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

slides in for double insomnia time

[fanfavors]

When Huaisang cannot sleep for fear of something coming, his first and last rational thought is a simple one: he was wrong to assume his poor cultivation would spare him from qi deviation, and as Shen Yuan had predicted not days before, it is happening to the next of them now. There's no other explanation; he's never had trouble sleeping for any reason he couldn't identify, and even then: only from grief. It isn't grief that grips him now as soon as he lays down his head, and a day later, as soon as he so much as considers a good night's rest.

No; it's nebulous, darker. It dogs his footsteps and lingers in his periphery, something coming, something waiting. A glimpse of a shadow; a note of music.

When he hears his brother's voice the way it had sounded the day he died, Nie Huaisang resolves to go and do something, before he truly loses his mind. Another might wonder if Nie Mingjue has somehow come here, to Trench, but every agonizing syllable of his screams that day is etched on Huaisang's heart, and he knows a copy when he hears one.

So. He goes out. He needn't wander long before a suitable distraction presents itself, in the form of another man, a stranger, yelling in the streets for someone else with pain in his every word. Huaisang might have passed him by if not for that, left him to his own devices (he has a wolf with him? hello?), but—

"Who did you lose, xiansheng?" It will occur to him soon, that they're each suffering different shades of the same struggle. But not yet, so perhaps he can help this man (and his huge wolf, hello??) find who they're looking for. "If you call them a fool, they won't come!"

it's a party!!

[listenyouidiot]

Fitz turns quickly on his heel to face the newcomer who has wandered into these icy caverns alongside him--but the glacier's caverns are gone from his sight, suddenly, and instead all he sees before him is a young man standing on the side of a busy footpath. He stares at Huaisang without losing any of the frantic energy in his eyes, but he does seem to pause, as though there is a part of his mind somewhere under all those delightfully messy black locks that knows something is off.

He cuts his eyes to the side; a random rubbernecker immediately clears her throat and books it in the opposite direction, sorry, scary guy, don't mind me, etc. Then Fitz looks back to Huaisang again. "The Fool is what he calls himself. It's no insult between us, but I..." A little furrow appears between his eyebrows, and he looks over his shoulder again. He's lost the plot, clearly.

Nighteyes has only rarely had cause or opportunity to communicate with humans other than Fitz, and it was always a fraught process, even for those humans who understood and had some proclivity towards Wit magic. A Wit bond is a unique thing forged between two unique minds, and there are layers of complex magic at work in helping a wolf understand a man, and vice versa. But if Nighteyes doesn't try, it is hard not to fear that he will soon be alone in this place, and a lone wolf without his pack is a dead wolf.

He lowers his head with a non-threatening whine and walks towards Huaisang with his eyes down and tail lowered. Getting his intention across from his mind to Huaisang's is like hurling himself across a vast chasm, unsure of whether his claws will find purchase on the other side, but he tries.

Hello, Hummingbird. Please help us.

fweets horn

[fanfavors]

Oh, Huaisang thinks to see that look on the stranger's face, and then, So that's how it is. The man hasn't the look of a cultivator about him, which rules out qi deviation by only a slim margin, possessed as Huaisang is by the memory of the last- unbelievable, the last two times he's seen it happen. At least this man isn't likely to start bleeding from every orifice.

Hopefully.

"Xiansheng's friend is called Fool?" Like, on purpose? Huaisang's brow furrows, but alright - this isn't the time to pass judgment on the origin of that choice. He steps closer to Fitz with his fan held up against his chest, a shield for all the good it will do against the strange and sudden. He thinks he can hear a voice that isn't there, again, and he shuts the door on that line of thought as hard and hastily as he can, focusing on the face (and it is a nice face) in front of him.

It's when he hears the voice of the actual wolf that he flutters back a few steps again, startled. The omens in this place are one thing, but the sudden wolf voice is something else entirely. He squeezes the fan as he flutters it, too— and oh, hummingbird, he gets it.

(That's the poet in him, stopping to appreciate the metaphor.)

"I don't know— I don't know what you want me to do." Glancing between Fitz and Nighteyes now, unsure where he should direct his attention. After a moment, he settles on the wolf. ...Wolf-xiong? Absolutely not. He's too anxious to approach again just yet; a man seeing things and a large wolf are, hm, both things that could snap him in half by sheer accident, but he offers a hesitant: "I really don't know, but... Perhaps you can help this one get him off the streets?"

