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liburutegiaooc2020-11-20 12:38 pm
liburuzaina) wrote in liburutegiaooc2020-11-20 12:38 pm
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TDM 1 ⬡ The Oval Portrait
    The Chateau ⬡ Common Cast Characters most likely to originate in The Chateau are The Aristocrat and The Valet ⬡ Literary Description "To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque." ⬡ For Your Exploration Characters may attempt to explore the Chateau, but it will be shrouded in darkness, and every room they enter will bring them back to the apartment chosen by The Valet. What decorations may be seen are dark and victorian in design, and the room and halls may be lit by candlelight. The Maiden's portrait is on the wall, and will initially be cloaked in shadow for The Aristocrat to find. It appears remarkably lifelike, almost as though it is a window instead of a portrait. The other paintings on the walls will contain figures that are almost familiar to The Aristocrat and The Valet - as though they could be someone they know, but only if they squint. There is no electricity. Characters will not have access to any powers. The Artist's Tower ⬡ Common Cast Characters most likely to originate in The Artist's Tower are The Maiden and The Painter ⬡ Literary Description "But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day." ⬡ For Your Exploration Should characters leave the Painter's studio, they will immediately be transported outside, to a sprawling field of wildflowers. There won't seem to be anything else around, but there will be a light breeze and the sound of the sea in the distance. Inside the studio, the air is stale and musty, smelling of oil paints and turpentine. It's dim, lit only by a skylight. There is a stool for the subject and an easel with canvas sitting in the light, but everything else - art materials, more canvases, both empty and with the beginnings of paintings, and props - are all pushed to the sides of the room and cloaked in shadow. Like The Chateau, there is no electricity, and characters will not have access to their powers. The Library ⬡ Welcome! Free from their roles, through either death, completion of the Story, or from not being pulled into the tale in the first place, characters will find themselves in the gardens outside of the Library itself. As always, it will look and feel like a temperate, autumn afternoon. As this setting is part of the Library itself, characters will have full access to all their powers. ⬡ Grand Opening Coming Soon! The front door will, unfortunately, be locked, and a sign will be taped on the doors, detailing how the Library will be opening soon, but in the meantime to please enjoy the grounds and the pizza party in the courtyard. ⬡ Pizza party? Pizza party! In the courtyard, there will be tables set up that will be absolutely covered in stacks of paper plates, 2-liter bottles of any soda one could dream of, and stacks and stacks of pizza boxes, containing any flavor combination that could be desired. Opening a random box will provide a random, but popular, flavor. Opening a box with an Intent and a Desire for something specific will provide exactly that. Enjoy! It won't run out. | ||||||||||||||
wei wuxian | the untamed | the aristocrat
A
... Yeah, that sounds about right. ]
Master Wei, you're delirious. [ He sniffs. ] And bleeding. Come on, I'll carry you back and make you a snack.
[ He moves in to try and hoist his master over his shoulder like a sack of rice. ]
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Yan Qing, people always say I'm delirious, and if I am, why not take me higher? Delirious people should stay warm, heat rises, so up I go. Look, the tower has light spilling under this door, we need to speak with whoever's here, not be carted around like injured thieves. Think of the proper course of action.
( There is none, Oh He Who Clings With Shaking Arms. Strength doesn't hold out as well as his willpower. )
If I'm slowly bleeding across their floors, I should at least meet them before I can't stand, shouldn't I? It's polite.
( This cat's curiosity begs sating even if he's somewhere approaching his ninth life. Please, Yan Qing, look at his pleading face and the way his lips don't have proper colour. Can you refuse this fool his last fool's errand, in this house of haunted, empty, cold, notably not friendly halls? )
no subject
It's not something he's known for, but he can damn well try. ]
My master's a stubborn one, ain't he? [ Yan Qing's slipping into coarse language now. Wei Wuxian should be ashamed of himself! ] The proper course of action is to go to bed while I take care of 'em, but I guess I oughta do my job right. Please step aside, Master Wei. I'll head in first. If anything happens...
