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TEST DRIVE MEME #3
1. you're the only one you owe (GUEST STARRING:
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selenokinesis and creepyoldguy)[you wake up.
it doesn't matter where you were before. going to bed? dying? opening the door to face a great evil? same result. you wake up in a soft bed with starched sheets in a cool, darkened room, sunlight peeking out from behind thick curtains. maybe you're alone; maybe you aren't. maybe you immediately notice the folded paper on the bedside table near your head. if you don't, you better fix that real quick: you won't be able to even open the door before you read it.
the note itself is written in a neat hand on white card stock; there is a stylized logo of a ship with the words SERENA ETERNA printed underneath. the note reads as follows:
Dear Passengers(s),
You'll be unable to leave your cabin until you read this note. Congratulations on making it past the first step. Keep reading if you wish, as I have information to share with you, as a fellow passenger stuck aboard this ship. Or don't continue reading, and burn the note. I'm not particularly invested either way, especially if you choose to throw away valuable warnings.
Watch out for the Captain.
Be cautious what you sign up for.
If you die, you'll come back to life eventually, though I would recommend you try not to die.
Your life is the Captain's plaything.
Do not think for one moment that someone isn't watching you.
With that aside, I am now contractually obligated to tell you the following: You will find a life jacket within your cabin's closet, and you are required to bring it with you to your assigned muster station on deck one. A companion and I will take you through the drill. If you cannot find us, look for a tall male with white hair and blue eyes and a friendly-looking man with unkept brown hair and a winning smile.
Respectfully,
Moon Master Ebalon
you walk to deck one. you have no other choice: every time you try to step in a direction some unseen being considers "not towards deck one," you find your legs no longer move, staying stock still, frozen. whether compelled quickly by curiosity, or delayed by pure stubbornness, the result is the same, and you are left milling around with other similarly curious or stubborn people.
you see two people standing at the front of the crowd: an exhausted-looking man with white hair who seems rather displeased that he's been roped into this, and a man with a wide grin, bright green tips on his hair, and amber eyes. the latter is waving cheerfully, having an armful of leis. he quite happily puts them around people’s necks and while they’re distracted, attempts to dip them into a kiss.
as he’s basically a walking corpse, and smells like one to boot, it’s not exactly hitting the jackpot. but, he does at least listen to the word “NO”.
the tired-seeming man ignores this and announces over the drone of chattering passengers like yourself,]
Welcome to the Serena Eterna. Do try to enjoy your stay here; it is rather permanent in nature, huhu.
[and from next to his companion, the… er, overly-affectionate man who sounds as though he smokes ten packs a day rasps,]
You’re all doomed!
[you touch the lei. rooster feathers, lotus seeds, and a carved circle of something white and hard, linked onto a silk string.
after the duo complete the drill, you'll find that your legs suddenly obey your command, for what that's worth.
welcome aboard, passenger. we hope you enjoy your stay.]
2. one by one they'll do you in
[it starts, as most things do, with a table lamp. floating down a hallway, or the length of the promenade. ambling at a distinct clip: one-two-three-KICK, one-two-three-KICK.
and that's... not immediately concerning. after all, things float around here all the time; usually plates and drinks, but maybe the shades want to mix it up a bit. the lamp is alone for about a half hour before it is joined by others. a pillow. some knickknack from the ship store. Friday's clipboard. an empty vodka bottle. all have lined up, one in front of the other, and lead a procession snaking around the ship, growing with each passing hour. anyone familiar with the concept would begin to recognize it as a massive conga line.
there is a small chance you will want to join of your own free will. most likely, you will not want that. this does not matter: something compels you, like pins and needles in your feet, to join the dance. and once you have joined in... your body fights your mind on the subject, even as it grows more and more tired.
you pass by a familiar face. they could help pull you out. or you could pull them in.]