[listenyouidiot]

Yes.

A firm and emphatic agreement, and while there is the sensation of other thoughts being present wrapped around it, the form and shape of them doesn't quite cross the barrier between them. Nighteyes, whose powerful shoulder blades come high enough to brush against Huaisang's elbows (wolves are big), gives his lowered tail a grateful wag and leans up to nose at Huaisang's hand, then turns and trots back towards Fitz--and a good thing, too, because Fitz has once again set off towards the Trenchwood at a swift clip.

Brother! Brother, stop! This time when he circles in front of Fitz, he does manage to herd him back in Huaisang's direction, but that success does nothing to offset the look of wretched unhappiness in Fitz's eyes.

"Fool." His voice is rough, aggrieved, and his eyes are wet. "Nighteyes, I left him. I left him in that awful place."

The Scentless One isn't here, Changer. He has gone to Clerres with the Black One. It takes... immense effort for Nighteyes to open up the walls of their dialogue to include Huaisang, too, but how else is he meant to communicate his understanding of Fitz's name to the strange man who is helping them?

And that opening of the currents of their thoughts seems to wash over Fitz like a sudden gust of wind through a newly opened window. He startles and looks right at Huaisang as though truly seeing him for the first time. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, and chafes a hand across his beard.

"...where am I?"

[fanfavors]

Wolves are massive, good gracious. Huaisang manages to handle the nosing without leaping out of reach, tentatively trusting at least that this isn't some kind of elaborate trap by man and wolf to spirit him away and eat him for supper, or something. It's the voices of ghosts still trying to wrap around him that steady his resolve, ironically enough - he can see the battering of too many false perceptions quite clearly, in this other man's desperate gait.

And— and the wolf calls him brother, and Huaisang is nothing if not predictable when it comes to a soft spot for the bonds of brotherhood.

Now, then, does he snap the fan shut and move forward to meet the two of them halfway (here on this street; baby steps). His hummingbird heartbeat drums against his ribs with genuine anxiety he's trying valiantly to ignore, the uncertainty of this strange meeting tangling into his lack of sleep, the feeling of being followed—

"You're lost in the streets, ah-" What in hell did the wolf call him; Huaisang's gaze darts to Nighteyes for a moment, brow furrowed, before he adds, "Changer-xiansheng."

(Yeah, that's going to have to change, definitely.)

"This one is called Nie Huaisang. Your brother asked me to find a place to rest." There; that's all perfectly well and good, very reasonable, and it's a relief to see lucidity in Fitz's face, if a little muddled— which means it only makes dreadful sense that that is the exact moment Huaisang hears the scrape and clash of a saber being dragged and thrown to the ground in his own addled perception. He startles again and this time moves forward, towards man and wolf and away from his ghosts. (Really, just the one.) Ahem.

"The city streets are unsafe, so..."

[listenyouidiot]

Fitz startles at the same time that Huaisang does, which--isn't a great sign, to be honest, and pure instinct has his hand dropping to the very mean-looking ax sitting at his belt and stepping to place himself between Huaisang and... whatever this nebulous threat may be. (Did we not mention there's an ax on his belt? There's an ax on his belt, and he definitely knows how to use it.)

But then Nighteyes comes to his side again and leans his substantial bulk against Fitz's legs, stopping him from taking another step towards the reverberation of that blade against the ground. Brother. It isn't real.

nighteyes coming in clutch tbh, the mvp

"Right," Fitz says, and it's not clear whether he's agreeing with Nighteyes, or with Huaisang, but at this point, it doesn't matter, does it. "Right," he says again, and this time he sounds more sure of himself, and while he can still hear the distant, agonized screams of the Fool, though it galls him to remember those moments, he is no longer reliving them. He blinks his eyes several times, pushes a hand through his hair, and then looks back at Huaisang and his fan, and pauses.

...Yes, this young man with his artfully illustrated fan sure did call him 'Changer,' did he? He puts a pin in that for later.

"Do you know of a place where we can seek shelter, until..." His voice tapers off uncertainly. Until what, exactly? "Until the danger has passed?"

