12973/Itchy Brings Robes

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Itchy Brings Robes
Date of Scene: 06 April 2021
Location: Suite A5 OPEN - The Triskelion
Synopsis: A discovery is made. A mug is broken and a cut tended. A promise is made.
Cast of Characters: Yaozu Lin, Liansong "Song" Qing




Yaozu Lin has posed:
It is a number of hours after the meeting. Well after a copy of the footage had been acquired and reviewed at least once. Yaozu is within his bedroom in the rooms, and he lightly tosses the data pad aside onto his bed. Then he strips off his shirt before lifting it and giving it a slight sniff, finding nothing amiss with it. He gives a faint sound, then lightly tosses the shirt into a clothes hamper which sits in the corner. It must be something with the American detergents. Perhaps the water. Lifting his left hand, he gives in to the urge to at least rub the back of his left shoulder even if not all out scratching it. It helps, some.

He undresses the rest of the way, and then he retrieves a set of silk robes from one of the drawers of the dresser. Black silk pants, a black inner robe, and a burgundy outer robe. He sets the outfit on his bed, then has a shower just in case it is some manner of contact allergic reaction. After getting dry, he dresses in the silks, and then he barefootedly steps out into the main part of the room, the comb he carries in his left hand half hidden by the sleeve. He crosses to the couch and settles on it in cross-legged fashion at one end of it before he starts to comb his hair.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong had spent a fair number of hours in the R&D labs, looking over those samples. He may not have figured out everything about them as of yet, but he's got a good start. Now, it's time to take a break and let his mind rest and relax. Besides. He has morning shift tomorrow, so getting in reasonably early and trying to catch some sleep is probably a good idea. After unlocking and opening the door, he steps inside, and then turns to close, and relock, the door. Habit habit habit. You never know what volatile stuff is going to be in a lab, so it's always important to make sure the door is locked.

He carries a tablet tucked into the left pocket of his lab coat, and reaches down to pat it, reassuring himself that it is, indeed, where he'd left it. The motion has the look of something that is a habit, something he does quite often, in fact. At least, when he has a tablet in his pocket for checking on, he does.

The faint sound coming from Yaozu's bedroom is not missed. Something about having the sensative hearing of an owl. A mouse farts half a mile away, and he's going to hear it. "You don't usually make any noise, Yao. What's going on?" This, of course, as the man's getting in the shower. He may not have been heard. He probably wasn't heard. The question hadn't been very loud, afterall. He shakes his head and waits. Patiently.

By the time the other agent emerges, Liansong is sat on one of the chairs, his legs tucked up under him, kind of laying on it the chair. His tail hangs over one side. His wings are comfortably over his back. His hands hold his tablet as he peruses over the information he'd saved before leaving the lab.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
Lin Yaozu is generally quiet. In all manner of ways. It is a part of having a disciplined mind and body, and that is how he was raised. Typically, he showers once in a day -- which is after his training, in order to wash away the sweat and such from his physical efforts. The datapad with the footage was left behind, sitting on his bed. He'll watch it a few more times before providing his verdict to the powers that be.

Yaozu sets the comb aside on the arm of the couch, and he gracefully rises for a brief moment before resettling on the couch. He tucks his feet a touch further beneath him, regaining that cross-legged position of moments ago, and he tilts his head a touch to one side as his gaze turns to Liansong. "Checking the samples?" he asks, a breath of curiosity in his voice. He did, at least, finish combing out his hair before setting the comb aside. His right hand rests lightly in his lap, and he lifts his left hand to gather his hair and draw it forward over his left shoulder. It's the first time that he's worn the robes here, even just around their rooms.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
And that's where Liansong is exactly the opposite. Except when he's doing research. Like now. "Hmm?" He doesn't even look up. He probably never noticed it when Yaozu came out and sat down. It takes a fair few minutes longer before the scientist looks up from the tablet he's using.

