(event) SHATTER & DECAY

[vestigemods]

EVENT LOG: SHATTER & DECAY

JULY 21ST - 27TH

► IF THERE'S NOTHING BUT PAIN, PUT IT ON ME

On the morning of the 21st, the sun dawns peacefully over the crystalline lake just as it has every day for nearly three weeks now. Birdsong melodies soften the crisp edge to the morning air, and woodland creatures retreat from many a cabin backyard, unhurried but unwilling to contend with the cabin's residents as they wake. It's... peaceful, more so than one might expect after such a dire fate spelled out in the pamphlets upon your arrival. Perhaps, after many such days, it has managed to lull you into a sense of something like security.

Today we'll be learning a valuable lesson on why that is, in fact, a mistake.

Sometime between the 21st & 22nd, you begin to feel a bit... off. Perhaps the source is apparent at once, the ends of your fingers or toes going stiff and crystalline or swelling and blooming in small rotting sores. Perhaps the source of your discomfort is a bit less clear as your senses begin to sharpen or dull. But make no mistake, this is only the beginning.

As time passes, your situation only worsens. The glass or decay carves a slow but steady path up your limb or limbs. Your sharp senses begin to overwhelm you. Your dull senses muffle altogether. Soon, you may not be alone in your own mind, bombarded by the omnipresent thoughts and feelings of those around you in a way that you can't seem to hide from. Or worse - maybe there's no one around you, and yet you hear whispers in your mind all the same... Whispers which turn to yelling and screams and sharp violent emotions and imagery you can't simply close your eyes to because it exists inside your head.

But there is a solution.

It's detailed inside your new coffee-table centerpiece, a book bound roughly in leather and written in a language none here know or can recognize. All you know is that this book was not here last night. Not far from the book's front cover, you'll find two pages of illustrations with a page of text between them. One depicts humans holding their heads as if in distress, then cutting themselves or one another, then no longer holding their heads in distress. The next depicts much the same, but instead of a their heads they hold a discolored arm or leg... and instead of simply drawing blood, it shows them rubbing one another's blood on their discolored limbs. Skimming the rest of the book will find a dozen or so pages roughly torn from the bindings. Perhaps those were further illustrations. You may never know.

Besides - you have more pressing issues to attend to. Like bleeding, or finding someone else to, in order to make this stop.

You who only suffer the mental effects are lucky, in a sense. Your condition is deeply uncomfortable but it almost definitely isn't fatal. If you've found your limb crystallizing or rotting away, however, you have little choice but to seek a solution or resign yourself to a distinctly unpleasant death.

Regardless of which effects may be lingering, you'll find blessed relief at midnight on the 27th. Over the course of an hour, your senses will fade back into their proper strength, the unwanted guests will evacuate your mind, and the glass or rot will recede from your limbs to leave them just as they were before this veritable nightmare of a week.

Now, it's time to breathe, to recover, and to lick your figurative wounds.

► MOD NOTES

• This log is a general dump for all log threads pertaining to July's Shatter & Decay event! Feel free to utilize vestigenet for any event-related network posts you'd like to make.
  
• The event takes place from July 21st - 27th. All characters begin to experience effects by mid-22nd at the latest. Any event effects lingering at midnight on the 27th fade away over the course of an hour, in much the same way as they would if provided sufficient blood during the event itself.
  
• All event information (in detail rather than the flavortext I've provided) can be found on the July Event Infopost!
  
• Important semantics reminder! While you can have a character experience both psych and body horror within the event, both must be either rot or glass, not mix and match.
  
• Limbs lost or irreversibly damaged to this event reappear next time your character sleeps (as early as right when the event ends) unless you OOCly choose for them to retain the loss, in which case they instead regain the limb upon their next death + respawn. (If your character doesn't sleep, they go offline/fall unconscious and return to consciousness with the limb fixed.)
  
• Any questions can be directed to this top-level or, for a quicker response, to Trace on discord/plurk.

