firebranding | (no subject)

[Kneel? It feels like every word out of Wangji’s mouth is one step closer to knocking him out.What would saying it even once more do? But Wangji is trying to help Xichen and Meng Yao will not begrudge him that.

He bows.] I’ll go change now. I won’t make you wait much longer. Please wait a moment.

[Is this a date? This feels like he’s being set up on a date and, despite himself, there’s a flutter of nervous excitement in his stomach as he turns to go get ready. It’s stupid and he’s exasperated with himself immediately over it, but he doesn’t waste any time.

Much to his exasperation, the clothes do fit—in fact, they’re just a tad looser than his own are. The red mark is reapplied and he feels strange looking at himself in the clear mirror and seeing someone both strange and familiar staring back.

He resists the urge to fracture the mirror and backs away, re-emerging looking as put together as he always used to, a man who prided himself on appearances.]

Hanguang-jun. Are you sure this is what Xichen— What Zewu-jun wants?

[ Returned to his accoutrements, Jin Guangyao looks... small for his rank's stature. Young, despite everything. In many ways, the tenderest of all.

Touched by war and massacre thereafter. Drenched in deception. Anointed in violence.

But so scantly stricken by kindness that Lan Wangji, only his witness, sees a ghost trying to regain flesh and hunt down the last few embers of warmth he's ever known, before they fade. ]

If it is not, I take responsibility.

[ Brother will not abandon you. But then, the words dissolve before Lan Wangji's mouth can shape them in their vainglory. What does he know, in truth, of Lan Xichen's commitment? Less than he assumed before. He knows so much less of his brother outright than he'd thought before, altogether. ]

Come. You look.... as yourself once more.

[ The little encouragement he is able to give. ]

[He feels like he’s being offered up as some kind of prize or compensation. Or something like that. He supposes it’s not too far off, bowing slightly again before he makes to follow after Wangji.

The...compliment (because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?) makes him pause again and he turns to look up at Wangji with a quiet scrutiny. None of this is for Meng Yao’s sake, he knows that. It’s always been about Xichen, but Meng Yao wasn’t that different. He wanted to change for Xichen’s sake, to be the kind of person Xichen wanted him to be.

And what Meng Yao wanted was something, anything, to feel human again. He supposes that desire in and of itself is human enough. Wanting to be loved and cherished, like his existence was wanted by someone.]

I’m not sure... if it’s this ‘self’ that Xichen wants anymore. [He glances away and takes a breath, exhaling slowly.] But if it’s for him, I... Will do whatever he needs. [Be whoever he needs.]

Lan Wangji. [It’s been a while since Meng Yao’s used his name, but it’s for emphasis this time. Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan. Not Hanguang-jun.] You’re a good man, and a good brother. I will try to right this.

[ Is this how the escorts of a groom feel, delivering him to the house of his bride, so he might collect her? This is no simple arrangement, no easy negotiation of Lan Xichen's finer spirits — or Meng Yao's own obedience, past the careful patterns of his courtesy.

What place has kindness between them? Stolen, like every other step, only to bridge assumptions: they are here now, but they travel onwards. They will glide on where they need to go, and soon it will matter little that licks of dust tangle on the sole of Lan Wangji's boot, or they have upset rows of grass in their wake. They were here, once. They will be with Lan Xichen shortly.

Meng Yao found within himself shreds of cheap kindness. Once they've arrived before Lan Xichen, they will fray and wither on. ]

Make him whole, and you reward me.

[ There is no business in a friend like Meng Yao, no purpose or attraction. If he will serve, he will not flourish — but Lan Xichen has whiled weeks now in the company of virtuous men, and the gentle skim of Meng Yao's shoulders might fall painfully short of that measure. ]

[Ah, a dismal. Meng Yao smiles despite himself and makes a noise of acknowledgement. What friends did he have anymore? Perhaps it was time he looked outside the familiar faces of home if he was going to find any kind of acceptance.]

