dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

[Thanks for totally grossing up his robes, babe... Now it's Huaisang who needs a bath, albeit less urgently. Ew, though.]

He won't murder you.

[This he says as he reaches up without thinking to put Jiang Cheng's hair into a little more order, now that he can see it better. That pin is staying where it is and Mingjue will just have to deal with it! It isn't as if Huaisang needs to attend war meetings, but maybe he'll sit in this time to shrug every time his brother gives him a significant look.

That will work, definitely.]

I want you to keep it. If you're going to give it back, do it after the war is over.

[Won't he? Won't he, though? Okay, maybe not, but on the other hand: he's terrifying when he's angry.

But hm, he settles beneath Huaisang's hands, going still as he fusses with his hair. It's a pleasing feeling, an intimacy he hasn't had since-- well, ever. He could spend quite a bit of time letting Huaisang play with his hair, honestly; Jiang Cheng tips his head forward, acquiescing.]

All right.

[He'll keep it. He'll wear it, and his men will notice, and no one will say a damn thing because they won't dare.

Nie Mingjue absolutely notices. He notices the second Jiang Cheng walks into the war room and bows, and the rest of the meeting goes . . . hm, well, it goes. He isn't overly nasty to Jiang Cheng, but there's a bark to his words each time he turns to address him, his gaze sharp and unimpressed. But that's the worst of it, and whether that's due to Huaisang's presence or something else is debatable.

He spends three more days there, recovering and planning-- and when it's time to go, he doesn't commit to some grand gesture. He doesn't even say goodbye, not properly. Just awkwardly, abruptly, a sharp nod as he rides out. And if he's very aware of the way his hair is decorated as he rides out, well. Of course he is.

The war goes on and on, and he learns how to cope. Brokenly, raggedly, but he learns. Wei Wuxian reappears, and with him the fight finally seems winnable. His older brother is shattered, and that's terrifying, but he's so consumed with bloodlust he doesn't care. He's torturing and slaughtering Wens; what does it matter that he's got a distant look in his eye and the way he smiles is so different from his bright grins? It doesn't matter. War is hell, and they're all broken.

Another battle. They're nearing the end, and everyone can sense it: the fights are bloodier, soldiers on both sides more desperate to finish off the other side just so they can go home. Jiang Cheng gets his share of scars and wounds, as do they all-- including the impossible. Somehow, somehow, Nie Mingjue gets hurt. Not just hurt; he's nearly killed, stabbed again and again, blood pooling on the ground beneath him, dripping from his mouth, down from his eyes . . . he doesn't die, but it's close. He hasn't even woken up when the next battle looms, and so of course he needs a replacement--

Surely they'll choose Lan Xichen, he thinks. Surely he's the natural choice. But everyone's wary of power struggles, no one wants to give an inch just in case, and so leadership of the Nie clan falls to--]

What the hell are you doing here!

[Whoops, that's definitely not how you're supposed to greet the second son and temporary leader of a powerful clan, but here they are. Is he wearing the pin Huaisang gave him? Of course he is.]

[The war goes on, but for a few days at the Unclean Realm, it's almost like things aren't quite so bad. Huaisang likes having Jiang Cheng around, and he doesn't so much avoid Mingjue as pretend he has no idea what his brother is talking about when he inevitably brings himself to ask, and yes, there are war plans being made, but it's easily the most pleasant couple days he's had in a good while. Watching Jiang Cheng leave is, hmm, awkward, but not unpleasantly so; he rides out with Huaisang's hairpin and Huaisang will take that as something of a promise that he'll have to come back someday.

Everything else is just news. Sitting at home in Qinghe and hearing about things secondhand, like before— Huaisang isn't content, but he's fine.

And then his brother gets hurt. Nie Mingjue, the strongest and bravest and toughest warrior Huaisang has ever known, no bias, is brought back to Qinghe bloodied and broken and doesn't wake up. Alive, certainly— breathing, yes. But somewhere in the days afterwards that Huaisang spends at his brother's bedside, a mess swinging wildly from weeping and begging him to wake up to sitting there in silence, Mingjue's limp hand clasped in both his own— something in Huaisang bends.

He can't lose his brother. It's up to his core now, the Nie doctors tell him, his body is stable but he needs to wake up on his own.

