[ Hua Cheng sits with his chin in his hand, dully watching the bubble float by in time with Claude's own observation of it. He'll continue to enjoy this routine they've set up, as he just - heaves a sigh at the bubble's existence. There's a few more floating around them, leisurely, like they're just waiting for their moment. ]
They're everywhere. No matter where you go.
[ He sideeyes the one that's floating closer. Wow, he's done so much to avoid them. But it's Tuesday, and he has popped a good few of them since Monday. ]
They're easy enough to avoid if you can see them. (It's not like they're particularly fast or anything.) They're just... persistent.
(Like this one that keeps hovering nearby, sometimes coming close and at other times going beyond their reach above them. And now, it lowers again, settling neatly between them. He watches it, terribly unamused as it lingers in the space between them and starts to rise again...
(A boy in golden robes pushes aside his door, carrying a book in one hand a lantern in another. The room is large, extravagant, covered with ornamental rugs, beautiful silks, and colorful, moonlit glass.
He sets the candle down next to his bed and begins to pull back the sheets when he hears a voice drift in from the window, carried on a cool breeze. He sets down his book and goes over to the window's ledge, holding onto the curtain with one hand as he listens to a pair of guards on patrol down below, "I heard someone drugged his horse. Made it go mad while he was on it."
"Is that why the general has us on extra duties this month?"
"Someone might try to kill the prince again."
"Someone is always trying to kill the prince." He complains.
From his perch, the boy rolls his eyes. If the general or his parents really wanted to protect him, they'd give him guards that acted like guards instead of gossipy laundry maids. If they really wanted to protect him, they'd do something about that good for nothing vizier that kept trying to get him sent away for his "own good."
As he listens, he seems oblivious to the shadow moving behind him, slithering from under his bed towards the moonlight.
"Huh?" One of the guards hums, suddenly alert, and the boy leans further to see what he's looking at in the dark ahead. There's someone out there, he notices, and it's then that he tenses, realizing that the cloaked figure in the night is running away. They wouldn't escape if they thought there was work to be done. Something's already been done and it's then that the boy seems to realize there is something behind him.
He turns around and notices the black shadow rise from the ground. He recognizes the pattern on its diamond shaped head and he finds himself staring at its eyes— a vivid forest green meeting a burning red. His hand grips the curtain still and he freezes, careful not to make any sudden moves.
In the background, he hears the guards sounding an alarm, a fight breaking out, and down the hallways, he can hear heavy footsteps running towards his room. As soon as that door opens, he knows what will happen. The viper will strike. He'll fight while his blood burns and his heart races until it bursts and he dies in some stranger's arms. Dead only mere weeks after his twelfth birthday.
He refuses. He refuses. He refuses.
The door swings open, guards rush in, and as the viper strikes, the boy pulls at the curtain bringing everything down around him.
One guard swoops in, lifting the prince into his arms and pulling him away from the window. The others begin to search the room and the one closest to the window lets out a yelp when he sees the curtain writhing and hissing in the moonlight. He takes his saber and hacks at it. Pulling away the curtain, what's left is a writhing, dying creature.
(The memory fades, they return to their original setting, and Claude frowns. Another memory without any sound. It feels like he could fill in all of the words and yet, when he tries... the words don't come to mind. At least, not all of them.
They were talking about him. Again. People always talked about him back then but why did so many people care? He can't put his finger on it and already... he can feel details from the memory slipping away from him. It had been night time, he had a book, what was the book? What had the room looked like?
How annoying.
And yet, he doesn't seem too bothered as he takes a sip from his tea, )
[ Hua Cheng sits with his chin in his hand, having watched the memory in the position from the start as he held his tea in the other. Everything plays out - the gossiping guards, the viper in the dark that he watches with a keen eye as a young boy doesn't notice, the shadow rushing off into the night. It's not shocking.
He brings his tea up, taking a sip. ]
You probably didn't miss much. [ He can tell that there's something missing, from the experience. But he'll hold onto the memory, regardless, until there comes a time that Claude will be able to take it back. After all, that only seems fair.
... only seems fair.
As another bubble drifts closer, he watches it, for a bit. ]
Honestly, as far as things go, it ties in with a story that I was already told.
Does it? It must have been inspired by a true event.
(Setting his tea cup down, without a sound,)
It's too bad. If that creature had just been left alone, things would have been different. (It would have lived.) But some people just can't leave others alone.