[fanfavors]

The ax is mean-looking indeed, but more significant and confusing than that is the way Fitz can hear the saber. It horrifies Huaisang for a moment, ducking back behind his fan (and, ahem, the man with the ax putting himself in harm's way); if he can hear it, then is it real? Is da-ge here with his sanity frayed to ribbons and will Huaisang have to watch him be put down like a dog again, again, again—?

No; no, it isn't real. (The talking wolf says so, so obviously.) The distant echoes of metal on stone are not real, and if they were, they would simply be the sounds of a city going about its day. Huaisang breathes out, gathers himself, and looks at- up at, hi- the well-armed man he's now agreed to watch after, for however long it takes.

...Well, they probably can't go to the Red with a big wolf in tow. Not that Huaisang has designs on romping halfway across the city and up that magic elevation box in this state, anyway. But still.

"I—" the 'don't know' is on the tip of his tongue, but he agreed, and more than that, some lingering sense of unease about the ghost saber makes him not want to be alone. "I know where some of the local inns are. Ah, the kind that doesn't mind a colorful party."

That is to say: a big wolf. As if he would make brother wolf wait outside, much as close proximity to Nighteyes is still somewhat nerve-wracking. He flutters the fan towards the main street, mercifully not the same direction as where the saber crash came from. It isn't far to this street's busiest stretch, and squatting square in the middle, a bar with some rooms upstairs. Huaisang's growing mental map for where to drink in town is finally an asset for other things; go figure.

"That way." A beat. Mercy, is he leading this charge. Alright. He nods, stepping out of the protective circle of ax-reach to lead the way. "This one will go first."

[listenyouidiot]

That comment about their colourful party makes him crack something that might look like a grin under different, less miserable circumstances. Because, well, it's the truth, isn't it, they do make for an eccentric and mismatched trio of travellers--and because something about the delivery of that line puts him in mind of--well. Best not to dwell on him now.

He tucks the ax back into the leather strap attached to his belt and gives it a pat, like you might pat a horse's flank after it has just put in a good run for you, before leading it back to the stables for a rub-down. "I'll follow your lead," he says, and there is a bit of hesitation as he gets his head around the syllables of, "Nie Huaisang," but it's not as difficult a name for him to pronounce as some of the guttural, glottal names that were favoured in the Outislands. He and Nighteyes, evidently by unspoken agreement, both fall into step on either side of Huaisang as they follow the street towards the inn.

He still hears it, every few moments; steel against stone, a cry of pain, his name a despairing, anguished sob, Fitz--

Clearing his throat: "Changer is--how Nighteyes sees me." And he cannot help the caution in his eyes as he studies Huaisang's profile; he knows well enough by now that the prejudices against the Old Blood haven't followed him here, and Huaisang is unlikely to be one of the Piebalds who would have sold out their fellow Witted. (He does not sound like a son of the Six Duchies.) Which still doesn't answer his principle question.

"You could hear him, just then, couldn't you?"

[fanfavors]

Ah, and if being flanked by the two of them does anything in either direction to Huaisang's lingering anxiety, he tucks it neatly away behind his fan. With the immediacy of Fitz trying to run away into the woods- or whatever it was he was seeing- seemingly handled, for now, Huaisang can safely and unfortunately remember exactly how tired he is. That makes the goal of reaching the inn urgent, if only so he doesn't drop in the street, and he leads them up the street with only the occasional standing on tiptoe to make sure they haven't passed it by somehow.

And, "Nighteyes?" This, first, because he heard the name a few moments ago, but he also heard a lot of names at once and several of them inside his head from inside the head of a wolf- Nighteyes!- so. As proper introductions go...

...Nighteyes is a wolf, but Huaisang still turns to look at him and do a slipshod half-bow as they walk, adding, "Nighteyes is a beautiful name. It suits you-" don't fucking say wolf-xiong, "-I like it."

All of that probably answers the question asked, but Huaisang still looks at Fitz and nods, open curiosity on his face.

"As well as I can hear you." Somehow. "Ah, what should I call you, then...?"

[listenyouidiot]

Thank you.

The hummingbird has better manners than you, brother.