Comments

wei wuxian, open + closed

[mannerless]

█ 24th (ANYWHERE)


( this part is kind of just to grab attention for his network post! )




█ 27th, mid-day (FOREST)


( wei wuxian would like to think that he's held it together pretty decently so far. his sight and hearing seem to have leveled out now that he can't feel a single inch of his skin - and how lucky is that, to lose a sense that just makes it easier to bleed without making anyone feel guilty for it? or so he'd argue. he'd also argue, if pressed, not to worry about the angry voices (spirits? hallucinations?) either, since he's quite accustomed to ignoring mutinous whispers in his head.

so this trip out into the woods, it's just... a bit of fresh air, that's all! definitely not trying to avoid his housemates, who thus far have been thoroughly convinced that he's about as unaffected as one can be. one hand grips chenqing, white-knuckled - the flute goes everywhere he goes, but even on top of that, he's considering the distinct possibility that he might be able to play a bit of the right melody and rouse his own latent resentful energy to drown the new spirits(?) out with his own. it's a weak plan, and it's one he definitely shouldn't cave to, but that doesn't make it any less tempting. they're getting louder now, despite his best efforts. leveling accusations at gods-only-know who, showing him things he doesn't want to see -

a fallen branch snaps to his right, and he whirls on whoever approaches, flute raised in defense, eyes sharp and haunted. a moment later he seems to realize himself, lowering the flute with a sheepish chuckle. ) Ah, sorry - are these your woods? ( he hadn't spotted a cabin, but he's also a bit too distracted to trust that right now. )




█ 27th, just after midnight (FOR SIZHUI)


( anyone in the cabin a half-hour before midnight likely heard wei wuxian leave in a rush. now, barely less than an hour later, he (or at least someone) can be heard stumbling haphazardly back through the door. the door shuts too heavily, aided by wei ying leaning just as heavily back against it, and he calls - ) Lan Sizhui! If you have a minute, ( with a veneer of casual that can't entirely mask that something is Wrong.

the wei wuxian that sizhui finds leaning against the door is more reminiscent of the one that lan zhan dragged out of the burial mounds with decoys painted in blood on his stark-white shirt than any wei wuxian that has been seen in vestige thus far. his face is terribly pale, and much of his weight is supported by the door, eyes closed to fight back a wave of dizziness. his sleeves are hiked up most of the way to his elbows (they've slipped down farther than he meant them too, now getting thoroughly bled on), and the inside of each forearm bleeds from a terrible gash from the rolled-up sleeve to just inside of his wrist, blood dripping down his shaking hands and onto a pair of bloody linens discarded at his feet (they're useless, they're too bloody to soak up any more of it).

a little assistance would be great. )




█ 27th, after above thread (FOR HOUSEMATES)


( either later that night sometime in the morning proper, wei wuxian can be found occupying the largest couch. he's stripped to his undershirt and trousers (though the latter are covered by a blanket, nice and warm if he could feel such a thing), the loose sleeves of the grey shirt rolled up past the elbow to make room for the firm wrapping of bandages up the entire length of each forearm.

though he has drifted in and out of sleep since he returned, he's awake right now - awake and ready for literally any distraction from the presences lingering in his mind, and so the first person he spots he'll whine - ) I'm so bored, show mercy! Sit over here, talk about anything. ( seeing as the most recent time he tried and failed to get up was about an hour ago (blood loss is terribly annoying once you've lost your golden core), he's not yet trusting of his ability to go distract himself. )

points to eyes.... sobs

[deferences]

[being hyper-aware of one's surroundings most times, he does recognize an individual leaving the cabin, though by the time someone returns, his senses have somewhat dulled thanks to his ever-so-slowly but steadily growing exhaustion. (thankfully, sizhui had realized his own little problem some time ago, so using the strips of fabric usually wrapped around his forearms in his lan garb as a bandage had proved a mostly effective deterrent until it'd traveled up to his shoulder and – funnily enough – the person stumbling into the home figured him out.) if it were possible, he would've just worn those robes the whole time, though it's far too warm for such nonsense and much easier to not argue in the long run.

he registers the sound of the door, yet it's wei wuxian calling his name that instantly has the boy leaping to his feet, his stride into the hallway graceful despite his faint grogginess. the other cultivator sounds off, which is worrisome enough— seeing him propped against the door with his arms sliced open is downright frightening, however.] Wei Wuxian! [he cries, rushing toward him posthaste and reaching both hands to catch his shoulders.]

Hold on, [and following the slightly panicked plea, he shifts to stand beside him, hooks an arm around his middle then leads them toward the nearest seat to help him sit. once that's done, he's kneeling, left hand catching one of wei wuxian's arms and the right briefly touches his headband before glowing fingertips move to hover over the gash on his forearm.] W-What happened?

so like, i'm just supposed to be looking at your sobbing?