[ Don't say I didn't warn you.
But Yan Qing remembers the last time he said that to someone, and he bites his lip. ]
Just stay close.
[ Once Wei Wuxian positions himself behind him, Yan Qing slowly opens the door... ]
no subject
Close as a tail!
( A bit of an exaggeration. Even moving carefully, Yan Qing is swifter than Wei Wuxian at the moment, though Wei Wuxian is equally surprisingly light footed behind him. Also pale, turning paler, and oh how his eyes gleam.
The door opens, revealing thus: a figure with their head down, working in silence, paints and a canvas before them, a woman framed within but not yet finished, still forming. On a couch, drooping, the pale and wan features of a woman who wears a smile like a badge of war from love, circles dark under her eyes, gaze dulled. She looks towards Yan Qing a beat slower than any healthy person would, and her smile dims, then grows again. Back to the exact degree from before she recognised there were visitors.
The painter, lifting his dark haired head flecked with grey, speaks:
'Don't move, you'll disrupt everything, the lighting shifts and the radiance of light from your eyes dims.'
Wei Wuxian edges to Yan Qing's side, eyebrows lifting. Two seconds before he (haltingly) strides forward, filled with the kind of indignation of the young he's actually set aside, only to find rekindled in this moment. That woman is clearly unwell, and art, art can wait. Even he, in his own arts, would note the only one who should suffer for its obsessions should be himself. )
What a chill is in the air tonight, don't you agree, Yan Qing? Madam, please forgive the intrusion, we were long on the road and footweary, looking for somewhere to rest and recover.
( Stepping forward, and then, and then. Stumbling into Yan Qing because he's been bleeding out slowly for the last whoever knows how long. )
I may need to sit down—
( With a pointed, if dramatic, look toward the only seated surface in the room that might accommodate his fainting frame: where the wan woman sits, sallow, and not where the painter perches on his three legged stool. Oh help him, Yan Qing, he's going to swoon into your arms if we're not careful. )
no subject
Oh, Master Wei!
[ —and lifts the woman into his strong arms, freeing the spot for his employer. Once he places the woman back on her feet, he gives her his coat and rushes back to Wei Wuxian's side, fanning him with his hand and, with some pressure, aggravating his bleeding wound. He just needs Wei Wuxian to wince a bit, and maybe yelp in pain. He has to make this convincing and he is not sorry. ]
My poor master likes to act strong, but his travels have been nothing but misfortune at every turn, [ Yan Qing said as if they hadn't just come from the chateau next door. ] Brigands have wounded my master and stolen his riches. If I hadn't come to his rescue, they might as well have taken his life. Sir, madam, if you would have it in your hearts, please show him kindness. We won't stay for long.
[ Yan Qing didn't spend years spying for a rebel group for nothing. He thinks he has to do his best, too. Not just for Wei Wuxian, but for that familiar look in that woman's eyes: that sallow, lifeless face of yearning, of fatigue, of love long gone. He's seen too many tragedies start from there, and he's not about to witness another. ]
no subject
He's right, up to and including where his face goes even paler and he groans under the pressure of his touch. That swoon toward one side isn't faked; his head swims for a few heartbeats after.
His lashes flutter shut, and he lifts a hand as the painter starts his blustering, the woman dazedly holding Yan Qing's coat around herself making soft and worried intercessions to his words. )
My good right-hand man has the right of it, I'm afraid. Madam, may this humble one depend upon your hospitality, uninvited as I am?
( His eyes open, and he watches her shift, looking between the two strangers, the clear lack of health of the one, and her husband, with his brow perpetually furrowed. The interruption is undeniable, but his anger isn't even at ordering them out: each word is about his painting, and in a fit of pique, he lashes out with his brush, drawing a crimson line across her painted throat, gaping and raw.