So often the case. [ He's certainly sent others to do his work, but not anything that he himself had not already done, and not relying on a mindless animal. ] Interesting to think about how stories like that could end, if only things were shifted, just a little. Small changes to details.
[ But Hua Cheng... Hua Cheng picks up the spoon on his side, eye tracking the new bubble until it's close enough.
[ As everything tilts on its axis, a new memory spilling out with the fog, there is the sound of a child crying - big, hiccuping things and fat tears, apparent even with his face buried against a red-clothed woman. She's pale-skinned and beautiful, dark hair spilling around her shoulders as she strokes the child's back, each movement tinkling softly with the chimes of bells and charms on her clothes, around her wrists, her neck, her hair. For all the gentleness of her touch and soothing hushes, though, there's still something... other, something dangerous. Her dark eyes have something sharp to them, almost like the threat of a knife to your throat.
"Let me see that handsome face," she soothes, reaching around to pull back and take the child's chin.
When the child - a little boy, maybe five or six - looks up at her, there is one eye as dark as pitch like hers. The other, the right, a startling red, and not because of his tears. His face has fresh scratches, a new bruise blossoming on his right cheek, a split lip. "It's not... Mama..."
"And why would my H̕͠o̵n̶͡g̶̡͞-é̸r̀ argue with his mama like that? Hm?" the woman asks, taking the sleeve of her red, red robes and carefully cleaning his tears away. "Who would tell him these lies?"
Another hiccup, and the boy scrubs at his face. The fake independence of a child shamed, trying to cover everything up, miserably discontent, curling away. He mumbles something, covering the right side of his face in the end.
"Honǵ͏̸-͞èr."
"... monster," he mumbles again, before saying it with a little more strength, even as he hiccups. "I'm an - an ugly monster. A dirty... dirty mutt. That's what they s-said. That a-die s-should throw me out with the trash. 'cause that's where I belong."
The knife in her eyes sharpens, but even as she frowns, she takes his little fists in her elegant hands, smoothing her fingers over his split knuckles - just like that, the skin begins to stitch itself together again. "None of that is true, my darling, my treasure - whoever told you such lies, they are not worth your time, you must know this. Did you fight them?"
Another sniffle, his head lowering slightly. "... en."
"Good," she answers easily, reaching to brush his unruly hair back from his face. "H͏̧̀o̢n̴̡g̕-e̢̛͡r, don't ever let someone treat you as less than you deserve. Your future may be full of strife, but you decide your own fate, do you understand? There is no ominous star that you cannot take into your own hands."
As he's gathered into her arms again, pressed to her shoulder with all the tenderness and fierceness of a loving mother all at once, he tucks into her with a small nod. A kiss is pressed to his hair, and she rocks him with a quiet chuckle. "You'll stand at the top of the world, mark my words. And there will be no one that will show you such unkindness again."
The memory begins to fade on a lullaby in a low, mysterious voice, the words muddled in their meaning but their intent still there. Soothing, calming, almost a promise. ]
[ ... Hua Cheng takes another sip of his tea, his eye sliding away, past Claude, off to a point over his shoulder. The static still buzzes in his ears, but most of the memory itself is fairly clear otherwise.
He's really not sure what he's meant to expect with these bubbles. This, not so much. ]
(An ugly monster. A dirty mutt. Someone that doesn't deserve to live.
These are all words that are too familiar to him. These are things that immediately speak to his heart and he feels for this poor boy immediately because no matter how much he yells, fights, or tries to explain himself, he knows it will never be good enough for others.
And that's fine. He doesn't have to be good enough for them. With or without them, like that beautiful woman said, he would stand on top of the world.
The memory fades away and what's left is Claude, sitting across from Hua Cheng who had once been that little boy.)
She often was. [ His gaze stays on a fixed point beyond Claude, like he's reliving the memory, even with it having played so fresh for them, unprompted even with his consent to sharing - something. Hua Cheng could almost laugh, that the universe aligned to choose one that would resonate in such a way. ]
But in Zhongguo, the stars are vital to your life, your future. [ He supposes he'll tell him a big of a story, to go with the memory. ] Matchmakers use them to find your perfect partner, good fortune smiles on your business and home life under a prosperous star, even crops and weather are tied to the stars.
