smoke & mirrors 。

much madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye ; much sense the starkest m a d n e s s.

[masqce]

hello! this will be a pinned post with links to all of my character intros. :> 

ALSO: wanted connections! always feel free to hit me up in the dms over this!

( if you click the little heart behind their name, it will take you to a document with all info available on them! including wcs! c: ) 

mu qing ♡ (heaven official’s blessing, aware) ( tag. )

jesper fahey (grishaverse, aware) ( tag. )

shen qiao ♡ (thousand autumns, aware) ( tag. )

shen zechuan ♡ (ballad of sword and wine / qiang jin jiu, unaware) ( tag. ) 

qi zhuyin ♡ (ballad of sword and wine / qiang jin jiu, aware) ( tag. )

kaul shae ♡ (green bone trilogy, aware) ( tag. )

lott jin ♡ (green bone trilogy, unaware) ( tag. )

aequa claudius ♡ (the will of the many, unaware) ( tag. )

synn aryulian ♡ (green bone trilogy, aware) ( tag. )

[sapin7]

the eye-rolling god

[mvsicinthedvrk]

"...Bad," Xie Lian suggests after a moment of silence, when Mu Qing repeats Feng Xin's unfinished 'this is'. Though that's probably an understatement; on the bright side, at least all three of them are in clear agreement about just how bad this new information is. He watches Mu Qing pace back and forth and mull over the questions that he and Feng Xin have proposed-- the latter's last question, about the emperor's potential schemes, being the most primary of importance. Holding some kind of vengeful vendetta against them wouldn't be necessarily logical at this point, but neither are many of the decisions the former ruler of Wuyong has made, so there's no ruling it out at this point.

Regarding the marriage itself, if their guoshi was already prepared to defend his choice in marrying the other-- using the excuse of keeping a closer eye on him-- that would seem to imply that he expects it to be a long-term situation. He could have volunteered to be a roommate otherwise, or any other host of close contacts that could have watched out for him; though Xie Lian supposes that with what Jun Wu must get paid through his government position here, maybe a roommate for financial reasons was out of the question, and marriage was the better option? He's not certain.

A prickle of discomfort-- more than just a prickle, in fact-- runs up the back of his arms at Mu Qing's note about the emperor feeling like a fool. They all surely know that such a thing could be enough to tip the other's balance over into instability, and historically, that's not a good sign. "No, I can't imagine he would be happy about that," Xie Lian murmurs, before refocusing his energy on action rather than nebulous anxieties. They can theorize all they want about what their elders might be thinking, or what they might be planning, but there's nothing the three of them can do to control any of that. All they can control is themselves, to which end: "We need a plan," he says, thinking as he speaks. They need to decide how to maneuver around this obstacle in the safest, clearest way. "We need to look out for guoshi's safety, and watch out for Jun Wu-- we shouldn't risk angering him, but we can't allow him to get any ideas, either."

@tragcdysewn

[tragcdysewn]

the archer lifts one brow, nodding in response to xie lian's end to his sentence. that about sums it up, really. bad is about all that can be said about the situation, unless he really wants to get into how completely, totally screwed they seem to be, especially if the emperor decides that all of this is somehow on the crown prince again. not that that would make any sense, but neither had blaming xie lian for any of the other shit he'd blamed him for, so feng xin isn't really feeling super confident in their safety here! and he's sure that his friends are feeling about the same way right now, they've got to be on the same page, even if all three of them are doing an incredible job at keeping themselves composed right about now.

"i mean, that has nothing to do with us, though. none of us even realized he didn't remember at first. if he looked like a fool, it's because of whatever the hell wiped his mind." feng xin comments, immediately ignoring his earlier train of thought about how blaming them for this would be nonsensical, but also entirely in character for white no face. but he can't help but think that, if the emperor thinks he was made a fool, then certainly that means he thought he'd acted foolish, didn't it? not that it's an argument he's stupid enough to make to the emperor, if he was enough of an idiot to speak to the elder god. "we definitely do, but i have no idea where we could even start." they hadn't had a plan the last time, they'd just thrown everything they could at the emperor and prayed it was enough to keep him down. but they'd need a bit more subtlety than that this time around, something feng xin has never much specialized in. "woah, woah, why do we need to look out for him? i'm not saying we let him die, but he's willingly putting himself in a close relationship with someone he knows is insane. wouldn't it be better for him if we just keep away from him? i feel like him being around us would cause problems with the 'not risking angering the emperor' thing."

@masqce

[masqce]

                    Oh, it’s bad, is it? That’s an understatement if he’s ever heard one. Bad. Bad is when you leave your house without your keys, or when you crash your car into a tree, or when someone burns your kitchen down by accident— that’s bad. He’d say disastrous, or catastrophic would be better ways to describe their current predicament; would’ve appreciated a bit more of a dramatic response. Mu Qing watches the other two with a forced sense of patience, allowing them another moment to collect their thoughts and respond appropriately. The emperor just retrieved all his memories—do they even know what that means? Are they not aware of the dangers? His gaze flits from Xie Lian, to Feng Xin, and then back to Xie Lian. He’d like to shake the crown prince and urge him to react more strongly. The only reason he does not do that is because, steady though his voice may be, Xie Lian’s discomfort seems to grow ever more prominent. 

So instead, Mu Qing nods in confirmation: it is bad indeed. 

Lucky for them, there’s still the crown prince to offer some great advice, informing them that they need a plan. He would’ve made a comment if it weren’t for the fact that his next words ring even more ludicrous. Mu Qing’s face twists, looking as though he must’ve misheard. “What do you mean, we need to look out for Guoshi’s safety? He willingly got married to him. I’m sure he’ll be fine— we’ll be busy enough looking out for you— ourselves—” There’s no reason any of them should be wasting their energy on the state preceptor; both because it’s unnecessary, and because he. does. not. want. to. And also, because it’s better for all of them (and especially Mu Qing himself) if they keep their distance from either party. In a strange turn of events, Mu Qing finds himself fervently nodding along with Feng Xin, of all people. “There’s nothing for us to gain from sticking around either of them. If we start spending more time with Guoshi, the emperor might only grow suspicious and assume we are plotting against him. If we’re going to come up with a plan, it should involve only the three of us,” he says, demonstratively gesturing at the three people in question (and not in the least because that would reduce the risk of anyone finding out anything they shouldn’t). “I suggest we find a way to take his memories away again.”