Perhaps he’ll finally be able to let me go, one day. It would be best for his heart.

You have come to despise me and I won’t say I don’t deserve it. But I do care about Xichen. [His love was a poison for which he did not know the antidote, but he hopes, at least, that Wangji can believe that much from him.] I will do what it takes to help him. You need only tell me what you need.

[Wangji doesn’t need to ask; Meng Yao doesn’t deserve the courtesy of choice in this and he knows that. He had a helping hand in breaking the man Xichen was today. It was only right he picked the pieces back up too.]

Despise you.

[ He echoes, softening, conviction reverberating in wonder, until, steps ahead, it's as if the river he's submerged into has finally fled to leave his ears free of water. A shudder wrecks, shoulder to toe. He looks beside and beyond himself, at the latest boy-thing, the newest man-nothing. Another stranger. ]

I never knew you.

[ The learned face, perhaps. The same facade served to Lan Wangji as to the sophisticated half of Lanling Jin. The faceless manners, the empty diplomacy, the rare honest affection afforded to him as a vehicle as Lan Xichen's smiles. This, Lan Wangji knows.

This, if Lan Xichen is to be believed — and when has his mouth learned to contort in lie? — everyone knew. ]

One day, show me your true face.

[ The one — unpolished. Unpoisoned. Perhaps less of the cat chasing its prey than whatever vagabond brother saw fit to home under his wing. ]

Edited 2020-04-16 20:26 (UTC)

[His true face? He wasn’t entirely sure who that was anymore, but he’d like to think he’s been taking the steps to do find out. He only hopes that truth isn’t more despicable than the lie, Everyone could tolerate something poisoned and naturally abhorrent if dipped in honey or chocolate first to mask its taste, after all.

(Then again, there are people out there who honestly enjoy durian, so maybe he has a fighting chance after all).]

I hope to be able to.

[He realizes after a moment that he’s never actually been to Xichen’s home—Xichen had always come to him if they needed to meet.]

To start, I have renounced my claim to the Jin Sect. I am just Meng Yao now. If I’m to rebuild again to something better, I must start back at the roots.

[ Meng Yao. Not the name Lan Xichen speaks, when he stashes himself and his bitterness like a saintly treasure. Not the name Jin Guangyao's mouth gave before, on first surrender of courtesy. Not the vaunted nobility of a third of the venerated triad.

Lan Wangji knows it, like they all do: in the space of a legend unfolding before their eyes, the making of the Lanling Jin hero is a chronology of stereotypes. He came from the dirt of Meng Yao, raised himself through means humble and service devout to Qinghe Nie, usurped the father who ignored, with blind eyes, the merits of his son. Folks' stories could not have wanted better fodder for wagging tongues.

And here Lan Wangji seems him, reduced to himself — the fever of a summer dream, broken to show a tired, battered body beneath. Suffering. ]

No. Remake nothing. Wei Wuxian and you share a taste for tinkering.

[ With things and talismans and people. A rush to meddle and mend. To reshape. ]

Halt your hands.

[He shakes his head.] It’s better that way. ‘Jin Guangyao’ is a name seeped in too much blood to scrub clean again. And I... I have given Jin Sect over to its rightful heir since he is here.

[Him bringing up Wei Wuxian all of a sudden has him starting in surprise, however, and he looks up at Wangji with an open curiosity and wonder] Wei Wuxian? That’s not someone I would think anyone would compare me to, least of all you. There can be none. [The two of them couldn’t be more different in Meng Yao’s eyes, after all, but he did find it envious how Wei Wuxian could sink so low and still come out of everything again loved and whole.

Meng Yao had died and returned as well. Didn’t that mean he, too, should be able to find peace? How was it Wei Wuxian could find contentment in it all?

It was too bad he couldn’t actually ask the Wei Wuxian from their world.]

Truthfully, I think I could learn a lot from him...

