citylogs | november catch-all [open]

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november catch-all [open]

WHO: (

reflexio) & you!!
WHAT: November catch-all and obligatory "where tf am I" log
WHERE: Everywhere (Welcome Diner, ~~your~~ an apartment, city park, etc.)
WHEN: Early November
WARNINGS: adjusted as needed

a. diner.

[ Wandering about proves to be fruitless. Instead, Yi Sang retraces his steps to the station.

Only then does he notice the flyers with their bold headlines. "LOST? NEW?" Yes, those two adjectives certainly describe him. He glances at the message posted on the flyer, memorizes the directions printed on it, and follows them to --

He inspects the building before him. Definitely a diner, though he's not sure what he'd expected given the flyer's notation of "The Welcome Diner."

It's difficult to tell whether anyone's inside, but the restaurant gives off a warm vibe. It's just enough of a nudge to encourage him into pushing the door open. After all, a lead is a lead.

...something warm to eat would be nice too. ]

Excuse me. Is this The Welcome Diner?

[ The flyers said it would be The Welcome Diner. The sign outside also reads "THE WELCOME DINER." Ergo, this must be The Welcome Diner, but one can never be too cautious given the bizarre city. ]

b. ~~your~~ an apartment.

[ The first door he'd opened revealed an empty living room. Its white walls and freshly-vacuumed floor are welcoming, but there's something terribly unsettling about the empty room too.

Yi Sang shuts the door to avoid thinking about it too hard.

He leaves the building and tries the one next to it. Just like the previous apartment complex, there's no trace of a soul in the lobby. He wanders to one of its doors, slowly turning the door knob and it's... unlocked?

Perhaps there has been no need to install locks on these apartment doors.

He steps into the living room and, immediately, it's apparent someone lives here, or at the very least, someone had lived here. Should he have knocked? Well, too late for that. He spies a picture frame on the coffee table, lifting it into his hands. There's... nothing in it. Odd.

Something shifts behind him. The sudden noise catches Yi Sang off guard, picture frame slipping through his fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. ]

...my apologies. The door was unlocked.

[ Which isn't really a proper excuse, but it's the truth. ]

... Do you live here?

c. city park.

[ The expanse of lush green feels a bit out of place compared to all the buildings Yi Sang passed on his way here. And despite all the life contained within the flora, the lack of birds chirping is troubling.

Nevertheless, he's developed an affinity for the park over the past few days. It's peaceful for the most part, allowing him to recount what he's discovered so far: City Hall's record rooms? Empty. Tourist Center? Nothing of note. Greenhouse at the poison garden? Bad. Stuffed full of carnivorous plants.

A bound notebook lies open in his lap, a pen resting in its spine to mark his spot. Yi Sang uses one of his hands to keep the notebook flat. The other one, bandaged a bit haphazardly, rests in his lap.

Perhaps if one were to yell, he would lift his head to see who is calling for him. Otherwise, he appears deep in thought, a pensive frown on his face. ]

d. wildcard.

[ if none of these work, feel free to hmu for something more tailored! A PM is good or you can lmk here o7 ]

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[ Once again, new residents are brought to this city, and Yesod reports to The Welcome Diner as a substitute information kiosk, alternating between the establishment and City Hall Station — with the intention of providing genuinely useful information, as much as anyone can here, unlike the kiosks that have since vanished. On this day, too, he's stationed nearby to supplement the written resources compiled for newcomers to peruse. (Ostensibly, he's also greeting people, but others have that handled with a more welcoming manner.)

What he isn't expecting is this particular newcomer's need for additional confirmation of something that would have been mentioned on multiple flyers, as well as the sign outside. That said, it's possible that the stranger only learned of this location by word of mouth, in fact illiterate. ]

Yes. This is The Welcome Diner.

[ Welcome, Yi Sang. Even if Yesod continues to stand there with his arms crossed. ]

How can we be of help?