[mannerless]

( and despite his usual prevailing sense of pride, he lets entirely too much of his weight lean against the junior as they make their way to the couch, then sinks heavily (gratefully into the cushions with only mild consideration for the need to keep from bleeding on them.

ah, how very lan zhan of the boy, already funneling qi into the wounds before he even asks - 'what happened?' there it is. wei wuxian exhales a laugh-breath, shaking his head, though that in itself is dizzying and he closes his eyes as he speaks. ) Let's say that someone needed the blood more than I did. ( but oh, he can't forget how much this one worries, like back in that first horrible cabin. and so, in as warm and reassuring a tone as he can manage, ) I'm not dying, it's alright. I can't even feel it. I just need a bit of help making it stop, and -

Ah, actually, could you work on the left one? I think that one's deeper. ( he remembers the way his outer two fingers wouldn't quite curl, when he took hold of jiang cheng's wrist. )

yes, exactly, look what you did

[deferences]

[who cares if he gets any on the couch when the important thing here is making sure the bleeding stops before it's too much? to be honest, sizhui's surprised it isn't already at that point, considering the lacerations— like seriously, these are bad and the fact wei wuxian says he can't feel any of it isn't reassuring, either.

but he is doing everything within his power to stay calm in this situation, regardless of the ever-rising anxiety. the more he bleeds, the worse it'll get, so maybe he ought to think about bandaging possibilities as well.] Yes, well, I hope they appreciate it. [nevermind his faintly scolding tone because the remark following has him immediately softening into something more concerned.] How can you not feel it? Any worse and I don't think you... you... [nope, no time to think like that whenever there's other things to fuss over.

wei wuxian asks him to switch arms and sizhui does, letting the blue-tinted hand hover steadily while he starts rummaging in one of his pockets. another decent distraction, particularly away from the way something still feels off but he can't quite put his finger on it.]

[mannerless]

( 'yes, well, i hope they appreciate it.' wei wuxian can't help it - a grin spreads on his face, a sort of weak but terrible laughter bubbling up from his chest. no, they didn't appreciate it one bit. jiang cheng fought him the whole time and when they were done he told him he shouldn't have done it. but he's spared of having to sidestep explaining his unconventional family dynamic as the junior follows up with a much easier question. )

Aha, that's simple. Whatever is going on - ( a vague twirl of his index finger, which would have been up in the air if he weren't trying to hold his arms still for sizhui to work. ) - has sent some people deaf, others blind. As fortune has it, mine was a bit more useful. ( yes, he considers 'unable to feel being sliced into' useful, all things considered.

but oh, that last 'you' sounded so terribly worried, and his face softens just a little. ) Lan Sizhui, ( he scolds, but the warm sort of scolding. ) I thought you said that you'd heard of me. Surely they've told of how terribly hard I am to kill.

[deferences]

[what an awful moment to glance upward; sizhui is hit head-on with that grin and coupled with the not at all proper-sounding laughter, he's downright appalled. perhaps the confrontation has been avoided for now, but don't worry, he'll remember this. it likely also helps he needs to focus on keeping his own breathing steady, lest his voice crack and his concern overwhelm him during the most inconvenient moment.

he lowers his attention to wei wuxian's gesture, wrinkles his brow, considering. some people deaf, some people blind. if it was supposed to be useful—] ...just because you can't feel it, that doesn't make it useful.

[an all too familiar burning begins in his chest, tears sting his eyes, and yet.] I have h-heard of you! [he stammers in spite of himself, lowers his head further, draws the arm up from his pocket with fabric in hand to rub his knuckles across his cheeks.] And know you shouldn't test your resiliency too much or else there might come a time where something gets the best of you.

27th, after Sizhui. Laaaaate morning.

[gusumouthcannon]

[In no world has Jingyi ever been shy about accosting Senior Wei, but in his defense everyone has been extremely preoccupied for the last few days. So when he wobbles groggily out into the main room of the cabin to find Senior Wei on the couch complaining loudly, he freezes like a caught rabbit. He blinks, brains slow still and unfortunately still haunted, and stumbles over to sprawl on the couch nearby instead of completing his trek to the kitchen area.