The Star of Solitude is one of the most ominous stars - destined to bring misfortune and destruction, the kind that evil loves most. [ His tone is flat, the kind that implies reciting something that you've heard over and over and over again. ] Destined to be alone, for the suffering that they bring upon any who come near, and whoever gets too close will lose their lives.
I came to learn that if fate was fortunate, then I would be very lucky; if fate was vicious, I would be very unlucky. My family would be dead, or disgusted with my very existence, all because of a curse laid upon me that was drawn in by the very star I was born under. In fact, it was predicted I wouldn't live past 18.
[ A beat, to take a polite sip of tea. ]
All true. But I had long decided to take my fate into my own hands, before my death. It turned out just fine. It turned out exactly as she said.
What's the point of living if everything is already decided from the moment you're born?
(That's his take from all of that. If someone was born under an unfortunate star and told there was never a chance to succeed, what would even be the point of living? It reminds him of those families that toss aside their children for not possessing Crests. And it brings to mind the Church dictating everyone's believes and lifestyles to the point the masses were blind and thoughtless. It reminds him of everyone who assumed he was weak and easy prey that wouldn't survive into adulthood.)
Well, you showed everyone.
(And another bubble passes by and idly, Claude taps at it.
The arrow hits the bandit between the eyes, knocking him down a set of ruined stairs. He lies on the ground, crumpled, his head bleeding as a blue haired girl lets out a startled shriek and scurries away, covering her mouth. She’s clearly distressed but a familiar face appears to to push her up the steps, away from the body. The two of them exchange some sort of words Claude, from his vantage point atop a rocky cliff can’t make out the words.
“Up there!” Another bandit yells and an arrow flies carelessly in his direction. Claude ducks behind a ruined pillar and readies his next arrow. Nearby, a soft looking boy whimpers and cowers behind what looks like the remnants of a wall. He clutches a bow tightly in his hands and shuts his eyes. Trembling and pale, the boy looks like he’s going to be sick.
Claude frowns, his brows knitting close together in sympathy. It’s not that he doesn’t care but there isn’t time for pity or patience right now, “We have to keep moving,” Claude insists, his voice calm and even.
“Claude…” He starts to plead, looking back at the battle unfolding below them.
“We need to provide cover for the others so they can meet up again.” Claude explains evenly, trying to redirect his attention. Bring him back to focus instead of that anxious, horrifying place he's going.
“— Did you...?”
That gets Claude to go quiet and his finger brushes against the feathers at the end of his next arrow, "Yeah," He replies. He killed him. "We were taken by surprise last time but… I guess this is what we can expect from battling thieves.”
“I can’t…”
“Then don’t.” He replies patiently, “But our friends are down there fighting for their lives right now, Ignatz. These bandits don’t care about your mercy. Trust me, if it hadn’t been for Teach last time, these guys would have killed me without a second thought. That’s why I can’t take any chances.”
The boy goes quiet, eyes staring down at the bow and arrow in his shaking hands. His eyes shine bright and he bites down on his lip and Claude is sorry. He’s so, so sorry he can’t do more in this moment. They don't have time to sit and talk deeply, offer reassuring words, and comfort.
“Ignatz, I know I’m your leader but I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Don’t worry about Teach. I’ll take care of everything. But whatever you decide to do? I support you.”
Anyone can take a life, he thinks, but not everyone can do it easily. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, maybe there’s something wrong with him for being able to do so without a second thought. But if he hadn’t, his friend below could be dead right now and if he had to choose between the stranger or someone so precious to him… he would choose his friend each time.
Down below, a woman cuts through the enemy, her sword slashing at bandits with a skill and confidence beyond that of her other allies. She calls out orders and moves expertly, quick to pull others from danger and cut down anyone who gets in her way. She doesn't react to the bloodshed, she doesn't care about the curses thrown at her.
One of her allies falters, hesitating mid-spell and she swoops in, delivering a killing blow. There's no time to hesitate. Stopping for a moment is the difference between life and death.
Of all of his allies, she's the one Claude's eyes keep wandering towards. He doesn't worry about her like the others. Instead, he watches her with... a sense of regard and curious fascination. She cuts down two bandits and a third leaps at her from behind. Claude fires his shot, his arrow zipping close to ear and hitting the man in right in the chest. The woman doesn't flinch and looks up at the direction of the shot, eyes staring blankly at Claude... and she nods before dashing off to the next enemy.
