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( Dam of his settled mind is roundly cracked, and thoughts spill, spill inundating. Drench and drown him. He does not heal well, wracked with the guile of feigning all well to Kafka and guilt inherited in this scarred, soured flesh. He fumbles through his convalescence, balance and dexterity slower to resurface, but he remembers himself, the shapes Blade occupies. The purpose.
Days bleed into each other, a rapid, dripping succession. At times he remembers their passage. Now and then, he is startled into the realization, between one hunt successful and the next stalled, that weeks have passed. In between, his stomach curdles with the quiet, frigid certainty that he remains unmoored. He was anchored, fleetingly, in a medical ward, days — a month prior. Another world. Another's man's lifetime.
And with him —
The hunger comes in the light of a fire, sweet pungent benzene and combusted fuel. He is told — and who is with him? where? — to run. Keep low for some time. They left evidence. Worse, Elio advertised the roaring success of their venture. He is not told where to go: head emptied, pay account full. Ashes snow down his hair, he is wanted everywhere. He goes — south.
Nebulous, dormant coordinates, the instinct to go like a twitching, animal thing. He does not know what he will find — it emerges, a perfectly bland, sedate and sleepy world, caressed by the technological successes that have traditionally repelled the Legion. Romantic in the clean pale lines of ornate architecture, the treacle of manicured waterways littered around a city of sorts.
From the people, he learns nothing about what drew him here, only accepts their sickly politesse and, on whim, several travel bottles of the local wine. Too sweet, he learns on a sip, for regular consumption. Just mellow enough to ease him into a state of serene, learned lethargy. And he walks, flitting between locations, muscle memory serving as a direction. Lie low, they said: of course, he climbs high. He finds himself on a perch, little more than a risen dais on a hillside beholding the cityscape, in the quiet of what must have once served as an aerial landing platform for urban fliers. There's a beauty of symmetry in it, the quiet of a white moon, the silvered tops below, the bleeding of the luster like that of his time.
He drinks. And he drinks. And he drinks — and he does not flinch, strange even to himself, when a shadow crosses his, when he knows its shape. Dan Fe — ...no. The moon's gravid and watchful, his latest bottle — the third — half full. He offers it out, hand slack, behind himself without thinking. )
You might as well. You won't run faster than I can catch. ( A courtesy warning. )
Days bleed into each other, a rapid, dripping succession. At times he remembers their passage. Now and then, he is startled into the realization, between one hunt successful and the next stalled, that weeks have passed. In between, his stomach curdles with the quiet, frigid certainty that he remains unmoored. He was anchored, fleetingly, in a medical ward, days — a month prior. Another world. Another's man's lifetime.
And with him —
The hunger comes in the light of a fire, sweet pungent benzene and combusted fuel. He is told — and who is with him? where? — to run. Keep low for some time. They left evidence. Worse, Elio advertised the roaring success of their venture. He is not told where to go: head emptied, pay account full. Ashes snow down his hair, he is wanted everywhere. He goes — south.
Nebulous, dormant coordinates, the instinct to go like a twitching, animal thing. He does not know what he will find — it emerges, a perfectly bland, sedate and sleepy world, caressed by the technological successes that have traditionally repelled the Legion. Romantic in the clean pale lines of ornate architecture, the treacle of manicured waterways littered around a city of sorts.
From the people, he learns nothing about what drew him here, only accepts their sickly politesse and, on whim, several travel bottles of the local wine. Too sweet, he learns on a sip, for regular consumption. Just mellow enough to ease him into a state of serene, learned lethargy. And he walks, flitting between locations, muscle memory serving as a direction. Lie low, they said: of course, he climbs high. He finds himself on a perch, little more than a risen dais on a hillside beholding the cityscape, in the quiet of what must have once served as an aerial landing platform for urban fliers. There's a beauty of symmetry in it, the quiet of a white moon, the silvered tops below, the bleeding of the luster like that of his time.
He drinks. And he drinks. And he drinks — and he does not flinch, strange even to himself, when a shadow crosses his, when he knows its shape. Dan Fe — ...no. The moon's gravid and watchful, his latest bottle — the third — half full. He offers it out, hand slack, behind himself without thinking. )
You might as well. You won't run faster than I can catch. ( A courtesy warning. )
[ dan heng's memories of his past life are hazy. they always have been. he does not remember bits and pieces clearly - there is a fuzzy haze about it all, a surreal fog that clouds his mind when he tries too hard to grasp at them. and like trying to remember a dream, the more he attempts to recall, the more it all slips away like grasping sand too tightly in his hand.
so he does not attempt it. the most important memories are those that he is making right now. those that belong to dan feng are of his past life, and while he does not try to run from them any longer, neither does he deny them. he has found a balance, some sort of peace with what he can and cannot recall, a respect for the past without the need to dig too deeply.
yet sometimes things stir within him, and his footsteps draw him places without his input, led along by a string of thread around his heart and the vague gesture of a memory that clings and will not relent. when he lays eyes upon blade's slumped shoulders he knows that it was the ghost in his bones that led him here, for dan feng's memories of the quintet are the strongest that remain, the ones that hold on tightly and hook into his mind, unwilling to dissolve. for all the pain and torment that dan feng faced at the end of his life, it is not those reflections of agony that grasp on the hardest, but instead the warmer memories, the faces and voices of the people that he loved. ]
I could get a head start.