The thing in Huaisang creaks and snaps, and a little brother with barely any cultivation power shouldn't be riding out into battle but they tried to kill his brother and so there is Huaisang, fist clenched around the hilt of a saber he is, honestly, not comfortable with, but the Nie sabers are big and mean enough to get the job done with less skill that he might need with an ordinary sword, surely. He's terrified and angry and not built for battle, but here he is—

Ah, and there's Jiang Cheng, luckily still alive and oh, scolding him.]

My brother is hurt, [he says, and turns his gaze away before just looking at Jiang Cheng softens him too much to be here at all.] So I came instead.

Yes, but--

[But he still shouldn't be here, not where it's unsafe. His brother is hurt, he should be with him, not standing in front of Jiang Cheng in robes that don't suit him and a sword instead of a fan. He's not good at cultivation, he never has been, he's never cared to be, and that's fine and good in general, but not here. Not now.

I'm not going anywhere, he'd promised. He'd promised, and what is that in face of a war, but still, still, he shouldn't be here.]

There's got to be someone else. Some-- some lieutenant or cousin.

[That's so insulting, and not even in the way Jiang Cheng usually is, but he doesn't care. He smells like blood, the taste of it coats his throat and his tongue, and he can still hear the howls of pain from the wounded come back, and Huaisang cannot be here.]

You know why that isn't good enough!

[He almost shouts it, and he can't be angry at Jiang Cheng for saying that (he's right, Huaisang never wanted to be out here but he never wanted his brother to come home full of holes, either), but god, he doesn't need this right now. Right here, where they are. He's held together by adrenaline and fury that the Wens would harm his brother and he will collapse at any moment if he stops to think about anything but getting back home to Mingjue's side.

So he looks at Jiang Cheng with earnest pleading in his eyes, please don't do this at the most inopportune of times. He physically cannot take much more.

So the battle is going great. Storming off to wave his saber around is beyond him at the moment, so instead:]

You need to focus, Jiang-xiong. Let's talk later.

Edited (woops) 2020-04-01 03:14 (UTC)

[Later, he'll regret this. He always does. He pushes and pushes, his tongue sharpened by the best intentions and the clumsiest means of showing them. He'll think about this conversation and wonder why he hadn't backed off, because he can read the exhaustion in Huaisang's eyes.]

I am focused. Do you know what I'm thinking of? That you failed your first year.

[He steps towards him, his face pale.]

That you hate the saber. That you're an artist, and you wield a brush far better than any kind of weapon. That you have no place in this war, in any war!

My brother could die! It doesn't matter how good I am with a stupid saber!

[Were they not in the middle of the battlefield he would throw the thing to the ground to prove a point, which is this: Mingjue is down for the count and so the mantle falls to him, the second son. That's it! It may not be what suits him but he's already here and he can't decide to go home.

Leaving aside the part of him that's starting to understand on a visceral level the depth of Jiang Cheng's hate for the Wens; they were monsters before, and now? Well, now. But that dark feeling doesn't suddenly make him good at any of this, and here they are.]

You can't stay here and scold me in the middle of battle, so go!

[For a long second, his expression is agonized. What if he does just stand here and scold him? No, better: what if they have this fight here, now, so that they can stave off the realities of war, so he doesn't have to spend any time at all with his eyes off Huaisang.

An arrow flies by his head, and that wakes him up; with a frustrated noise he darts forward, shoving Huaisang back, heedless of how inappropriate that truly is.]

Stay with me, and don't argue!

[If he has to protect them both, he absolutely will. There's another cry, nearer this time, and he grits his teeth as he turns towards the source of the noise. Zidian crackles at his hands, purple lightning sparking them both-- and of course there's a reason it's emerging now, when he's suddenly so much more frantic than before.]

You could die, you idiot--

[Just kidding, he's gonna keep unfairly scolding him even as he, hm, slices through some people, god, battle is horrifying, there's blood and dirt and entrails beneath his feet, bones jutting and men howling and in the periphery of his vision, always, always Huaisang.]

[Ah, and the arrow shuts him up quickly enough, wide-eyed and a little shaky after Jiang Cheng shoves him. To his credit, he doesn't argue: he's not out here to prove himself, there's no reason he has to do anything but stay close to Jiang Cheng, is there— except for the fact that that makes him a liability, and if someone else he cares for gets hurt only this time it's his own fault, what will he do?