Is it possible for a wolf to look like he's laughing? Nighteyes somehow manages it, tongue lolling past a set of legitimately fearsome-looking teeth, but that doesn't stop him from giving an almost playful dip of his head, tail flicking to the side. Fitz snorts and does not bow to the wolf in return, but his reserved smile comes a bit more easily to his face now, like the dry barb is a return to some longed-for normalcy. It also allows him to feel the edges of his exhaustion, too, but he pushes the feelings to the edges of his senses, rather like the wolf. Can't rest until they've found a den, as it were.

And then that question, and he feels his ears burning. "You may call me Fitz," he says simply, and it feels so strange, so terrifying, to claim the name that Verity had given him.

He spots something ahead of them that looks to his eye more or less inn-shaped. He points towards it. "There--is that where we're headed?"

[fanfavors]

Twirling his fan completely innocently, the picture of a man who is not in the middle of, and quite charmed by, a wholly unique moment between brothers - Huaisang purses his lips and looks straight ahead, before he lets the sleep deprivation let him say something ridiculous. He's putting in the effort to be good here, and not nose his way into a little moment that isn't for him. (A moment unique, of course, because Nighteyes is a huge wolf, but Huaisang finds himself adjusting to that much more quickly than he'd originally thought he might. Go figure.)

"Fitz," he repeats with a slight nod, not even attempting to put an honorific on that that wouldn't be a nightmare to say. Changer-xiansheng was enough. He'll workshop it. "And Nighteyes. This Huaisang is pleased to meet you both, despite, ah, you know."

Circumstances. But yes: there's the inn, and he nods again, tucking the fan away at his waist and very nearly reaching for a sleeve to tug on automatically. Ah— no, but he curls his fingers on the empty air just as casually as he might have grabbed a sleeve, anyway. Shameless.

It goes without saying that Huaisang intends to do all of the talking in the inn itself, he thinks - and he does just that, exchanging more than one politely hushed word with the proprietor once they've gotten inside. Just being indoors and a staircase away from a room with (relatively) soft furniture in it exhausts him all over again, but he trots back to Fitz and Nighteyes with as much pep as he can muster. And a room key! How novel is this city!

"Room three," he says, holding the key up to dangle. "To shelter from the city's perils, and to enjoy a complementary meal, the owner said."

[listenyouidiot]

Fitz is indeed perfectly content to leave the talking and haggling and whatever else must be done to secure them lodgings for the night to Huaisang. He knows where his strengths lie, and outside the context of, uh, aggressive interrogation of his family's political enemies, or arguing with the farmer on the neighbouring homestead about the asking price for his chickens, persuasion isn't it. So he and Nighteyes head into the common room and slump into one of the chairs near the fireplace, and almost immediately he is on the cusp of sleep, which means it feels like only seconds later when the cadence of Huaisang's now familiar footsteps rouses him.

Nighteyes' ears prick up with interest at the mention of a meal, complementary or otherwise, because what does a wolf care about how much money something costs. Is there rabbit?

"Bread and cheese, like as much. Maybe beer." Fitz hopes there's beer. He gives Huaisang a grimace of an appreciative smile for his efforts and hauls himself back up onto his feet while fatigue keeps gnawing at him, a dog with a rawhide scrap.

The room itself is spare (definitely several flights of steps down from the Red's amenities, sorry Huaisang, this place is closer to a Motel 6 but 'rustic'), includes a couple of narrow beds, a set of shoddily made table-and-chairs that wobble unsteadily because the lengths of the legs don't match, a lunar-powered heater, a washroom, and a single dusty window covered by an equally dusty curtain. It's more-or-less clean, but Fitz grew up sleeping in a horse stall on a hay bed next to Burrich's hounds, so his standards are. different.

"It'll do," he says from the doorway, hands on his hips, then heads over to the window to peer outside it, some latent paranoia pushing him to check the window latch, to inspect the washroom to be sure it's empty, to crouch down and check under the beds. All clear. Nighteyes, meanwhile, prowls over to one of the beds and springs up onto it, thoroughly rucks up the bedding, and then settles down atop the mess with a deep sigh.

[fanfavors]

Ah, and even through his own haze of exhaustion, Huaisang can recognize it in Fitz's movements as they head upstairs. If he had to guess, Fitz has been awake longer than he has - perhaps that's why he'd seen something that wasn't there so much clearer than the things that have been haunting Huaisang - and honestly, Huaisang's immediate thought is that the room is actually quite pitiful, and he should apologize for not picking a better inn to rest in.