@mvsicinthedvrk

[mvsicinthedvrk]

Zechuan’s voice is silvery, like music-- all of the other noise of the party fades to the background as Chiye zeroes in on the sound of his words. His ear could follow that voice up and down all day or night, and he takes a moment to appreciate hearing it, as a birthday gift to himself. Late birthday gift. Since, to answer the other’s question, Chiye had invited Zechuan, and he’d wanted nothing more than for the other to come-- it’s only that the party had gone on for so long without any sight of him that he’d already nearly given up on his invitation being taken up.

But he’s here, and he came of his own volition this time; Chiye didn’t even have to try and trick him, put someone else’s name as the host of the party, or put someone else’s address down. He knew it was Chiye’s party, and Chiye’s birthday, and he still showed up on purpose. Chiye’s chest warms from within at the realization. “I wanted you here,” he says, his voice deep and honest though slightly slurred, each word sliding into the next like syrup as he relaxes in the other’s presence. Even if he weren’t far past intoxicated, he’d be just as open about his desire to see the other, though the drunkenness does add to his candor, along with the fact that there’s no other guests at the party worth paying attention to anymore.

Zechuan does have a very demanding job… which, by nature, is partly Chiye’s fault. Damn. “After midnight is too late,” he replies dismissively, almost in an instant. “Next week I’ll lock everyone out past ten.” Someone in the tech department should be able to key the doors to do that, or he’ll find someone outside the company he can hire who can. He can’t have employees (Zechuan) staying all night at the office (when Chiye’s not there), not when there’s other places they could be (Chiye’s apartment). Or elsewhere, he supposes, but clearly that’s the most important place. His other employees can do their work at home if it inconveniences them.

His attention is drawn back to the gift in the other’s hand when he taps it into his palm with a light sound. Zechuan’s teasing him, pretending he won’t hand over the present just because it’s a few minutes after midnight. If he’d gone to all the work to pick something out, and wrap it up, he wouldn’t turn around and walk out with it-- or maybe he would; Chiye can’t put it past him, because the man makes no sense to him sometimes. He thinks that if Zechuan did such a thing this time, though, it'd only be to make Chiye chase him into the hallway, or wherever he feels like leading him; so he still feels fairly confident when he says, pleased, “You’ll still give it to me though.” 

But he doesn’t reach for the gift yet-- instead, he turns around to face the rest of his party, doing somewhat laborsome calculations about where to lead the other. His other party-goers are mostly still busy minding their own business, drinking and laughing, or swaying to the music, or collapsed on furniture here or there, but it does leave few places they can go that aren’t already taken up by other bodies. He decides to figure that out later. Getting Zechuan out of the entryway and into the apartment proper is the most important thing, so he can’t slip away when Chiye’s not watching. “Come in, I’ll get you a drink.” It would be only drink he’s personally poured for someone other than himself this evening, but that’s besides the point. There's plenty left at the bar, and the ice isn't all melted yet; and it's important to be a good host, now that it matters.

He quickly glances back over his shoulder to make sure the other man’s still there, and feels the sudden urge to try and be persuasive, to seal the deal. “You came all the way up here, it’s such a tall building, you can’t leave right away.” A long moment after he says it, he squints doubtfully at his own words as he recognizes how flimsy the argument is (after all, it’s not as though Zechuan walked up all the stairs). He knows he can do better, so he steps closer to the other and tries again, with great gravity-- “If you’re late to someone’s party, you have to make it up to them, by staying longer.” That’s the rule, he’s sure. “And I want you to stay,” Chiye adds again, his fingers itching to pull the other close as he watches him through half-lidded eyes. “Will you?”

[masqce]

              Chiye’s statement is a simple one, and offers him nothing he wasn’t already aware of. No matter how deep his voice, or how meaningful any unspoken message might be, there is no reason for the words to be nearly as compelling as they are. 

I wanted you here.   

But is it really that simple a statement? Before Zechuan’s mind gets the chance to drift into dangerous territory, Chiye graciously decides to follow up with a comment that’s far less ambiguous. Most employees don't care to stay past six, and there’s absolutely no reason why anyone working overtime should be locked out at the strike of ten. In fact, it is necessary, sometimes (even if that had not been the case today).

And yet, somehow, even without any clear benefit to locking up early, Zechuan doesn’t doubt that Chiye would follow up on his words— just to prove that he can. With a smile, he promises placatingly, “In that case, I’ll do my best to finish my work before the newly implemented office curfew.” 

Chiye is right, though, that he would still hand over his gift even if it had no longer been his birthday. Mostly because his gift hadn’t originally been intended as a birthday gift, until the man’s birthday had slowly crept closer and turned it into the perfect opportunity. With each tap against his hand, there’s a subtle vibration reverberating through his skin, featherlight aluminum against the pillowed surface. The USB; meant for Chiye’s eyes, and Chiye’s eyes alone.

The pen that lies on top of it, however, could’ve served as a gift between any two business associates; even the small gyrfalcon he’d had it engraved into it could easily be overlooked. That makes it easy to counter the other’s cockiness. “I could save it for the next birthday I’m invited to,” Zechuan says, the box stilling inside of his palm. He slowly raises his gaze to level with Chiye’s, as if to tell him: take it, then, if you’re so convinced. His eyes flicker with intent, the shadow of a grin curling at his lips. 

And then Chiye offers to grab him a drink, and the moment passes. 

Zechuan follows after the host as if nothing had ever happened, once again letting his gaze wander the room. If his only intention had been to wish Chiye a happy birthday, he could have already done so at the office. One drink, at least, he can agree to that—that should have been a given when he’d showed up at the door. There’s no need for Chiye to try and convince him to stay, though it is painfully obvious that the man hadn’t thought his own reasoning through, either. Feigning ignorance, Zechuan looks at him with a gaze of utmost innocence, and a smile to finish it off. “The long climb up here has made me very thirsty,” he admits, “I should hope to have at least one drink, before making that trip another time.” There’s no need to be more explicit in pointing out the flaws in the man’s logic. 