[ but he does not run, there is no reason to. their last meeting had ended abruptly, but dan heng has not forgotten the words exchanged, nor the sentiments that hung thick in the air between them. the bone-deep chilling fear that he once had for this man has dissipated, chipped away by time and knowledge, by reflections in the water. yingxing. the man who meant most to his predecessor.
stepping forward, dan heng leans to take the bottle, then settles himself down beside the man, sitting with one leg folded beneath him. the scent of the drink drifts, sharp and sour, but rather than drink from the bottle he takes up one of the small abandoned cups, pouring for himself. ]
I remember this place.
so he does not attempt it. the most important memories are those that he is making right now. those that belong to dan feng are of his past life, and while he does not try to run from them any longer, neither does he deny them. he has found a balance, some sort of peace with what he can and cannot recall, a respect for the past without the need to dig too deeply.
yet sometimes things stir within him, and his footsteps draw him places without his input, led along by a string of thread around his heart and the vague gesture of a memory that clings and will not relent. when he lays eyes upon blade's slumped shoulders he knows that it was the ghost in his bones that led him here, for dan feng's memories of the quintet are the strongest that remain, the ones that hold on tightly and hook into his mind, unwilling to dissolve. for all the pain and torment that dan feng faced at the end of his life, it is not those reflections of agony that grasp on the hardest, but instead the warmer memories, the faces and voices of the people that he loved. ]
I could get a head start.
[ but he does not run, there is no reason to. their last meeting had ended abruptly, but dan heng has not forgotten the words exchanged, nor the sentiments that hung thick in the air between them. the bone-deep chilling fear that he once had for this man has dissipated, chipped away by time and knowledge, by reflections in the water. yingxing. the man who meant most to his predecessor.
stepping forward, dan heng leans to take the bottle, then settles himself down beside the man, sitting with one leg folded beneath him. the scent of the drink drifts, sharp and sour, but rather than drink from the bottle he takes up one of the small abandoned cups, pouring for himself. ]
I remember this place.
( Two knives sharing a sheath, blades yet sharp enough to cross and batter one another. Even at willful peace, there is an element of friction, the possibility of war. Dan Heng assumes his seat beside Blade, dressed in gaunt moonlight, and Blade sees him, wan and frail and reduced in ways in which his predecessor would not have permitted. He wore your bones better.
Strange, how the same flesh can be a trifling accessory, ill used. Even Dan Heng's grasp of the cup is more tentative, less fluid. As if he dances around the motions, sooner than accepts them. This place eviscerates them to reach the innards of their memories. And Dan Heng, at least, remembers. )
I do not. ( Not with the surgical sharpness of distinct memory, not with purpose. Diffused, foggy, distant. He hesitates, then corrects himself: ) Deja vu. It feels — known.
( He drinks, once more thick, overly pleasant, warming his fingers, the tail of his spine. Finding house and kindle in him. )
I should wring your neck. ( Then, in that same breath, conversationally: ) You might have brought your own wine.
Strange, how the same flesh can be a trifling accessory, ill used. Even Dan Heng's grasp of the cup is more tentative, less fluid. As if he dances around the motions, sooner than accepts them. This place eviscerates them to reach the innards of their memories. And Dan Heng, at least, remembers. )
I do not. ( Not with the surgical sharpness of distinct memory, not with purpose. Diffused, foggy, distant. He hesitates, then corrects himself: ) Deja vu. It feels — known.
( He drinks, once more thick, overly pleasant, warming his fingers, the tail of his spine. Finding house and kindle in him. )
I should wring your neck. ( Then, in that same breath, conversationally: ) You might have brought your own wine.
[ dan heng would be inclined to agree. there are times when he does not feel like himself, where his limbs seem to move on their own, guided by the touch of another, by old memories that linger in his blood. though he retains much of dan feng's grace and elegance, dan heng lacks much of the proud confidence that his predecessor had boasted, and it comes through quite easily. he has no station to cling to, no lineage to take pride in, only fractured memories and a lifetime of horrors.
but he lifts the cup nonetheless, taking a careful sip, allowing the alcohol to sit on his tongue, and burn down his throat. even the flavor of it is nostalgic, stirring gentle fondness. ]
It has always been your task to bring the wine.
[ he says it without thinking, but knows it to be true instantly. dan feng, haughty as he was, had thought that his presence was all the gift that needed to be presented - it was up to yingxing to bring the source of their more earthly pleasure. he lifts his eyes to the bright visage of them moon. ]
It's beautiful here.
but he lifts the cup nonetheless, taking a careful sip, allowing the alcohol to sit on his tongue, and burn down his throat. even the flavor of it is nostalgic, stirring gentle fondness. ]
It has always been your task to bring the wine.
[ he says it without thinking, but knows it to be true instantly. dan feng, haughty as he was, had thought that his presence was all the gift that needed to be presented - it was up to yingxing to bring the source of their more earthly pleasure. he lifts his eyes to the bright visage of them moon. ]
It's beautiful here.
( To think, a mouth so trembling and small and lost can acquire such a conceit of certainty. Blade's task. No — that man's, corpse bound. The vessel in which the wine of Blade's rancor has been filling to bitter brim. He thinks to correct the assumption, on principles of pride. Thinks to elbow this willow of a man straight down off the stone palisade. Thinks to ruffle his hair or tear it off his scalp.