But Jiang Cheng is... well, Jiang Cheng is capable, and while Huaisang makes a passing effort to swing his saber once or twice, he is contributing nothing but being a distraction to their enemies before Jiang Cheng cuts them down. It's disgusting, battle; like, he didn't have to see it to know, but it's horrendous, all blood and mud and screaming, everywhere, punctuated by the clanging of metal on metal and even more screaming. Huaisang's new robes are filthy before long, maybe he's even grazed a few Wens with his saber, maybe not, he can hardly tell—

And then it's over. A whirlwind of horror and filth and then Huaisang is sitting at the edge of the battlefield with his ears ringing like the battle is still happening, hands clenched around the hilt of his saber stuck upright in the ground in front of him, looking at nothing. Most of the Nie disciples have gravitated over and are clustered nearby, preparing to go back to Qinghe as quickly as they arrived.

Huaisang should probably help, or, or say something, as acting leader, but— mm. He'd like to just sit here and wait to dissolve into nothingness, actually. He feels sick.

But he is alive, so there's that.]

[He's alive. Somehow, despite the fact there were casualties on both sides, Huaisang is still alive. It's awful, he should feel worse, some of the dead are his own men-- and he does feel terrible, he really does, but right now, nothing matters save for the overwhelming relief, so thick he could choke on it.

He's alive. The rest can be taken care of.

Odd, isn't it: he knows that stare. That vacant, sick look, equal parts stunned and horrified. He'd worn its twin after his first battle; the remnants of it ghosted around him the first time he'd visited Qinghe months ago.]

Come on.

[It's gruff, but not unfriendly. He jerks his head, nodding towards his own tent. Huaisang has his own, of course, equal parts sleeping space and war room, but even Jiang Cheng isn't stupid enough to lead him to a space that belongs to Mingjue.]

Stand up. Follow my footsteps.

[Jiang Cheng's voice wakes him up, at least somewhat; he blinks and looks up, grip on the saber slackening. For a moment he looks like he can't get up at all, but, ah— but he manages, and the saber finally slips out of his hands and hits the ground with a weak thud. One of the Nie men hastens over to pick it up, bows hastily to them both and carries it away before anyone can comment about that little second son from Nie who can't even keep it together after a single battle. Lucky.

That's fine; Huaisang nods, stepping forward to follow Jiang Cheng. Give him, like, twenty seconds before he finds his voice.]

...Are you going to scold me again? [ha ha.............jokes.]

No.

[He closes the tent flap behind them, ties it shut. Gently sets his hand on Huaisang's shoulder, steering him towards the wooden tub in the corner. There's water there already, tepid but not chilled.]

Get undressed. Here.

[A small bucket, and he nudges it forward with his foot. Jiang Cheng turns to grab a few things, and then adds:]

I threw up after my first battle. If you need to . . .

[There it is. It's soap he was going to get-- basic soap, nothing like the things they're used to at home, but it's fine.]

I— I don't.

[Well, not at this exact second. He feels like he should have already? It's like his body is stuck, like it's going to wait until he's not quite so shaken to start up again and leave him retching. He's not looking forward to it, but at least Jiang Cheng's tent shuts out the sights of the battlefield and most of the... smell.

He fumbles with his robes instead, too aware of the gore all over him now that there's a tub of water waiting. It takes him what feels like forever but isn't at all, and he's shed the bloodied mess of his clothes and dropped gratefully into the tub soon enough. The first thing he does is splash his face, and then again— and once more just in case... Don't pay this any mind, thank you.]

...Thank you.

[For protecting him, for looking after him now, for letting him use the tub— any of those will do.]

Mm.

[He's so bad at words. He's terrible at them. But he can do this. He can go through the motions, doing all the things he'd stumbled through alone after his first battle.

Any other time, he'd be flustered. He'd take note of-- oh, all kinds of things, pale skin and slender legs . . . he'd balk. But right now, this isn't about that. This is about all the horrors of war, and how you can't wash them off, but you can at least try.

