gone the colour of birch bark, well, can it really be helped?]

[baiyueguang]

[He tries to compose himself, tries to find his center, but it feels like that's been blown to pieces. He can't yet make sense of this, dreads what he may find if he does, but he can't let it be either.

Small steps. He needed to make small steps.

First things first...]

...You're alive. You're alive, and this isn't a dream.

[The way he says it sounds something like relief before something that's not quite a laugh and not quite a sob, some dreadful, incredulous sound escapes him.]

I've missed you.

[poorlittlesange]

[Jin Guangyao cannot figure out how to classify the feelings that particular combination of sentences conjures in him. "You're alive," is evidence enough of him not being alive where Lan Xichen has come from. That knowledge turns the ever-present fear in his gut to stone, leaving him numb. But, "I've missed you," he says.

The grief is for him.

Still. He must know--about Nie Mingjue, and heaven help him, what else does he know, does he know about Qin Su, does he know about--]

...A-Song.

[He barely whispers the name; his eyes are fixed to Lan Xichen's face. He swallows hard and finds his voice.] Wei Wuxian, he said--he told me that A-Song is--but he is lying. Er-ge, please tell me he's-- [His voice fails him.]

[baiyueguang]

[He knows. Some part of him wishes he didn't, that he could go back to blissful ignorance, but he knows.

Jin Guangyao blindsides him twice. First, there is the fact Wei Wuxian - his brother-in-law - is here. Presumably that also means Lan Wangji is about. The two are never far apart, as indeed even death cannot separate them (bitterly, he thinks it is the same for Jin Guangyao and I).

But he is also ignorant of A-Song's death.

No wonder he looked so much younger.

Lan Xichen wants to retort that wouldn't Jin Guangyao know? Hadn't he planned the boy's end since he'd known he was Qin-Su's half brother?

But he sees also the grief writ across his face, real and earnest and desperate. Since the temple, he has thought the worst; that he'd had his son killed, and feigned his grieving and Lan Xichen had seen only what he wished to see.

No, this was real. This was very real, and it meant that there were still pieces missing, and that he could not construct a full picture.]

...If it has not yet happened for you, then it may be something you can avert.

cw for self harm thoughts!!

[poorlittlesange]

[His son is dead. Jin Guangyao's knees buckle beneath him, and while he does not do anything so graceless as collapse onto the flagstones, he seems to fold in on himself anyway, sinking down to the ground. Like it would be easier to become the stone than endure--any of this. Any of what it means.

He doesn't cry; he's past tears, having shed them in rage and fury weeks ago. Instead he stares past Lan Xichen's legs, at the sword on his belt. He'd left Hensheng inside the parlour. He wishes he hadn't. He thinks falling on the blade might be less painful than anything else he is feeling in this moment.

Numb, he looks up at Lan Xichen again.] I carved a memorial tablet for him. I did not ask if--[his jaw clenches, loosens,]--if there is anyone left to say prayers for him, I wanted to do something--

[Well, maybe he isn't through with the tears after all.]

CW - reference to severe hand injury

[baiyueguang]

[There is a part of Lan Xichen that rears its ugly head, just as it had back in the temple as the poison ate through the flesh in Jin Guangyao's hand. This part of him had wanted the other man to hurt, to feel a mirror of the anguish Lan Xichen was feeling.

It didn't last. Where Nie Mingjue's rage could be the heart of the sun itself, Lan Xichen's was a smattering of sparks.

This horrible part of him keeps him standing, watching Jin Guangyao a little longer, before it's pushed back down and smothered by a dozen other feelings.

Do not be of two minds says the Wall of Discipline. To hell with two, he feels as though he's of twenty minds!

It would be easier if he could hate him. If he could see this all in simple black and white as Nie Mingjue had.

But he can't. He has seen both the best and the worst of Jin Guangyao, and perhaps now he understands his own father a little more.

Lan Xichen goes to his knees beside him, hand still around his wrist.]

We'll say prayers and make offerings anyway.

[He's been here before. Jin Guangyao has not.]

But don't despair a death that has not happened yet.

[Maybe this time will be different. Maybe Jin Guangyao could make it different.]

[poorlittlesange]

Can I change it? Lan Xichen, from here, can I do anything?

[That one thought seems to ground him in the present moment and keep him from slipping into the darker depths of grief. Jin Guangyao looks back at Lan Xichen, his expression one of tightly constrained hope. He wants that hope so desperately, but possibility is not certainty, and he can't bear those implications, not now. That he could believe himself grieving in vain, only to discover that the future is set in stone--he closes his eyes.] No--nevermind. Please, don't answer, not yet.

[When he opens his eyes again, his stare rests on Lan Xichen's hand still holding his wrist, and it seems to take him a moment to register what he's looking at. He hesitates, then covers his friend's hand with his own, squeezing gently.]

I have made a small shrine for A-Song and Mother. [His mother, Meng Shi, not the monster he was forced to bow and scrape before at Koi Tower. Jin Guangyao looks up to Lan Xichen's eyes uncertainly.] I burn incense for them each morning. Would Zewu-jun like to... [His words taper off, but the invitation is clear enough.]

[baiyueguang]

[He does not answer. Perhaps just by being here, Jin Guangyao has already changed his future.

But not Lan Xichen's past.]

Yes.

[He says it softly, because whatever else, he had loved his sworn-brother's son, and he had mourned beside him and Qin Su, and he would mourn again.]

Yes, I would like that.

[There's a flicker of a smile. The grief and pain are still there, but he needs Jin Guangyao to know that he hasn't given up yet. There is still hope. For the first time since he sealed the coffin, there is hope.]

...We have a lot to talk about, don't we...?

[poorlittlesange]

[They do have a lot to talk about. That terrifies him almost as much as Da-ge's shadow glimpsed from a doorway. Jin Guangyao forces himself to return Lan Xichen's smile and struggles to rein in his fear. He'd begun to build something here in this place, and he has missed Lan Xichen so terribly, so why does he feel as though the earth has turned to quicksand under his feet?

More feebly than he would like,]

Let me show you the shrine.

[Carefully letting go of Lan Xichen's hand, he rises to his feet and takes a moment to tidy his clothes, fetching out his handkerchief to blot the moisture from his cheeks. His composure has so often been all he's ever had, and to lose it even in front of Lan Xichen stings. Then, straightening, he gestures for his friend to accompany him inside, where it is clear that he hasn't lived here for that long; the furnishings are simple, modest, and there's nary a trace of Lanling Jin gold anywhere. Refreshing.

A little steppe fox--his omen, presumably--is snoozing on one of the low sofas in the parlour. Or at least, she is until Jin Guangyao gives her a cross look, and then she grumblingly removes herself, to an equally soft-looking pillow on the floor. (You know the rules, xiao meimei.)

The altar itself is in the back of the house, and it is nothing like the magnificent family altars maintained for generations of Jin sect cultivators. It is made of plain wood with a bowl before it for burning joss paper, and a stand for incense sticks. The two memorial tablets stand together side by side, recently carved. In silence, Jin Guangyao moves to retrieve the incense. He seems to find it difficult to look at Lan Xichen now.]

[baiyueguang]

[He makes a mental note of the handkerchief; it had been his once upon a time. Even if Jin Guangyao is behind by quite a number of years, he's still surprised to see that he kept it even for that amount of time.

The four paintings they pass along the way adds yet more pieces to the puzzle in Lan Xichen's head.

Jin Guangyao had valued their friendship and probably had not been lying when he said he did not move for a weapon. Which meant...

Lan Xichen puts the thought aside. It hasn't happened yet for either Nie Huaisang or Jin Guangyao and he cannot hold them to things they have no knowledge of. It doesn't sting any less, but it's his hurt to carry.

As he is led through the house, he's not surprised it isn't covered in gilt and opulence; Jin Guangyao's tastes had always leaned more towards modest, elegant natural beauty and skilled craftsmanship. His heart jumps at the thought that Siheyuan is oddly reminiscent of the homes in the Cloud Recesses than the halls of Koi Tower.

When they reach the shrine, he studies the names engraved on the tablets as Jin Guangyao gets the supplies. Wordlessly, he joins him in lighting the incense and praying to passed family (though it feels odd praying for someone who is still alive and yet long dead).

After some time in silence, he glances over at Jin Guangyao.]

If you would like, I could paint their portraits.

[poorlittlesange]

[The prayers don't bring Jin Guangyao any measure of peace, but they do lighten the burden of his sins at least a little. In this respect, no one could ever accuse him of being an unfilial son, or inattentive to his child's needs. Someone must pray for A-Song, wherever his spirit rests.

He is visibly startled by Lan Xichen's offer, and meets his eyes with the very tender beginnings of hope starting to reappear at the corners of his mouth. It isn't quite a smile, what with the topic in question being so very heavy, and yet.]

Er-ge is truly kind to offer.

[Translation: yes, he would like. He would like very, very much.]