3. the price of vice foretold
[the scent of citrus and coconut rum hangs heavy in the air. there is a new storefront on the promenade, tucked between Sand Dollars and John's in a place where you are very certain there was not enough space to tuck a store before.
the clothes for sale are... a lot. like, a lot a lot. but, there are quite a lot of choices, though they do seem to repeat a little, once you've gone in far enough. in fact, even if you actively attempt to find it, you can't seem to find the back of the store. you can see a wall, sure, but it never seems to get any closer, even as you walk towards it.
be forewarned: the infinite tommy bahama does not have food or water.]
I TOLD YOU I WOULD SO HERE I AM anyway guess
Ah. [ it's a little sound on the tip of the tongue. it fumbles to the root of him, digs into the loam and corpse dirt that comprises the mimicry of lungs. he takes steps to stand at the edge of the bar, nearest to childe and within eyeline, but never quite as close as they would have lingered before. the indication given from their mutual companion throughout liyue's grand arc was that childe felt their affairs had landed squarely on the wrong foot in the end. no matter the drinks thereafter and the departure from liyue's shores — there's the faintest knit of something that cuts across his brow. it smooths, in the next moment or two. ]
Childe. [ he starts again in earnest, the amber of his eyes bronzed against the dim of the bar. somehow, though, there is a light that flickers there. it is tentative, for all that his posture would speak against it. ] I believe our barkeep hasn't kept formal stock of our preferred spirits.
[ a tangled weave of some emotion unspools within his stomach. he needn't guess at the name of it — he knows so few. but, he lingers in the solace it brings regardless. ]
https://i.imgur.com/KCQ1WqR.jpg
Zhongli, [ he cannot quite mask his surprise, and the name tumbles out before childe can take a breath, take a break. it's a surprise, clearly. it's something a little more complicated, something that rankles and stings in the deep of his chest. the burnt licks of his pale lashes blink, the open, unguarded stagger in his gaze settling underneath the sweep of them in the next moment.
the ghostly barkeep (seems to) contemplate a little, before pouring out two shots of some colourless, unidentifiable liquid into tiny glasses that they push in front of childe. for all the appearance it looks like water, but the sharp scent is unmistakeably alcohol ... well, might as well give it a try. at least you can't say the service is impatient for him to leave, right? if anything, the impatience is all his own - the itch to leave sits just under his skin, making him antsy, but childe quashes it down and instead smiles blandly at the other man. ]
But it's not your preference, is it? So the disappointment is just solely my own.
[ carefully taking hold of one of the shot glasses between forefinger and thumb, he sets it down on the stretch of the bar between zhongli and himself. the indication, at least, might be clear enough. ]
https://imgur.com/VXBZA8H
No, [ he says, the proffered word soft on the tongue. it's honest, a little sliver of a truth placed in the palm of childe's hand. like the many he's given before, this one too is no different. and yet, somehow, it is. ] It isn't.
However, [ he starts, pauses. briefly. there will always be the specter of what could be and what is. and there too will be always be the constancy of drinks shared between foes and friends. acquaintances. something or somewhere in-between. there will always be an uncertain third party that watches the exchanges, watches the way personalities merge and muddle and clash. and there will always be himself, for all that the mockery he's come to be. still, there is an ember that edges the contours of his face. it brushes at the dark sweep of his lashes as he glances down at the poured drink, the open chair beside. zhongli has long known only to grant and give and carve - pieces of himself, never truly his. but now, he moves to sit. spine straight, shoulders balanced. it's a simple action, in theory. in practice - there is more to the way he too picks up the shot glass. gives childe the barest of nods. a recognition, for all that that is worth. ]
It has been some time since I've tasted something akin to Snezhnaya's clear liquors. [ it is foolish, playing this game. and yet, the glass is already cleared in the same way. rim to the lips, the foot of the glass to the bar - he's always had quite the issue refusing these indulgences. at least, when it comes to the company he seems to choose. ]
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Must have been a while for you. It's not at all the same.
