houseofsushi | lan sizhui ♪ the untamed (open post)

While Sizhui's initially unsure as to why Jin Ling's leaning even closer, the moment he says what he does, his ears promptly turn a brilliant shade of red. He inclines his head, withdrawing the other hand he'd gestured with just moments ago and pressing his fingertips against his mouth.

Perhaps he hadn't considered how nice he looks sporting his different hairstyle and wearing pale blue robes with silky ribbons hanging off his shoulders instead of oversized sleeves, but now he definitely is.

And if it's something that earns such a compliment from Jin Ling of all people, maybe it isn't so bad that he's branching out a bit in his older years. “Thank you,” Sizhui finally murmurs, having found his manners again, the hand lowering as they grow closer to the salesperson they've been looking for. “Really, you flatter me so, I do hope my face isn't too red...” It wouldn't do for them to be asked too many questions, after all.

Jiang Cheng can't help but roll his eyes at how he seems to dismiss his own well being.

"Can gods get injured?" he snaps.

It's a rhetorical question but he's pretty sure the answer is no. Either way, they shouldn't be out in the open like this.

The red has Jin Ling grinning a little to himself. For how often Sizhui flusters him, it's nice to see that he could do the same in return.

"Not your face," he begins, nonchalantly looking over the different lanterns as they approach the vendor. "But your ears certainly are a red color."

As much as he'd love to look at Jin Ling's face, Sizhui cannot, lest he risks seeing him grin like that and ends up turning even redder. Instead, he's focused on the lanterns before them, glancing over the designs, trying to decide which one might suit them best.

“Hahhh,” he sighs, even though there's no real heat behind the complaint and he's smiling. His free hand does reach up to touch the pinkened ear on that same side, feeling its warmth, which makes him both flush harder and smile somewhat wider as he slides his hand down Jin Ling's forearm, drifts his fingertips against the inside of his wrist then pushes them up against his palm and fans their fingers out so he can lace them together. Two can play at that game, after all. “Do you see any you like in particular?”

If there's nothing obviously physically wrong with him, what's the problem in assuming he's fine until proven otherwise? Later on, bruises will have formed from his fall, but those are nothing when compared to the fact a normal person likely would've died if they'd fallen from the same height.

Rhetorical or not, he answers, “By other gods, for certain, although I've never fallen before and don't know the consequences that come with it.” Maybe he's vulnerable now? It wouldn't be all that surprising, to be fair, though he'll hope he's wrong.

All of Jin Ling's higher brain functions stop when Sizhui laces his hand along with his own. Jin Ling clears his throat and looks at the array of lanterns and blatantly ignores the vendor who's known him since he was a child. He pretends to look over more lanterns.

"What sort of lantern would you even want?"

Jiang Cheng hoists him up into his arms.

"Come on. Let's get you some dry clothes and perhaps some salve so you wouldn't bruise up before seeing a physician."

He's aware of how odd it seems: walking into Lotus Pier with a finely dressed youth like this soaking wet would cause the rumor mill to start churning.

An action that prompts Sizhui to immediately raise both arms and circle the other man's shoulders, one hand actually clutching his shoulder and the other tangling in his robes at the spot just below his nape. The former hand, however, withdraws then he lifts his arm, using the sleeve to offer them some makeshift cover.

“While I appreciate your concern, do you truly intend to carry me the whole way? You'll need a change of clothes too if that's the case.”

And he's also somewhat worried about being seen, but not for the same reasons that people will likely spread rumors about, regardless of how desperately Sizhui's trying to keep them hidden.

Sizhui, however, spares a glance up toward the vendor, his lips faintly quirked at the corners, then he downturns again and hums contemplatively while still considering. At this rate, they'll never pick, so it seems Sizhui'll have to take matters into his own hands (or hand, rather, since he's holding onto Jin Ling's—)

His gaze falls onto a particular one; pale white in color, decorated with golden butterflies and a big purple lotus. He reaches out, gently lifts it from its spot to hold before them, then remarks with another full-on grin, “I like this one.”

"If you'd like me to put you down, you could have just told me so," he growls.

Jiang Cheng stops and sets him down onto his feet before they even approach the gates of Lotus Pier. He crosses his arms and fixes him with a sharp stare, waiting for him to get his bearings before they would start walking again.

"And tell me the whole story - the truth."

He has the feeling it would be far more fantastic than whatever lie that the youth would give him.

"Of course you would pick that one. You were playing with children's toys even when we were teenagers," Jin Ling scoffs, falling back on being haughty as he had been in their youth.