The same red for the throw over the couch she'd been sitting on. She still swallows, eyes flicking down.
'Of course,' she says, when her husband has decided to stalk off toward the turpentine. 'We're not so unkind to leave even the unexpected guests who arrive at our door to their miseries. It may take a moment, we're short on serving staff,' they in fact have none, as could be guessed from earlier, 'but I'll have a spot of tea for you, sure enough.'
'Bring the brandy,' her husband interjects, still washing brushes in his snit. 'If he's trying to die on us he may as well drink to celebrate the occasion.'
Wei Wuxian smiles, eyes shadowed, and laughs lowly, though it hurts. )
Such kindness should be praised... and I suppose you'd be toasting to that, too? What grievous injury I must have done.
sorry he's murderous already
He whispers, ] Master Wei, you know I'd do anything for you. I can take him outside and end this quickly.
[ By the sound of his tone and the strength in his arms, Wei Wuxian should know very well what he means. ]
hahaha hey he made it a whole... period of time!!!
Aim for what hurts. The painting shouldn't be allowed to survive.
( Then he lets go, a veritable wilting after that murmured statement, another, louder complaint from the artist, and the crackling of flame in the one inadequate hearth that burns in this room. )
cw: body parts moving in ways they shouldn't I guess
You're too soft, sir. [But he'll trust him.
Yan Qing pulls away and moves toward the painter in the manner and dignity of a gentleman. First, he must calm him.]
I can't help but notice your works, sir! They're all very lovely, and I can tell you're a man with passion and talent. These days, it's so rare to find one with both. But you've been painting for quite some time now. I hear it can't be good for your hands. I'm sure they ache now, but in my ten years of serving Master Wei with these hands of mine, I find that massaging them eases the pain. Would you like me to show you? We have nothing but the clothes on our backs, so it's the least I can offer you.
[He offers a gloved open palm, at which the artist scowls — who is he to trust a stranger? — but Yan Qing insists. He takes the artist's dominant hand, the one that painted a slash at his wife's neck, and begins to work circles into his palms. Although the artist tries to shake him off with a storm of complaints, Yan Qing's strength gets the best of him, as do his murmurs of praise, and the massage lulls the painter into a sense of safety and calm.
With both their backs turned toward Wei Wuxian, Yan Qing gives his master time to prepare for their escape.]
Your hands hold so much promise, sir... It would be a shame if something happened to them.
[So Yan Qing breaks them.
Crack goes one finger, and the painter's cry cuts through the silence of the room, in a way bringing to life what oil and turpentine killed all those years ago. He wants to bring his hand back, begs for it, but Yan Qing's grip is firm.]
Oh, I'm so sorry! I haven't done this in a while. Sometimes I don't know my own strength.
[Is that enough? He looks over to his master for a sign.]
cw: art desecration and also FIRE. WARNING FOR FIRE.
There is an interesting quirk and issue with using turpentine. Oil paints themselves are not so flammable, but turpentine, oh, turpentine is an arsonist at heart. The soaked rag resting on the table by his painting seems to hear, it would be a shame and decides it, too, agrees: spontaneously combusting as Wei Wuxian is still considering lobbing the painting bodily into the hearth.
Several things happen in quick succession at that point. Yan Qing breaks the artist's fingers. Wei Wuxian smacks the flaming rag into the painting, where it catches, draping prettily and sending the rest of the rags also now burning scattering forward, strewn across the floor. He stumbles sideways, as if he just leapt from the couch in a panic, and cries: )
Fire! The rags, they're burning! Yan Qing, Yan Qing! Save me!
( THIS BITCH now making his way toward the door like a very proactive damsel in distress. ESCAPAY!!! )
EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING SO MUCH
Yan Qing tries not to act surprised. He is, however, incredibly excited by this turn of events. It's just like old times! Which old times, he's not entirely sure, but he has a feeling the memory will come back to him very, very soon. Wei Wuxian's safety comes first, so Yan Qing deftly avoids the rags, now balls of fire on the floor, and hurries over to his master to catch him before he trips over himself. He drapes Wei Wuxian's arm over his shoulders and supports him the rest of the way through, only stopping to look back once they're at the door.