[ Here, where Lan Wangji nearly loses balance, is where he slipped too the day before — and the day before that — where he has walked the start and end of winding roads, but never seems to learn their whimsy. He cuts his path through the citadel, immune to the day's toil, the crumbling architecture of busywork and empty sound.

The rightful heir of Lanling Jin might have been returned his heritage, but Jin Ling lacks the age and maturity to claim the spoils of a war he never fought. Jin Zixuan, then — the idle father, too often silent where Lan Wangji wonders of his thoughts. The unfailing, armour's edge of Lanling Jin composure.

Wei Wuxian, again. Lan Wangji's fault to have summoned him to mouth and tongue. He startles, nearly halts his footing again; continues. ]

Did you act against him?

[ No. This isn't the flavour of Meng Yao's poison, not how he infiltrates the stream to spread out the evil of his transgression. Subtler, then. A finery of manipulation, gold thread and silks. ]

Use him?

[Before, Wangji had made Meng Yao swear as part of whatever blood oath he’d sought out to not act against Wei Wuxian. He’d assumed that meant Wangji had some better understanding of all of Meng Yao’s transgressions, but truthfully he hadn’t thought to ask just where in the timeline of events Wangji’s memory fell.

Again he feels a sort of cold certainty. This is it, this is how he’ll die, on another brother’s sword this time.]

I used him.

[He admits it after a pause, sighing softly before he continued.] My father wanted his power for his own, to serve Jin Sect. And I could use his reputation to my advantage. Though my father set the path, it was I who chose to walk it, so the responsibility will be mine.

[A pause though and he adds:] But his death was not part of it. [A risk he’d calculated for? Sure. But his goal had never intentionally been for Wei Wuxian to drive himself off a cliff or anything like that. It would’ve been much easier to use him much like they had later used Xue Yang— take him under lock and key, appeal to him, try to get him to work for them, with them... It was technically more beneficial in the long run to befriend the wounded, feral dog and lure it to your side and lean on loyalty, after all. They wouldn’t have had to struggle so hard to figure out the tiger seal and all that bullshit either.

Of course, the intention didn’t quite matter. What was done was done. He had certainly planned ahead for his death should it have happened, hadn’t done anything to try preventing it. He’d simply planned for two outcomes and let fate take the wheel.

(Probably. Maybe. And who was going to say this was wrong?)]

I heard. Suspected.

[ Silence filled enough of what moths chewed from the tapestry of that poisoned truth. Lan Xichen might have volunteered more of what Wangji, each breath the torture of lungs overfilled with storm, could not bear to witness. There were — will be — stories there, blame to unearth and assign fairly.

Later. Much later. His eyes cloud, briefly unseeing, as if with the pain of a fresh wound; he stirs himself back awake. Carries on. ]

Today, I choose you over Wei Wuxian's honour.

[ Not the first of his surrenders, the small, prejudiced sacrifices. For Lan Xichen, yes. Too much done in the name of a brother who asks so little, cares for less. Lan Xichen would never have requested a Lanling Jin visitor, escorted before him under polite, but glacial duress. Lan Xichen would never have brokered the thought of his own heart's rescue at all. ]

Speak freely.

[ Of Wei Wuxian, or the matters of the Sects. Of Meng Yao's own mind, if he yet knows it. Of Lan Xichen, though here, Wangji would advise wisdom and deliberation. ]

[He very nearly asks if Wangji is feeling okay, or if perhaps he’s a pod person attempting to mimic the real Lan Wangji. If so, he’d have to applaud the perfect performance, up until him choosing Meng Yao over Wei Wuxian. Well, given Wangji’s general propriety and strict logic, he supposes there’s...something about it that makes sense.

But he can’t help but feel bewildered and a bit confused. Since when did anyone choose him over. Well. Anyone? Or anything? It takes him a moment to come to the conclusion that truthfully it’s not about him. It’s Xichen, because of course it is, and always will be. He takes a breath and slowly exhales. Speak? Just like that?]