...But apparently it'll do, and so he murmurs a little "oh, alright" and watches Nighteyes absolutely ruin one of the, hm, utilitarian beds. That's a way to get relaxed, he supposes.

After a moment of consideration of the wobbly chairs and table, Huaisang shuffles over to the other bed and perches on the corner of it, twirling his fan in an idle manner.

"I can wait for the meal to be brought up," he offers, delicately not adding on the obvious, because you look like you're about to drop or equally obvious, you're in a more dreadful state than I am. Fitz should sleep, as Nighteyes seems to have already decided? Huaisang misinterprets the careful checking of the latches as more paranoia borne specifically on the back of the hallucinations, and so it stands to reason: Fitz is having a worse day.

Although that does remind him, first, of- that moment with the ax, back in the street. He looks away to gaze expressionlessly at the crooked table before he asks, "When we were on the street, the saber... You heard it?"

[listenyouidiot]

The good news is that Fitz at least isn't having his worst day, and surely that is cause for some celebration, or at least nigh palpable relief.

He has straightened up from his crouch and is evidently trying to decide whether to lay his ax flat on one of the dingy-looking bedside tables, or to prop it up against the table leg instead. There's the logistics to consider, of whether he can arm himself quickly enough if need be, can he reach the haft and heft it in time to defend them from an attacker should someone breach the door--just things he mulls over, consciously or otherwise, any time he's settling down into a new place for the night.

"No, no," he says, distracted, and waves one hand, "I'm well enough to take the first watch." Nighteyes snorts doubtfully at this, but Fitz goes on as if he hadn't heard him. "You should rest." He doesn't say you look delicate out loud, at least, but maybe it shows a little in his expression. (like, you do tho.)

But Huaisang's question coupled with the change in his demeanour gives Fitz pause. He frowns, hesitates another moment, then comes around to one of the rickety chairs and eases himself down onto it, elbows braced on his knees. "I did. Nighteyes and I--" and there again he hesitates, before pushing on, "--we share our senses. When he managed to touch your mind, however briefly..." He trails off and gives his head a small shake, not as though he disbelieves his own words, but because he's still trying to put together this puzzle without all the pieces left.

"The sound of the blade," he finishes instead. "You say it was a sabre?"

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Much as he assumes Fitz's going over the security of the room is at least a little atypical for him, Huaisang can't deny this is - a familiar kind of behavior. He's spent many an evening waiting for a Nie disciple to check an inn's rooms (nicer rooms, to be fair, and more spacious, ahem) for hidden dangers, but the owlish way he blinks at Fitz's suggestion of 'first watch' is itself telling. What watch. There's sleep time and not sleeping time, please.

He's too delicate for watches. Stop that.

They can work on that shortly; right now he looks at Nighteyes, as if the wolf should confirm this thing he had already mostly guessed at, from the connection of minds earlier. There were definitely more than two individuals there, yes— not that Huaisang could explain his sense of knowing. The important part is he believes it.

Which leaves the saber. He looks down again, takes a moment to make a pursed-lip decision and twist the ends of his hair a bit, alright, and here he goes. The first point: Fitz will absolutely not know what a 'da-ge' is, so, "My brother's. It was— He was hurting, back then." Understatement. "If he... If it happens again, that touch, and you can see my brother, then—"

Don't ax him, even if he isn't really there? Don't stand in his way, for Fitz's own sake? Huaisang looks up, an ounce more resolve in his delicate face. "Then you and Nighteyes should go, and quickly. Just in case."

[listenyouidiot]

"My brother's. He was-- He was hurting, back then."

It's a subtle change that comes over Fitz's expression, just the barest drawing together of his eyebrows over his eyes and his lips pressing together into a line. But it's there across his features, the terrible pain of comprehension, of understanding just how terribly and deeply the bonds of kinship can wound and scar. And who else beyond a brother, either by blood or by bond, could wound like this?

From his nest of blankets on the opposite bed, Nighteyes's lambent yellow eyes are open and lidded, and watching Huaisang with keen intelligence and understanding and, most importantly, an absence of any judgment. Perhaps there remains a small thread of connection between his mind and Huaisang's; some animal comfort seems to trickle across it, the equivalent of a large chin resting on a knee, a cold nose against a teary cheek.