He mushes his face into the dusty fabric (which he regrets instantly), yanks himself half-upright to cough out his lungs, and then peers blearily at Senior Wei.]

So I know that Sizhui says that you are definitely Senior Wei, but I am not going to lie, you look nothing like I imagined he would.

[mannerless]

( it's approximately when the words begin that wei wuxian narrows his eyes a bit in scrutiny. and once the words are done, ) They've sent us another Lan boy? ( he definitely thought this boy was sizhui at first peripheral glance (the robes, the headband, wei ying's prevailing fatigue), but now that he's sitting before wei wuxian, the differences are obvious.

ah, but he hasn't answered the actual thing the boy said, so - ) Aha, well. Sorry to disappoint. ( it's a bit dry but not actually bothered. ) I'd like to think I usually look a bit less like death, but I suppose that's up for negotiation. And you are...?

[gusumouthcannon]

[The 'and you are?' gets his attention and he snorfles, rubs his face hard for a few seconds, and reorients slightly less asleep.]

Lan Jingyi...?

[Is this a trap? No wait--the whole point of his original comment was that he does not recognize this particular body. Which is very weird! But he can roll with this.]

Well, you are a little taller? I do not know about less like death, though. You do not look very healthy right now. Or--[He corrects himself.] You look like you were not very healthy very recently. Is that what you mean about less like death?

[mannerless]

( lan jingyi, lan jingyi. wei wuxian hasn't heard of this one - but if this boy knows sizhui, it means he's barely more than a toddler in wei ying's day and age.

the commentary on whether he does or doesn't look like death earns a vague snort-laugh, and - ) I'm perfectly healthy, thank you very much. I just lost a bit of blood, as one does in times such as these. ( as if there ever really are any 'times such as these' - times in which merciless captors inflict curses that only excessive bloodletting can solve. )

Forest

[hierophante]

[She doesn't mean to startle him. Questions of intent are all too easily lost, as unseen as all the rest. Perhaps if it didn't feel so personal, perhaps if the familiar weren't also rendered both foreign and frightening by circumstance, by the way it arrives.

OA has missed blindness before, missed what made her world her own. Sight had made it... smaller. Beautiful, yes. Simpler and more complicated in turns. This feels like sick vengeance, a joke played upon her for her failure to adapt with perfect grace to the painful facets of change.

She walks to rediscover it, wanders with the imperfect aid of a makeshift walking stick through the dim, fogged landscape of the forest, slow and cautious, mindful of the path. And, yes, the stick snaps, and yes, he is startled. So is she; his abrupt motion inspires a gasp, a flutter of fear which subsides, fading to a weak, giddy laugh when he speaks. Just another wandering soul.]

I don't think the woods can belong to anyone.

[It's not an admonishment, just a gentle acceptance: he has as much right to be here as she does. In the wake of the exchange, though, she's left... uncertain, uncomfortable. Is he looking at her? She feels as though he is, and the sensation is not one she's experienced in years. Watched, unable to watch in turn. Part of her is elsewhere, under the unwelcome gaze of the man who would crush her, and her skin crawls at the memory. She tries on a tenuous smile, eyes downcast.]

Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.

[mannerless]

( eyes now take in this person who made him so jumpy - a woman, unarmed but for a walking stick (is she blind, or maybe nearing it? he feels a bit guiltier now for the strength of his reaction). at least she too is laughing, whether because of his own chuckle or just of her own accord.

'i don't think the woods can belong to anyone.' mm, he's never quite thought of it like that... but then, wei wuxian has grown in a world where the only unclaimed lands are those which lie cursed, and even then they simply wait for someone brave or reckless enough to speak for them. but it's a pretty sentiment. he thinks, perhaps, that he'll keep it in mind from now on in these woods, so far from the sects who carefully divide woodlands for hunting game.

something shifts now, or perhaps it was like this all along and he only now notices - either way, he notes the vague awkward something in the air between them, and he drifts backward a step in case such a thing helps, hands wrapping politely around his flute just below the small of his back. ) You're fine, truly. I wasn't watching where I was going. ( his voice is warm, friendly even despite the circumstances, a bit of a smile evident in the shape of his words. and because it's only polite, ) My name is Wei Wuxian.

[hierophante]

[Now she's listening, pulled from the cacophony of her thoughts -- some undeniably her own, some foreign -- she hears the rustle of clothing as he steps back and the gesture, so small but so very telling, wrings from her a genuine smile.