His large round, pale, eyes blink, several slow times in that owlish ways that owls do. "Those are new," he says, tilting his head to get a closer look at the robes. "Why the change?" His head tilts up again. Liansong sounds curious. With his ear tufts perking up, he looks it too.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
The comb is left where it sits upon the arm of the couch. It's a wooden comb, and it has a Chinese dragon carved along the back of it. With it set aside, Yaozu leaves it be. Lightly, he settles his hair over the front of his left shoulder, letting it tumble in a dark fall there. He settles his hands, his right hand vanishing into the sleeve of his for his left arm, and his left hand vanishing into the sleeve of his right arm. It might help to keep him from wanting to scratch his shoulder.

"The samples. Is that wha you're working on?" he asks, curious. He doesn't seem to mind needing to repeat the question, understanding easily how easy it is to become distracted or absorbed into things. He sits properly, with good posture. Yaozu takes a moment to look over what he's wearing, and he gives a small nod. "Mm. They are, sort of," he answers. New for him to be wearing here, but not brand new, as he's worn them before in Beijing. He's quiet for a long moment, weighing the question for a significant enough moment that it might easily be thought he's not going to answer. "The silk is softer than cotton. Less likely to cause an irritation," he says softly, his brow furrowing slightly. It's less likely to make an existing irritation worse, less likely to catch on the slight bumps of a rash which is what he suspects is on the back of his shoulder already.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong nods to the question. "Yeah. This is the data I collected over the last several hours since the meeting. Nothing of note, thus far. It's an interesting strain, though." If that doesn't make the brain of a warrior or soldier melt, nothing will. But Liansong seems interested in it, so maybe it's not all that bad?

At the words, slowly though they are to start, about the silk robes, Liansong looks thoughtful. "Why are you worried about cotton causing irritation? Is something going on?" He turns his head until he's looking at Yaozu almost upside down. "You may as well fess up now. Whatever is going on, I will see it day after tomorrow irregardless, during your physical." Well. He does have a point, doesn't he?

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"A strain?" Yaozu asks, faintly tilting his head to one side as he considers his roommate's words. "Is it a virus of some kind?" he asks, a flicker of curiosity to his voice. He actually seems interested in it, oddly enough. He might be a warrior, a soldier, but he has interests in other things. And certain reasons to be interested in others.

The additional questions that Liansong poses causes Yaozu to turn his gaze to a point across the room, his chin slightly lowering. And his brow wrinkles a touch more. Small things, but all of them are likely ones that Song will notice. And he's quiet for a moment, to weigh these latest questions much as he had the last one. He closes his eyes for a moment, holding fast to his stubbornness for a moment longer. Then he opens his eyes to glance briefly to Song. "It is... less concerned about it causing one and more so that it would make an existing one worse than what it is already," he says quietly. He moves his arms slightly, drawing them closer to himself whilst keeping them hidden within the sleeves of his robes. Song is right, and he raises a very good point.

Shifting slightly, he unfurls his legs from beneath himself before he smoothly rises to his feet. Then he lowers his arms in order to unfasten the outer robe before removing it. He sets the outer robe on the couch, carefully, and then he removes the inner robe so that his torso is bare. It, too, is set on the couch. Then he crosses over to where Song is sitting before gracefully turning and kneeling so that his back is to his roommate. And he says nothing. The back of his left shoulder does have something which, to an untrained eye, may well look like a rash. And it may well feel like one, too. It certainly itches as a rash would. The back of his right shoulder has a yinyang tattoo with a Chinese dragon wrapped around it.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong considers the question, and then nods. "Yeah. Maybe. Thinking it might be. Not sure yet, though. Still tinkering and figuring things out." His head drops as his eyes go to the tablet once again, and he taps somewhere on it gently with a talon tip, then zooms in. He turns it so the man can see it. "See here? This is an RNA strand. It's.. attached oddly for a virus. But over here," he says, touching the image with his talon tip again, and dragging it sideways to display another spot on a piece of what has to be DNA. "This indicates virus." He taps it lightly once to indicate the spot in question. "But if so, it's not like any virus I have ever seen before." He shakes his head and his feathers fluff out. He grunts and shuts the screen of the tablet off. With a smooth, fluid motion, he sets the tablet aside on the side table, and turns his full and complete attention to Yaozu.