He does not suit ruminations. Wine, then. Wine and old yearnings and laughter like a rusted knife. Drink scalds his throat, wherever it's gone so often, indefatigably torn then stitched afresh. Beautiful, says Dan Heng, and it seems only pedestrian compared to moons glimpsed prior off the same perch. )
Why did we come here? ( Then. Now. He should decide — ) These are only the bones of a place. ( He lives and breathes among cadavers. Is, himself, only a revenant. ) There must be a thousand places with a thousand moons better than this. Why here?
( You chose it, he doesn't say, because he cannot imagine himself a creature of such playful whim, such joy as to draw them to this destination. )
He does not suit ruminations. Wine, then. Wine and old yearnings and laughter like a rusted knife. Drink scalds his throat, wherever it's gone so often, indefatigably torn then stitched afresh. Beautiful, says Dan Heng, and it seems only pedestrian compared to moons glimpsed prior off the same perch. )
Why did we come here? ( Then. Now. He should decide — ) These are only the bones of a place. ( He lives and breathes among cadavers. Is, himself, only a revenant. ) There must be a thousand places with a thousand moons better than this. Why here?
( You chose it, he doesn't say, because he cannot imagine himself a creature of such playful whim, such joy as to draw them to this destination. )
[ why? dan heng presses his lips together. ]
I don't know. I think..
[ a faint furrow appears in dan heng's brow, the memories flitting frustratingly out of reach. why here? surely there is a reason. he feels it. yet the more he tries to chase the reason, the further it dances away, so instead dan heng drops the thought, leaving the thread to fall. he looks forward again, over the dark water, where the heavy moon above reflects its bright visage. ]
.. this was the first place.
[ the first place they drank together, just the two of them, without the others. a night that saw them growing close to one another. discovering. searching. dan heng feels a warmth tighten in his chest that does not belong to him, yet does belong to him. ]
I don't know. I think..
[ a faint furrow appears in dan heng's brow, the memories flitting frustratingly out of reach. why here? surely there is a reason. he feels it. yet the more he tries to chase the reason, the further it dances away, so instead dan heng drops the thought, leaving the thread to fall. he looks forward again, over the dark water, where the heavy moon above reflects its bright visage. ]
.. this was the first place.
[ the first place they drank together, just the two of them, without the others. a night that saw them growing close to one another. discovering. searching. dan heng feels a warmth tighten in his chest that does not belong to him, yet does belong to him. ]
( The first place. The last, also? In truth, he cannot say. So often does the Vidyadhara — he of the likeness, if not the claim — say that he recalls nothing through the fog of another's passage, that he is a man reborn. Yet he knows this, in the blood and the marrow of him. He hears calls that once deafened Dan Feng, knows the same summons.
They drink together for a moment as intimate as the breaking of bones, in clicks, in creaks, in agony. Sweet, their wine, deceptively peaceful. Little cries of whatever trinket of a creature crosses the dark horizon on dark wings. Blade's teeth are gritted, and his pulses dances beats of tension on his temples.
He flings his arm, all at once, to collide their cups together in a quiet toast, leg skidding off the perch to broker new balance when he retreats back to himself. )
This does not hurt. ( As if it should have, carnally and intrinsically. As if parts and the whole of himself should have torn and scattered. )
[ as much as dan heng would like to admit that he bears no memories of his past self whatsoever, that simply is not the case. thanks to the meddling of the preceptors and their vicious exuviation charm, dan heng is a fractured man, a shattered mind, and though his thoughts and memories are usually his own, dan feng's seep in through the cracks in his psyche, like old dreams that do not fade. they feel strange and foreign, and yet entirely his own as well, like putting on a pair of gloves that he does not recognize, yet fit perfectly tailored over his hands.
it's an awful feeling, and a terrible existence, to always be overshadowed by someone greater than you, to never be able to escape his long reach. he experiences dan feng reflected in jing yuan's somber eyes, in blade's harsh expression, in jingliu's cold voice. even when he is alone, he feels the ghost of his predecessor.
the snap of their cups together shakes dan heng from his reverie, his eyes flicking open again, and he looks toward blade's bandaged hand holding the cup, mildly perturbed. lifting his head, he looks to blade's profile, handsome and sharp as the edge of a knife, those fearsome eyes aglow in the dimness of the night around them, eyes that he once saw in his nightmares, again and again. a deep inhale. ]
.. I cannot be him, for you. Even if I wanted to be.
[ for the truth of the matter, dan heng is not dan feng - in many ways he is both. neither a new person nor the person left behind, but something different, an amalgamation of old memory and new experience. the way he has lived his life, and all the events that have occurred since his rebirth, have shaped him into something different from the once proud high elder, something that can never fully be the same.
dan heng takes another drink, then carefully refills both of their cups, his voice soft, gentle. ]
.. but I can be myself, for you.
it's an awful feeling, and a terrible existence, to always be overshadowed by someone greater than you, to never be able to escape his long reach. he experiences dan feng reflected in jing yuan's somber eyes, in blade's harsh expression, in jingliu's cold voice. even when he is alone, he feels the ghost of his predecessor.
the snap of their cups together shakes dan heng from his reverie, his eyes flicking open again, and he looks toward blade's bandaged hand holding the cup, mildly perturbed. lifting his head, he looks to blade's profile, handsome and sharp as the edge of a knife, those fearsome eyes aglow in the dimness of the night around them, eyes that he once saw in his nightmares, again and again. a deep inhale. ]
.. I cannot be him, for you. Even if I wanted to be.
