[open] my soul is the color of ice and snow

[calmness]

CHARACTERS: lan xichen and YOU
LOCATION: around the ship
DATE: all after february 21st
CONTENT: simulation of cloud recess with totally not real rabbits that wear headbands, magical healing music, and a bit of sad time drinking. everything is about poorly coping.
WARNINGS: will update as i go, post-mission sadness ahead

time on the back hills (pets are forbidden)

[for an afternoon, those wishing to step into the simulation room will find it occupied and the scene before them as they step through the doors a pathway that leads them through a compound in the mountains. here winter turns to spring, blossoms bloom on trees still surrounded by sporadic piles of snow.

xichens them at the head of the path that leads them down past a waterfall and a pool, winding through the compound.] Come. Let me show you something.

[once on the way, xichen leads the two them through winding pathways and down a narrow path through a thick tree-line until they emerge on a grassy hill that is seems empty and covered in small patches of snow. the only notable thing there is a large rabbit-hutch standing under a tree, providing shade for the sunny field. xichen makes his way to the hutch, where he's left a basket full of vegetables -- carrots, lettuce, beets.

anyone approaching will soon realise that some of the white puffs of snow are not snow at all, but white rabbits of various sizes. some of them, surprisingly, wear a similar headband to the one xichen wears across his forehead.] Join me? [xichen calls over his shoulder, motioning them closer to the hutch.] They're friendly and easily won over, but I must warn you, they have a poor sense of boundaries. [he tips his head toward the basket of food, bribes for the rabbits.]

I used to take my nephew to this place after a difficult time. [he says after a while, in lieu of explanation for why he's created this particular vision for them all. rabbits are great for stress, you see. and that he equates some of you as needing the same soothing as a toddler once did.]

the song of clarity

[in the sunlight room, soft chords can be heard by anyone who passes through or wishes a moment of calm. xichen settles in a shady spot with his guqin, newly acquired and not quite tuned in the way he'd like. not that anyone unfamiliar could tell.

he sends a quick message to the network before he begins playing, a warning and also an invitation.] I am playing a song of Clarity the sunlight room, for those interested. If you have been feeling anxious or ill-at-ease, or unable to rest, the music is infused with Qi and will help ease your mind. I will play for anyone who needs it.

[the music floats through the room, the notes of the qin accompanied by sounds pulled forth by pale blue energy as he strikes each chord so it seems like he is accompanying himself with his flute. he has rested enough, slept most of the days since their return, that his energy levels are returning to their pre-mission state. not normal, no, but good enough that he can play. it helps too, serves as a distraction from the way things ended in scorpion's bend where the left a man to his seclusion.

that is a future xichen knows well, though he is pushing those exact thoughts out as he plays.

company is welcome and xichen plays the song all the way through regardless of when company joins him. as it comes to a close, he opens his eyes and looks at his companion.] Do you feel alright?

late nights musings and moping

[as it was for many, the mission was not an easy one for xichen. the conclusion, knowing that ford is left alone and the orb acted for its own entertainment leaves a hole in xichen's heart.

it makes anger boil in his chest, leaves him tossing and turning after exhaustion fades away. so instead of resting, he wanders the halls of the ship in the night. sometimes he is found on the observation deck, looking out at the stars with the corners of his lips pulled downward in a frown and brows creased in muted anger.

other times, deep in the night, he wanders to the kitchens and brews himself a cup of tea as he bends himself over a book that he is not truly reading. if pulled from his reading, he looks up at whatever poor soul enters the kitchen at this hour.] Would you like a cup? [there's still a good amount of tea in the pot next to him, a special blend from braccia for those who may recognize it. after a moment, he speaks again.] Or something stronger?


wild card!

[ooc: feel free to throw some variation of these my way or let me know if you'd like something else at grimm#9436 on discord or on plurk!]

Comments

late nights musings and moping

[cruelyethuman]

[Returning to the station was always a shock to the system. The same system that expected wood beams and ugly statues, the familiar sound of boots on marble or packed dirt. It was silly to expect it, still, but the Darkling found himself doing it anyway.

This time, the jarring sensation in his bones - offset by the piecing pain in his shoulder- had been far worse. The fate of the sole survivor of Scorpion's Bend weighing on him, for reasons he was far too sober and still too raw to think about.

Instead, the Darkling made his way to the kitchen, a bottle of kvas hanging from his fingers as he steps across the threshold. It's another jarring thing, to have people around constantly again and he stops, one foot inside the door.]

What do you have in your cup?

[Appearances can be deceiving and as for the second question, he holds up the bottle of translucent liquid.] Thank you, but I brought my own.

[As he enters, riffling through the cupboard to find a glass before taking a seat.]