You are brave, Hummingbird. A pause, and then a wide yawn as the wolf settles himself, eyes blinking closed. And stupid. Let us protect you. Like the expectation of it is just understood to him. what is it with humans and making things complicated??

Fitz exhales. "Nighteyes..!" But the wolf only grumbles his argumentative retort before rucking up the blankets a bit more to further settle himself, and so Fitz relents, though not without sending an apologetic look towards Huaisang. "I'm sorry, about him." man, brothers, right??

Still, there's a considering way he shifts his eyes to Nighteyes, and then back to Huaisang again, and he chafes his palm against his beard. "He does have a point, though. Must you face those memories alone? If there's a way that I could help..." He spreads his hands to either side of himself, at once both a bit helpless and earnest.

cw for nhs gaslighting himself a little

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It's the first time Huaisang can recall being called brave, and he has no idea what to do with it. He means only for his new friends to not be unduly targeted by Nie Mingjue's ghost, the way so many disciples were cut down that day— is he not protecting them, in actuality? He knows Mingjue wouldn't hurt him.

(He knows somewhere deep and buried that the sound of the saber on stone, on flesh and in bone that day have burrowed into the part of him that feels only visceral, animal fear, but - but Mingjue wouldn't have hurt him.)

On another level it sparks a new warmth in his chest to have the two of them so sure about protecting him, and Huaisang latches onto that. If he puts the fact that it's his own da-ge they're all talking about somewhere far away, then he can simply be grateful, without the complications.

"I don't know, I have no idea what to do," he says, eventually, twisting his hands around the handle of his closed fan. He really doesn't know: what to do about da-ge (and it is harder to put those thoughts of his brother away than he'd have hoped), what to do about the things Fitz was seeing, what to do about any of this. He knows these two things, instead: first, that Nighteyes' presence has shifted with incredible speed from threatening to something of a comfort; and second, that he could get used to this, the frankness in offering him help.

Wild, that it's like, so much nicer to not couch everything in fifty layers of manners and carefully curated politeness. Here in this god-awful dusty room with these two near strangers, one of whom is a big wolf (now positive), he feels perfectly safe.

And so without any ceremony, without saying anything else, he drops the fan into his lap and his face into his hands, and lets the exhaustion and the frustration and the fear and the pretending-there-is-no-fear come out in a sob. Sorry, Fitz, he's not very good at compartmentalizing.

[listenyouidiot]

Fitz balks at the tears but, to his credit, gets quickly to his feet to do--something. What, exactly? Shit, by Eda and El both, that wasn't what he'd been hoping for. Where was the Fool when he most needed him, the Fool would have swept Huaisang up into the comfort of his arms and known precisely the right words to say to soothe his pain. But Fitz? "Oh," is his useless murmur from where he stands, fidgeting, before he awkwardly crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed at Huaisang's side. He lifts a hand and lets it hover in the air, before dropping it onto Huaisang's shoulder once, twice. Pat, pat.

The wolf grumbles from his bed. Well done, brother.

Nighteyes unfolds himself from his nest of bedding and in a single hop and bound springs up onto the bed next to Huaisang. He settles the bulk of his body against Huaisang's side, warm and powerful and covered in a dense layer of fur at once coarse and soft, and noses at his face, his hands, his hair. It's an onslaught of canid affection, utterly messy and devoid of anything approaching decorum, because what does a wolf care for such things?

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It's just surprise after surprise in this dusty little room, isn't it. Huaisang isn't expecting Fitz's bumbling attempt to comfort him - they are practically strangers, after all, and he only ever expects comfort from two people who are exceedingly reserved - and he certainly isn't expecting Nighteyes to suddenly hop onto the bed with them. He murmurs a muffled protest into his hands, not to ask them to leave, but a small-voiced 'no, no, he didn't' to defend Fitz's, um... emotional competency.

Like, he would have cried on his own, eventually. That's probably the truth.

But instead he's surrounded on all sides by two kinds of messy concern, and credit the two of them this: they stop him sobbing in record time, even if the tears are still coming. The onslaught of wolf attention makes him laugh, a genuine if not shaky and halfway-blubbering noise, and his hands automatically reach for Nighteyes while the rest of him tilts towards Fitz and his emotionally intelligent hands. It's all the wolf up in his business, you see, he needs to claim a sliver of his own space back by putting himself into Fitz's. It's the only logical thing to do!