[ well— this is not really the scene you'd expect to walk into as soon as you step out of the toilet in the privacy of your home. it's one of those moments that would catch anyone off guard and denji looked a bit taken back, staring at the intruder as he, slowly, locked the door behind him. a bit of steam from the hot shower escaped before it was sealed shut, now staring at the man down the hall.

his hair is soaked, a towel rests on his shoulders. he is (thankfully) modest in a t-shirt and sweats. a frown sobers up his features, straightening his back. ]

... Yeah. [ and now for the very valid, justified question. ] What the hell are you doing here?

[ Indeed, it's a very valid, justified question. ]

...I see.

[ Yi Sang turns to face the apartment's resident, dipping his head in deference to the young man who's just stepped out of the shower. ]

My apologies, I did not intend to trespass. I had thought this apartment was unoccupied, much like the other buildings I came across nearby.

[ He glances at the broken glass strewn before him. This... certainly isn't the proper way to make a good first impression on someone. He kneels on the floor and plucks a couple of the shards off the ground, laying them in his palm. ]

...I shall take my leave once I have cleared all the glass, unless you would prefer that I do so immediately.

[ Good. The confirmation is certainly welcome, even if it's coming from a rather stern-looking man. ]

That is good then. ...I had observed the diner's notices and followed its directions.

[ Not to worry, Yesod. Yi Sang knows how to read.

He falls silent, considering the man's question. In truth, he'd simply searched for the diner because he was, in fact, both "NEW" and "LOST." ]

I... have not determined how you may be of help.

[ He didn't think that far ahead. Should he have arrived with a list of questions prepared?

Before he's able to drown further in his thoughts, his stomach lets out an agonizing growl. Seems like someone hasn't eaten since his arrival at the City. ]

[ guess who has two thumbs, is currently lying in the centre of the apartment floor that yi sang's just walked into, and is smiling like a wayward sunbeam when he walks in? yes, this thing. this thing over here.

in truth, hong lu had known it was yi sang. it's not difficult to. once you've been on a bus with strangers for a good part of your journey in the outside world, it's not difficult to notice such things. hong lu has always been good at telling footfalls apart. after all, back at the estate, that was often the only way to differentiate people from one another, and hong lu had, in his boredom, gotten used to listening to the footfalls outside of his room. the quick pitter-patter of the servants, gossiping as they go along. the butler's stately steps as he makes sure that the perimeter is clear and that hong lu's door was properly closed. the light heeled steps of his mother, the heavier, angrier footfalls of his second aunt. the careful dance of an assassin's slippers.

it had been a game. hong lu played with himself, so of course he always won. yi sang has footfalls that remind hong lu of a bird. less nervous in the sense of fear - rather perched so tenuously upon this earth that hong lu wouldn't be surprised if he took flight. but that was only after yi sang had gone through his memories and resolved that knot in his heart.

today's yi sang is like so. light-footed, with care born not from an abundance of caution but of a need not to disturb. hong lu, who can't be disturbed, lifts a hand to wave at him. ]

No, but I could. Yesod said that you can simply choose one of these apartments. Are you sure they're an apartment, though? They're a little cramped.

[ there is something terribly off about this guy. his reaction is far too mellow for someone who is intruding and committing a crime in the most invasive way possible, which is breaking into someone's home. so, why is he acting like they are discussing weather updates over coffee? such an underwhelming attitude.

denji makes a face while resting a hand on his hip; muttering 'weird one' under his breath. if the intent is to de-escalate the situation, then it might work in yi sang's favor. he ends up staring the intruder down as he picks up the glass with his bare hands— not the best idea, it's one way to invite some minor cuts, but denji won't stop him. ]

I guess you're new.

[ he then tilts his head, pondering over something. ]

Or, are you looking for someone?

[ He'd been far too distracted by the furniture's bizarre furnishings to notice the other man sprawled on the floor.

"No, but I could," says Hong Lu, which means this apartment doesn't belong to him either. Surely, this doesn't mean they're both trespassing on someone else's home? After all, this place certainly looks lived-in.