[calmness]

This is tea from Braccia, a jasmine like blend. [good for winding down, not likely to keep him awake if his mind allows him some rest. that is unlikely, when laying in bed brings nightmares and thoughts of the inevitability of seclusion.

xichen is not made for loneliness. neither was ford, he thinks.] I was waiting to finish the cup before something stronger. [he taps the side of a bottle that's on the table next to him with his index finger. he hasn't opened it yet but its contents will replace his tea.

he tilts his head as he sees the other man pull out the bottle, brows raised. it seems he's not the only one who is up late and seeking a drink.] What is your pick of poison?

[cruelyethuman]

Kvas

[Which might not mean much to the man seated at the table, the steaming cup of fragrant tea before him, but to the Darkling it's a tiny slice of home. The doughy earthly taste of Ravka and the smooth burn of Kerch quality.

He puts the bottle and the glass down on the table in front of him, measuring out a generous splash of it.]

Why wait. [And still watching the colorless liquid in his glass, he adds] I've never liked tea much.

[calmness]

[it sadly means nothing but given no more is offered in way of explanation, xichen figures there will be none offered.

clear alcohol, he knows, holds quite a punch and he assumes it is the case with the other man's choice.] To not ruin the tea.

[he's not about to spike it. that would be sacrilege.

and then a beat later.] And because drinking alone seemed like a poor idea when drinking over a mission that ended with a man in isolation.

[cruelyethuman]

I'd say that is exactly the time to drink alone.

[Any time, really, is it better to do it alone. Holed up in a dark room, with no witnesses to the weakness that floods through him at the thought of the price the only survivor would have to pay.

To live long enough to see the world burn beneath your feet, to watch the suns fade to nothing and still be forced to walk the embers of a dead world...

It hits too close to home and he takes a generous gulp of his drink.]

Are we not all alone, really. Plucked from different worlds, doomed to return and forget. This seems like a perfect time to drink, alone or in company.

[calmness]

Said like that, it makes it sound like none of this matters. [and maybe that's the case, honestly. they will forget this all, will return to their worlds with no knowledge of who they were here or how they lived their lives.

who they lived them with. what does it matter? xichen lifts his cup to tea to take a sip, to finish it off. he needs something stronger.]

[cruelyethuman]

It mattered enough for all of us to agree.

[Mattered enough that he'd been willing to throw away and eternity with hope rising over the horizon.

Duty.

Fulfilling a promise made so long ago that he was the only one left to remember it. Draining his glass, the Darkling fills it again and holds it out.]

From my world and you're welcome to drink with me.

[calmness]

Coming here, yes, but whatever we form here... It sounds like it does not matter. [but perhaps it is better that way for some of them?

xichen shakes his head.] I am sorry to sound pessimistic. What awaits me when I return is also isolation.

[and that makes it also hit close to home, even if the isolation that xichen speaks of if a seclusion within the walls of his own rooms and the world he knows just beyond those walls. he looks at the offered glass, doesn't declined what is offered to him but first asks.] What is it exactly, this kvas?

[cruelyethuman]

Isolation. How so?

[He'll drink to that, draining the glass before filling it up again, the bright burn of home that lingers like an aftertaste. The fate that awaits, not too different than the one they've all just witnessed.]

It ultimately doesn't. None of this will matter, since we cannot take it with us once we leave. Everything we do here, it will just vanish. Slip away like smoke, and it's that just the most frightening thing.

[No memories. To lose what he almost had, just when it was within his grasp. To do so willingly, with his eyes wide open to the truth...]

Alcohol. We make it from fermenting rye and potatoes, the strain of yeast used also plays a great part in how it ends up tasting.

[calmness]

Seclusion. [xichen says after a moment and then realizes it means nothing in this world.] A punishment, of sorts, which involves isolation for a period of time.

My father spent most of his life in such a state. [and xichen thought he would be one to live by his sect's ideals, to do better. instead it was not a lover that foiled him, that lead to ruin, but a friend but the result was the same.] It begs the question if we should strive to better ourselves. [and yet he truly believes that he should, that they should.

that this is what the purpose of this is.] Ah, we should toast to something then as we drink it? As it is alcohol.

[cruelyethuman]

How long?

[His mother has chosen her own seclusion, withdrawing from the world until she was all but forgotten. Until the legacy of her ancestors were nothing more than stories used to scare children with, until she was nothing but a myth. She made no ties, she held nothing of the world.

And why should they? When all lives were nothing but dust.

Dying today or in fifty years, the result will always be the same. Little lives led without any concept of how fragile and pointless their lives really were.]

Is that what you're doing here, bettering yourself?

[Holding out his glass-] Why not. A toast to another successful mission.

[calmness]

However long it takes to be forgiven. [for the world to forgive him, for him to forgive himself.]

[a pauses.] Repenting is bettering oneself. So in a sense, yes. [not for his own sake, no, but for the sake of others.]