It's kind of him. Truly kind, not the approximation thereof that people, whether out of misguided concern or genuine malice, that people like to use to exert control over her. The unasked-for hand at her elbow, the guiding touch: none are as helpful as this small thing, this gentle acknowledgement of her autonomy.]

Mm, and I should have heard you. It's okay, it's... I don't think we can ask anyone to see past what's happening.

[In her case, quite literally. She hesitates a moment, angling her head as though to spare him an attentive ear. There's little to glean, but the sounds of the forest orient her, anchor her to the moment. Steel her, perhaps, for the strangeness of what she's about to say.]

I'm the OA.

[Another flicker of self-consciousness passes over her like a cloud, here and then gone.]

Would you walk with me, Wei Wuxian? I could use another voice.

[A beat, and then, not without humour:]

And someone to tell me if I'm about to walk into poison ivy.

[mannerless]

( he'd hoped it would work as such, that she'd hear or even sense that she's been deliberately given a bit more distance, and the smile has his own grin broadening even if she can't quite see it.

funnily, as far as names go, the OA doesn't strike him as terribly odd. it parses even more simply for wei wuxian than it might for others, as he (and his friend and family) come from a place in which family name (first, always) is one syllable, given name is another, and courtesy name - the formal name, the one you might give to a stranger you meet in the woods - is two more. 'the OA', family and courtesy name, however different she looks from anyone he has ever met back home. it's oddly comforting, like a line from an old familiar song.

'would you walk with me, wei wuxian?' he nods, then remembers himself, lips pressing together ever-so-patiently as she speaks until her gentle joke curls them once more at the corners. )

I can't promise I'll know it when I see it, ( he says. ) It's terribly sneaky, creeping along the dirt - but I'll certainly give it my best. ( which means yes, he'll gladly walk with her. he leaves a pause there, a space reserved for her to indicate the direction they'll walk in, and then he falls in step beside her. should she actually desire such a thing as arm-holding guidance, he'll certainly provide, but he's not one to touch a woman unasked.

nor is he one to leave a silence properly unfilled. ) My home has the lacquer tree, ( he muses, back on the 'poison ivy' topic. ) It sounds much the same, what with the itching and burning nonsense, but at least it has the self-respect to look you in the eye before it ruins what remains of your week.

[hierophante]

[Among the benefits of being forced out of relying on one's eyes -- and there are many; if asked, OA could list a fair few more -- is that, freed of the need to watch where she's going, she can instead simply listen. As poor a substitute for a proper white cane as this makeshift staff is, the wood is dry and light and resonant enough to allow her to walk with a certain amount of confidence. It reads the terrain for her in gentle sweeps. Where it skims a little more easily, the path. Where it sticks, undergrowth.

All the rest of her attention seems to be focused on her new companion, her head angled to him. At terribly sneaky she smiles around the soft, voiceless huff of a laugh; my home provokes the sympathetic quirk of of an eyebrow, the smile ebbing and then swelling again at his assessment of the lacquer tree's character.]

Mm, they do what lets them survive. Sometimes that means being sneaky. Trees at least have the luxury of other trees -- they feed each other, keep each other sheltered and safe. The ivy has to find whatever space and sunlight it can, and keep it.

[There's a soft wistfulness in her voice as she speaks and she turns her face up to catch the dappled sunlight for a desperate few seconds. At least there's this. At least this time she, too, can stand in the sun, breathe the outside air. She takes it in, a good lungful, and lets it out slowly before she speaks again.]

What's it like? Your home.

[This, now, is familiar: telling stories in the dark. Rachel's voice swells in her memory, unbidden: If I ever get out of here... I'd want to sing something. For my little brother.]

Housemates

[porndealer]

[Some how he'd managed to sleep through all the commotion of Wuxian leaving and his return, but something makes him restless. Maybe he's hungry or thirsty, but he'll wander down to the first floor, seeking anything to help when he's accosted by Wei Wuxian.

Accosted is perhaps a strong word.

He sees the wraps and it's clear something happened, but the way Wuxian calls to him he probably doesn't want to talk about that. He'll pad over, holding his robe closed with his one hand as he'd just pulled it on over his under clothes to come down stairs.]

If you're bored why aren't you sleeping?