[ for the truth of the matter, dan heng is not dan feng - in many ways he is both. neither a new person nor the person left behind, but something different, an amalgamation of old memory and new experience. the way he has lived his life, and all the events that have occurred since his rebirth, have shaped him into something different from the once proud high elder, something that can never fully be the same.
dan heng takes another drink, then carefully refills both of their cups, his voice soft, gentle. ]
.. but I can be myself, for you.
( Can he consume this much wine without consigning his innards to an acidic bath? He is bound all rancor and gristle bound with cheap, thin strings. At times, the simplest biological protocol propels the tentative balance of his being into chaos. He does not remember —
But takes his chance. Drinks, after Dan Heng pours. Again, more to occupy himself than savor the sweetness, when the Vidyadhara speaks again. )
A tree bare in winter or shrouded in springtime. ( Gilded hanks or fractured dermis, torn scales or reborn flesh: this is Dan Feng, Dan Heng, the Vidyadhara. Eyes that burn and linger and should go gouged out.
I'd keep them, he suspects, but doesn't speak words Dan Heng ever finds threatening or idle, and not the phantom attraction of bone to marrow. He finds — ever finds, always awakens to himself, wolfish traitor in lamb's skins — himself reaching out, fingers frail and burdened by chills that turn them waxy and wan, no longer privileged of all the nerve endings that once facilitated circulation. These are the benedictions of his... condition: he is no shadow of himself, but a sum of scabs, core burning with purposes his limbs struggle to deliver. An outdated model. Ready to take out in the back.
His thumb does not meet the corner of Dan Heng's eyes, barely grazes the slope of a cheek; withdraws, as if burned, dismissing whatever rigors of fancy and madness entertained the possibility of contact. Were this not Dan Feng to whatever degree — were this a creature less lethargic — Blade would also find himself without a hand, for his trouble. )
You are yourself. You are the same. ( A pause, then rasping: ) An archive is a cage. It does not suit you. You'll suffocate. You must be, already.
[ a rebirth, a new identity, memories so faded and unfamiliar that they could never feel like his own.. yes, he is himself, but he is not the same. too much has changed. is a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis the same as the caterpillar that wove it? yes. and no. dan feng was broken down and melted anew, perhaps this is something that blade will never understand, and so dan heng will not argue it further. perhaps he is the one who is wrong, but his heart guides him otherwise.
yet even still, he no longer runs from dan feng's sins, but accepts them as his own, even if he will not give his life for them. a soul sin is a soul sin, and it stains him nonetheless, but he will nevertheless assert his right to be himself. ]
I am not confined to the Archives.
[ he says quietly, watching blade's hand withdraw, a warm tingling left behind on his skin where that thumb brushed him. his mouth presses into a thin line. ]
Aboard the Express, I see the universe. The endless expanse of stars is my home. It is a freedom that I never thought that I would know.
[ when first he beheld the vast ceiling of stars, he had wept, having known only the cold walls of his cell for a century or more. frigid isolation. his heart tightens behind his ribs; it is unfair that blade should suffer still for the same sin that dan heng has been unshackled from, but would he ever be willing to lay down that burden? remembering that night on the thin hospital mattress, dan heng lays his free hand over the back of blade's, carefully weaving their fingers. ]
.. you could see it sometime, perhaps.
yet even still, he no longer runs from dan feng's sins, but accepts them as his own, even if he will not give his life for them. a soul sin is a soul sin, and it stains him nonetheless, but he will nevertheless assert his right to be himself. ]
I am not confined to the Archives.
[ he says quietly, watching blade's hand withdraw, a warm tingling left behind on his skin where that thumb brushed him. his mouth presses into a thin line. ]
Aboard the Express, I see the universe. The endless expanse of stars is my home. It is a freedom that I never thought that I would know.
[ when first he beheld the vast ceiling of stars, he had wept, having known only the cold walls of his cell for a century or more. frigid isolation. his heart tightens behind his ribs; it is unfair that blade should suffer still for the same sin that dan heng has been unshackled from, but would he ever be willing to lay down that burden? remembering that night on the thin hospital mattress, dan heng lays his free hand over the back of blade's, carefully weaving their fingers. ]
.. you could see it sometime, perhaps.
( A foolish thing to clasp his hand, to take Blade as his for the knowing. He thinks, Dan Heng's fingers wrapped to shield his own and the print of his touch frail, burning, that he should snap every bird bone, twist and turn it. Wants to, viscerally.
Rotates his hand instead, palm threatening a print of warmth against Dan Heng's, as if they are schoolchildren coming together again, dancing around affection. )
Your catacombs. ( The Archive, a dead-end for a creature that once prizes open skies and a moon bright and rights over nearby, clashing waters. To think he would be reduced to this, that Dan Feng would be so shackled, first by skins barely new, then by purpose estranged from his nature.