To success. [xichen raises his cup as well, offering a somewhat tired smile before he drinks and manages to burn off only some of the alcohol.] Ah. Stronger than I expected.

[cruelyethuman]

[To ask about what this man might repent, what sins he might have committed that would lead to his isolation and want to better himself, is on the tip of his tongue. Tasting like stale lake-water and the grimy dirt of the desert.

Instead of voicing them, the Darkling nods, draining his own glass with a quiet to success.]

You can go back to drinking your tea, if that is more to your liking. I intend to find a tiny bit of oblivion at the bottom of this bottle.

[calmness]

If you are willing to share another glass or two, I would rather join you in that than return to the tea. [ more honest, coupled with a wry smile that is then tinged with sadness. the oblivious of alcohol is easier than thoughts of solitude, of a lifetime or beyond if immortality is within reach through his own cultivation.]

[cruelyethuman]

[Pushing the bottle close in lieu of answering, the Darkling rolls his own near-empty glass between his fingers.]

Why do you need to be forgiven.

[calmness]

[ xichen dips his head in thanks, takes the bottle to refill his own glass. he sets the bottle down and then he considers the answer for a moment gaze set on the clear liquid in his cup. ]

I could say it is because my ignorance ruined the lives of countless innocents and of the people I cared for.

[ he lifts the cup to his lips, takes a sip. ] But that is painting myself kindly and absolving myself. [ and even so, ruined does not cover it. the lives of the dead are not ruined, after all. ]

[cruelyethuman]

In short, it would be lying. There is no reason to lie.

[There's something... familiar about sitting in the quiet kitchen in the middle of the night with nothing to do and nowhere to be. He must have known it, once, years ago. The quiet.

How even the air seems to stand still, waiting for dawn to break.

Except it never would, not out here in space. Not on this station.]

Are you not kind, then?

[calmness]

My sect's precepts forbid lying. [ not speaking around the truth, not finding another precept that supersedes it. ]

Some would say foolishly so and tell me that that allows me to wash my hands of it all. [ but they're wrong in that too. ]

[cruelyethuman]

[Nudging the bottle towards Xichen again, after filling his own glass.]

But you disagree.

[Strange concepts like pride or kindness, are almost lost to him. Washed away with time and betrayal, with every grave dug in to the unforgiving dirt of Ravka and with every Grisha scream echoing through the dark streets across the land.]

Is this your way of making amends?

[calmness]

[ xichen takes the bottle, fills his own drink again but this time just swirls the liquid around the small cup. ] The people I wished to protect and was responsible for still died.

[ kind or not, he was fooled and foolish. ] If all this does not turn out to be a divine lesson in the end.

[cruelyethuman]

They don't have to stay dead.

[There was the deal they all made, the dotted line signed before they even had a chance to read the contract and it sent them hurtling through space to help something not quite benign.

But

There was perhaps, another option. One that had started growing in his mind as the mission in Scorpion's Bend came to a close. After watching the gruelling consequences of striking a deal with an orb, after watching is fail over and over.

Because they were weak and selfish in their wanting.

Unlike him.]

What gods have you found out here?

[calmness]

Only if we remember our lessons here. [ and if they don't, then they will repeat the mistakes they made in another way.

it hinges on something xichen does not think they can guarantee. ] Not gods. Only Orbs, Viveca and Degar. [ and xichen does not wholly trust them to not have their own purpose. ]

[cruelyethuman]

We won't.

[And wasn't that just another kick in the teeth, to learn this truth from Viveca on a dark night. Months ago, and he was still unable to reconcile this fact with everything they were going through.

That it will all be for nothing, because the memories made here would melt like snow in the summer sun.] We won't remember any of this once we go home.

They are as close to being gods as any saint ever was. [He drains the glass before leaning back in the chair.]

[calmness]

We won't? [ xichen echoes, slowly repeating the words. he had hoped and to know that is not possible, well, that is a blow. ] Then there is a good chance we will make the same mistakes again, if not in the same exact way.

[ then all this may not amount to what many hope, if one were to be realistic.

xichen hasn't given himself fully to that, not yet. ] Are the saints your gods?

[cruelyethuman]

Viveca told me about another crew- a team, if you will. Like ours, only they stopped. Or were stopped.

[She hadn't mentioned the specifics and he knows well enough to try and assume what might have happened. Why the orbers who came before them were sent home.]

They returned to their own worlds, and- a number of them don't remember the station. Nor do they remember what they went through here. Degar seemed to think a few might remember, but he wasn't sure.

[Information that had been 'above the commanders paygrade', as if that didn't smell like a lie from a mile away. Instead of commenting on that, the Darkling pours another glass of kvas and offers the bottle to Xichen.]

The saints are people like me, but unlike me, they died horrible deaths at the hands of the people they saved. With time, those murders became stories, and then they became myths.