[Huaisang sits beside him, tucking his legs underneath him to keep his feet warm.]

It's so early... aren't you tired?

[He drawls it, almost whining, but mostly just putting on an act to keep from asking about what happened to his friend. To have some sort of normalcy between them after the mess and stress of what had been happening to everyone.]

[mannerless]

( wei wuxian pulls his legs in crosslegged to give his friend room at the end of the couch, sitting up a bit more against the arm of it.

the questions are valid, but wei ying just hums with a dismissive little wave of his hand. ) Tried that. Didn't take. ( his mind is a bit too loud, between the events and revelations of last night and the prevailing presences still whispering (or pleading or screaming or shouting) in his mind.

speaking of, he nods a little in gesture toward the sleeve hanging limp at huaisang's side. quieter and a bit more serious, ) How is it?

[porndealer]

[Clearly.

It feels like there's a lot hanging in the air, not necessarily between them, but in general. A heaviness in their new home away from home.

Huaisang goes to say something jokingly, but Wuxian beats him. Asks about his arm and his fingers fidget at the empty sleeve.]

... weird. I don't feel anything. No pain. I guess I'm lucky.

[Lucky compared to others who dealt with worse. Rotting limbs and their minds messed with. He probably got off easy all in all.]

Harder to do stuff now, but it could have been worse.

[Huaisang forces a little laugh. At least it was just his arm.]

[mannerless]

( the laugh is forced, unconvincing in its entirety, but that's fine. it's fine if they don't really joke. later, they can pretend they did - can pretend they weren't cornered into genuine conversation by circumstance, by sliced and shattered limbs, by worry that neither of them are sure how to phrase quite casually enough to fit with the shape of their friendship as they understand it.

it's good, that there's no pain. having never lost a limb, he couldn't begin to imagine how it feels, and he's glad to hear that at least the painful part is over with. now it's time to stop thinking about pain, because it seems to encourage the presences in his mind to renew their efforts in wailing about their own pain. wei wuxian does his best to push that to the back of his mind. )

Stuff like what? ( no, he's not just rubbernecking huaisang's one-armed problems. he asks because, ) I could help.

[porndealer]

[That's how it works right? Hide any actual suffering and pain with something else. It's fine.

Stuff like what?

Oh he could make a list a mile long!]

Do you know how hard it is to get dressed with one hand? I can't even fix my hair, Wei-xiong. [Huaisang lays on a thin layer of petty whining, because in the grand scheme of things, looking good while he's lost an arm and the rest of the people are suffering as well? Not really that important. He knows it. Wuxian knows it.

But oh it's just Nie Huaisang complaining about vain stupid things o'clock. It's mostly an act, just to feel any sort of normalcy.]

Can't braid with only one hand.

[He sighs with a soft pout. For Huaisang he does look disheveled, clothes tugged on as best as he can and his hair has had most of the braids picked out as they'd started to look far too messy as it were. Only a couple are left, but even they aren't looking tip top and perfect. Reaching up he'll fix each of his bangs in turn, looking to Wuxian.]

I wouldn't want to bother you, I'll have to learn to do things myself won't I? It... it doesn't seem like my arm is going to come back. Besides! You have your own stuff to worry about.

for yanli!

[mannerless]

( wei wuxian would like to think that he's held it together pretty decently so far. his sight and hearing seem to have leveled out now that he can't feel a single inch of his skin - and how lucky is that, to lose a sense that just makes it easier to bleed without making anyone feel guilty for it? or so he'd argue. he'd also argue, if pressed, not to worry about the angry voices (spirits? hallucinations?) either, since he's quite accustomed to ignoring mutinous whispers in his head.

so this trip out into the woods, it's just... a bit of fresh air, that's all! definitely not trying to avoid his housemates, who thus far have been thoroughly convinced that he's about as unaffected as one can be. one hand grips chenqing, white-knuckled - the flute goes everywhere he goes, but even on top of that, he's considering the distinct possibility that he might be able to play a bit of the right melody and rouse his own latent resentful energy to drown the new spirits(?) out with his own. it's a weak plan, and it's one he definitely shouldn't cave to, but that doesn't make it any less tempting. they're getting louder now, despite his best efforts. leveling accusations at gods-only-know who, showing him things he doesn't want to see -

a fallen branch snaps to his right, and he whirls on whoever approaches, flute raised in defense, eyes sharp and haunted. a moment later he seems to process that it's yanli, lowering the flute with a weak chuckle he knows has little hope of fooling her. ) Shijie. ( it's warm, welcoming despite the undertone of something like anxiety he can't quite shake. ) I'm fine, I am - I just needed a little air.

[soups]

❰ the recent developments appear to be somewhat widespread. there have been buzzings on the network about the traumas other people have been going through -- yanli has walked away with a bit of hearing impairment, ringing in her ears and a very sharp ache in her head. miniscule things, especially when it comes to checking in on how one of her brothers is doing.

she doesn't expect to see him out of the house. not that she knew where he was, but watching him enter the forest was purely happenstance. she squints at first, feeling her vision lose focus for a moment, but even with her line of sight obscured she would know wei wuxian. his robes, even if somewhat newly adorned in terms of his fashion phases, his hair style. gait.

it's not that she's trying to sneak up on him at all, but even the loud snap of the branch underfoot startles her. yanli hadn't screamed after him, knowing how such a loud noise would hurt her ears...and who knows what has happened to wei wuxian. perhaps his own condition is much worse. ❱

I always know when you tell a fib, A-Xian. ❰ her voice stays soft and low, and yet still feels so amplified in her own head. she doesn't know what exactly has happened to wei wuxian, but he certainly isn't fine. ❱

[mannerless]

( of course she isn't fooled. he wasn't entirely lying, he did need some air, but.... no, he isn't fine, and who but his shijie can always tell such things? even when she chooses not to press, she can always tell.

he opens his mouth again, but it's barely a half-syllable, a useless sound, before he realizes he's about to try to deflect again and stops it short. lips press together, and he glances aside off into the woods for a moment, as if considering his options or bracing himself or perhaps even considering how fortunate he might be if he happened to be elsewhere in these woods and not having this conversation.

(these things are tricky, for wei ying - another fact she knows just as well as he does.)

before he has more than a couple of seconds to consider or brace or whatever it might be, something sharp and scream-adjacent pierces through his careful layer of bullheaded denial, a voice that refuses to keep being ignored, and he flinches, one hand flying up to clutch at a handful of hair before he's quite realized what he's doing. he remembers himself a moment later, urging that hand back down to his side, but the look that he turns on jiang yanli this time holds a quiet plea. because he can tell her what's going on, but a key ingredient to his ability to deal with it is to be able to pretend like it doesn't exist, and addressing too much of it now shatters such a thing into pieces. )

It's... loud, in my mind. Like angry spirits. ( the words are quiet, almost careful. ) It's not hurting me. I can ignore it, most of the time. I just... needed air. ( repeated, perhaps as if to show her he didn't entirely fib. )

[soups]

❰ her face is fraught with concern, but it intensifies and sharpens so severely when wei wuxian crumples a little, pulling at his hair. she steps forward quickly, bridging the space so that she can grab onto his robes, pleading in her own way. ❱

A-Xian, I know it must hurt. How could it not? ❰ yanli's voice remains soft, if only because even at this volume it still feels like it's booming in her own aching head. her eyes twitch, flinching at a beam of light that she's walked into, peeking its way through the tree leaves. ❱ I looked at the book. I know there are things that can be done about this.

❰ they're similar people, willing to risk anything for a loved one, even throwing themselves on a proverbial blade. he can hide the true severity all he wants, but she won't let him keep up the full facade. ❱

[mannerless]

( and he lets her close the distance between them, lets her take hold of his robes. he'd let her do nearly anything she wished to just by virtue of being jiang yanli, but the key word there is nearly, and something dire slips across his expression as she refers back to the illustrations in that book. )

No, ( he says, perhaps too quickly, a hand lifting to wrap firmly around one of hers. if there were even the slightest chance in a beggar's hell that he ever would have humored the briefest notion of letting her help before, that got dashed away the moment jiang cheng let slip that something one day harms her in some shape or form and wei ying fails to stop it. ) Shijie, please, please listen to me, alright? This - it's loud, yes, and it's alarming and perhaps it keeps me awake at night, but it doesn't hurt me. This isn't for you to fix, or for anyone to fix. Do you understand?

( he's leaving off the part where he prefers it this way for utility reasons - for the ability to let himself be cut without feeling the sting - because such a thing would be hard pressed to sway his sister, he knows. )