It changes nothing, but sparks his pity. Better the mercy of rapid euthanasia than a trickling entrapment. Surely, surely. )
How do you breathe in their cage? ( And does he want the answer tentative or kind? Does he hope the best for this creature, at the very least his dignity spared? )
Rotates his hand instead, palm threatening a print of warmth against Dan Heng's, as if they are schoolchildren coming together again, dancing around affection. )
Your catacombs. ( The Archive, a dead-end for a creature that once prizes open skies and a moon bright and rights over nearby, clashing waters. To think he would be reduced to this, that Dan Feng would be so shackled, first by skins barely new, then by purpose estranged from his nature.
It changes nothing, but sparks his pity. Better the mercy of rapid euthanasia than a trickling entrapment. Surely, surely. )
How do you breathe in their cage? ( And does he want the answer tentative or kind? Does he hope the best for this creature, at the very least his dignity spared? )
[ blade's hand moves beneath his, and dan heng wonders if he will slap his own away with a hiss - but no, instead it turns, palm to palm, and dan heng can feel the warmth of him even through his bandages, even through the glove and bracer that he still wears. something in his heart settles. he does not push for more, only holds that given hand snugly. ]
It is no cage. It is my home, now.
[ the only one he has ever really known, for the shackling prison had been many things, but it certainly had not been his home. but the express, and the people there.. they are his home. blade either refuses to accept this, or cannot understand it, dan heng is not sure which. ]
Being with my crewmates.. I imagine it is something like how Dan Feng and Yingxing had felt, among the quintet. I feel at peace there, with them.
It is no cage. It is my home, now.
[ the only one he has ever really known, for the shackling prison had been many things, but it certainly had not been his home. but the express, and the people there.. they are his home. blade either refuses to accept this, or cannot understand it, dan heng is not sure which. ]
Being with my crewmates.. I imagine it is something like how Dan Feng and Yingxing had felt, among the quintet. I feel at peace there, with them.
You know nothing of the quintet.
( Half growled, half permissive, all withering. The truth coalesces amorphously before him, reality a play-pretend veneer. He does recalls little and late and fractured, this is known. But Dan Heng, a creation of denial and uncertainty, knows far less still.
And they were beautiful, weren't they? Flowers of a long lost season, the relics of an era of glory and gladness. Shadows and mishappen shapes, but for telltale signals: the cut of Dan Feng's iridescent gaze, Jingliu's crisp step, Jing Yuan's air of crackling expectation. Baiheng, a burst of carefree delight. And then —
His fingers round, catching Dan Feng's forcibly, holding. Keeping in place. His other grip freed, he drinks as madmen might. )
They weren't fugitives. ( As Blade and Dan Heng are now, with silent inevitability. ) They reaped good.
( Until they didn't. And all that was justice and formidable victory and the achievements of the ages crumbled as nothing at their feet. )
( Half growled, half permissive, all withering. The truth coalesces amorphously before him, reality a play-pretend veneer. He does recalls little and late and fractured, this is known. But Dan Heng, a creation of denial and uncertainty, knows far less still.
And they were beautiful, weren't they? Flowers of a long lost season, the relics of an era of glory and gladness. Shadows and mishappen shapes, but for telltale signals: the cut of Dan Feng's iridescent gaze, Jingliu's crisp step, Jing Yuan's air of crackling expectation. Baiheng, a burst of carefree delight. And then —
His fingers round, catching Dan Feng's forcibly, holding. Keeping in place. His other grip freed, he drinks as madmen might. )
They weren't fugitives. ( As Blade and Dan Heng are now, with silent inevitability. ) They reaped good.
( Until they didn't. And all that was justice and formidable victory and the achievements of the ages crumbled as nothing at their feet. )
[ dan heng starts at the force of blade's response, mildly shocked, but he does not rise to the challenge.
they reaped good, perhaps, and yet in the end still broke themselves over the rocks. no one is perfect, except in fond memories, and the quintet were just as flawed as any other people, for all their formidable austerity. they were people. ]
My crewmates reap endless good.
[ is all he will say, for blade may malign dan heng's existence, but he will not drag down the astral express, the people who gave dan heng a home, a place, when he had no other. with his free hand, he drinks the rest of his cup, feeling the burn down his throat, and the hazy warmth of a buzz creeping in at the edges of his awareness. he gazes down at the empty cup, and gently tightens his grasp on blade's hand, unrelenting. ]
Tell me, then, if I know nothing.. tell me about them.
they reaped good, perhaps, and yet in the end still broke themselves over the rocks. no one is perfect, except in fond memories, and the quintet were just as flawed as any other people, for all their formidable austerity. they were people. ]
My crewmates reap endless good.
[ is all he will say, for blade may malign dan heng's existence, but he will not drag down the astral express, the people who gave dan heng a home, a place, when he had no other. with his free hand, he drinks the rest of his cup, feeling the burn down his throat, and the hazy warmth of a buzz creeping in at the edges of his awareness. he gazes down at the empty cup, and gently tightens his grasp on blade's hand, unrelenting. ]
Tell me, then, if I know nothing.. tell me about them.
( Tell me about them, and yet Blade too speaks as a one-eyed man among the perennially blind, contorted. He cannot define their long lost cohort for its only true remnant. Cannot peer into the dark to discover the amorphous shape of all those gone.