Nevertheless, he sets down the payment for the lantern and then some as he knows this vendor has relatives that struggled in the outskirts of Lanling.

“Of course,” he repeats emphatically, the tone of his voice bordering on teasing. “Are you saying you remember that day? It seems like so long ago...” Sizhui sighs softly, either genuinely unfazed by Jin Ling's patronizing or ignoring it altogether, too distracted by momentarily recalling that time in Tanzhou himself.

He's abruptly drawn from his thoughts, attention downcasting to where Jin Ling has already paid for the lantern he's holding, his eyebrows lifted with interest. Seems as if his friend isn't too bothered by him playing with children's toys after all, huh? A faint smile curves his mouth at the edges, though he's quick to stifle it, clearing his throat and briefly extricating his hand from Jin Ling's to gesture, “And that umbrella, please?” Then he passes the lantern to Jin Ling for a moment, this way he can dig up his own purse to collect money for that as well, commenting offhandedly, “I still have those butterflies.”

“That wasn't my intention, I just—” but he falls silent once they stop, lips pursed and his head inclined as Jiang Cheng moves to put him down.

Sizhui straightens his posture right away, arm lowering then tucking neatly behind himself, the hand closing into a fist which he rests against the small of his back. His opposite hand raises, fingertips combing through his hair, straightening the strands out somewhat before he notes the soft jangling from the dainty chain around his wrist. “I've already told you the truth,” he sighs, “I fell from the sky.”

After taking a moment to remove the tangled links from his forearm, he carefully wraps it up, clutches the item tight against his palm then levels the older man with a look. “We deities warn of a place, something beyond the safety of our gates in a somewhere nobody dares explore at nighttime. I went there to collect certain items,” Sizhui continues explaining, his thoughts drifting to the moonstones and if they'd remained in his pockets or if they're lost to the lake and he'll eventually have to fish them out, but he refocuses to continue, “I collected what I'd come for, got hit by something, then felt myself being pulled and...” With a weak hand gesture toward nothing in particular, his head lowers and he exhales heavily again. “And then you were pulling me out of the water.”

[the hustle and bustle throughout caiyi town has always proved to be good coverage when he's out night-hunting; men and their fishing boats, children running about with wild abandon, people selling their wares in the many stores that the line the walkways— they're all great ways to play into where he's taken up space beside a familiar teashop to play his guqin for currency. (or any payment, really, as some of the earlier mentioned children do happily approach and leave him things like flowers and tiny trinkets.) whatever they give is no matter, as his ‘act’ is merely just that: an entertaining presentation to perhaps suss out anyone who might have information about the goings-on in the city lately.

many of them who stop and chat him up don't have much to give aside from what he already knows concerning the fever, though there are a few helpful tidbits from a small group of drunken fellows that stumble their way inside the restaurant to sober up. the particulars aren't much to go on, but admittedly, they're better than nothing.

afterward, once the sun begins to set, he gathers his items and heads toward the nearby inn where he has a room, eats, cleans himself up and goes to bed in preparation to do it all again tomorrow.

however, as he collects more intel between gossipy folks, his tactic changes from morning routine to nightly, which doesn't work well for someone who's so used to being an early bird, but he handles it (and uses whatever means necessary to make absolute certain his body will not choose otherwise for him). with this new choice comes a change not just in awakeness but wardrobe too; a new get-up which offers some half-protection of his identity if the situation were to get dicey.

he plays a familiar tune, something slow and calming, his qi spreading forth an odd amount of feet from where he's sitting, radiating tranquility, yet also feeling for any possible disturbances amongst the buzzing night-life.]

[ Lestat de Lioncourt is in Caiyi. It's a carefully chosen little respite, with rivers that remind him of almost of the river Seine and her tributaries. The scenery is vastly different but still beautiful, breathtaking, even, and Lestat doesn't regret it. He needed to escape, needed to flee Paris, needed to be away from the Theatre, Armand, the things that have happened. Not to flee, but instead to be reborn; to renew and rejuvenate himself and this place with its crowds and its beautiful lotus flowers floating along the river's edge and the soft silks and aroma of spices, this would be his chance to do just that. It's the furthest thing away from his troubles.

And so he is here, and the city is large enough and has enough foreigners that while people gawk and stare, they allow him to rent a room. Lestat is managing to learn what little of the language he can, although his money speaks louder than his words could ever.

Caiyi is a safe place to stay, if for the moment, to get his bearings about him. And so he stays for a few weeks, careful to take out undesirables and always taking care of the bodies as best as he can, careful not to rock the metaphorical boat until he's ready to leave for either a different place on the continent or, if he grows bored, make for the New World.