He slips off his own bloodied outer robe and kneels behind the tub. He won't treat him like a child, he can wash himself with the bar of soap Jiang Cheng has just tossed in. But his hands go to his hair, all those intricate braids undone and ruined after the chaos of the last few hours. Carefully, he pulls at them, undoing ties and unwinding whatever's left.]

It's called seeing the kraken, your first battle. Because you'll never forget it, and nothing readies you for it.

[Huaisang is too shaken to be embarrassed; ah, aware of his nudity, sure, but there are more pressing concerns. He takes the soap to wash, shifting to angle himself more comfortably for Jiang Cheng to handle his hair. This kraken thing...]

You warriors aren't creative at all.

[There's almost an edge of genuine humor in his voice then, while he focuses on scrubbing himself clean and Jiang Cheng's hands in his hair while the long ends of it are wet in the bath and stick to his shoulders. One thing at a time.]

I'm not sure I actually fought anyone...

You were still in it.

[That's firm. Honestly, a kill count ceases to matter unless you've got a good reason for it. Someone like Nie Mingjue might keep track to see if he's improving; someone like Xue Yang keeps track because he's psychotic. Jiang Cheng doesn't keep track, because any Wen dead is a good thing, no matter how many or few he manages.

There. All loose, and he runs his hands over Huaisang's neck, gathering his hair carefully. His initial thought had been to simply braid it back the way it was, but hm, he hasn't that patience or knowledge for that. So, instead . . .

Instead, the braids the Jiang clan wears: two thick ones starting from the temple and sweeping back.]

Whatever you have to do, whatever helps . . . no one will speak of it.

[They might later, of course. But there isn't a man alive who isn't utterly changed by his first battle. Besides: the Nie disciples are well aware of who Huaisang is.]

I don't know... I don't know what to do.

[All he knows right this second are soap and hair, and he bows his head forward some to accommodate whatever Jiang Cheng is doing to it back there. He wants to go back to Qinghe, he wants to stay here with Jiang Cheng— he wants to sleep for a hundred years, but soap first.]

What do you think?

[Throwing up in a bucket is great advice and he'll be taking it sooner or later, but what else?]

[What had he done, beyond vomit? He barely remembers. It blurs in his mind, a chaotic swirl of photographic flashes. He'd cried, he remembers that. He'd shoved his hand over his mouth and bawled, shoulders shaking, trying not to hyperventilate-- or at least do so silently.

What else? He'd stayed up all night. He'd held Sandu tightly, curling around it like a child, wishing desperately it was someone, anyone.

He'll bring him to bed soon. But for now, he's busy braiding, his fingers rough, trying not to yank unnecessarily. His mouth tightens as he tries desperately to think of what to say, what other advice he can offer, but nothing comes to mind.]

Start with finishing the bath. I'll bring you something to eat soon.

[That's not quite the direct instruction Huaisang might have been hoping for, but it's all he has right now.]

[Hmm— it works, at least. Huaisang feels like his mind is clearing, like he can think instead of just hearing the sounds of battle repeating over and over, and that much right now is... dangerous! He doesn't want to think! He wants to focus on soap, and listen to Jiang Cheng talk, even if he's just going to tell him what basic things to do.]

Can I have something else to wear?

[He's so not putting his bloody robes back on, so spare him some clothes that will dwarf him, thanks. Little steps.

He dips his hands under the water, rinsing... Hmm. The water isn't bloody, he notes idly, because he didn't manage to kill anyone. Would he even be capable of bathing himself if he had? Another thing he doesn't want to think about, stomach lurching— He takes a shuddering breath and wipes the back of one wet hand across his face just before the first tears can come. Ah-]

Talk to me, Jiang-xiong. About anything.

A bird camped over us a few days ago.

[He ties off the ends of those braids and stands, going to find him some inner robes. They are, alas, tinted purple, because everything he owns is purple, but on the other hand, they're soft and large and smell like Jiang Cheng, so. Not that bad a trade-off.]

It had a white belly. Brown feathers, but all speckled. Like a bird's egg.

[A Japanese grouse.]

It wouldn't shut up. It wasn't giving away our position, we were too well hidden for that, but it was a headache. So I sent one of the disciples up.

[It goes on and on. It's honestly a fairly boring story, said only because birds and Huaisang are an automatic association, and he'd thought of one when he'd had to endure the other.