"Hah...." Claude laughs, watching her back and he moves his attention away, turning towards his less experienced allies. Another archer takes aim at Hilda.
Claude readies his next arrow, takes aim, and fires.
The memory fades and Claude pours himself another cup of tea. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
They're everywhere. No matter where you go.
[ He sideeyes the one that's floating closer. Wow, he's done so much to avoid them. But it's Tuesday, and he has popped a good few of them since Monday. ]
1/3
(Like this one that keeps hovering nearby, sometimes coming close and at other times going beyond their reach above them. And now, it lowers again, settling neatly between them. He watches it, terribly unamused as it lingers in the space between them and starts to rise again...
Only to take his spoon and poke at it,)
no subject
He sets the candle down next to his bed and begins to pull back the sheets when he hears a voice drift in from the window, carried on a cool breeze. He sets down his book and goes over to the window's ledge, holding onto the curtain with one hand as he listens to a pair of guards on patrol down below, "I heard someone drugged his horse. Made it go mad while he was on it."
"Is that why the general has us on extra duties this month?"
"Someone might try to kill the prince again."
"Someone is always trying to kill the prince." He complains.
From his perch, the boy rolls his eyes. If the general or his parents really wanted to protect him, they'd give him guards that acted like guards instead of gossipy laundry maids. If they really wanted to protect him, they'd do something about that good for nothing vizier that kept trying to get him sent away for his "own good."
As he listens, he seems oblivious to the shadow moving behind him, slithering from under his bed towards the moonlight.
"Huh?" One of the guards hums, suddenly alert, and the boy leans further to see what he's looking at in the dark ahead. There's someone out there, he notices, and it's then that he tenses, realizing that the cloaked figure in the night is running away. They wouldn't escape if they thought there was work to be done. Something's already been done and it's then that the boy seems to realize there is something behind him.
He turns around and notices the black shadow rise from the ground. He recognizes the pattern on its diamond shaped head and he finds himself staring at its eyes— a vivid forest green meeting a burning red. His hand grips the curtain still and he freezes, careful not to make any sudden moves.
In the background, he hears the guards sounding an alarm, a fight breaking out, and down the hallways, he can hear heavy footsteps running towards his room. As soon as that door opens, he knows what will happen. The viper will strike. He'll fight while his blood burns and his heart races until it bursts and he dies in some stranger's arms. Dead only mere weeks after his twelfth birthday.
He refuses. He refuses. He refuses.
The door swings open, guards rush in, and as the viper strikes, the boy pulls at the curtain bringing everything down around him.
One guard swoops in, lifting the prince into his arms and pulling him away from the window. The others begin to search the room and the one closest to the window lets out a yelp when he sees the curtain writhing and hissing in the moonlight. He takes his saber and hacks at it. Pulling away the curtain, what's left is a writhing, dying creature.
And the boy only watches sadly.)
no subject
They were talking about him. Again. People always talked about him back then but why did so many people care? He can't put his finger on it and already... he can feel details from the memory slipping away from him. It had been night time, he had a book, what was the book? What had the room looked like?
How annoying.
And yet, he doesn't seem too bothered as he takes a sip from his tea, )
Well, that could have been better.
(The memory. The whole experience. You know.)
no subject
[ Hua Cheng sits with his chin in his hand, having watched the memory in the position from the start as he held his tea in the other. Everything plays out - the gossiping guards, the viper in the dark that he watches with a keen eye as a young boy doesn't notice, the shadow rushing off into the night. It's not shocking.
He brings his tea up, taking a sip. ]
You probably didn't miss much. [ He can tell that there's something missing, from the experience. But he'll hold onto the memory, regardless, until there comes a time that Claude will be able to take it back. After all, that only seems fair.
... only seems fair.
As another bubble drifts closer, he watches it, for a bit. ]
Honestly, as far as things go, it ties in with a story that I was already told.
no subject
(Setting his tea cup down, without a sound,)
It's too bad. If that creature had just been left alone, things would have been different. (It would have lived.) But some people just can't leave others alone.
(Just can't let others live.)
no subject
So often the case. [ He's certainly sent others to do his work, but not anything that he himself had not already done, and not relying on a mindless animal. ] Interesting to think about how stories like that could end, if only things were shifted, just a little. Small changes to details.