He finds himself lost in the architecture of the place often, hypnotized by the curving arc of the roofs, the gentle slants of the circular windows. The stained glass of Paris is illuminating, magical, but there is charm in this little place, too. Like the music he hears. Strings from the air, plucked notes floating through the darkened sky, and Lestat at once cocks his head to the side and rises from where he'd been in mid-conversation with his next meal, a foreign man named Alex who had been so relieved to see his blonde hair he bought him a drink that even now remains untouched.

He doesn't matter. Not anymore. Nothing does except those notes, and it's imparitive that he finds the source of the music. Lestat follows it on the wind, elegant in his walk though he finds most folk give him wide berth, most likely do to his paler skin and different physique, and in a matter of moments he finds himself at a teashop watching a white-vieled person play so magnificently, so beautifully, that Lestat finds himself absolutely stunned and near tears.

(There's something, a feeling, strangely calm for an unsettled, undead heart. Not peace but something similar; calm, maybe, something Lestat has never truly felt, not for a long time.)

He claps once the other finishes the song, loud, pointed, absolutely beaming as he takes a step forward. ]

C'est magnicifique, mon petit choux. Vraiment beau.

[ It doesn't matter that the other might not understand him. He's reaching inside his pocket for a coins of a rather hefty amount, eyes alight with wonder. ]

Encore?

[it's so flowing and easy, the motion of his fingers, nails deftly plucking each string throughout the melodious song.

a few stragglers stumble by, laughing warmly, clearly plied with too much wine and wooed away by the remaining fun they can have at nighttime, but they do acknowledge him with some items here or there and sizhui returns the recognition with the faintest tip of his head. he says well wishes underneath his breath, barely above a whisper, well-aware he can't actually put wards and protection spells on people in case they make him more obvious. who's to say they wouldn't sense the energy shift, after all? certainly not a risk he's willing to take at the moment.

while it's a decent cover, the open edges of his veiled hat allow him brief glances at other individuals, most of who are inconspicuous, uninteresting, or not acting deviant in any sort of noticeable way. (hard to keep up appearances when they've become intoxicated on substances and drift happily along without a single care for a while.)

sizhui raises his head further in acknowledgment toward some different groups, but those continue shuffling away, leaving nothing except empty threats and information that offers no leads. he's unaffected by the former and disheartened by the latter, yet continues playing on despite tiredness having come upon him however long ago, bolstered by the lack of details and single-minded about learning something besides what he already knows. determination flows through him, an unending tap, his movements further pushed by later possibilities down the line from where he's currently left hanging.

whenever the song is over, he gently presses his hands down and spreads them across the strings, silencing any leftover resonating notes, which makes the clapping all the more discernible.

this time, his head lifts completely, wide, dark eyes instantly focused toward the man a couple feet away, brows arching with interest as he moves even closer. regardless of him speaking in a tongue he cannot understand, sizhui's attention is unwavering, too intent on watching every step, gesture and body-language shift of the handsome stranger before him. as always, there are particulars that can be understood, even through a language barrier, and the money produced is one of these things, though sizhui isn't as nearly as enthralled with that as he is fascinated by this newcomer.

encore, he understands, something that makes him smile, head-bob in understanding and resituate his hands on the guqin. his fingertips tap the instrument, testing sounds, pitch, and assessing reverberation.

what follows is music that's a bit quicker than before, faster strums and fingerwork, but it's no less beautiful and lyrical, effortlessly flowing out of him, like a private concert for their ears only.]

[ The little one nods, and it's such a small, soft gesture that Lestat feels his lips twisting into something, a smile that he cannot and refuses to contain. The other has an elegance to him, not just his art but to his posture; the graceful way he moves his fingers, his hands, his joints--and the music. It's more up-tempo now, but nonetheless just as hypnotizing. Lestat stands calmly, rapt in his attention and focus, the world and his troubles melting away.

There is more. There is something about this music that's not the instrument, not the melody, not how beautiful it is and how well it's performed. There's a portion of it that calls to Lestat more than usual; a thread coaxing him gently along, hypnotizing him, seducing him.

He can tell that the vieled man is playing for him and him alone. He has enough sense to wait until the second song is done before he happily hands over more coin, clapping, beaming from ear to ear. ]

Comprenez-vous ce que je dis si je parle Français? O se parlo Italiano, possiamo conversare? Is English our common language, if you speak it? [ And in slow, French accented Chinese, Lestat braces himself for feeling slightly clumsy with his words. ] I want to thank you for music, sir.

[providing relaxation that takes away one's worries, comfort that soothes someone's uneasiness, and leaving them feeling nothing but happiness are all reasons why he plays, and they're why he pours his entire heart into the motions. unsurprisingly, he's spurred on by the man's smile, delighted with knowing that his playing has created joy for someone else; this fellow doesn't move at all, either, effectively captivated by the tranquil music.

if he's also using just the slightest amount of qi to ease any discomfort, well... they don't have to mention that now, do they?

again, after sizhui's finished, his hands spread along the instrument like he's caressing the strings rather than simply pressing down on them, and his head finally lifts entirely so the veil parts to reveal his face, the small smile quirking his lips.

the first two languages are completely incomprehensible to him, unfortunately, though the english and the awkward (yet still rather cute) mandarin that follows has his expression brightening significantly.] I know a little English. [which doesn't sound much better than lestat's mandarin, let's be real, but he follows it up as plainly as possible in his native tongue.] You're quite welcome, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[ Lestat makes it a note to learn the language quicker, now that he has more of a reason to: he usually sticks with the other foreigners, often choosing them and undesirables to to feed on to avoid risk of standing out. People don't much blink when it happens.

But now he has a reason to branch out: he is captivated, wholly, utterly by the guqin player, and that round face and deer like eyes peak out from behind that fluttering white veil like a morsel to be supped on. He looks ethereal, like an angel--a cherubim from a chapel, playing his zither like a harp for God's ears.

And he knows English.

Lestat's smile only seems to widen. He clasps his hands together instead of clapping again, seems to remember his manners, and bows like he knows is tradition here. The moment he straightens, he's speaking in English, as it's what seems to be the most common ground between them. ]

It is customary where I'm from to reward great talent and musicianship. Please, allow me to do so: there is a marvelous tea shoppe, they serve the most delicious rice wine--your words are clumsy with these damned foreign lips, forgive me--baiju?

[said guqin player is beaming outright by the time lestat remembers his manners and bows, which deserves a proper greeting in return. sizhui shifts, raises his left arm and sweeps a long sleeve across the instrument, causing it to disappear in a small flurry of bright blue magic. he moves upright afterward, all grace and flowing veil and robes, his right hand reaching to tip his hat back somewhat first, then he circles both arms around, cinches his hands together and bows in kind.

honestly, this handsome stranger flatters him, but it's those honey-tongued words that have him even considering going somewhere with an individual he's only just met. any other day, he might've been more heedful, would have taken into account what he was supposed to be doing and the sudden appearance of someone he's never seen before rather than toss caution to the wind by immediately accepting the man's offer.]

Bye-j'yo, [he pronounces, slow and steady, still smiling the whole time through his suggestion.] You needn't apologize, you're doing wonderfully with what you know. If you prefer, it is also called ‘shaojiu’, literally meaning ‘white liquor’.

[against his (usually) better judgment, he slinks forward, leaving a respectable amount of distance between them, but only just, his expression faintly softened, though no less friendly.] I would be absolutely delighted to share a drink with you. [because, of course, he's fully expecting his new acquaintance to join him, even if it means using some of what he's earned to buy him a drink too.] Lead the way, kind sir.

[here's hoping lestat isn't surprised by how mannerly sizhui's returned flattery is.]

_{[ It wasn't often that Red found himself back on the mainland, but he had met a particularly adorable guy on Grimr who hailed from Lavender Town. The haunted city brought back nostalgic feelings for Red, seeing as he had helped many people there when he was just but ten years old. Red couldn't believe it had been about 20 years since all of that happened..

They had met up several times before and he thought Goldenrod would be a good place to hang out.. especially with what they had discussed and had planned. Red rented out a love hotel for them to stay the night at and they had a list of things to do and they would start their weekend with him meeting up at a cafe. Red sends out a text message: ]}

nearly there...
sorry i am late...

_{[ He got.. distracted. Probably by a Pokemon. ]}

[sizhui can't remember the last time he was permitted to travel; his place had always been in lavender town, as near to the pokemon tower as possible, that way he could be around to pray for pokemons' well-beings and protect them from any evildoers who might be intent on bringing harm to the remaining wild creatures. being able to communicate with spirits, it made sense to stay close, but as he's gotten older and met more people, it was inevitable that he'd travel elsewhere at some point.

there's a particular individual he's encountered more than once now, someone he's grown quite fond of, which is exactly who he's here to meet in goldenrod city. they'd made plans for this, talked about it for a long while before finally making a decision, and yet sizhui's cheeks still flush brilliantly every time he remembers. the cafe proves a nice distraction with its drinks and snacks, the latter of which he chooses initially, figuring it best to not fill up too much, just in case. however, his phone going off mid-sip of his drink immediately has his attention and he can't help smiling at the message, prompting him to respond:]

It's okay, I don't mind. I hope it's alright that I already ordered something.