Yi Sang acknowledges his colleague with a quiet sigh. ]

They appear sufficiently spacious for one person.

[ In fact, it seems like there'd be enough space for two people.

Without wasting anymore time, Yi Sang bends to one knee and sets to plucking broken shards of glass off the floorboards. This could have ended rather poorly, he thinks, and he's lucky that none of the fragments ricocheted in Hong Lu's direction. He cradles them carefully in his palm. Their edges press against his callused hand, worn from years of piecing his inventions together gear by delicate gear.

He pauses in his work to cast an inquisitive glance at his current company. ]

Why do you lie upon the floor, Hong Lu? Surely, it is not for lack of a proper bed?

[ He works methodically, carefully arranging the shards in his palm. Where is the garbage can to dispose of them? Not a clue. Yi Sang hasn't thought that far ahead just yet.

Only when his company observes he must be new does Yi Sang turn his attention from the glass to the recently-showered person. He nods in response. ]

I am. ...from my rudimentary understanding of this City, it appears new residents arrive approximately each month.

[ His hands refrain from returning to their work as he considers the posited question. He hadn't been actively searching for anyone, but it wouldn't hurt to ask whether this person's spotted anyone familiar. ]

Have you witnessed any clad in a similar coat as mine?

[ A question for a question. He knows not that the resident of this apartment finds him a bit strange, but it's a fitting impression for one whose name can mean "odd." ]

Really? [ asks hong lu, even though it's yi sang saying it, so it must be true. he peers around again appraisingly. the walls are bare, the window is a person-sized thing gazing out onto the world. the world looks very small from here, and very far away. ] Oh, I've heard of people living in small, blank closets in order to feel more at peace. I think it was around this size?

[ sort of like a meditation room, though hong lu has never been in one of those himself. he's never liked closed off, little spaces all too much, and had been contemplating such before yi sang walked in. funny, however, that the space right now seems even smaller - but it also doesn't feel so bad.

yi sang begins picking up broken glass. hong lu observes, before he lets his smile curve once more. ]

I was looking at the ceiling. [ hong lu gestures up. the popcorn ceiling stares back down. ] The little dots on the ceiling seem like they're moving, but I don't think they are? It's so funny. Yi Sang, do you know why it's like this?

[ What? This living room is the size of a closet to Hong Lu? Yi Sang blinks owlishly at that information. The intricate details of each Sinners' lives were a mystery to everyone seated on Mephistopheles. All that was known of Hong Lu's background was that he hailed from a Nest and spent his days in a lavish estate, and that his older brother was intent on killing all of them.

...perhaps his closets truly were the size of apartment living rooms.

Yi Sang pauses in his work once he begins to consider Hong Lu's question, allowing a piece of glass to tumble from his fingers into his palm. ]

There are several answers that come to mind. Perhaps it is your vision that ails you, causing those dots to appear as if they are moving. If you have failed to consume a meal within a reasonable amount of time, the fatigue will cause your sight to blur. However, the likeliest explanation is that your eyes are attempting to focus on different targets, and each image perceived by each eye has overlaid itself. Your brain repeatedly attempts to seek a dot to focus on. That cycle is, I believe, what you are describing to me. The ceiling remains still, as do you, but you may feel as though the dots on the ceiling are shifting.

[ ...there must be a more succinct explanation. ]

Your eyes are... becoming confused. That is all.

[ Yi Sang's hands move again, dropping another shard into his hand. ]

Has that answered your question?

[ hm... hong lu considers the answer. as if your eyes are trying to track different targets, and it's getting confused... huh. the world is much like that, hong lu thinks. there was so much in it, so many new things to learn and to explore. you would need a lifetime to learn it all. most people had a lifetime to learn it all. but hong lu - he wanted to learn everything, experience everything, and so the world seemed ever in motion in his eyes. perhaps his eyes were getting confused trying to focus on more than one thing?

hong lu closes his one cyan eye. he endeavors to focus on just one of the dots. the ceiling swims. he laughs. ]

It does, it does. And it seems like I can't focus on a single dot after all.