In dreams, they smile to him: Dan Feng with hubris, Jingliu unforgiving, Jing Yuan with the unnerving grimness he knows his mind supraimposes from a future then yet to come. And Baiheng —
He releases Dan Heng's hand as if bitten by a serpent's mouth, poisoned by his trickling filth. The question aches. No, the demand of it, a cage ironclad. Ah, what wretched things they are. What they have become. )
Jingliu... was fierce and feared. But noble. Jing Yuan stubborn, young and foolish. Promising. Baiheng...
( This, the old wound, bleeding its puss. Drip by drip by drip, and he looks on, looks away, looks fleetingly fragile on a face that can no longer accommodate such claims. )
Bubbling energy. Enthusiasm. Protectiveness. The best of all.
In dreams, they smile to him: Dan Feng with hubris, Jingliu unforgiving, Jing Yuan with the unnerving grimness he knows his mind supraimposes from a future then yet to come. And Baiheng —
He releases Dan Heng's hand as if bitten by a serpent's mouth, poisoned by his trickling filth. The question aches. No, the demand of it, a cage ironclad. Ah, what wretched things they are. What they have become. )
Jingliu... was fierce and feared. But noble. Jing Yuan stubborn, young and foolish. Promising. Baiheng...
( This, the old wound, bleeding its puss. Drip by drip by drip, and he looks on, looks away, looks fleetingly fragile on a face that can no longer accommodate such claims. )
Bubbling energy. Enthusiasm. Protectiveness. The best of all.
[ and just like that, the contact is broken, blade's hand yanked away as if dan heng's very touch had burned him. something aches deep in his chest, an old wound that isn't his own, a mourning, a deep longing to connect. for better or for worse, blade is a part of his past. they are bound to one another.
and yet the chasm between them seems so vast, and bridging it is difficult when one side resists. ]
I remember.. a little.
[ the best of them all.. no, dan heng thinks that they were all the best of them all. a band of misfits, all finding comfort in one another's company, lifting one another up, until everything broke apart in the end. but he will not voice as much, it won't help. both hands now fiddle with his emptied cup. ]
I cannot see them in my mind's eye, but I remember.. feelings. [ a beat, and he presses his lips together. ] Yingxing and Dan Feng.. they were close, weren't they?
and yet the chasm between them seems so vast, and bridging it is difficult when one side resists. ]
I remember.. a little.
[ the best of them all.. no, dan heng thinks that they were all the best of them all. a band of misfits, all finding comfort in one another's company, lifting one another up, until everything broke apart in the end. but he will not voice as much, it won't help. both hands now fiddle with his emptied cup. ]
I cannot see them in my mind's eye, but I remember.. feelings. [ a beat, and he presses his lips together. ] Yingxing and Dan Feng.. they were close, weren't they?
( What a strange, fickle thing, this cancerous growth of a man. How the sickness of his presence spreads throughout Blade's awareness, porously. He thinks, it must be intoxication, to breathe Dan Heng's presence and metabolize it from curse to kindness. Blade's body has mastered self-preservation to a knife's point of artful unambiguity.
And then, Dan Heng reminds him why their roads should not cross. He flinches, obediently petrified by the thought of what now eludes him, the quiet certainty crumbled at his feet. He has no memories to trust, can never be thoroughly confident, in command of himself.
The man he was, this Yingxing — was he as others claim him? He lets the question dally, simmer. Lets himself breathe, before he tips his head back, and the moon gazes back grudging and fearless, and he is found wanting again. )
My body knows yours. ( As if that should mean something to Dan Heng, to anyone who does not understand what it is to read truth only in subtle, fleeting indications. ) Your presence is... natural. Your biological rhythms are known. ( Through that damned bracer. And altogether, in other words: ) They were either uniquely synchronized for battle or — ...close.
( As Dan Heng so succinctly puts it. )
And then, Dan Heng reminds him why their roads should not cross. He flinches, obediently petrified by the thought of what now eludes him, the quiet certainty crumbled at his feet. He has no memories to trust, can never be thoroughly confident, in command of himself.
The man he was, this Yingxing — was he as others claim him? He lets the question dally, simmer. Lets himself breathe, before he tips his head back, and the moon gazes back grudging and fearless, and he is found wanting again. )
My body knows yours. ( As if that should mean something to Dan Heng, to anyone who does not understand what it is to read truth only in subtle, fleeting indications. ) Your presence is... natural. Your biological rhythms are known. ( Through that damned bracer. And altogether, in other words: ) They were either uniquely synchronized for battle or — ...close.
( As Dan Heng so succinctly puts it. )
[ dan heng listens, and refills his own cup again. ]
I.. thought as much.
[ the bracer connects them, yes, but so does something else, something far deeper and more primal, a thread between them too strong to break, however warped it has become. dan heng can feel it, the vibrations between them, the push and pull, the desire to be close to this man despite all that has happened between them. dan feng's longing for their connection to be strong again.
he doesn't reach for blade's hand again, not after he pulled away so fiercely, but he does remain close as he drinks again, the warm buzz beginning to set in, the edges of his awareness feeling warm, fuzzy. ]
Perhaps it was both.
I.. thought as much.