[ it isn't homesickness. it isn't even at all because he misses the taste of it - childe had indulged in things far sweeter, liyue's summers distilled in mellow gold. he knows what zhongli prefers is something very far removed from the cold and the sting of snezhnayan winters, the ache of something akin to frostbite that cuts to his chest. and maybe that is why.
two more. childe doesn't look at him, as he passes one on. ]
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but, against the chill of the liquor, zhongli breathes out. the sound of it might only just constitute as a huff. a laugh. if one tilts their head in the dim of the bar, listens to the way the glass moves against the grain. ]
I would wonder if it is as long ago as you suspect, [ zhongli tilts to him. the bass of his voice is steady, unwavering. childe does not look, but he does. for a little while. just long enough, to know the glass isn't the last one.
it isn't about the alcohol. he knows that too. he wonders if childe finds a comfort in the small win he manages in the next shot. it isn't unlike the nights at third round knockout. the liquor had been smoother. sweeter. he'd shared the varieties, told childe of their methods. he'd taken them all in readily, so - the burn of the clear liquid like a brand down the throat. it doesn't hurt. it is more the bitter chill that chases it, that wrinkles (just barely) the straight cut of his nose.
he stacks the glass neatly inside the other. he thinks of the snow. ]
Back then, only the most priceless batches of your fire water were so smoothly distilled.
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Surely not within my lifetime.
[ had there been a time when he had felt some such similar thing in zhongli's presence? childe doesn't remember. it had been late summer when he arrived in liyue; maybe that is why, when he remembers, childe thinks of it tinged with some golden, earthy tone; the leaves of sandbearer trees with the passing days, the sunset glow of paper lanterns. the morning light shining through cor lapis. the burnt golden edge of zhongli's cuffs.
he thinks of the snow. he thinks of the ice and the tundra. the way that he now has to remind himself. ]
Why are you here?
[ the question comes out rough; the jagged knife edge not quite covered, meant to tear. childe doesn't care. he doesn't. ]
i hate these dudes so fuckin much
zhongli takes the third and stacks it with the rest. the alcohol does little to persuade him, to loosen his tongue in the slightest. he will need far more to know the truth of its impact, the cut of its clarity like the edge of a pick. ]
Liyue knows many imports. [ he says, after a moment. his fingers linger on the rim of the third shot, making neater the minute tower he's set to build with each glass. ] If a boat were to come carrying contraband to her harbor, it would not be a matter of whether or not it is illegal to purchase its wares. [ he recalls the height of that summer, the humidity a blanket upon all their skins. childe and that outlander had made quite a show of themselves, infiltrating what exists of the black market. yet - ] It would be a matter of whether or not there were others willing to receive it.
[ in other words, perhaps he's sampled it despite the increasing embargos through increasingly complex legal loopholes. like upon the pearl gallery, perhaps? all this, despite the way he'd remained stationed within liyue's belly. how he had not crossed her borders up until recently in a long, long time. he does not sigh, but rather exhales, low and soft and weighted. ]
I cannot say. [ it's honest. he would think childe would know that too. here, upon this ship, he has no clue. he'd awoken just as he likely had, had been too greeted by what remained of its crew.
it isn't a surprise, when a fourth is not immediately set down by the bartender. they seem to quibble, for all that they are entirely translucent. but, ultimately, that one too is placed down on the stained wood of the bar's surface. ]
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not so long ago in the past they have sat together like this. they have sampled wines both sweet and strong, each heaped upon childe with zhongli's recommendations, his hushed intonation of the various characteristics of such that was poured into their glasses through the night. what a change it is now, with both of them displaced from each, childe's eyes stubbornly turned to the invisible hands' turning of glass in front of them as the barkeep cleans it. he has, at least, enough self awareness to recognize this feeling as nostalgia. he hasn't enough to give it any other name than that.
and what an answer. it is honest, in the way that maybe zhongli has always been, the way that he has always thought him to be. the sincerity in which he professes his ignorance - and childe perhaps knows it to be more than that, like blood that spreads under skin unseen and invisible, like poison that is now poured out for the fourth time before them - it hurts. it does not hurt. circling around looking for some likely opening and finding none, childe laughs instead. it's a little off-key, maybe a little deranged. he doesn't correct zhongli in his error. in a way it is also his, for not making it any clearer. ]
Well, whatever. Not like it matters.
Guess the mighty Rex Lapis is stuck like the rest of us pawns.
[ leaning an elbow untidily at the smooth polished surface of the bar, childe finally, finally turns, tilts himself a little towards the other. shoulders perfectly straight, spine stiff like some fresh carved stone. what a pair they make. ]
Do you want another?
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he is here. and she is not.
the hot of the blood that spills through the harbor, the staunch lines he'd drawn, that had been what he could answer. that had been what he could give. and when the dust had sieved through his fingers, when the darkness roiled out to some end — he'd held the absences in his palms and could not assume what it meant. for all of his fairness, for all that he cherished that he relegated back to the seas and the earth, perhaps it had been him too that he'd buried. slivers of stone, the petrified shape of his heart. it was his, no matter what he might do. and still, it exists.
what is spilled between drinks is no more and no less than what he expects. rex lapis, morax, zhongli accepts the glass edge of his words, but does not bleed. for what is there to wring from the stone? but, do his eyes not dim? light choked over by corpse dirt, the silent funeral for something he cannot seem to place fingers to. it yawns there, beneath the hollow of his ribs, and knows only it is... bereft. ]
I am no longer the Geo Archon. [ is it more for himself that he says this? there is no clue he piecemeals to childe, who holds him loosely in the dark slate of his eyes. he knows this lean, knows the lash of his words, but does not truly flinch. some aches are understandable. no matter how zhongli should only assume it is pride. ] For all the good and ill it may bring, I am only a humble consultant.
[ he taps his index finger twice against the bar. the ghostly barkeep, for all they consider this a questionable act, slides the next shot down to him. between the pouring of his own, he extends the first to childe to have. it is an answer, as much as the quiet weight of his attention is.
it does not ask childe for anything. but, there too it is. ]
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[ something rattles discordant and awful in his chest, like something has been knocked loose. a house of cards falling. childe glances down at the shot, then back up at the other — the shadowless depth of his eyes scrutinizing zhongli, carefully taking apart his features. wonders, for the umpteenth time, how he had not noticed it.
the glass is passed to him but childe doesn't move to drink yet, idly tracing the glass rim with a finger; still steady, despite all that they have consumed so far. ]
You're a good liar, xiansheng. [ it burns. it has a tinge, faintly, of pain, but childe doesn't flinch as he downs that drink also, settling it out of line with the others. his smile has too much teeth, of not knowing where to cut. ]
But then again, maybe I'm just that stupid.
[ it's childe who lets his gaze drop away first, raking his fingers through already untidy hair. ]
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and still, zhongli does not volley back his strike. he does not turn his words against the tender of his ribs, press against the pink and sinew and hope he too bleeds as he once did. ]
You did not ask. [ to be determined deceptive and truthful in turn, to be kicked down the line of all and any detractions — what curious things they all do, when they are wounded. and yet, zhongli wonders the last time he'd shown the white of his teeth. he wonders, if it had been in the moments the dark had surged against them, left him and little more. ]
Even so, it brings me no pleasure to omit any such truths. [ it never had. since he'd shaken himself free from the heart of the mountains, he'd always been honest in all of his dealings. he had always made transparent his laws, his judgements, his rules — and yet, there are lashings that bind him too. there are boundaries he cannot cross, contracts he has made, higher powers left to listen to. here, freed from the weight of all their dominion, he is not freed at all. not yet. and still, he watches something too young and too boyish surface. something that stings not at all of his now loveless god, but of a truer filament.
zhongli does not aim for the throat. instead, he bridges. little similarities that remain, no matter the separation of their motivations in method, not flesh. ] I'd believed it the same for you.
[ he'd never perceived childe to be without his own intelligence. trusting, perhaps, but zhongli too was young. it is only now, that he is able to be softer. able to be kind. able to exit when the door is left open, the heart of his heart a fumbling absence. ]
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he wonders if he would. he wonders if zhongli will fight back. ]
No, I didn't ask. I should have though, it's so obvious— [ instead of going for the tendons and bone, childe flings out his hand, gestures down the entirety of him.
there is something different about the way zhongli holds himself. it isn't the alcohol - childe figures if he is still fine, zhongli must be too; it would be truly laughable if the almighty groundbreaker, the lord of geo, was brought down by a few shots of human liquor. it isn't the fact that he has been kidnapped to some unknown part of the universe either, torn from his beloved nation and surrounded by bodies of water so deep it is almost black. it takes childe a few minutes to realise what it is; zhongli is awkward, some shallow, fumbling restlessness about him. it makes him want to laugh. ]
Why not? Sure didn't stop you any.
[ childe doesnt say, just like he had not stopped. he had not, even when the fond warmth in zhongli's voice as they walked the streets of the harbour made something ugly and sore claw at the inside of his gut. not even when people had started calling out greetings to him, vendors drawing his attention to some newly crafted goods to send back to his family, no, childe hadn't thought to stop, already halfway over the precipice. sometimes it's better to keep going then to turn back, he knows. in the icy dark waters of snezhnaya, turning back always meant death. ]
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how foolish it is, to become so fond of mortals. to ache within their aches, to cut each weathered flagstone from the foundations of the self that he has long since built upon. how much of him, he thinks, might he give until there is nothing he might touch against? how long, until there is nothing that remains of him?
zhongli has known those who could better dig against the surface. he has known words more honed, more poisonous. and yet, it is the persistent scrabbling at whatever that may be weakness that brings a sigh up to his lips. it is neither heavy nor delicate, audible under the way the ghostly barkeep collects their empties. it is not only childe, he would think, that has mistaken him before. is there not collections that speak of his ventures into town? little speculations, but never confirmations. the dark of zhongli's lashes dip as he straightens the cuffs of his coat. ]
No, [ he returns with some consideration. why was it, that it had not brought a feeling of a promise fulfilled? nothing less, nothing more? ] I couldn't.
[ a contract is a contract. for better or for worse, one cannot break them. the way he glances at him holds that sentiment, as it has held for childe many times before. it touches at dark of his eyes, the way his mouth does not curl as it once did over each meal they'd found themselves sharing. drinks, much like these, that they'd found themselves sampling. when did it become such a habit, to know only the evenings reserved for talks with him? how could he ever begin to articulate what had become something he'd — it slips from his fingertips. ]
Not all agreements are without their consequence.
[ surely, that is what it is. isn't it? ]
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No, [ finally, childe sighs, breathes, his lashes similarly downcast, dark in the downturned light of the bar. it sounds like a concession, like a confession, before the altar of some god he would not name. ] you couldn't.
[ can he fault him for at least this? what is he to say? just a star falling to non-existence in the blink of an eye, just some creature that crawls on his belly in blood and guts, never having once turned his eyes up to the sky? but he feels — what is it, that he is feeling? ]
It doesn't matter now anyway.
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what is kind and what is necessary is rare to meet in pairs. it is true, that he holds no pleasure in the absence of what their contract had become. sentiment gathered, sentiment lost — it is not his place to demand a better outcome, when it was never promised to either of them. when, as he placed his word into stone, there was now knowing the passage of days spent along the harbor. tucked along the docks, walking through the alleys, it had been more than zhongli anticipated. and so too, was it another loss. ]
No, [ he starts. he pauses, words stuck within the sudden vice of his throat. he clears it, once and gently, as the barkeep moves on. ] Nor could you.
[ that much is true, isn't it? ]
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[ childe blinks, a slow, frowning sort of movement as he glances out and away, the gemstone dangling from his ear catching the low lit lamps of the bar and casting a dull, watery red sheen against the skin of his throat; or maybe it is a flush that slowly makes itself known as the alcohol settles in his blood. underestimating the strength, perhaps, or just reckless; with childe, it is usually more the latter. ]
Just so you know, I'm not apologising.
[ and perhaps it is too, the alcohol that loosens his tongue so - unkind, unnecessary, the barbed words like inwardly drawn arrows finding their truer mark. childe leans his elbow a little more firmly on the polished wood, feeling the lolling of the waves or maybe it's his stomach, at the steady golden eyes directed his way. ]