[ cheerfully, hong lu holds up his hand to yi sang. ] Yi Sang.

[ Yi Sang almost always has an answer prepared for all of Hong Lu's questions. If not, he sets down whatever task is in front of him to go and search for a response. Thus, having answered his companion's question, he'd returned to his work.

It seems Hong Lu is not yet satisfied.

Plink, plink go the pieces of glass that trickle onto his palm, joining the rest of their brethren. He doesn't notice the hand stretched to him, far too engrossed in his task. Only when he hears his name does he lift his head, gaze hovering on Hong Lu's smile before shifting to the outstretched hand.

He gives Hong Lu a curious look as he reaches out with his empty hand, resting his fingertips within the other's palm. ...it's soft and nothing like his own. ]

[ plink, plink goes the glass in yi sang's palm. mirrors of made of glass, hong lu thinks. if you put all the pieces of glass back together, would the ensuring structure be comparable to the structure it once was? or do the cracks prevent it from reaching actualisation? or was that the right question? who's to say the cracked and broken pieces is what it has become, and therefore its actualised form?

yi sang takes his hand into his. yi sang is in motion. he has not yet actualised the full range of motion the gesture entails.

hong lu can help with that. this is hong lu, after all - so of course he drags yi sang down with him. one, sharp motion, as if drawing a sword from its sheath. ]

[ Hong Lu's hand closes around his -- and then he's falling, gathered fragments that settled in his other palm scattering onto the floor all over again.

Yi Sang blinks, taking a moment to recover and reassemble his thoughts.

Ah. The pieces of the empty picture frame are back on the ground. He frowns and rolls onto his side to face Hong Lu, dark irises meeting mismatched ones. He'll have to start picking everything up from the start once his hand is freed from the other's grasp. ]

Hong Lu, what was the purpose behind this?

[ He's not upset; he's simply perplexed. Yi Sang thinks there's a reason for everything, even when it comes to Hong Lu.

Based on the grip around his hand, it doesn't seem like Hong Lu will be letting go soon. Resigned to his new fate, Yi Sang shifts to get more comfortable on the floor. ]

[ the piece of shattered glass scatter across the floor like distant stars. hong lu laughs. yi sang falls, and his state of being translates into motion. it's nice that it's a good kind of fall, without any of them turning into goo or losing a limb in between, though hong lu wouldn't complain even if that were the case. he can hear yi sang thinking. yi sang things quietly, in the way of a humming machine in the background - but sometimes, the foray of his thoughts leave echoes of footfalls that hong lu can hear across the room, as if yi sang were pacing in the very small room that is the confines of his mind.

hong lu can understand how that feels. he lets yi sang think it through, lets him figure out which question he needs to ask to understand the situation he is now in. and then, because he is hong lu, the answer comes with a cheerful, sing-song lilt: ]

Come look at the ceiling with me. [ hong lu holds yi sang's hand. his other lifts to point up at the popcorn ceiling above. ] Could you focus on just one spot if you closed one eye?

[ Look at the ceiling? In that case, he's settled in the wrong position. Yi Sang moves onto his back, gaze moving from Hong Lu's face to the direction he's pointing in. He looks straight ahead, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

The dots stare back at him, like the hidden stars of District 20, twinkling in the sky but obscured by the thickets of factory smog.

He closes his left eye, examining the ceiling without half his sight. The ceiling stays still. It doesn't move about, but Yi Sang's run into a different problem. ]

...there are several spots I could choose. I am... unsure which one I should focus on.

[ Others might consider this activity a waste of time, but increasingly, Yi Sang's found he always has time for Hong Lu's idle musings. ]

[ yi sang settles next to hong lu. hong lu gently shifts aside to make room. the sound of broken glass scrapes across the floor as hong lu displaces the broken stars on the floor in favour of the intact stars embedded into the ceiling. he wonders for a moment - if two people were laying in the same spot, looking up at the same thing, will they see the same thing? will the thing that both of them see be the 'truth'?

much to think about, and possibly by someone who isn't hong lu. he considers the question. multiple spots to focus on... huh. ]

Follow my finger. [ hong lu draws his finger in an arc across the ceiling. and then, at random, he points at a spot that looks suitable. it looks like popcorn ceiling patch #8932742, but for hong lu, that feels like the brightest patch in this 'night sky'. ] How about there? That spot has more dots to look at. If I look at it long enough, it forms pictures.