[ the bracer connects them, yes, but so does something else, something far deeper and more primal, a thread between them too strong to break, however warped it has become. dan heng can feel it, the vibrations between them, the push and pull, the desire to be close to this man despite all that has happened between them. dan feng's longing for their connection to be strong again.
he doesn't reach for blade's hand again, not after he pulled away so fiercely, but he does remain close as he drinks again, the warm buzz beginning to set in, the edges of his awareness feeling warm, fuzzy. ]
Perhaps it was both.
If nothing else, you are beautiful.
( He offers it mildly, grudging but resigned: attraction wouldn't be unreasonable. Dan Feng, Dan Heng, the same cursed eyes, the same heroically sculpted visage rescued from the paintings of a romance. A fine specimen of an already diabolically excellent species. There are moments when Yingxing feels like a wispy, nearby memory, an identity within reach; as if Blade might know, if never own his thoughts. And then, he is a stranger.
He is both now, when the moon sings down its blessings, and the night envelops them in strange comfort, and their wine dulls the edge of old hostility; but so very strange to imagine such two arrogant creatures as glad and willing bedfellows.
In the end, a rapid-fire surrender: Dan Heng, studiously, does not engage him, attending his drink as if a bashful bride beholden to safeguard her veil. Not a glance either way, not a question asked. Unbidden, on instinct lone, Blade reaches on this occasion, hand tentative when it hovers, then lands, then entwines with Dan Heng's own. Licks and snags of warmth, then the blanket of his claim.
He does not address the gesture. Does not flinch. )
Are you here to honor his feelings or your own?
( He offers it mildly, grudging but resigned: attraction wouldn't be unreasonable. Dan Feng, Dan Heng, the same cursed eyes, the same heroically sculpted visage rescued from the paintings of a romance. A fine specimen of an already diabolically excellent species. There are moments when Yingxing feels like a wispy, nearby memory, an identity within reach; as if Blade might know, if never own his thoughts. And then, he is a stranger.
He is both now, when the moon sings down its blessings, and the night envelops them in strange comfort, and their wine dulls the edge of old hostility; but so very strange to imagine such two arrogant creatures as glad and willing bedfellows.
In the end, a rapid-fire surrender: Dan Heng, studiously, does not engage him, attending his drink as if a bashful bride beholden to safeguard her veil. Not a glance either way, not a question asked. Unbidden, on instinct lone, Blade reaches on this occasion, hand tentative when it hovers, then lands, then entwines with Dan Heng's own. Licks and snags of warmth, then the blanket of his claim.
He does not address the gesture. Does not flinch. )
Are you here to honor his feelings or your own?
[ that is the question, isn't it?
dan heng does not pull away from the offered touch. blade is a feral cat, not easily befriended, not swiftly approached, and dan heng does not want to risk this tentative peace that they have built. but why? does he desire this for himself, or is it to appease the memories that exist within his mind, to end the longing, the suffering in his soul? does it matter?
after a moment's though, he hums, finishes his wine with his free hand, and sets it aside. his hand turns beneath blade's, palm to palm again, blade's hot as hellfires, dan heng's cool as an ocean breeze. ]
I don't entirely know, yet. I only know that I want to know you. That this feels.. good.
[ a gentle squeeze of their hands, and after a moment, dan heng leans his weight into blade's side. ]
I can't give you a clear cut answer, but - maybe we could meet again. More often. Then perhaps I can find my answer.
dan heng does not pull away from the offered touch. blade is a feral cat, not easily befriended, not swiftly approached, and dan heng does not want to risk this tentative peace that they have built. but why? does he desire this for himself, or is it to appease the memories that exist within his mind, to end the longing, the suffering in his soul? does it matter?
after a moment's though, he hums, finishes his wine with his free hand, and sets it aside. his hand turns beneath blade's, palm to palm again, blade's hot as hellfires, dan heng's cool as an ocean breeze. ]
I don't entirely know, yet. I only know that I want to know you. That this feels.. good.
[ a gentle squeeze of their hands, and after a moment, dan heng leans his weight into blade's side. ]
I can't give you a clear cut answer, but - maybe we could meet again. More often. Then perhaps I can find my answer.
( Meet again. With gusto, with frequency. Dan Heng's palm soothing his own, scars balmed by softness. Forget the impulse, the mission, the blood-anointed purpose. As if that would not make a mockery of her and a waste of Blade.
Dan Heng's wine exhausted, he is solicitous enough, if not to pour again from their depleted resources, then to carefully slip his own cup over to the Vidyadhara's side, in silent concession. Is this not what a friend would do, if friendship yet bound them? A lover, even more steadfastly? Drink, you fool. Only liquid courage seems to embolden Dan Heng to a point of eloquence, however ill bought. )
I shall kill you. ( Practical, certain. Perhaps, somehow, tired. ) It is — ordained. I cannot guarantee you armistice at every turn.
( A squeeze of Dan Henge's hand, convulsive. Then, Blade draws up their bound hands to set his mouth on the mountain chain of Dan Heng's knuckles, as if he is a penitent dog, begging the master's mercy. )
You should fear.
Dan Heng's wine exhausted, he is solicitous enough, if not to pour again from their depleted resources, then to carefully slip his own cup over to the Vidyadhara's side, in silent concession. Is this not what a friend would do, if friendship yet bound them? A lover, even more steadfastly? Drink, you fool. Only liquid courage seems to embolden Dan Heng to a point of eloquence, however ill bought. )
I shall kill you. ( Practical, certain. Perhaps, somehow, tired. ) It is — ordained. I cannot guarantee you armistice at every turn.