The way his ear tufts perk up, if he was fully a human, his brow would be furrowed with concern and curiousity. He watches as the man disrobes, and then kneels in front of him. He leans forward and, glasses still on, inspects the site of the rash closely. "That's not a rash, mate," he says.

Without really thinking about it, Liansong lifts his right hand and turns one of the backward facing fingers so it's facing forward. And then, with due care, and expert placement of his talons, he very gently scratches at the site of the rash. The yinyang tattoo is noted, of course, but not commented upon. He. might think upon that later, but right now? "Ah. Yeah. Not a rash. You have feathers growing in. To be specific, pin feathers." He says this with some surety, for his gentle scratching, though it had only been a few seconds, had exposed the needle sharp tips of the pin feathers starting to turn from bumps into wax covered feathers. Chances are, that slight bit of scratching probably felt something divine.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Mm," Yaozu agrees, giving a small nod. His gaze turns to the screen of the tablet, looking over what's shown on it. He tilts his head a touch to one side, considering the words for a few moments. "RNA has a lot of uses, medically, doesn't it? It is generally the genetic code of viruses, as I understand it. If it is attached oddly then perhaps it was not nature that attached it. Not something natural, but something created n a laboratory," he offers, a thoughtful tone to his voice. He might have done a bit of looking into RNA and such after he'd been kidnapped. "If it is not like one that you have seen before then it may be because it is not natural. Or it may be pieces that have been spliced together, perhaps?"

... Not a rash? Yaozu raises an eyebrow slightly at those words before turning his head to look slightly over his right shoulder towards Liansong. "Not a rash...?" he repeats, a touch puzzled and confused. If it's not a rash, then what could it be? He'd presumed it was a rash based on how it felt, and based on probability. But sometimes... sometimes there were other factors.

Yaozu looks forward again, his chin slightly ducked as he looks down to a point on the floor somewhat in front of him. The gentle touch of scratching that Liansong delivers is nothing short of amazing. He almost seems to sink down a little bit further where he rests on his knees, like some tension is bled out of him with such a simple thing, a faint murmur of wordless sound slipping past his lips. He leans forward slightly to rest on his right hand and letting his eyes fall half closed. It's likely the first true relief that he's had of the itching since it first began. And it takes a long moment for Song's words to actually sink in, and then a moment longer for them to be understood. He blinks, surprised and caught off guard. "Zhen yu...?" he asks, hesitantly, uncertainly.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
"Yup. You got it," replies Liansong, about RNA. "RNA is usually how viruses are delivered. It's almost certainly not something attached by nature. But even for something genetically engineered, it's attached oddly." He shakes his head. "Even for an engineered virus out of a lab, it's attached oddly. It might just be damage to the sample too. I'm waiting on some test results that should tell me one way or the other." He pauses. "I hope." That pink beak clacks once, perhaps frustration.

He continues the very gentle scratching in that spot for another few seconds, and then the talons lift from Yaozu's skin. Instead, the tips of his fingers touch down, and feel along the man's shoulders. He stops a bit to the side, closer to the spine. "This spot's going to start itching in the next day." His fingers continue on and over to the right shoulder. "I'm surprised this spot isn't driving you nuts, yet."

Again comes that gentle scratching. Again, that gentle scratching removes the very thin bit of skin that had been covering the about to emerge pin feathers. "I'm afraid this is only the beginning. The itching is only going to get worse as the pins keep growing. And until they're ready for the wax to come off, they'll ache to the touch, but itch like mad without it." Damned if you do, and damned if you don't.

Liansong's talons lift again, and his fingers move over the man's back, this time not just feeling the skin but probing. He stops at about the point where his own wings come out of his own back, and that beak clacks. "You have something going on in here, too. Think it might be time for an x-ray, mate."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"I did some looking into RNA not all that long ago. There are a number of things that it can do, as I understand it," Yaozu says softly, his brow furrowing a moment. "What is the string of RNA attached to?" he asks, curious. He's quiet a moment, perhaps considering the information that's been shared. "I have a feeling that you will either crack it or find other tests to run that will crack it," Yaozu says, a small smile touching at the corners of his lips. He isn't a scientist, but he knows his roommate is a damn fine one.