It seems, however, that his long trip had only been the first of Chiye’s many complaints. His eagerness to make him stay for a moment longer almost toes the line of being laughable, if it weren’t for the man’s sincerity. He’s asking him to stay, because he genuinely wants him to stay. Zechuan’s convinced he might throw a fit if he refuses; perhaps forcefully restrain him, even, with all the alcohol in his system. And then, he thinks, a fleeting thought, wouldn't it be tempting to see him try? There’s no reason for him to stay much longer if the party’s almost over, is there? 

And then, again, I want you to stay. 

It’s almost too easy. It’s also entirely too hard. Chiye’s drunk, his voice lower than necessary, his eyes— Zechuan has to strain himself to keep his own eyes on him and not get carried away. He decides to find the distraction himself, his voice ever polite: “Are you getting me that drink, or not?”

[mvsicinthedvrk]

starter for chiye & lott // @masqce

"Hey," Chiye says by way of simple greeting, stepping out from the hot, crowded air of the loud apartment and onto the long balcony that runs along the length of the main living room. Lott's not the only person out here at the moment-- a few people are sharing a cigarette out on the other end, and others are lounging on the patio furniture and laughing, empty beer bottles already scattered across the table-- but Lott's familiar sullen profile is hard to miss, and it's now or never for Chiye to grab a minute of conversation with the other. With how spread out his guests are throughout the space of his penthouse apartment, and the sheer number of people that have already come this early in the evening, it's been impossible to greet every individual person on their arrival. Unless he parked himself at the door, which would be a dull way to spend the night, there's no way he could keep track of everyone who comes and goes. It's by luck alone that he's managed to cross paths with his friend, so he approaches, bracing his arms on the railing next to Lott. He should be kind to his friend, especially considering that he'd made it over here to celebrate Chiye's birthday. But also because it's his birthday and he should gain some advantage, he feels as though he has the right to tease the other: "Did you bring Cassie with you?" he asks, feigning ignorance about the disaster he'd heard secondhand from at least two different mutual sources by now.

[masqce]

                 His escape to the balcony had less to do with needing fresh air in the literal sense, and more so with seeking a mental breather. With the memories of the masquerade still vivid in everyone’s mind, it was hard to have a conversation in which Cassie wasn’t brought up. For all the gossip their little argument must’ve caused, it seemed that nobody truly knew the details of what happened. That, or they simply liked to relish in hearing the story directly from the source. Unfortunately for all of those who had tried to fish for information, Lott wasn’t the least bit interested in wasting any words on the matter. Not their relationship, not their business. But after the nth person approached him and immediately jumped straight to the rumors, he’d finally lost his patience and headed for the balcony. There, at least, people weren’t so interested in starting another conversation. They’d come there for some actual fresh air, or to have a smoke, or to get a bit of privacy, or whatever. None of them paid much attention to him, and simply allowed him to be invisible for a little while. And, strangely enough, the muted sound of passing cars so many floors below them seemed to have a soothing effect on him. His frown eased along with the tension in his muscles, his mind slowly clearing again. Until a familiar voice calls for him, and he can’t even brace himself to get annoyed in advance before her name spills from Chiye’s lips, too. Lott groans, sending the man a glare that is nothing short of murderous. There’s no way for his friend not to be aware of the current situation, which makes his way of broaching the subject all the more irritating. “Yes,” he retorts snappily. “Didn’t you see her? She’s inside somewhere— you should go say hi if you haven’t yet.” 

[irresistiibles]

If Lott meant to deter Francis he’d be better off offering a friendly personality now and then. As it was it was too easy to get used to the fact that Lott would just always be off putting and hard to talk to, and that he might as well push anyway. “But what if I like what I’m looking at?” The slightly flirtatious question was clearly lined with a petty and vindictive tone as his eyes followed Lott’s movements. He didn't even try to sound friendly, not wanting to risk Lott being so far up his own ass that he took the words as some sort of sign Francis was trying again now that Cassie may have been out of the picture, when he had far higher standards than that. “That wasn’t a no.” Francis pointed out, half tempted to pay the bartender to send the man another shot, but thinking better of it, better to keep his annoyances to one method for now. He also kept his distance, even if it made him a little loud in the bar. This wasn't the sort of place where he was worried about impressing anyone, and he'd learned from last time to stay out of punching distance, especially if Lott was without any friends to stop him this time around. “If you don’t want gossip going around it’s better to keep your fights private, or did she not have a choice?” He wasn’t sure he believed all the cupid shit, now that he was relatively sober and not panicking about it, but if Francis was affected himself he probably wouldn’t have taken the risk. "How long do you think she was sitting with a problem just dealing with you anyway?"

[masqce]

                  There’s no way Francis would be genuinely happy to see him, so his unusual flattery can only be interpreted as spiteful gloating. And yet, even with that knowledge, the words are enough to make his skin crawl. It doesn’t take long for Francis to go back to prodding him about Cassie either, essentially bouncing back and forth between the two methods most likely to get him riled up within minutes. Lott takes another sip of his newly arrived beer, his gaze fixed on the bottles of whiskey that are lined up at the other side of the bar. Finding joy in the misery of others, even when you’re on bad terms, is pathetic. It only goes to show that Francis’ own life must be either terribly boring or an outright disappointment—that’s the only explanation. It’s childish, and there should be no reason for Lott to actually be offended by such an obvious attempt at provocation. And maybe, if there weren’t any truth to Francis’ words, it would’ve been easier to simply turn off that nagging voice somewhere on his left side. He half-considers getting up from his seat and settling down elsewhere, if he weren’t so sure that Francis would be immature enough to follow after. “I’m not answering your stupid questions,” Lott retorts, almost equally as childish, and almost instantly regretting the suggestion he follows up with, “if you want to get any answers, you should go and ask Cassie—she might have more patience to play these games with you.” 

[mvsicinthedvrk]

"You think it's not useful to have connections with a Green Bone who's at his side?" His tone is self-assured, and the question isn't one he intends her to answer, since the only logical answer is one that agrees with him. Having her there to report back to him is one thing, simply having her there is another equally valuable one. "He can use his jade in this state, but clearly doesn't know how," Hilo goes on to point out. The ability would be there, as innate as ever, but he's equally sure that their brother wouldn't be able to intentionally tap into it the same way he would if he had his memories. If something happens-- a known enemy arrives, or the city twists into chaos again-- it would be useful if nothing else to have Lia there within the older Kaul's circle. He hasn't given her that order directly, to serve as his guard, but Hilo trusts her self-preservation instincts to be strong enough to know that if there was some kind of emergency and she abandoned Lan to save only herself, that decision would not be worth it when she eventually comes face-to-face with Hilo again. There would be no way she could talk herself out of that one, no matter the extenuating circumstances. Shae's clear impatience with the conversation as a whole, however, makes him chuckle under his mask. It's not his fault that critical discussion doesn't take a pause for social events; their five minute chat won't ruin her night, and there's plenty of time for her to revel in the rest of the masquerade otherwise. "I wasn't aware I was holding you up," he says, making before bowing with a touch of magnanimous sarcasm, before grinning with openness that's both broad and genuine. "You're free to enjoy your evening, sure... we can finish talking later. I'll drop by your place in the next few days. Have fun."

[masqce]

                  Yes— No— That’s not what she’d said, and it certainly wasn’t the point. Of course it is useful to ‘have connections’ with a Green Bone who’s at his side— what a convenient way to turn spying into something noble. It’s not a mere connection when the woman has to constantly monitor her brother, and then report her findings to her other brother. There’s different ways to keep an eye out for Lan and ensure his safety. For one, Hilo could’ve tried not turning himself into the man’s enemy. And if he were so keen on having a connection by his side, Shae thinks, her thoughts growing more belligerent in nature, he shouldn’t have ruined Shae’s own connection with Lan. Essentially, he found a terrible solution for a problem that wasn’t even there in the first place, but had single-handedly been created by the man himself. 

Shae quietly counts to ten, letting her irritation simmer inside of her. It’ll come out eventually, she knows— it just doesn’t have to be here. But Hilo's strained relationship with Lan is one thing; his polite way of dismissing her is nothing short of condescending, and she can just feel the mockery that rings in his voice, no matter how subtle. “You refused to acknowledge Lan until after you burnt all your bridges with him. I could hardly expect you to be perceptive,” Shae says in response to his non-apology, her sarcasm mimicking Hilo’s. There are a great many things she’d rather do than look forward to finishing this conversation with him elsewhere, but for now, it is the best she could get. “I’ll look forward to it,” she forces out, any attempt at sincerity failing miserably.

[le-mori]

wolf's respite.

萧策安0328生日快乐

[masqce]

@mvsicinthedvrk

[mvsicinthedvrk]

It's well past midnight now, and his birthday guests-- at least the ones who are still sober enough to get themselves back to first floor and safely home-- have begun to slowly trickle out. Most of his invitees from the office had left by ten or eleven, but his friends (and even some acquaintences) have stuck around, some of them only showing up after ten, and a number of them still remain to keep him company. Laughter trickles out from the balcony, music still plays from the apartment's surround-sound, and drinks continue being poured-- though at a far lower rate than earlier in the night, and nearly all the crushed ice is gone by now.

Chiye lounges on the sofa, feet up on the plush footrest. He'd had a good day, and a good party, until the environment had begun to quiet down and he'd started thinking. Now he finds himself only half-following the nearby conversation as he stares at his phone and tries to decide with the last partly-sober vestige of his mind whether he should give his phone to a friend to hold, so he doesn't start texting things he shouldn't. Because everyone he'd invited had come tonight (plus plenty of people he hadn't) except the person he'd most hoped would show. He doesn't take it as a complete rejection; it's only another challenge-- but how he's meant to deal with it when the other won't talk to him beyond bare minimum, he doesn't know. Even after the masquerade, nothing's changed. Does he need to bribe someone in the government to host another party, so he could steal another date? That's someone else he could text, the government. Someones. People. He's got to know someone. (It may be too late, for taking his phone away to do much good.)

In his periphery, he can tell that across the room one of the other wealthy company heirs he'd invited is unsurprisingly entertaining himself by bullying someone at the door, but it's not in Chiye's nature to care much; either they'll talk their way in, or they'll give up and wish they'd come sooner, before the drunk socialite had decided to play act at being a bouncer. That, or it's a neighbor come to complain about the noise, in which case they should already know that it's fruitless when Chiye can just pay off the building owner for any trouble by later next week.

It's only when he hears the distant notes of Shen Zechuan's voice in response that Chiye attention zeroes in on the door, his head jolting up with an impressive swiftness. Whatever his dick-ish friend been saying exactly, his tone at least had sounded-- unacceptable. Avoiding stumbling over his feet, and the ottoman, he makes his way to the door within a few wobbly paces so that he can loom over the other. "I didn't know I hired a doorman," he says somewhat dangerously, before lifting an eyebrow. No one here would dare argue with Chiye when it's his party, his apartment, his birthday (or it had been, until an hour ago).

But then again, the man's on the far side of drunk, and drunk men do often tempt fate. So the other laughs off Chiye's warning, making no effort to stop ogling Zechuan. "I didn't know you'd be--"

"--stop talking," he adds, immediately cutting him off before he makes it worse for himself. Then Chiye grins without a hint of friendliness and claps the man on the shoulder just a little too hard. "Go get another drink, or--" It takes him a split second to think-- "--hold a towel outside the bathroom if you're so desperate for a job." The man grumbles and rolls his eyes at the scolding, but he does lurch away, off to either find a new target or make trouble elsewhere.

That finally leaves the host blessedly free to turn his attention to his new guest. "You came." Because there he stands; Chiye's not drunk enough to have imagined the man. It may be late, but the other had finally shown up, and that's-- confusing, frankly. If Zechuan had wanted to join the celebration, it's a poor time to do it, considering how late it is, who's left at the party, and how much alcohol they've collectively consumed. But he's here, so Chiye moves aside to implicitly usher him inside. He doesn't register the wrapped box in the other's hand at first, but when he glances down to finally notice it, he can't help but add, "You missed my birthday." If there's a small, petulant pout that accompanies the observation, no one would be able to prove it later.