Do the dots move for you?

[ Yi Sang tracks the movement of Hong Lu's finger, which guides his gaze to sweep across the ceiling. He stares, unblinking, searing the placement of the dots into his retinas. They do not swim aimlessly in his field of view, but instead, assemble into a single image.

He stares, contemplating the constellations. ]

I see -- I see a cliff with an unseen flower in full bloom. Invisible to my eyes, but I know it is there due to its fragrance. There, I see a grave too, dug by my bare hands where I can smell that flower. Perhaps I shall enter it. Perhaps I shall lie in it. Perhaps then, I shall forget about my inability to see that flower in these ceiling dots.

[ He stares, and now the dots do begin to swim. Yi Sang closes his eyes. In the darkness, it isn't difficult to imagine himself lying within the ceiling's grave.

But here he is, lying outside of that grave at the foot of the cliff. ]

[ boy, don't use fancy words on him he will get lost!

denji ends up squinting his eyes, trying to follow up and make sense of the entire dialogue so he can comprehend the summary of it; that alone requires some brain power. he didn't ask to be forced to think in his own goddamn apartment when he should be curled up in bed being miserable instead. he sighs, hunching forward. ]

I'll only remember the outfit of a sexy girl. You might as well give out a name and I'll figure out if I know them or not.

[ see how he specified 'sexy' — not any woman, but she has to be erotic enough to spark the attention of lonely men. does that sound like someone yi sang is familiar with? more importantly, watching that boy pick up the glass like this is getting sad. he does seem remorseful of his sins. hmm. ]

It's okay. Leave it. [ pardoned. ]

[ Two keys had mysteriously appeared one day in the apartment Hong Lu and Yi Sang called their home. When Hong Lu insisted they determine what room these keys unlocked, Yi Sang simply could not say no.

Rarely can Yi Sang find it in himself to decline Hong Lu's suggestions.

Ultimately, they'd found themselves in the university dorms with both their keys matching the same lock. And upon opening the door, Yi Sang realizes this must be intentional, given the dorm room appears large enough for both of them.

His gaze lands on one of the beds. An old, leather bound book lies nestled on the blankets. His fingertips itch; the tome calls to him, and before he can wrest his focus away from it, his hands have already flipped it open.

The walls around him bend out of shape, twisting as though they were crumpling sheets of paper. Yi Sang glances over his shoulder, prepared to call for Hong Lu, to apologize for his carelessness and to warn him of the room's twisting dimensions. But Hong Lu is gone, nowhere to be found as the room continues to warp.

And then it stops.

The dorm room is no more, and instead, the sounds of leaves rustling and birds chirping fill Yi Sang's ears. He's... outside? Immediately, he realizes his shoulders feel lighter because his coat is gone, vanished -- in fact, he doesn't recognize his his new attire at all.

But it's rather kind of whatever entity's responsible for magicking him here to have given him a sword, considering the stampede of Peccatum Luxiriae and Peccatum Irae galloping his way. The blade is heavier than his saingeom, and he's not used to its length at all. Nevertheless, his body knows precisely how to wield it, and he manages to cut them down, albeit unable to escape from being soaked in gore.

Yi Sang sheathes his sword and presses onward. There's no time to question where he's landed, nor is there any time to clean his blade. He needs to find that tower; he needs to find ~~Hong Lu~~ the princess.

He pauses. Tower? What tower? What princess? But his feet press onwards, depriving Yi Sang from contemplating this strange turn of events.

Fortunately, his feet do carry him to a tall, stone tower. He gazes up, noting that there's only one window all the way at the top. Yi Sang stands at the base, craning his neck to see if he can get a better view of what might be there.