( A squeeze of Dan Henge's hand, convulsive. Then, Blade draws up their bound hands to set his mouth on the mountain chain of Dan Heng's knuckles, as if he is a penitent dog, begging the master's mercy. )
You should fear.
Mm. Perhaps I should. I did.
[ he feared blade so much and so deeply that the man haunted his dreams, shredded them to bloody, anxious nightmares. but now? now dan heng has learned so much, has experienced so much.. he can't bring himself to be afraid of this man, not anymore, even if it's foolish, even if in the end it spells his imminent demise.
blade's mouth feels hot as the forge when it presses to the line of his knuckles, sickeningly sweet in the face of all the violence that has festered between them. ]
I can't, now. I only want to sit beside you.
[ to be with him, in whatever capacity blade's caged-beast soul will allow.
gently, dan heng smooths his thumb along blade's jawline and over his lips, watching his profile for a moment before finally reaching with his free hand to refill his cup and drink again. ]
[ he feared blade so much and so deeply that the man haunted his dreams, shredded them to bloody, anxious nightmares. but now? now dan heng has learned so much, has experienced so much.. he can't bring himself to be afraid of this man, not anymore, even if it's foolish, even if in the end it spells his imminent demise.
blade's mouth feels hot as the forge when it presses to the line of his knuckles, sickeningly sweet in the face of all the violence that has festered between them. ]
I can't, now. I only want to sit beside you.
[ to be with him, in whatever capacity blade's caged-beast soul will allow.
gently, dan heng smooths his thumb along blade's jawline and over his lips, watching his profile for a moment before finally reaching with his free hand to refill his cup and drink again. ]
( To sit beside Blade, tempting the lion with scent of a fresh cut, blood boiling. There is an edge to this moment, vibrant and metallic and raw, and he tastes it, the intoxication of Dan Heng's fleeting touch and the scent of leathered paper. An Archive houses him now, a stale and dimmed and empty tomb, better suited for hungering ghosts. He reeks of that modesty.
And Blade, who has never entertained the Imbibitor Lunae as anything less than the tamer of the skies, finds his stomach convulsing at the thought, in a manner acidic. There is a wrongness to his confinement, to the brutality implicit in the silence and hiding of such a shrew.
Better dead than this (he does not speak this).
Better carved out on the road (he does not speak this).
Better — ...his hand reaches for the wine, cup half tipped in dreary, belated salute. )
You're not a courtesan. ( To be pouring Blade's wine solicitously and speak in softened tongues. ) You owe me nothing.
No, I do not.
[ he says smoothly, then drinks again from his own cup. the alcohol has warmed him to a soft flush, and he feels stronger for it, confident, powerful, dizzy. he leans in, pressed close to blade's side, resting his brow against the man's temple, so close he can smell the blood-steel scent that clings to him. ]
Perhaps it is you who owes me.
[ for the pain. the fear. the chase. for denying dan heng's identity, who he is, when blade himself has divorced himself so easily from his past.
yet even still, dan heng holds no grudge, has no real desire to make the man pay for the nightmares he has given him - only content to tease, a little, to provoke, to stir the molten heat already thick in the air around them. ]
[ he says smoothly, then drinks again from his own cup. the alcohol has warmed him to a soft flush, and he feels stronger for it, confident, powerful, dizzy. he leans in, pressed close to blade's side, resting his brow against the man's temple, so close he can smell the blood-steel scent that clings to him. ]
Perhaps it is you who owes me.
[ for the pain. the fear. the chase. for denying dan heng's identity, who he is, when blade himself has divorced himself so easily from his past.
yet even still, dan heng holds no grudge, has no real desire to make the man pay for the nightmares he has given him - only content to tease, a little, to provoke, to stir the molten heat already thick in the air around them. ]
( Debt, trade, exchanges. The warmth of Dan Fe — Heng plastered against him, warm like candle fire. Burning. Have waters any right? But he is Vidyadhara, creature eternal of right divine. He has learned nothing if not the arrogance of entitlement.
And it suits him, like the vapid beauty of the moons above suits ground bathing in desaturation. He was born, if not for the complicit intimacy of the moment, then for forcing it between them. A living, breathing thing that Blade's broken hands curl and unfurl, as if they might guide the chokehold.
Unbidden, he catches the cup from Dan Heng's hand, for all his own lies half-full and poised. Slow sips, demonstrative. Less to sate a thirst than remind his companion that in the way of their mutually negotiated world, Blade still dictates their terms. )
One of us has stabbed the other more often. ( If there is a debt that wants repaid, surely Blade has earned some credit. )
And it suits him, like the vapid beauty of the moons above suits ground bathing in desaturation. He was born, if not for the complicit intimacy of the moment, then for forcing it between them. A living, breathing thing that Blade's broken hands curl and unfurl, as if they might guide the chokehold.
Unbidden, he catches the cup from Dan Heng's hand, for all his own lies half-full and poised. Slow sips, demonstrative. Less to sate a thirst than remind his companion that in the way of their mutually negotiated world, Blade still dictates their terms. )
One of us has stabbed the other more often. ( If there is a debt that wants repaid, surely Blade has earned some credit. )
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