[sounds exactly like red, honestly, and he wouldn't change him for anything.]

[ He has tricks.

Lestat's smile remains unchanging on his statuesque face, though there's a glint in his eye as the other uses strange blue light to spirit away that divine musical instrument. It's something he doesn't recognize, something he's delighted by: there are forces here, ones he does not yet comprehend or understand.

It both annoys and dizzies him. Almost as much as his first glimpse of the smaller man, bowing properly, the hat now no longer obscuring his face. Had Lestat been a creature capable of breathing, he's certain his breath would have hitched immediately upon seeing him. Instead his smile widens, and he clasps his hands lightly together, white, pointed nails pale, flashing in the moonlight. ]

Bien. Walk with me, and you can give a poor soul such as myself your name.

[this is only a small taste of what he can do, too.

however, until he fully knows the man's intentions, it's a little parlor trick that's safe enough to show off without garnering too many questions. for the most part, his newly acquired company seems unfazed at the moment, but sizhui's expression doesn't waver, nor does he let it embolden him any further. (yet, that is.)

those dark eyes follow each and every flourish, right down to where he clasps his hands together, a motion that makes sizhui ever-so-slightly smile wider in kind; it's interesting, he thinks, meeting someone else who has such energy while somehow coming off so effortlessly smooth, and he's instantly intrigued by what the night holds for them. toward the remark, he huffs a soft, airy laugh, shakes his head then playfully answers,] A ‘poor soul’, hm? Surely that's an embellishment.

[and still, he straightens his posture, tucks both arms behind his back then:] My name is Sizhui. [short, simple, and straight to the point, even if it'll be followed with his own kittenish inquiry.] Will you give me yours in return, young master?

Ordinarily, when Lan Clan is called in to handle a problem, it's because said situation became so out of hand, the locals need outside help to deal with whatever has beset them. Although most of the information they've been given is based on rumors, Lan Sizhui takes immediate action and decides, with his fathers busy and uncle otherwise indisposed, he'll address the issue directly; a ‘fiend’ of some sort causing inconveniences among the people, he's been told, yet nobody who has come forward possesses actual details of said ‘crimson demon’.

This will prove far more difficult than other missions he's accepted, but certainly not for the usual reasons that night-hunts are arduous.

Sizhui's arrival is mostly kept secretive (to the point he's exchanged his all-white outfit for plain, common-looking robes), this way he can work and there's less chance that the creature will catch on to the fact it's being hunted, even if Sizhui's still got his doubts about the whole thing. That isn't his place, however, so he tamps down any uncertainty then begins his project.

It takes three whole days for him to finally come up with something; the location of the demon's lair. Goodness, what more could he ask for at that point? Being handed this golden opportunity, it almost seems too good to be true, but it's the best lead he's had since he got here. (Therein lies a new problem though: how does he get there without anyone noticing?) He could, of course, cobble together an invisibility array, something that'd cover him just long enough to sneak up and catch the monster off-guard—

No, he thinks, there could be another way, right? A few long moments of contemplation and some minutes later, he's set out on horseback, galloping the two or so miles outside of town toward where the woman had marked on his map. ‘Careful you don't fall victim to trickery, young man.’ She'd warned, leaving him clutching his evidence like a lifeline, impulsiveness irresistible, despite the ominous words.

Which isn't at all what he's thinking about the moment he rides up to the house, eyes widened in surprise, but it's instantly cut short by rising anxiety. Don't be fooled, Sizhui reminds, taking a slow, deliberate breath that he exhales in a huff, hoping he's steeled himself enough to face whatever (or whoever) awaits him just beyond a quick stride across the yard and a door.

He draws ever closer, fingers clenched around his sword's sheath, the opposite hand at his side twitching nervously, completely prepared to draw his weapon if the need arises. Once he's only an odd amount of feet away, the cultivator stops, squares his shoulders and calls out, “Is anyone there? If so, present yourself.”

lan sizhui ♪ the untamed (open post)

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♪ cause there's nothing else in this broken world that i'll ever, ever love as much

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pokemon yaoi universe

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some kinda jamjar demonic cultivation au