The artist is screaming. The model is crying. The studio is on fire, and there's no way in hell any of these people are insured. Does Yan Qing care? Nah. Still, he remembers his manners.]
Thank you so much for your hospitality, sir and madam, but... [He cracks a wide grin, drops all pretenses, and gives them a salute.] Heh, we gotta go! Sorry about your husband's hand, but maybe he can pick up a new hobby, yeah? And hey, when you're done with that guy, call me.
[With that, Yan Qing opens the door, and off they go into the night!
Only... this doesn't look like nighttime at all.]
hell of a first meeting they don't know is a first meeting
Or send me a note, I'll see that you get properly resettled!
( Calling out seems rather ineffective if she doesn't follow them through the open doors into...
... A daylit meadow. Not just any meadow, but one that stretches so far, he barely sees the trees lining the far expanse of it. Wei Wuxian wonders if this is his fever getting worse, and his reliance on Yan Qing to keep him upright has hit the point that his own knees are giving up the ghost of support, and he's sagging toward the ground of pleasantly scented flowers.
This would be a very poetic place to die. He'd rather avoid it, with a knee jerk certainty that death be not proud and not something he wants to revisit. (Revisit? What a strange inclination.) )
Must have been in that place longer than we thought... Yan Qing, my companion, dear friend, and finger-breaking enthusiast. Are we in a meadow?
now if wei wuxian knew yan qing was technically a ghost...
I believe so, Master Wei. I'm seeing this place as much as you are.
[The meadows are green as far as the horizon, and Yan Qing lets out a sigh of both relief and defeat. If anything, perhaps this will discourage his master from any more wild adventures. The man can barely stand already. Exasperated and yet all the more endeared, Yan Qing looks for a good spot for them to settle down.
But not before crouching down, adjusting his hold, and carrying Wei Wuxian on his back. With the lack of strength his employer has in his feet, he doesn't really have a choice.]
It'll be a long way back to the chateau. Did that satisfy your curiosity, sir? You don't look so happy. [Because if he were to be completely honest, Yan Qing rather enjoyed himself, but he'd rather not show it if Wei Wuxian didn't share the sentiment.]
come to his stick thin necromantic arms...
Warn a man before you do that, okay? I could still walk...
( That's a lie, and since they both know it, he trails off. The question about his curiosity and what degree of happy shows outwardly has him snorting and speaking close to Yan Qing's ear, more by position than intent. )
I wanted to look at the paintings we just saw go up in flames. Who'd be happy about that? But...
( Craning his head around to look back toward the door they'd emerged from, and the tower burning on its uppermost level. )
Lives are worth more than art. It's just unfortunate, makes me irritated, seeing people waste their love on self-absorbed peacocks like that.
( Yeah, it was a bit of a fun show, hence not one word against that, and all his objections being to the human condition. The heart, what a fickle, sad thing. )
he will try not to crush him with his strong, magical tattooed ones
You and I both, sir. But I don't think it's hard to understand. Some people don't want to spend their lives searching. [A bitter thought tugs at the corner of his lip.] Some people have no one left.
[The topic's gotten too somber for his tastes. His job is to cheer his employer up, not bring him down! So Yan Qing wears a smile and continues in a tone more chipper:]
Well, I think things will turn out just fine, Master Wei! Your quick thinking and your kind heart saved the day — mostly. Besides, the chateau has many, many paintings. I'll carry you like this to each one, and you can just enjoy the ride, hahahaha!
oh mr qing, oh!!!
Also that negotiation room does not always exist.
He's not energised enough to do more than plop his chin down on his arm and remind Yan Qing: )
You've got me. Troublesome as that ends up being, it's still at least half not a terrible thing.
( And makes himself grin, lopsided, thin lipped. )
Oh I will, will I? Promises, promises! ( He laughs since he's about as serious as never, casting his eyes across this endless, blooming meadow. ) Or we could pause for a moment, take a nap, see if clouds form interesting shapes or the scent of a flower inspires poetry without the sweet nectar of its wine on hand.
uwu! also i think we can wrap this thread up soon?! this was a ride LOL
Haha, that doesn't sound so bad! Even I could use a nap right now.
[But it's a distracted answer as something else tugs at the back of his mind. Half not a terrible thing — he made his work difficult, but was Wei Wuxian really so dreadful? He reaches a high spot in the fields where they can see everything that reaches the horizon, and he sets Wei Wuxian down gently for him to take it in. He plops himself on the ground beside him, leaning on his arms and sitting up with his legs stretched as he turns his head toward the sound of the sea.]
How's this, Master Wei? If you're uncomfortable, let me know. I'd offer my lap, but I think I shouldn't be presumptuous.
oh yes totally i think this brings me to ten including starter and VERY WILD
A shoulder would be more than enough. Not a lap man, if I'm honest.
( Not a terribly physically intimate man, if he's even more honest, but when he trusts, he trusts wholly, and with the history he's so certain days between them, it makes it acceptable to presume that his deadweight against the other man's shoulder won't bowl them both over.
The exhaustion and fatigue has caught up with him, and his tenuous claim on consciousness finally, fully slips away. )
AWWW YEAAAAAAA just gonna wrap this up AND good luck!!
[They may be far away, but there's no need to rush. The Yiling Patriarch, the Skillful Star and founder of the Yanqingquan — for now, these are forgotten titles that hold no meaning. But if they could remember, then perhaps Yan Qing could understand how much they need this moment of repose, if not deserve it.]
vpd
I... [ xie lian glances down at the empty soda bottle in the other man's hands, putting two and two together. ] I think I might have seen a fountain of some kind behind the hedges there? [ he points to a set of shoulder-height hedges, where behind will definitely be a fountain... more precisely: a bird bath. 😬 he lowers his voice, suddenly conspiring. ] Are you hoping to get some water instead? [ please, please say yes. he can't stand the soda either! ]
no subject
He smiles, aiming for charming, and laughs light and pseudo embarrassed. )
Ahahaha, you know, that's exactly what I'm hoping for. The, ah, refreshments provided are... unique?
( A pause, and murmured confession: )
They're burning my nose. And not like particular wines do, it's tragic, a travesty! So... water. Over this way, you said m
( He starts on over to those hedges and hedging around them on a narrow, single stone path. He needs less of this metaphor in his life. Can he have a two stone wide path? )
no subject
and so, he makes quick work of snatching up another empty bottle, discarded on the floor by the table. this he hastily slips into one of his flowing sleeves, the smile on his face just a little strained if only because of how natural it feels for him now to... pick up trash. ah. ]
Fellow cultivator, [ he's taking a guess here, as there are many things about this place that don't make sense but he's fairly certain he senses some spiritual power here... ] that's a brilliant plan. I think I'll do the same, if you don't mind!
no subject
Yes! ( Pause;) That is, no, I don't mind! It's a free... fountain.
( Let's take this painful awkwardness of refusing a gifted meal and its refreshments and move along the one stone path to where the bird bath, in all its... flowing, bubbling glory, stands, bereft of birds.
He blinks, eyes the scant algae growing around the rim of the shallow basin, and lifts his container to let the flowing fountain in the centre slowly start trickling inside. )
Also a very shallow one. I can' say I've seen a fountain made to mimic a spring in quite this way before.
( Wait. Blinks, lift his head, and flashes a bright smile to his lips. )
Where are my manners? ( Clutching his partly filled bottle, then hands together, offering a proper bow of greeting: ) Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian, of... Yiling.
( He supposes? Really, where else is he from at this point? The wandering road. )