[masqce]

              It was only been a matter of time before Chiye would show his face at the front door— Zechuan had, arrogantly, been aware of this. It’s why he’d had no trouble feigning disinterest when the stranger refused him entrance, already counting down the seconds in his head. He can vaguely distinguish the sound of feet being planted on the ground somewhere inside of the room, paying attention to their somewhat unstable journey toward the front door. The disruption in balance isn’t that noticeable, but it’s clear enough to be discernible; to notice how Chiye puts just a little extra weight on his left foot, every two or three steps. And when the man enters his vision, Zechuan’s suspicions can instantly be confirmed: Chiye’s drunk. 

That’s not a surprise— it’s his birthday, after all, and if past events are any indication, the other isn’t always concerned about his own limits. Zechuan’s face betrays no amusement as Chiye gives his guest a good talking-to, pretending to divert his attention elsewhere. That doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying it, at least a little. He waits patiently for the birthday boy to take care of the situation, his gaze darting across his surroundings with interest. Contrary to what his first impression might have led him to believe (people crashing into him, someone throwing up in the elevator, the hold-up at Chiye’s front door), the party wasn’t a complete mess. The majority of the guests were entertaining themselves with animated conversations, or trying their best to rhythmically sway to the music. Their eyes are unfocused, and their movements clumsy, but the overall atmosphere isn’t half bad. 

Zechuan watches as one of the guests tries his best to pour himself a drink, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. Though, when half of the drink is poured directly onto the floor, the man decides to just drink straight from the bottle. He should hope that Chiye has taken some precautions to prevent people from falling over the balcony railing— that’d be quite the hard fall, if they’re sober enough to feel a thing. 

But watching drunk people is only entertaining for so long, and Zechuan obediently shifts his attention back to Chiye when spoken to. There’s no greeting, only a somewhat surprised acknowledgment of his presence. He can’t blame the man—he had considered not showing up, at some point. 

Still, Zechuan feigns innocence when he looks up at Chiye, curious, as if he’d been wrong for assuming otherwise. “You’re the one who invited me,” he notes melodiously, “was I not supposed to take your invitation seriously?” He would’ve fought back his smile at the man’s next accusation, if he’d been prepared for the sheer petulance that colors his voice. There’s nothing left from the man’s typical imposing presence (aside from his height—that’s harder to disguise), and it’s not because the alcohol has rendered him a meek puppy. He’d been perfectly fine commanding the pretend-bouncer just a minute ago; it’s only now that he’s showing this different side of himself. Despite his tardy arrival, Zechuan highly doubts there had been others to witness this behavior tonight. 

“I have a very demanding job,” he explains sincerely (and just as teasingly), “there was no way for me to leave earlier than thirty minutes ago.” Not if he’d wanted to finish putting together all the information and evidence he’d gathered over the past few months. Zechuan lightly taps the box into his palm, a somewhat expectant glint in his eyes. There’s no actual remorse for arriving belatedly—if he’d known he’d find Chiye like this, he wouldn’t even have bothered rushing. It's priceless. He’d be missing out if he didn’t take the opportunity to tease him a little more, “Oh,” Zechuan says, just as surprised as Chiye had sounded upon first catching sight of him. “If it’s not your birthday, I must have misunderstood, and there shouldn't be a reason to give you a present.”

[irresistiibles]

"There are a decent amount of legal benefits that go along with being married here that should allow me to have some more knowledge." Nianqing insisted calmly. It didn't have to become an argument because he knew he was right despite Mu Qing's concern. He did expect concern after all, if not outright anger, though Nianqing supposed both Mu Qing and Xie Lian were a touch too respectful to go to anger, which he was glad for. "Not that I expect that to be something you've looked into or have extensive knowledge about." Nianqing continued. "Unless, like the crown prince you've decided to become attached to someone." It wasn't quite a question, but just barely, as Nianqing lightly raised an eyebrow, patiently waiting for Mu Qing's denial, most likely inevitable regardless of whether or not he would have thought about marriage. He clearly wasn't telling him the whole truth about Jun Wu's situation, so he would be willing to lie be omission, but luckily Nianqing saw this as a much smaller possibility than the man getting himself involved with the heavenly emperor and triggering his memories. "If I could fully predict his actions a lot of suffering would have been avoided." He said with a tired sigh. "But he's clearly unhappy about running around and looking a fool in front of you and your friends, as he put it, while unaware of himself. Even if it might not be on his mind at this exact second I cannot say whether or not retribution is something he's considering, and if that would be on a small or large scale." Jun Wu had already stated his frustration with Nianqing for his part, but claimed he couldn't hurt him even if he wanted to. Nianqing was sure that grace did not extend to Xie Lian and his friends.

[masqce]

              Nianqing insisting that there were legal benefits to marrying someone does nothing to dim the curious suspicion that has been awakened inside of him. Sure, there must be some benefits to marrying someone—otherwise, why would anyone care to go to the trouble? He just highly doubted that those benefits had anything to do with keeping an eye on one’s partner. It wouldn’t give him access to the content of Jun Wu’s phone, and it wouldn’t grant him permission to put a tracker on the man, either. It certainly wasn’t going to magically show him whatever plot he might secretly be brooding on inside of his head. Mu Qing doesn’t have extensive knowledge on the matter, no. But all it takes to call Nianqing’s bluff is common sense, and common sense is also what it takes for him not to voice those thoughts out loud. 

And no, he certainly had not gotten attached to anyone in that same foolish manner as the crown prince had done—and he wouldn’t, either. If the state preceptor had meant to insult him with this assumption, he could consider the attempt a failure. The more concerning part of his speech was the fact that even Mei Nianqing proclaimed the emperor to be unpredictable and unstable. If looking like a fool was what had caused Jun Wu’s distress—if he’d clearly voiced his displeasure with them—that should be enough of a reason to worry about potential consequences. The easiest way to deal with said unhappiness would be to make sure none of them remembered Jun Wu’s ‘foolishness’, and the easiest way to deal with that would be to— “He lost his memories once, we could take them from him another time,” Mu Qing says, then hastily explains, “he was happier without his memories. We’d be doing him a favor.” And if that wasn’t a potential solution, they could all simply pretend to have lost their own memories.

[mvsicinthedvrk]

He doesn't have to ask for clarification about what must have needed adjustment first; after all, they'd both been there on the training field when the city had shifted to an earlier era. And today despite the fact that Mo Xi had been focused on his own breathing and movement rather than intentionally judging the others who shared this class, it had still been clear that none of them even close to being as practiced and precise as Qi Zhuyin. Even those who had presumably attended this class before were struggling with form and focus, though it was equally clear that it was an internal challenge of focus and stamina and not a fault of the instructor's, who had been remarkably patient in her corrections. Zhuyin must be joking, about him choosing not to steal their spotlight-- as though that would ever be something that would even vaguely cross his mind as something he would ever want to do. If he still could have followed Zhuyin's instruction from the room next door, without having to be in the same room as the other students at all, he would have done that instead. "It was a well-needed brush-up," he says, answering her question directly. Running forms and techniques like this works very specific physical and mental muscles, ones that do deteriorate without repetition. And it's a far cry from his usual style as well, given that he never would have gone anywhere without a sword, or without in reach of being able to call for his sceptre. "I don't often work unarmed," he notes, before linking it to the follow-up conclusion: "I could use the practice-- I would return for another class, whether it's like this one again, or another that you lead."

[masqce]

                  Today’s class had been one of the more advanced ones on her programme, and typically would have drained the energy of her students by the end of it. For Mo Xi to call it no more than a brush-up is strangely amusing, despite how serious the man might have been. In fact, if it had been anyone other than Mo Xi who had dubbed her lesson a ‘brush-up’, she would’ve been inclined to believe that they were taking a jab at her. “I’m glad to hear you’ve found it useful in some way,” Zhuyin cheerfully retorts. At the very least, he’d said it was a well-needed brush-up, though she doubts another one of the same class will be equally as useful to him. There’s a few other ones she could recommend—ones that require a higher level of skill—but it’ll be only a matter of (barely any) time until he’s brushed up on those, too. That’s not why she had asked him, anyway. She’d already guessed how he must’ve felt about her classes, more or less so. In fact, by calling it well-needed, Mo Xi had still been generous in his evaluation. Zhuyin doesn’t doubt that her class had been useful indeed—especially in a time where the lack of everyday practice can easily make one become rusty. But there’s only so much her training can do for him, and after having seen him in her class today and having witnessed the sour expression on his face when discussing his job previously, Zhuyin has finally reached her conclusion: “And how would you feel about leading your own class?” Whether that be one of hers, at least to start with, or a new addition to the already existing number of classes. She folds her arms, head cocking in interest, “Are you still working at the same place as before?”

[mvsicinthedvrk]

Feng Xin's question (if crudely phrased) is a good one as well; and it is luckily a short, pointed answer that follows from Mu Qing. He waits for his friend to elaborate-- on how this topic of conversation came about, or why, or when-- though no elaboration comes immediately. However, those things can be answered later as well, so Xie Lian goes ahead and assures him, "I believe you. If he told you this, I imagine must be true." In all honesty, it seems an embarrassing fact, to be married to someone like that, so he doesn't know why Mei Nianqing would have chosen that to lie about that of all things. Though given that the action is a more-than-questionable choice whether it's a lie or the truth, why he would have told Mu Qing of all people, Xie Lian doesn't know, unless it was out of desperation.

He rubs his forehead and tries to think through the situation logically. Jun Wu had never forced Mei Nianqing into marrying him before when he'd had his memories, so it would be odd for him to coerce the man into such a thing now out of the blue. In that case, it was more likely they got married when the former had been unaware, but how, when guoshi was clearly fully aware of who the emperor was and what he'd done? He shakes his head, musing under his breath, "He scolded me for my choice of partner, once. I really don't think he has any leg to stand on..." But Xie Lian's expression turns more severe when he addresses Mu Qing again to clarify: "Did guoshi say if the former emperor's memories came back before or after their marriage? And did it seem like he-- guoshi-- was in immediate danger, or did he imply immediate danger to anyone else?"

@tragcdysewn

[tragcdysewn]

if mei nianqing had told him himself, it had to be true, because who the hell would lie about doing something so horrifically stupid as further involving yourself with white no face? only the freak who’d decided to stay in prison with him when he was defeated the first time would even consider that as a possibility! but this is even beyond some stupid feeling of responsibility, holy shit! “i knew they had some weird, fucked up relationship, but this is…” ‘yikes’ was about the only thing that felt appropriate here, but he’s sure mu qing will immediately call him an idiot if he describes it as such, so he lets the statement trail off rather than finish it. though, xie lian’s concern for the timeline of this whole mess is a valid one, and one he hadn’t even considered until his friend voiced it. he kind of thought the elder man was a fool, but he didn’t want him to be in danger from whatever stupid attachment he still held to a friend from centuries ago. admittedly, feng xin could kind of relate to the intense feelings of guilt it all reeked of, but, then again, his friend hadn’t slaughtered thousands, so he’s still coming out ahead of mei nianqing in that department. “yeah, when did this all happen? is he alright? and is the emperor getting ready for some massive revenge scheme that’s probably going to involve killing us all?”

@masqce

[masqce]

                    “Hmph.” If that single statement was all it took for Xie Lian to believe him, he shouldn’t have questioned him from the start. Still, the affirmation leaves him feeling justified enough to momentarily tone down his defensive attitude. Mu Qing hadn’t brought them together just to deliver the information and leave again— that had been an important part of it, yes, and it had felt good to be the first one to find out about this situation. Now that the fun part was over, however, they should really try and figure out how to deal with the problem at hand.  

Unfortunately for Xie Lian, that does not mean he can resist the chance to throw a dig at Crimson Rain when the opportunity presents itself on a silver platter. “One truth does not negate the other—two truths can exist at once,” he says, almost dismissively so. It’s not as though the state preceptor had been the only one to judge the crown prince for his poor taste in partners; that opinion was shared by many others (Feng Xin, Mu Qing… and then some…). Before he goes on to reply to his questions in earnest, he first makes a point out of rolling his eyes at Feng Xin’s beautifully articulate way of expressing himself. “This is….?” he repeats in similar fashion, not waiting for the man to actually answer. Instead he starts to pace from one side of the room to the next, visibly considering the many questions asked. Not that he actually has the answers to them, but since the other two seem to be under the impression that he must at least know something… “The emperor’s memories returned only recently, so I assume they must have married before that. Guoshi also said that he thought it would help him keep an eye on the emperor, and I don’t think he would’ve led with that when proposing. He didn’t imply immediate danger, but he did mention that his lack of memories had made the emperor feel like a fool. He’s not happy.” And that should be enough of a concern to begin with. It also leads him to answer Feng Xin’s final question: “Not yet, though guoshi never made a point out of excluding the possibility altogether.” 

@mvsicinthedvrk

[masqce]

closed starter for @mvsicinthedvrk ( aequa & chiye ! )

                   Maybe she shouldn’t have done so many concessions in order to get Francis to join her tonight. She should’ve been more demanding; less agreeable. Chiye’s party had meant free alcohol, and there were still plenty of things she could’ve bribed him with in the first place—she could’ve at least demanded he stay by her side for the first hour. Alas, she’d only gone to fix a drink for both of them when he’d disappeared from his spot, leaving Aequa both alone and uncomfortable. Being somewhat familiar with half of these people was not an advantage—apparently it gave them the idea that she was willing to entertain them for longer than necessary—and she soon enough took to her drink (one of her drinks) to pretend to be occupied. When the host of the party finally appears in her vision, though, the act is quickly dropped in order to catch him alone for once. She shoves the drink that was meant for Francis into his hand without warning, and then jumps on the first topic she can think of (only because it’d been on her mind for months on end), “We have yet to finish our conversation,” Aequa says, assuming he’ll know what she’s talking about. “Well, if you'll finally be honest with me.”

[mvsicinthedvrk]

She laughs at his words, delighted-- "That's exactly right." After a half-second of pause, she adds, "But it's far too easy to avoid making any impression at all if you don't have a good opportunity to be observed very long in the first place. Silly Shen Qiao, sending those women on their way before I even had a chance to enjoy watching them!" It's straightforward to judge someone's appearance based on their outfit (and hair, and makeup, and posture), of course, so that's not what's being taken into account; it's how people react to one another, how little or much it takes to rile them up that's fun to place judgement on. She's not bothered by the loss of the entertainment, though, now that it's been replaced by an equally interesting interaction; and it even makes her feel a little less regretful about walking away to get drinks in the first place, considering Sha Hualing doubts Shen Qiao would have allowed her to continue stoking their conflict if she had been here when he'd walked up in the first place anyway. She can let him have it his way this time, out of respect for his steady, no-nonsense attitude. As the other explains his catalogue of her footsteps, she feels a burst of self-satisfaction at what she takes to be an extremely complimentary description. After all, she knows the advantages of her style of movement and light steps, but it's still nice to hear it from someone else every once in a while. "I used to wear bells on my ankles, you know," she informs him, offering up the information as a form of reward for his observations. "But I gave that up a while ago, it made it far too simple for people to find me." A little like tracking a cat, in fact, and she'd much rather have the option of still slipping away if she wanted to. Avoiding any broken glass on the dance floor this evening has fully been a result of luck rather than skill, but as for avoiding other heavy or pointed shoes landing in the wrong place-- "I'm good at avoiding being stepped on, most of the other demons back home were all large, clunky oafs." She eyes him up and down. "I think you would be good at dancing. Are you?" Without having seen his dancing at all, she still wouldn't guess to categorize him as a fun dancer, necessarily; but she imagines his dancing would be fairly controlled, which is always objectively superior to being unpredictably chaotic, if its someone with which you have to share any measure of the dance floor.

[masqce]

                  Like with everything Sha Hualing says, there is a certain amount of truth to her words: for some people, it does take a little while to leave a lasting impression. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, only a simple observation. Shen Qiao himself has always preferred not to be in the limelight— he sincerely doubts meeting him leaves a solid first impression. On the other hand, there are also those who can effortlessly command an entire room, and who don’t need words to make sure they’re remembered. There must be few people alive whose paths have crossed with Sha Hualing who don’t remember her. As far as interrupting her observations go, though, Shen Qiao can’t claim to feel particularly guilty. If he hadn’t, the two women must have still been going at it. “You can still watch them,” he notes serenely, even if that means watching them separately. There won’t be the ‘excitement’ of a potential fight breaking out, no. But there might be a few other things to learn. Like Shen Qiao is learning, too, when she tells him of the bells on her ankle. “Bells?” he repeats with sincere interest. “What sort of bells?” People wearing bells on their ankles wasn’t always without deeper meaning— though when that thought fully dawns on him, he almost feels a little embarrassed for asking. The matter might be a private one, after all. He should not have inquired so thoughtlessly. The sigh that falls past his lips sounds almost apologetic, and he’s glad to talk about something else. “How large were they? I’ve only ever known demons who resemble humans.” And, frankly, rarely ever any real demons at all— demonic sects, though; they had those in abundance, and most of them were at least somewhat graceful in their movements. He quickly shakes his head (and his hands) in dismissal: “Oh, no. I would not last very long on the dancefloor.” He’d avoid people, sure. And he wouldn’t step on people, or bump into them, or bother them in any way. But he wasn’t any good. “But if you’re certain you can avoid stepping in glass, you should go and enjoy the music. It sounds like you’ve been looking forward to it.” 

[masqce]

closed starter for the birthday boy @mvsicinthedvrk ( shen zechuan & xiao chiye ! )

              On a regular Friday night, it isn’t unusual to walk past the office of Xiao Legal Group and still find the majority of the lights burning by 9 pm, keyboards rattling from every corner. Today, however, was not a regular Friday night— today marked the birthday of their CEO, who, for once, had left the office relatively early. And with the boss having left the building, it hadn’t taken long for the rest to follow. 

Except a few.

Except Shen Zechuan. The few people who’d bothered to bid him farewell had barely received a greeting in return, his attention elsewhere entirely. The only time his gaze left his papers or the screen was to steal a quick glance at the clock. Three hours until twelve became two hours until twelve, became one, became past twelve. With his face almost in the screen, Zechuan scrolls through his findings a fourth and final time, before finally transferring everything onto a tiny usb and deleting the files from his computer. Then he locks up his office, and makes a beeline for one of the city’s most notable apartments.  

By the time he arrives at the familiar entrance, he’s slowed his pace significantly. A few unfamiliar faces nearly crash into him as they head in the opposite direction, undeniably intoxicated. Their condition alone makes it clear that the party must have started a long time ago (but since people were still in the process of leaving, it must not be over quite yet. It doesn’t matter if it is). 

A putrid scent bores through his nostrils the moment the elevator dings open for him— Zechuan only barely manages not to trip over the person crouched on the floor. He wrinkles his nose, his breathing paused until the right floor has finally been reached. By then, the music makes it obvious which apartment is the right one, even if this visit had been a first for him. 

“Party’s over,” some unknown guy tells him, not trying to be subtle in checking him out. But his words are slurred, and Zechuan doesn’t expect him to block his path as he tries to enter. He raises a brow, wondering if the host of the party is aware of the people smoking in the hallway. 

When he tries to ignore the man and brush past him, the guy fumbles for a moment, but then proceeds to block the path again. “What’s the password?” he asks, clearly amused with himself, and also clearly having forgotten that ‘the party’s over’. The stranger doesn’t seem to be the least bit discouraged by his lack of response, vocal or otherwise, and continues to speak even as Zechuan’s attention shifts to the bag he’d brought along. “If you don’t have the password, you can’t come in,” he notes, a newfound suggestiveness to his voice, “though for you, I can make an exception, just this once. If you give me your name instead—” 

Zechuan cuts him off then, his voice levelled and uninterested. “I only came here to drop off a gift,” he says, as if he’s never heard a word of the man’s monologue. He offers the neatly wrapped, rectangular box to the man, finally meeting his gaze again. Before he can speak another word, Zechuan beats him to it: “Just tell him it’s from the office.”

[irresistiibles]

Anden's eyebrows raised in disbelief. How was it always so hard? He could let Lott win every single moment he wanted the he'd still find a reason to be an asshole. "Desperate?" He repeated, practically biting his tongue. He may have been desperate but at least he didn't have a girlfriend everyone was sure he hated. "Right, well next time I'll get your opinion for a way to meet guys that better meets your standard." He was being huffy and feeling ridiculous sitting here bickering in a full suit and mask, but he already felt a little down about his lack of dating life on his own. He really didn't need Lott to come and shove his opinion in about something that didn't affect him at all on the rare night where Anden actually did have a date with him. "It's a Valentine's day event. You're all here with dates. I wouldn't mind joining the group. I could hang out with you all later and still want someone around to talk to when you guys are inevitably off with girlfriends during the romance themed ball. Or what, are you not here with Cassie?" He asked, feeling frankly exasperated that he even had to explain how it wasn't the same, how he didn't want to stand around being the one weird single dude, and why it was obnoxious to hear that Lott might have preferred that. They might not have always gotten along perfectly but he still considered the guy a friend, but that was hard when he took so much offense to the idea of Anden dating and attempting to make a decent night for himself. He groaned, shaking his head. "This whole hypothetical is ridiculous, because the guy isn't awful and I'm not going to need to trade my outfit." It wasn't like he was looking for a second date, but Anden was sure he could walk out perfectly fine. "Just because I'm desperate-" his tone dropped at the word, sure he wouldn't be forgetting or easily letting go of that anytime soon. "And don't date much doesn't mean I can't handle myself for one random date."

[masqce]

                   That’s not what he’d said. There’s no reason for Anden to ask for his approval or opinion first— of course there isn’t. Anden can arrange his dates whatever way he pleases, that’s none of Lott’s concern. But not asking for his opinion first does not mean he can’t have an opinion at all. More importantly, he would’ve never pegged Anden to be the type to sign up for something so… stupid, really. Lott’s convinced his friend must’ve realised by now how ridiculous his words had sounded when spoken out loud, so he doesn’t bother refuting them, only responding with another irritated, knowing glare. This generous silence does, however, not extend to Anden’s follow-up comment. “Of course I’m here with Cassie, didn’t you see us come in?” he snaps, a little too defensive. He immediately goes on to elaborate, “She’s just talking to some of her friends who happened to come without a date, because you clearly don’t need to bring a date to enjoy the evening. I think one of her friends tried to sign up as well, but it was a terrible match, and they’ve been trying to get rid of the guy ever since.” The last part— that’s a lie. He can’t tell what, exactly, compelled him to bring it into the conversation, only that it might be helpful in proving his point. 

Unsurprisingly, Anden puts a quick end to their hypothetical back-and-forth, just as he's starting to realise there’s nothing else he can say in his defense. Nothing that’ll help his case, at least. “You’re the one who mentioned swapping masks,” Lott retorts airily, though with a haughty, sharp edge to his words. “Whatever. There’s no need to convince me, but it sounds a lot as if you’re trying to convince yourself.” 

[tragcdysewn]

*transition to post event!*

"you're alright, aren't you? you weren’t hurt last night?" they can't help but fuss over their roommate just a bit. he seems to be alright, and did make it home, which seems to be a good sign he hasn't lost his memories. but she still needs to be sure. "i was trying to call you, but my phone died, i'm so sorry!"

[masqce]

                 Asked out of the blue, her question would’ve sounded absolutely ridiculous— if it weren’t for the mysterious Cupid that had popped up at the masquerade last night. He’s not that easy to kill, though, and he’d heard that all that was needed to ensure their survival was to confess a secret. Why wouldn’t he have survived? Why wouldn’t anyone have? But since Lanhua clearly still has her memories, there’s no need for him to immediately admit to it. Jesper takes his time to scrutinize his roommate, as if not comprehending a word that comes out of her mouth. Then, he folds his arms, his voice pointed. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”