He cups his hands and calls out to the top of the tower: ]

Princess ~~Hong Lu~~, can you hear me?

[ Yi Sang blinks. He could have sworn he'd shouted Hong Lu's name, but his tongue seems to refuse to cooperate.

...hopefully this is where Hong Lu ended up, and hopefully Hong Lu would realize who's calling for him. So he waits patiently at the base of the tower, soaked in Abnormality blood and not looking very princely at all. ]

[ Poor Denji, stuck with a man who has a geriatric soul...

Yi Sang shuffles through his colleagues' appearances in his head, just as one might rifle through a deck of cards. "Sexy girl" probably eliminates Outis. He can't imagine anyone describing her as anything younger than "woman." But -- oh, is that thought rude of him, unfair to her age?

That leaves Faust, Don Quixote, Ryoshu, Ishmael, and Rodion. Each was attractive in their own way, but could he describe any of them as sexy? He hadn't considered any of them in that sort of light --

Yi Sang blinks, realizing Denji's thrown him a lifeline by letting him know he should simply give names. Banishing his earlier thoughts, he repeats all their names: ]

Faust, Don Quixote, Ryoshu, Meursault, Hong Lu, Heathcliff, Ishmael, Rodion, Sinclair, Outis, and Gregor. ...others would include Vergilius and Charon.

[ He glances down at the shards he's already gathered in his palm. Though he's loathe to leave the mess, given how he still feels responsible for it, Yi Sang obeys. Carefully, he slides the small pile of glass in his hand onto the floor, ensuring he leaves it gathered neatly. ]

...I am sorry about your picture frame.

[ Perhaps offering his name would be an appropriate olive branch. ]

Oh. I am Yi Sang. Your graciousness is appreciated, especially given that based on your... current state, it seems I have intruded upon your moment of respite.

[ Fancy words, sorry Denji. ]

[ yi sang paints a picture with his words. hong lu looks. and then, because he is hong lu, he closes his eyes so that he can better see. a cliff with an unseen flower in full bloom, a grave, the scent of that flower cloying like a funeral shroud. in truth, hong lu doesn't at all know what yi sang means. he has never seen an unseen flower in bloom, has never smelled its scent. has only ever seen the petals of the spicebush as it descended.

hong lu has never dug a grave. the soil must be cool to the touch. it must be large enough for a single person. perhaps it can be large enough for two. ]

Do you want me to bury you in a grave, Yi Sang?

To be buried by your hands -- it would not be such a terrible thing.

[ The other Sinners might describe Hong Lu as frivolous or easily distracted, but Yi Sang thinks out of all of them, Hong Lu would know his ideal length and depth for that hole. Hong Lu would know that Yi Sang's choice of wood for his coffin is that of a plum tree, but if it would cause others too much trouble, he wouldn't mind having his body lowered into the grave even without a shroud. Hong Lu would know the kinds of items he might wish to be buried with, and he would not necessarily be gentle about heaping the earth over him, but he would do it with care.

He doesn't mind having Hong Lu's magnifying glass hovering over him, even if its lens concentrated a sunbeam onto his clothes and caused them to burst aflame.

There had been a time when he'd wished to be lowered into hollowed-out earth, but now is not the time. ]

...there are, however, tasks I would like to accomplish prior to that.

[ Yi Sang turns his head to gaze at his company. His own eyes are inquisitive as he poses a question, one that is simply intended to invoke thought. ]

Would you prefer to bury me, or would you prefer to be buried with me?