[ But Hua Cheng... Hua Cheng picks up the spoon on his side, eye tracking the new bubble until it's close enough.
Pop. ]
no subject
"Let me see that handsome face," she soothes, reaching around to pull back and take the child's chin.
When the child - a little boy, maybe five or six - looks up at her, there is one eye as dark as pitch like hers. The other, the right, a startling red, and not because of his tears. His face has fresh scratches, a new bruise blossoming on his right cheek, a split lip. "It's not... Mama..."
"And why would my H̕͠o̵n̶͡g̶̡͞-é̸r̀ argue with his mama like that? Hm?" the woman asks, taking the sleeve of her red, red robes and carefully cleaning his tears away. "Who would tell him these lies?"
Another hiccup, and the boy scrubs at his face. The fake independence of a child shamed, trying to cover everything up, miserably discontent, curling away. He mumbles something, covering the right side of his face in the end.
"Honǵ͏̸-͞èr."
"... monster," he mumbles again, before saying it with a little more strength, even as he hiccups. "I'm an - an ugly monster. A dirty... dirty mutt. That's what they s-said. That a-die s-should throw me out with the trash. 'cause that's where I belong."
The knife in her eyes sharpens, but even as she frowns, she takes his little fists in her elegant hands, smoothing her fingers over his split knuckles - just like that, the skin begins to stitch itself together again. "None of that is true, my darling, my treasure - whoever told you such lies, they are not worth your time, you must know this. Did you fight them?"
Another sniffle, his head lowering slightly. "... en."
"Good," she answers easily, reaching to brush his unruly hair back from his face. "H͏̧̀o̢n̴̡g̕-e̢̛͡r, don't ever let someone treat you as less than you deserve. Your future may be full of strife, but you decide your own fate, do you understand? There is no ominous star that you cannot take into your own hands."
As he's gathered into her arms again, pressed to her shoulder with all the tenderness and fierceness of a loving mother all at once, he tucks into her with a small nod. A kiss is pressed to his hair, and she rocks him with a quiet chuckle. "You'll stand at the top of the world, mark my words. And there will be no one that will show you such unkindness again."
The memory begins to fade on a lullaby in a low, mysterious voice, the words muddled in their meaning but their intent still there. Soothing, calming, almost a promise. ]
no subject
He's really not sure what he's meant to expect with these bubbles. This, not so much. ]
no subject
These are all words that are too familiar to him. These are things that immediately speak to his heart and he feels for this poor boy immediately because no matter how much he yells, fights, or tries to explain himself, he knows it will never be good enough for others.
And that's fine. He doesn't have to be good enough for them. With or without them, like that beautiful woman said, he would stand on top of the world.
The memory fades away and what's left is Claude, sitting across from Hua Cheng who had once been that little boy.)
Well, (He takes a sip of tea,) She was right.
(Mothers usually are.)
no subject
But in Zhongguo, the stars are vital to your life, your future. [ He supposes he'll tell him a big of a story, to go with the memory. ] Matchmakers use them to find your perfect partner, good fortune smiles on your business and home life under a prosperous star, even crops and weather are tied to the stars.
The Star of Solitude is one of the most ominous stars - destined to bring misfortune and destruction, the kind that evil loves most. [ His tone is flat, the kind that implies reciting something that you've heard over and over and over again. ] Destined to be alone, for the suffering that they bring upon any who come near, and whoever gets too close will lose their lives.
I came to learn that if fate was fortunate, then I would be very lucky; if fate was vicious, I would be very unlucky. My family would be dead, or disgusted with my very existence, all because of a curse laid upon me that was drawn in by the very star I was born under. In fact, it was predicted I wouldn't live past 18.
[ A beat, to take a polite sip of tea. ]
All true. But I had long decided to take my fate into my own hands, before my death. It turned out just fine. It turned out exactly as she said.
no subject
(That's his take from all of that. If someone was born under an unfortunate star and told there was never a chance to succeed, what would even be the point of living? It reminds him of those families that toss aside their children for not possessing Crests. And it brings to mind the Church dictating everyone's believes and lifestyles to the point the masses were blind and thoughtless. It reminds him of everyone who assumed he was weak and easy prey that wouldn't survive into adulthood.)
Well, you showed everyone.
(And another bubble passes by and idly, Claude taps at it.
The memory fades and Claude pours himself another cup of tea. )
That seems like forever ago.
(His first kill.)