Now, where does one pet a wolf? The same places one pets a dog? He'll try, and if Nighteyes doesn't like it, he's sure he'll find out swiftly.

"I'm sorry," he offers, because he's still actively shedding tears and they're being so kind, to try and help-- "This is- just the kind of person I am." But not super depressing, like that sounds.

Probably.

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"I'm sorry. This is- just the kind of person I am."

"What," Fitz replies, already chuckling, because Nighteyes' determined affection is a contagious thing, and it's broken down some of his own walls with its effusiveness. The Fool would be proud, he hopes, wherever he is, and he unthinkingly shifts his weight some to accommodate Huaisang leaning into his space. "A man with a heart? Eda, the stories I could tell you about men I've known who should have let out their miseries this way, rather than--" he hunts about for a moment for an example, not for lack of any to choose from, but the glut of them, and gesticulates vaguely with a hand, "--drowning it in ale, or gambling it all on cockfights only to lose all their week's earnings in a single night instead. No," he says and shakes his head, drops his arm across Huaisang's shoulder, "Nighteyes has the right of it. I think you're brave, Huaisang. Ah--here, let me show you--"

He reaches past Huaisang to bury his hand in Nighteyes' dense ruff, giving him an affectionate and jostling scratch along one cheek near his jaw. The other hand comes around to affectionately clap the wolf on his side, and his gruff grumble of, "what a greedy lad," is more laughter that lives in his chest than actual words, and if Huaisang ends up more or less boxed between his arms and Nighteyes in the process, well, that wasn't intentional, and he does drop one arm back to his side after only a second or two.

In his element, Nighteyes has his ears laid flat with affection, his tail lashing like a whipcord behind them. When he mouths playfully at Huaisang's hand there is nothing but affection for one he perceives as being hardly more than a pup himself suffusing the connection between their minds, though he and Fitz both quickly look in tandem towards the door precisely a moment before a knock lands upon it.

"Room service," someone calls blandly from the other side. "Dinner, compliments of the manager."

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Oh, Huaisang thinks, Fitz sure does vault over his awkward shoulder-patting phase with impressive speed. After days without sleep, stalked around town by some thing in his brother's shape, it's all Huaisang can do to not immediately collapse into the warmth of another person (and wolf). He almost doesn't hear all of Fitz's words properly for all his other distractions, but mm, a man with a heart, yes— yes, it's precisely that sensitivity that gets him in trouble, indeed.

Give him a few seconds then, to catch up with this; with going from sobbing out his unexamined fears to pressed into this box of warmth and overeager wolf fondness and words like I think you're brave, Huaisang. Whew! He definitely doesn't have the heart to point out how bold it is to suddenly call him Huaisang, so - he just won't. No, he'd rather give Nighteyes an affectionate scritch of his own, although, you know, more delicately. He sniffles.

"Is there a fourth option, besides gambling and drinking and crying?" Wryly; really, is there another option, please let him know. He can only think of "killing a whole bunch of monsters" to add to this list, and that's - not it, for sure. "You're kind to say so, anyway..."

To the door he tuts lightly and calls, "Leave it there," without thinking, forcing the shake out of his voice so his Sect Leader tone can be heard more clearly (although with room service, it's more like his Second Young Master tone, but never mind). He's not all that hungry to begin with, and if he moves to pop this bubble of serenity he fears he might start bawling all over again, so - the dinner can wait a few minutes.

...Ah, and, "You two do have very good hearing, huh."

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There's a muffled grunt from the other side of the door, followed by the clatter of a tray being placed on the floor. "Whatever, suit yourself," someone mumbles and walks off. (mumble mumble like fine don't tip me thanks for nothing you jerks mumble mumble)

Nighteyes lifts his nose and sniffs once, twice, before he emits a grumble-growl of displeasure and drops his massive head down onto Huaisang's lap. Cheese and bread, he confirms with clear disappointment, and so noses at Huaisang's hand again. Please resume the ear-scratching, it his his only solace now that he has been denied real food.

"You two do have very good hearing, huh."