I’m afraid I don’t know where I would even begin.

[And it should be more awkward to think of spilling anything to Lan Wangji of all people, but maybe that’s part of why it’s not. Wangji stays out of most affairs unless forced to.]

I’m afraid that your brother sees things—and people—for better than they are. [Is what he says at length, his voice a little more hushed, but there’s a fondness there.] I’ve been doing all I can think of to make amends and to not burden him with my shortcomings. But I worry my presence only makes things worse, and that no matter how far I get or work, it will only hurt him. Perhaps all I can hope for is to help him realize that and let me go.

[Though the thought alone of that makes him feel vaguely ill, he steels himself against it.]

If you can trust nothing else from me, please trust that I want to help him, regardless of if that brings me closer or pushes me further away. Xichen will likely never say it himself. I’m sure he fears abandoning me would be too cruel to me, but I hardly deserve his kindness or mercy, and so I must burden you with the task, Lan Wangji. You surely know your brother better than anyone else. If either of us have become too blinded on this path we’re taking, perhaps you can see clearer and tell us so.

I don’t want to become so lost in my hope for his [~~DICK~~.] friendship [Sure let’s call it that] that I ignore the signs that I may be hurting him again instead.

[Which is basically where most of his fear lies right now. He doesn’t want to drag Xichen down simply because he wants too much.]

[ About Lan Xichen once, twice, in perpetuity. Lan Xichen set the tone of the encounter, its length and purpose. Lan Xichen will end it, the tremble of his mouth in rejection, the shake of his head biding Wangji's gift inside.

If they are zither notes, they know all too well the hand that plays them — and Lan Wangji need only present them, two puppets before their master. ]

The same substance that poisons can cure in small amounts.

[ Sugars. White hellebore. Moderation is the heart of modern medicine, and Meng Yao might well prove the easier swallow in tempered mouthfulls. Lan Xichen has always been cautious in his appetites, scrupulous in his diet. He will not, all at once, attack the morsel before him.

Questionably delicious and largely weeping though he might prove. ]

I cannot say if you will suit him. [ To look at Meng Yao, so reduced in ways Lan Wangji barely remembers — not unlike the vagabond he was before his ascension — he cuts an unambitious sight. ] But you are medicine untried.

[Somehow that’s actually a little comforting. Having some kind of support, however small, even if it’s found in the most unlikely place he ever would’ve thought to see it, makes some of the tension leave Meng Yao’s shoulders.]

...Yes, that’s true. [He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, holding himself upright with a little more quiet dignity and a sort of newfound determination. Alright, let’s do this.]

Thank you, Hanguang-jun. [They’re at their home now, which isn’t quite a surprise to Meng Yao. He knew Xichen had purposefully put him up somewhere not far from him, but he hadn’t known where, precisely, Xichen had lived until now.] I feel a little better prepared for this now.

[ Prepared, when Lan Wangji has readied and delivered him, packaged and pretty, ribbon bereft — a golden-ripe dinner for the lion's den. Lan Xichen would never wound what he can simply refuse, but there is risk, invisible, even to the hearts of sophisticated men who should sit themselves above a penury of kindness.

Arriving, Lan Wangji withdraws himself: clothes and tea have exchanged hands, the little wisdom he could give has now come forfeit. Strange, to arm a soldier against his own brother, yet to Lan Xichen's own defence.

At the last moment, Lan Wangji bods, bend of his back a slow negotiation, then pulls away — content to dissolve and leave his brother and his errant guest to their makeshift peace, than to inject himself unduly. ]

[ Xichen is home, focusing on his inner cultivation. The recent days... weeks, have been a little easier, in a way. Seeing some things unfold has made him reexamine a lot of his own reactions, at least. Allowed him to be more clearheaded about his own predicament.

He still doesn't have answers. Only a bit more calm. Perhaps, one day, it will be serenity again, but he is not allowing himself to even hope, yet.

He looks up when the door clicks, face lighting up a little at the sight of his brother, then - doesn't dim down at the sight of the face that follows.

And then his eyes travel down, and he flinches at the attire. The man who chose to be Jin Guangyao...

He supposes he has grown used to seeing him in a different set of clothes, though after the initial reaction, he can recognize that those are not actually Jin Guangyao's robes, but instead familiar from a different, younger Jin...

Glancing at Wangji's retreat, he rises and cups his hands in greeting. ]

Welcome. [ Meng Yao dies on his lips, but he doesn't even blink. He will... keep going, until he understands what Wangji means. He will, eventually. ]

Please, sit.

[Meng Yao’s face lights up a Little initially when Xichen looks at the unlikely pair of them and seems—not entirely like his old self, but something close. It’s a much better look on him, up until Xichen sees what he’s wearing and flinches.

Panic and anxiety curls in his stomach and he automatically glances for Wangji for reassurance. Except Wangji is retreating and ABANDONING HIM, life is hard for poor Meng Yao. He wasn’t aware that the surprise of his meant that he’d likely told Xichen absolutely none OG this was happening. Alright no that’s actually not surprising at all, and Meng Yao isn’t actually sure how much Xichen does know about all this, but he can definitely tell Xichen didn’t know about the robes at the very least.

He forces a smile, the sheepishness at least not faked at all, before he bows politely back.] Well met, Zewu-Jun. I’m afraid I have little in the way of formal robes to wear to a proper tea. Jin Ling was kind enough to loan me his own. At your brother’s insistence, I believe.

[He straightens and speaks with a dry joking tone he’s relieved he can still manage:] I can unfortunately announce that they are, in fact, a little too long on me.

[ Xichen's hands reach out to hold the arms to keep the bow from getting too low. Like he does. And yes, there is moonlacing.

The words help. He can understand Wangji's thought process, and he can understand that he could not have known why it would upset Xichen - he has told him some things, but the entirety is too immense to be able to articulate it just yet. And understanding helps, especially as it matches the reality of, well, the robes. And how Wangji would be.

... then the last part comes, and ... perhaps for the first time after learning the truth, where Meng Yao can see him, Xichen ducks his head to hide the tiniest twitch up of the corners of his mouth. So, perhaps, there is a glimmer of hope. ]

I think we might attempt to learn what is formal, proper wear in this place. So propriety is observed without ... complications. Such as too-long robes.

[Every time Xichen stops his bow, a knot eases inside his stomach. It isn’t until this little ritual of theirs’ is complete that he feels things will be okay, that he can relax a little.

And he clings to that hint of a smile more desperately than a man does to the debris from a sinking ship, his own expression softening with an easier smile as he laughs under his breath.] Sooner, rather than later, I hope. Otherwise I’ll surely end up drowning. I think perhaps instead of him growing, I am just shrinking.

[He laughs softly again and gazes quietly at Xichen, observing his face and his body language.] ...I tried to tell him that I wasn’t sure about this, but your brother is remarkably stubborn. He cares for you so much. [Xichen doesn’t need Meng Yao to tell him this, of course, but it’s nice to acknowledge out loud.]

But I’d like to do this and speak with you. I have things to tell you, about a choice I made. [But he’s smiling as he says it and he seems a bit pleased so it can’t be all bad, right? The tiny smile of Xichen’s has strengthened his resolve about it.]

[ Xichen has seen Meng Yao smile so many times when it shouldn't have been there. For so long, he had thought it a sign of strength. Now, it is simply a sign for caution. Not of deception, necessarily, but...

He has to pay attention.

Not suspect, even. Merely pay attention. ]

You are not shrinking. [ Softly, eyes crinkled with amusement, anyway. ] But yes, I think that will be...

I think I will like that.

And of course. Let me make the tea, and we can talk. I - do wish for a chance to do that, too.

[ And it is true. He misses their conversations, even while a part of him will remind him that over all those years, no matter how sincere the man had seemed, he had never been, not truly. And he doesn't want the pretense again, the illusion. But he does wish that some of it at least was real.

But more than wishing, he wants to know the reality that is now.

Meng Yao, he thinks, is worth knowing. ]

[Meng Yao raises a hand to his head, pressing his palm to the top of it and then holding it out level to Xichen’s body, measuring himself against the other as if he’s not sure he believes it. He makes a soft, unconvinced ‘hmm’ noise.

Xichen is happiest when he’s taking care of something—or someone—otherwise he might’ve protested a bit more. But technically he supposes Xichen is the host here, so getting the tea ready and all is his duty anyhow...

Either way, Meng Yao allows Xichen to do as he wishes, hanging around simply to watch Xichen for curiosity’s sake. He talks of inconsequential things in the meantime— various bits of news, the awful music of the strange ‘boy band’ thing that’s rising in popularity for reasons Meng Yao can’t even begin to fathom, little observations of things like that. It isn’t until they’re seated with their tea that he thinks to turn the subject to more serious matters. The switch in topic comes naturally in the lull between sips of tea (he wonders where Wangji got it, because it really is quite good), and he glances to Xichen.

For the first time he actually feels pretty decent about his decision, painful as it may be, and he sets his tea cup down with his fingers still wrapped around it for comfort.]

I... spoke with Jin Zixuan. [That’s how he starts it, then pauses as he tries to figure out where to go from there.] I told him about— About Qin Su. [His eyebrows twitch, furrow slightly in pained remembrance of the woman before he continues.] And about... what I did. I asked for him to take over as Sect Leader. And... that I be removed from the Jin Sect.

[He pauses a moment before continuing softly.] I have chosen... to be Meng Yao. Completely. Barring unforeseen circumstances, this is the last time I plan to wear the gold and red mark of that sect.

[ And that hum gets another lip twitch, this time less concealed - he's amused at Meng Yao's plight, but at his, well, very delicate clowning, and Xichen can be amused at that without a pang of guilt for offending.

And yes, he is host, and yes, he finds both taking care of someone or something and rituals soothing.

He tilts his head slightly at the opening... then his eyes widen and he swallows. ]

I... will not lie that ... this choice makes me ... relieved. And a little glad. It's... While it would be lie to claim that Meng Yao did no wrong, it was Jin Guangyao who made the choices that hurt the most people. But I... I also know that it was important to you to be him, too. To have that power.

[ Again, he tilts his head, after another sip of tea. ]

Jin Rulan?

[ How far does surrendering the claim of being his father's son go? He will ask after Jin Zixuan, too, but they both know who will suffer if Meng Yao decides to cut all ties. So, priorities. ]

[He wishes it was as easy as saying “that was Jin Guangyao, not me, Meng Yao,” and be able to shed it like the snake some said he was. Even if he could think of the two as distinctly different people, Meng Yao had still given birth to Guangyao, the two couldn’t be so untangled.

He takes a breath and then another sip of tea, shaking his head at the question.]

...Perhaps it is still to selfish of me, but I... I don’t want to give up that relationship with him. I don’t want to stop trying for it. [He looks down at his robes, touching his fingertips lightly to the embroidery at the chest.] If he truly wants me to stay away I will honor it. But things like this... give me some hope.

He messaged his father to ask him not to kill me. [it shouldn’t make him feel good, probably, but there’s a warmth in his chest anyhow at the thought.] I think that’s truly the only reason he did not.

I do not think it selfish, [ softly, ] not if you consider what he has lost and what he needs.

As to what he wants... it may be difficult for him to be able to even understand what that is, let alone express it. But you and Jiang Wanyin have been the two things in his life that meant that everything was all right, and he already is rebuilding the relationship with him because of the circumstances of this place.

I may be wrong, but it seems that he would want to not love someone he is terrified of. Disappearing from his life would be one way to achieve that. Becoming someone he isn't afraid of, once again, would be another.