[baiyueguang]

[Lan Xichen's own expression is something of a mirror to Jin Guangyao's. Not quite a smile - he's not happy per se. But there is hope here, something pulling him from the despair that would have sent him into seclusion.

He hasn't given up. If they can salvage something, anything, he won't give up.]

Whatever else, I am glad to see you again.

[poorlittlesange]

I missed you, too.

[Terribly, achingly, but he's kept those feelings well cloistered away for a very long time, and isn't about to release them now. He performs one more filial salute to his mother and son's shrines, then carefully gets to his feet. Maybe this conversation should not be had here where his family's spirits are at their rest.]

It was a shock to you. Seeing me again.

[baiyueguang]

[This does get a brief flicker of a smile. Melancholy, but he's glad the feeling is mutual.

He follows Jin Guangyao out the room before he answers his next remark. Not a question.

Leave it to Jin Guangyao not to miss a single detail.]

Yes. However much I hoped, I did not think you would be the one playing the melody.

[Even if it was something they had written together, for the sheer pleasure of creating something. He doesn't want to think back to those quiet evenings.]

...You died, by my hand. There is only one other regret I hold as deeply as that one.

[poorlittlesange]

[At least he had hoped. That is something.

But at his next words, Jin Guangyao flinches as though struck and turns quickly to face Lan Xichen again, stunned into incredulous silence. They are standing in the house's small parlour, the room where the Four Seasons paintings have been framed with such care, if not the finest of materials (it is difficult to come by such things, and Jin Guangyao does not have much to offer on trade in Cellar Door). He'd found comfort in them over the last few weeks. Now he is afraid to even look at them.]

You.. [His voice fails him, again, but his wide, stricken eyes say more than enough.]

...why?

CW Suicidal ideation

[baiyueguang]

Because I was a fool. I did not look past what I wished to see, I didn't listen to anything but what I wished to hear, and let myself be used for someone else's revenge.

[His voice sounds hollow; tired in ways he has never sounded before. When next he speaks, it's barely a whisper.]

...I would have gone with you, gladly.

[poorlittlesange]

[--well that's. A substantially more evasive answer than Jin Guangyao had been expecting to receive from his er-ge. It's the sort of answer that reveals as much as it conceals, the sort of answer that Jin Guangyao himself might have given if he desperately wished to be honest, yet could not tip his hand. Despite himself, his eyebrows raise a little. Beneath the acute anguish in his heart, he's impressed.

But that anguish overwhelms everything else. He takes in the depth of pain on Lan Xichen's face and feels an echo of it in his gut, and immediately steps forward to grip his dearest friend's forearms.]

Well, that--[he catches his breath at that awful, awful thought, swallowing,]--is not necessary anymore, Er-ge, is it? [He holds his gaze, as if to will his friend back into the present moment. Pleading,] We are together now. I am here, now.

CW Hand trauma mention

[baiyueguang]

[His evasion isn't borne of any desire to deceive. Quite the opposite; he would like the truth of things out in the open and that includes his own failures and regrets.

The problem is that the events of Guanyin temple are still painfully fresh and he has had little time to come to terms with any of them. Moreso he dreads that putting words to everything will cause the entire ordeal to repeat.

Jin Guangyao's hands on his arms ground him. He's still lost in the woods, but at least now he doesn't feel as though he's drifting aimlessly, and his fingers curl around his friend's arms so that they are linked. Occasionally, his gaze darts to his sword hand, idly thumbing where it had been sliced off at the wrist, and now, by some miracle, intact. Because it hasn't happened for him.]

I still feel like I could wake up any minute and this will all vanish. I don't know if this is you or just... how I want to remember you.

[poorlittlesange]

What would convince you otherwise? That I am real?

[This thought exercise is one he's taken himself through once before already, but his methods only worked because his the one occupying his mind and body. What would work for Lan Xichen, he doesn't know.

He is abruptly hyper-aware of the touch to his wrist and the way Lan Xichen continues looking down at his hand. Jin Guangyao allows the touch and doesn't pull away from it, though he feels suddenly exposed in a way that is difficult for him to describe even to himself. He purses his lips together, then tentatively suggests,] Would Er-ge like to try a cup of coffee? [a pause, then,] I can prepare decaf, if you prefer.

[That's something that absolutely did not exist in their world, and which Lan Xichen's mind would not be able to create out of the aether.]

[baiyueguang]

[He doesn't know the answer to Jin Guangyao's first question. He's too distracted with the fact that he is alive and maybe not some mirage about to fade away.

The second question snaps him out of his trance, brow furrowed and bewilderment writ large across his face.]

A cup of...?

[What? What is coffee? What is decaf?]