"He has good hearing. Mine is like anyone else's, I should think, but with--" and here he balks again, just momentarily, at calling the Wit bond between himself and Nighteyes what it is, despite the clear evidence before him that either Huaisang himself possesses the latent ability for it himself, or that their magics simply work differently in this place. His eyes dart evasively to the side and he scratches his jaw again. "...With our bond being what it is," there, and it isn't a lie, not if he only avoids one word, surely, "his senses sharpen mine. Keener hearing, sharper vision. In return, I give Nighteyes--"

A wedge of cheese for dinner, the wolf grouses, and Fitz lets out a bark of laughter despite himself.

"Yes, well, I should retrieve the cheese wedge before mice get to it." He pushes himself up off the edge of the bed and heads to the door to do just that.

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Who tips, maybe this inn should pay its employees a living wage, patronizing the establishment is the tip-- at least, that's Huaisang's inn experience in ancient fantasy China, so. Thank you, staff, for doing this nice thing. Huaisang gives Nighteyes' cheese-based sulking an amused huff, going back in for the scratches with both hands now. Yes, yes, cheese is very disappointing... He's quite sympathetic, which is why he's letting Nighteyes get fur on his fancy silk robes. It's subtle.

"Your brotherly bond," he says, which is not a question, but not not a question? He is curious about how a man and a wolf became brothers, and how the wolf can talk - although that he chalks up to what Fitz gives Nighteyes, if he had to guess - but he's not going to press. There's enough overt pausing at work here that he can also guess that it's... sensitive? Somehow.

There goes Fitz, anyway, leaving Huaisang to spoil Nighteyes with ear-scratches and scooting back a bit on the bed, so that he has more lap to rest on and isn't perched so precariously on the edge. Scratch, scratch, while he watches Fitz go and pick up the tray, hmm.

"Are you going to argue with me about-" god- "first watch, again, after you eat? Let me know— I want to be prepared in advance." Ha, he has enough pep back for some sass, red-ringed eyes and puffy crying face and all. Don't perceive that. But really though, eat your bread and take a nap.

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(Nighteyes takes full advantage of additional lap space, and luxuriates in the affection like a house cat rather than the very large apex predator that he is. His eyes have drifted closed, and if his even breathing is any indication, he's on the cusp of sleep himself now. listen it's hard work minding Fitz, he's glad to offload the work of it onto someone else, congratulations, Huaisang, he's your problem now.)

Cheese, bread, and a pitcher of beer, so it isn't a total wash. Fitz picks up the tray and pulls it back into the room, kicks the door closed with his heel, and carries it over to the rickety table and its irritatingly unsteady legs. He's in the process of fetching out a knife from his belt--yep, that was there the whole time--and using said knife to whittle slices off the cheese wedge when Huaisang hurls that Fool-worthy zinger at him, and laughs in spite of himself, despite the unfair little clench around his heart.

"Doesn't have to be an argument," he points out with a glance over his shoulder, smile crooked, then turns back just to drop the knife down onto the table and collect the plates. He carries them back over and offers one out to Huaisang, but rather than sitting beside him again he remains standing while he eats. (Grazing like a horse, Burrich would have said.) At least he has the manners to chew and swallow his food before remarking, "One of us at least ought to be awake until the other drifts off, just to be safe."

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Now he's minding a lap-wolf and Fitz, is the thing, he deserves to be paid overtime in better food. Not that the cheese and bread is bad, but it's cheese and bread. Where is the rest of the meal. Huaisang understands Nighteyes' complaints completely. He still takes the plate, looking at it; perhaps he will... nibble some cheese. If he studiously forgets to think about where Fitz's knife might have been, oh, hm--

"You're hovering—" a fraction of a second's pause before he decides, you know what, no one has to know how casually he addresses handsome men in his allegedly adequate inn lodgings- "Fitz."

Okay, now he'll nibble some cheese and bread, while he considers the merits of going to sleep right the hell now. He's tired, and with a wolf and a well-armed man, what could possibly sneak in in the dead of night to scrape sabers at him? But he can still recall that very first look Fitz had worn, lost and despairing, so - don't argue, sir.

"I will, I will— think of it as my way of saying thank you, for helping me with my problem." For saying he's brave and almost giving him an entire hug, but that's not a thing one just says. "Besides, it looks like I'm stuck sitting right here."