[ to be buried by your hands, it would not be such a terrible thing - yi sang says this like it's a deliberated truth. all of yi sang's truths are like this. this is why hong lu likes listening to them so much - because every single truth that yi sang has ever come up with has been hard-won. there had been nine members of that little group once upon a time. hong lu doesn't know how it feels to lose those that you love and care about. but he understands how yi sang felt to lose those that you love and care about. yi sang loved that little group in such a way that it made hong lu fall in love a little too, to want a piece of it, just a bite of it, what it must be like to hold something so dear that you tore your wings to shreds in the aftermath. hong lu would like wings. he would like to tear out his own feathers, he would like to make a bed of it and and then show yi sang, and see what he makes of it.

it is, in fact, the first time that anyone has attributed anything positive to hong lu's hands. his hand, currently held around yi sang's, slowly shifts. the gesture is that of faint wonder, of a kind of faithless worship - hong lu believes in nothing, but if yi sang belives in it, then hong lu will believe in yi sang's belief. yi sang turns to him, and hong lu mirrors the motion. another new thought, hong lu thinks. another one that he has never considered, amongst so many thoughts never considered: that there had ever been an option for hong lu to join him.

hong lu smiles. there's a glimmer there along the cyan of his eye. the glimmer most native to a human eye is a tear. ]

It'll have to be a grave large enough for two. And I'm a little taller than you, too. [ hong lu considers this. ] I'd rather bury you first. Then, I can dig you up when I have a question, or I have something I need to tell you, or if there's something you need to do. I'll wake you up, and when you need to go back into the grave, I'll bury you again.

And when I've seen everything that there is to see and I've grown bored, I'll slip in next to you in the grave and bury myself there. I won't tell anyone where our grave is. I don't want anyone to disturb us. It'll be nice. [ hong lu says, and laughs. ] What do you think, Yi Sang? Would it be fun, to be buried with me?

[ enter: the princess.

or rather, hong lu has never really understood it, the intricacies of calling stage exits and entrances the way they were. in a story, the characters on the stage are supposed to have always been there. you couldn't enter or exit a world. you couldn't step into or outside of a life. and wasn't that theatre, the most pure representation of what a life could be? someone on the stage, then, cannot step in or exit without breaking the role. hong lu had once asked this of his theatre tutor why is it that actors were allowed to be different people on and off a stage, to which the answer was if hong lu wanted to play the role of an act for the rest of his life, and that he ought to stop asking silly questions and instead focus on memorising his next set of lines. but it seemed to hong lu that playing an act for the rest of his life seemed like a fine idea. hong lu would have wanted to be a general of an army, or the courtesan of a gold phoenix court, or the gossipy fishmonger, or the beautiful, graceful women that transformed into birds between sets. instead, he stepped onto the stage and forgot his lines, and stepped off the stage into a world where they didn't allot him any lines at all.

that is to say, being a princess is lovely. there had been a bit of a kerfuffle with the length of his hair, what with it having gone on and on, so much so that hong lu still isn't certain where the braid began and the tie ended, and there had been an entire incident where hong lu had dropped a still-burning candle into his nest of hair and had been disappointed that it hadn't all gone up in flames. but hong lu thinks - he had figured out this whole princessing thing, and it was terribly boring. he was supposed to wait here. there was a prince coming. somehow, somewhen, after the prince came, the story would end. if the story had been anything more interesting than hong lu waiting in a tower for whatever that was coming, perhaps hong lu would have politely thrown the frying pan he had out of the window with pinpoint accuracy, killed the prince, and happily lived as a princess. but it was tedious, was the thing. hong lu wasn't particularly good at waiting, the door was sealed shut, and the endless sky cast itself across a featureless land that made hong lu think a little of home.

so when the prince arrived - hong lu's gaze is bright as he casts its mismatched colour out over the tower proper. yi sang is a sight for sore eyes. hong lu brightens upon seeing him. of course he does.

yi sang - he says, and then stops. because the words don't quite come. for the first time in a very long time, something blank crosses over hong lu's face as he considers it. then, with a shrug, the shutter of his expression allows that smile to slip back into its place. with that same, airy wave of his hand: ]

Prince. Hello~ I think I'm supposed to say 'please come save me'? But from what? What did you kill on the way here? [ with the biggest, roundest of hopeful princess eyes: ] And did you leave any for me?

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november catch-all [open]

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[closed: hong lu] i felt sent here from another world

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