He looks away as Huaisang dresses, wrapping the too-big robe tight around his body (which in any other context would be fantastic, he notes distantly). When he's done, Jiang Cheng crosses over to the mat that serves as his bed, sitting there with his legs stretched out before him.

And much like Huaisang had silently opened his arms that one night months ago, so too is Jiang Cheng silent as he jerks his head: come here, next to him or against him, it really doesn't matter.

He'll keep talking if that's what it seems Huaisang wants. But he isn't so sure it is right now, as the tension slowly coils and something feels approaching a breaking point.]

[It's a terrible story about nothing at all, but Huaisang is glad for it with every bit of him that's capable of feeling anything right now. It's Jiang Cheng's voice, steady and constant and close, and maybe a little bit of amusement that he's talking about a bird... The details aren't important; the action is what counts, and one hand goes idly to his hair once Jiang Cheng is finished, to feel what he's done there. Oh, and any other time he might have a whole host of emotions about his hair done up in the Jiang style...

The robe is too big yet comfortable, and enough boundaries have been set aside thanks to the horrors of battle already that Huaisang doesn't hesitate before sitting close to him and leaning heavily against his chest. He almost apologizes for his damp hair, but that would be silly.

Mingjue would think him foolish; the thought comes unbidden and then so do the tears, properly, and Huaisang is more of a quiet, trembling kind of crier than Jiang Cheng's whole-body sobs, but there's no hiding that he, too, collapses instantly in the arms of someone safe. Talk about some more birds... or don't? It's anyone's guess what would help, Huaisang's included.]

[There it is. Jiang Cheng hates crying, whether in himself or seeing it in others (he never knows what to do), but he's relieved at this. It's awful, but it's better than that terrible fragility. A little stiffly, he runs his hand over his back, the motion as soft as he can manage.]

There's three new disciples this year. Hua, Bao, and Zhihao. They're pathetic, every one of them. But Zhihao has some potential in archery, if he could learn to focus instead of showing off all the time.

[It goes like that: Jiang Cheng talking on and on about the students whose training he oversees. Who's good at what and who needs improvement; which students he thinks might burn out versus those who have potential. And when he grows weary of that topic, he turns to the petty squabbles he has to deal with: little things, things that really, truly, genuinely do not matter, but that somehow only he can decide over. Annoyances, sure, and his voice really is laced with irritation-- but more importantly, they're normal things. Things that have little to do with the here and now, but instead belong in a world outside of this hell.

His hand keeps moving against Huaisang's back all the while, his fingers absently tracing over the line of his spine again and again. When those tears seem to slowly abate, Huaisang's breath growing less ragged, though, he quiets.]

[It isn't what one might call a good cry, it's just a necessity, his body emptying itself of whatever it has left to give. Huaisang is dimly grateful that he hasn't needed the bucket, even if the trade-off is apparently his throat burning and his years coming until he has no more left. He will live, which is something; he'll have to go home as soon as he can, to see if Mingjue is alright, but later, when he can move again.

It takes him a moment to stir when Jiang Cheng falls silent, wiping his face on his borrowed sleeve and look up at him. Don't mind how terrible he looks. He doesn't know what he wants to say; something about Jiang Cheng's disciples? The battle? Going back to Qinghe? Hmm—]

You still have my pin.

Of course I do. Did you think I'd lose it?

[It comes out more gruffly than he intends, his awkward prickliness rushing in as the immediate crisis passes. His hand slips up to grip Huaisang's upper arm, thumb stroking against him, as he stares down at him.]

You'd kill me if I didn't return it. Right? Or your brother would.

[. . .]

He'll be okay, Huaisang.

[Not Nie-xiong, not what he should call him, but intimacies can be allowed, right? Besides: they're a little past the point of propriety. They've both bawled on each other, it's fine.]

Edited 2020-04-01 19:40 (UTC)

[He's dressed improperly and everything; propriety is dead. Huaisang sighs and curls tighter against him again, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his lips for that hairpin and Jiang Cheng's stupid, stupid reaction. That's what he needed, yes...

The informality? Very sweet, very comforting - and of course, he assumes it will end the moment they leave this tent, so it's probably alright to indulge in it now.]

I said he wouldn't kill you...

[But before he can start crying again--] Come to Qinghe when you can. I don't know how much fighting is left.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject