[ hua cheng wipes the remnants of the sample off on tanhua's tongue, before throwing the spoon away to go and investigate the other flavors. ]
So himbo must not factor much into it.
[ anyways i finally decided on what to give you britt. "what if it's not britt" i know it's britt
the stardust that hits becomes the patter of rain, just outside of a little shrine. with a closer look, it appears humble in size. there is only the alter - a clay statue, charming in a way that could only be called tacky, and a couple of offering plates, bearing fruit and refreshments in offering to the god of the shrine. Upon closer examination, the statue is humble like the shrine itself, but someone had taken care in rendering a gentle expression. smiling, but not quite smiling, cheeks softly flushed and clothing ornate. a sword in one hand, and...
where once would have been a clay flower is, instead, a real one. delicate and small, but pure white, dew on the petals making it almost shine like a pearl.
this is your destination. your feet, bare and dirty, rush through the gathering puddles with urgency. it's freezing, but that's alright - you've had worse, even as you're soaked through to the bone, raggedy, filthy. but you tightly cup your hands together, paying no mind. even the ratty bandages over the right side of your face are of no importance at the moment, though you do know that you have to fix them, soon, before they come truly loose in the rain.
instead, you open your hands to check on the perfect, pearly white flower in your possession, a soft fragrance in the air.
you walk forward, steps light, until you're forced to stretch up on your toes to switch the flowers. there is nowhere to kneel and prostrate to the statue - so all you do is step back, looking up at the statue before down again, clasping hands in prayer.
of course, the moment is ruined immediately. whatever sanctity there is shatters under the jeering of other boys, their umbrellas bringing a drumming echo of rain at the door of the little shrine. you are so much smaller, and skinnier, and hungrier than them, but you stop in your prayer and clench your fists anyways.
"Wow, wow, the ugly monster got kicked out again!"
"Hey, ugly monster, you sleeping in the shrine again tonight? Better watch out, that 'mom' of yours is gonna beat the living hell out of you when you get home!"
you are full of so much fury, swift and cold and dangerous. it's almost too much for your small frame, but still, it's bountiful and angry. fists up, you yell, voice raised over the sound of rain: "I don't have a home! I don't have a mom! She's not my mom! Get out! Get out! Keep talking and I'm gonna beat the crap out of you!"
they continue to jeer, insulting you (you can ignore that, it's followed you all your life), saying that your family doesn't want you (you've heard that before, you've known that), insulting the shrine. something snaps, then, and you fly at them despite the odds, crying out with fists hitting them, unrestrained, unafraid of these boys bigger than you. they aren't much cleaner than you, in the end, as some unknown force strikes out in the rain, knocking the other boys down with a splash of a puddle. just like that, they go running, screaming, and you're left black and blue once more.
your anger turns to quiet despair, becoming even smaller, arms around legs and face pressing to knees as you sit at the feet of a gently smiling, not quite smiling god. even with the food there, even with stomach growling like a beast, you don't move, save to flinch when something - hits, out of nowhere, trying to protect your head with your arms and your core by curling your body in tighter.
Please leave me alone, you think desperately, tiredly. when nothing comes, however, you slowly uncurl, finding a piece of dried fruit from the remaining offerings. confused, no hesitation comes: you pick it up, dusts it off as best you can, and returns it.
when you go to lay back down, there's a red umbrella, opened, a beacon in the wet rain. it takes a moment of suspicion and hesitation before the you react. and the shock is palpable, even in the fog of remembering, still sharp as you stare at the umbrella, open in the rain like a crimson flower.
"Is that you?" you cling to the umbrella after closing it, desperately crying out to the statue in front of you. there is no answer. you beg, voice raw, "If you're here, please, answer my one question!
"I'm suffering! Every day, I wish I'd die. Every day, I want to kill off everyone in this world, and then myself! I'm living in agony!"
for all your desperation, still, there are no tears falling. now, instead, one hand cradling the umbrella while the other grips onto the statue's robes, you call out. "For what should I live for in this world? What does it mean to live?"
silence. you are almost on the brink of despair, misery - maybe you really will cry. what's the point of living in this world, with every curse flung at you, every strike from your father's hand, the jeering of the youth around you. you are a curse, a star in solitude.
maybe it would have been better if you had brought misfortune upon the parade, ending your own life and ruining the lives of others as they had done for you, rather than being caught. but what would one little boy throwing himself from the walls of the city have mattered?
but then: "If you don't know to live on anymore... then live for me."
your head snaps up to look at the statue again. there's no one there, of course, but there's a knot in your throat, and you can feel the burn of tears as your grip tightens.
"I have no answer to the question you asked. However, if you don't know the meaning of your life, then make me that meaning, and use me as your reason to live."
silence, for a beat, and then a shout from the past, from the unknown:
"Thank you for your flower! It's beautiful; I like it very much!"
wow they hate it too. they go absolutely still, staring at him for a few long moments after the memory ends and the stardust scatters. there's a lot to unpack there. there is so much to unpack there, but also? they have the distinct impression that hua cheng is not someone who wants anyone's pity.]
... it is not a memory I would like others to see, but not the worst of them, I suppose.
[ he doesn't like people seeing him as a child. he doesn't like this, doesn't like the idea that people will learn how he was treated when he might as well have been an orphan. ]
That it does. A little kindness can mean everything.
[but - there really isn't much kindness in the world, is there? that's why the little bits of kindness that people offer are so precious. hua cheng knows that. vulpecula knows that, too.
the stardust hasn't entirely cleared away - before they can say anything else, there's another memory that plays out in front of their eyes.
You wake up.
It's another day in this place, and you - you're tired, but you know you can't just stay in bed all day, so you resolve to get up. It takes you a moment, because the pillows and blankets are really more comfortable than they have any right to be.
You sit up, swing your legs over the side of the bed, and stand -
"AUGH!"
And fall, because it isn't legs, plural, anymore. It's leg. One leg. You're missing one of your legs, and you really don't have anyone to blame for it but yourself. ...yourself, and the hateful situation you went through, that wretched creature that got ahold of you, but -
No. It's your own fault. Your actions led to that particular outcome, and you shouldn't blame others for it.
One must take responsibility for the things they do, after all.
Gritting your teeth, you use your arms to push yourself back up into a sitting position, then hold onto your bed to keep your balance as you get up on one leg. You have the feeling you'll get scolded if you get caught hopping around, so you'll have to figure out something to use as a crutch. But you'll figure it out. You've always been more resourceful than most people give you credit for, you remind yourself.
Even your brother would be astounded - and you hope, a little impressed? - if he saw what you had accomplished without him.
...one step at a time. This missing leg won't keep you down for long.
oh. that is certainly a memory that they would rather not share, isn't it? hua cheng regards it for a moment, after, considering. resilience is resilience - he's had his moments in very similar situations.
he looks - down? how tall is vulpecula compared to him? - to regard them now, seeing the stillness. ]
A memory for a memory, I guess. At least you're standing under your own power.
[ y'all tiny. it really do just be orion and cetus in my half collection of NPCs. ]
Good. [ good for you! he will not point out the fact that they're a staff member under a nefarious employer who steals his best employee from him. different situations. ] Don't suppose you can say what kind of creature did that, can you. You all have tighter rules on revealing personal information than the Watchers did.
I wonder, if you tried it... you'd be able to recreate it for him to try when you get out of here, wouldn't you? I bet you could figure out the ingredients.
Perhaps. What do you think the strangest combination would be? Ignoring the "warm" one, I do not want to eat that even if I know it would be one of the first that he would have.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ like into the heavens! ]
... what is a "himbo?"
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[...]
Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out.
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he comes around to get a sample spoon, because it is small.
and then he gets some honey himbo.
and he turns around and feeds it to tanhua. animal testing! ]
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Is it safe to feed him thatβ?
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[ tanhua blems it, testing, and then opens his mouth. ]
Seems to taste alright.
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[well. he would probably know best, when it comes to his own soul.
considering the fox doesn't keel over or try to spit it out, it's probably okay. so vulpecula scoops some up for them both, then takes a bite.]
...oh! It's mainly honey after all. It's not bad!
no subject
So himbo must not factor much into it.
[ anyways i finally decided on what to give you britt. "what if it's not britt" i know it's britt
the stardust that hits becomes the patter of rain, just outside of a little shrine. with a closer look, it appears humble in size. there is only the alter - a clay statue, charming in a way that could only be called tacky, and a couple of offering plates, bearing fruit and refreshments in offering to the god of the shrine. Upon closer examination, the statue is humble like the shrine itself, but someone had taken care in rendering a gentle expression. smiling, but not quite smiling, cheeks softly flushed and clothing ornate. a sword in one hand, and...
where once would have been a clay flower is, instead, a real one. delicate and small, but pure white, dew on the petals making it almost shine like a pearl.
this is your destination. your feet, bare and dirty, rush through the gathering puddles with urgency. it's freezing, but that's alright - you've had worse, even as you're soaked through to the bone, raggedy, filthy. but you tightly cup your hands together, paying no mind. even the ratty bandages over the right side of your face are of no importance at the moment, though you do know that you have to fix them, soon, before they come truly loose in the rain.
instead, you open your hands to check on the perfect, pearly white flower in your possession, a soft fragrance in the air.
you walk forward, steps light, until you're forced to stretch up on your toes to switch the flowers. there is nowhere to kneel and prostrate to the statue - so all you do is step back, looking up at the statue before down again, clasping hands in prayer.
of course, the moment is ruined immediately. whatever sanctity there is shatters under the jeering of other boys, their umbrellas bringing a drumming echo of rain at the door of the little shrine. you are so much smaller, and skinnier, and hungrier than them, but you stop in your prayer and clench your fists anyways.
"Wow, wow, the ugly monster got kicked out again!"
"Hey, ugly monster, you sleeping in the shrine again tonight? Better watch out, that 'mom' of yours is gonna beat the living hell out of you when you get home!"
you are full of so much fury, swift and cold and dangerous. it's almost too much for your small frame, but still, it's bountiful and angry. fists up, you yell, voice raised over the sound of rain: "I don't have a home! I don't have a mom! She's not my mom! Get out! Get out! Keep talking and I'm gonna beat the crap out of you!"
they continue to jeer, insulting you (you can ignore that, it's followed you all your life), saying that your family doesn't want you (you've heard that before, you've known that), insulting the shrine. something snaps, then, and you fly at them despite the odds, crying out with fists hitting them, unrestrained, unafraid of these boys bigger than you. they aren't much cleaner than you, in the end, as some unknown force strikes out in the rain, knocking the other boys down with a splash of a puddle. just like that, they go running, screaming, and you're left black and blue once more.
your anger turns to quiet despair, becoming even smaller, arms around legs and face pressing to knees as you sit at the feet of a gently smiling, not quite smiling god. even with the food there, even with stomach growling like a beast, you don't move, save to flinch when something - hits, out of nowhere, trying to protect your head with your arms and your core by curling your body in tighter.
Please leave me alone, you think desperately, tiredly. when nothing comes, however, you slowly uncurl, finding a piece of dried fruit from the remaining offerings. confused, no hesitation comes: you pick it up, dusts it off as best you can, and returns it.
when you go to lay back down, there's a red umbrella, opened, a beacon in the wet rain. it takes a moment of suspicion and hesitation before the you react. and the shock is palpable, even in the fog of remembering, still sharp as you stare at the umbrella, open in the rain like a crimson flower.
"Is that you?" you cling to the umbrella after closing it, desperately crying out to the statue in front of you. there is no answer. you beg, voice raw, "If you're here, please, answer my one question!
"I'm suffering! Every day, I wish I'd die. Every day, I want to kill off everyone in this world, and then myself! I'm living in agony!"
for all your desperation, still, there are no tears falling. now, instead, one hand cradling the umbrella while the other grips onto the statue's robes, you call out. "For what should I live for in this world? What does it mean to live?"
silence. you are almost on the brink of despair, misery - maybe you really will cry. what's the point of living in this world, with every curse flung at you, every strike from your father's hand, the jeering of the youth around you. you are a curse, a star in solitude.
maybe it would have been better if you had brought misfortune upon the parade, ending your own life and ruining the lives of others as they had done for you, rather than being caught. but what would one little boy throwing himself from the walls of the city have mattered?
but then: "If you don't know to live on anymore... then live for me."
your head snaps up to look at the statue again. there's no one there, of course, but there's a knot in your throat, and you can feel the burn of tears as your grip tightens.
"I have no answer to the question you asked. However, if you don't know the meaning of your life, then make me that meaning, and use me as your reason to live."
silence, for a beat, and then a shout from the past, from the unknown:
"Thank you for your flower! It's beautiful; I like it very much!"
thanks he hates it. ]
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wow they hate it too. they go absolutely still, staring at him for a few long moments after the memory ends and the stardust scatters. there's a lot to unpack there. there is so much to unpack there, but also? they have the distinct impression that hua cheng is not someone who wants anyone's pity.]
...you didn't want me to see that, did you.
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[ he doesn't like people seeing him as a child. he doesn't like this, doesn't like the idea that people will learn how he was treated when he might as well have been an orphan. ]
A little kindness goes a long way.
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[but - there really isn't much kindness in the world, is there? that's why the little bits of kindness that people offer are so precious. hua cheng knows that. vulpecula knows that, too.
the stardust hasn't entirely cleared away - before they can say anything else, there's another memory that plays out in front of their eyes.
vulpecula goes still.]
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oh. that is certainly a memory that they would rather not share, isn't it? hua cheng regards it for a moment, after, considering. resilience is resilience - he's had his moments in very similar situations.
he looks - down? how tall is vulpecula compared to him? - to regard them now, seeing the stillness. ]
A memory for a memory, I guess. At least you're standing under your own power.
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I am. And it's going to stay that way. I will never rely on someone else's power ever again.
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Good. [ good for you! he will not point out the fact that they're a staff member under a nefarious employer who steals his best employee from him. different situations. ] Don't suppose you can say what kind of creature did that, can you. You all have tighter rules on revealing personal information than the Watchers did.
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I can't say and I won't say. I'd really rather not think about it - it's the kind of thing anyone would want to drink the memory of away, I think.
[they wave a hand.]
I don't get the feeling that either of us want to discuss our memories much, so shall we move on?
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Fair enough on all counts. I'm happy enough talking about Dianxia for hours on end, but I'll pass on getting too in depth with this one.
[ it's too personal to him. it's from a period of his life that is his entire reason for being. ]
Ice cream, then. I believe we were inspecting the rest of the flavors besides the mysterious himbo one.
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[they chuckle, though, and go back to perusing the ice cream flavors.]
Warm Takoyaki seems... questionable. Ice cream shouldn't be warm.
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[ not so much a warning as it is a chance of an out. but not much of one. ]
Ice would imply something you don't want warm... I have no idea what takoyaki is.
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[but they don't seem to mind?]
anyway. hmm. they frown while considering warm takoyaki.]
Perhaps we ought to leave that one be, in that case.
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[ fondly.
he makes a face down at the Warm Takoyaki, though, and goes to look at other ones. ]
Alpha Kinnamon?
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[hua cheng would know best! hmm.]
I wonder, if you tried it... you'd be able to recreate it for him to try when you get out of here, wouldn't you? I bet you could figure out the ingredients.
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Perhaps. What do you think the strangest combination would be? Ignoring the "warm" one, I do not want to eat that even if I know it would be one of the first that he would have.
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[they look over the names of the ice cream flavors again...]
Yuck. "Santa's Cottony Beard"?
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stick a sample spoon into that one
and try it ]
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