When the gentle scratching returns, Yaozu's eyes fall the rest of the way closed, and there's a faint sound that murmurs past his lips. There's an uneven breath that's taken in and let out, and his head lowers slightly. "That feels far better than what I think it should," he says quietly, about the scratching, his eyes opening a moment later. Then he gives a soft grunt, one of his eyebrows slightly raising as he turns his head a little to one side. "Why do you think that I have been trying to keep my hands still?" The itching has been driving him nuts, he's just been battling against it since it started to try to keep himself from scratching it raw.

Then he gives Song a bit of a look over his shoulder, a bit disbelief and a fair amount puzzled still. "The beginning...? It gets worse...?" he asks quietly, then gives his head a faint shake. "There is nothing to do but wait through it?" Then he's quiet for a moment. Based on what Song has said, it's beginning to look like he's in for a number of rough days. "Why is this happening?" He can't help but to ask, given the nature of what is happening to him. He was cleared by the doctors in Beijing, and nothing has happened to him since he's come here.

He shifts slightly, sitting up a bit as Song starts to feel along his back, and he tilts his head faintly to one side when he hears the click of the beak. When Song's hands have stopped at that particular point to feel around a bit. "What do you mean by 'something going on'...?" he asks. An x-ray? What the hell is going on? He's still a bit on the stunned side from finding out about there being feathers sprouting from his flesh.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong nods as though that doesn't surprise him in the slightest. "Did you find anything interesting?" As for the question... "A protein strand that doesn't belong there." He is a scientist, but Liansong isn't really sure he'd call himself a 'damn fine one'.

The fingers move away from those spots on Yaozu's back and go back to the gentle scratching. The talons almost seem made for that, though in fact they're made for better gripping. "Yes. Beginning. Only gets worse. My guess is that something happened to you recently. Doctors couldn't find anything amiss so cleared you for duty. You transferred here. Now this is happening. Either whatever it was had a delay built into it, or something triggered it. Did anything odd happen to you in the last week? Injest anything new?" He looks over the 'rashes' that aren't any such thing, and considers. "I wonder how extensive this is going to be.." That seems to be more directed at himself than at Yaozu. Like whatever this is, happens to be the most interesting thing he's ever seen. It might well be!

Then, the talons lift from the man's back. "If I had to make a guess, your back is starting to sprout wings. This location," he says as he brings his fingertips to rest lightly in the spot he's talking about, "Is where the wings of my family group emerge. And, incidentally, most of the birds of the world."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Mm... no. If you mean about RNA. I looked into the basics of it, in Beijing," Yaozu says, a bit distractedly. Which might well raise the question of why would he have an interest in such a thing. Then his brow furrows a bit, and he blinks a couple of times, considering an alternate application of the question he'd been asked. "If you mean the footage of the fighting... maybe? The fighters seemed... exceptional, at first. When I looked closer at how they moved, they were not. They were unable to improvise in the course of the fighting, and it seemed they each used the same martial movements. The same sequence," he says, looking down at the floor in front of him. "I will watch it again," he adds, frowning a brief moment. Perhaps simply a desire to be thorough or perhaps he feels the video has more to offer, information wise.

Yaozu lifts his left hand to rub his forehead a bit, his eyes closing briefly against the headache that's brewing. The scratching from Song's talons is, at least, keeping the tension in his back muscles from creeping back. Why would a protein strand be attached to RNA? He doesn't have an answer for that, but then he doesn't have a lot of knowledge about RNA to start with. And he's trying, with partial success, to focus on Liansong's words. On what he's saying. He blinks a couple of times. Wait... what? His head bows and he gives a small but single nod. "It is in my file. I was captured. Recently. On a mission," he says, his brow wrinkling. He doesn't offer more details than that, though. "No. Nothing I would consider odd. The only new thing I have eaten was the barbeque pizza. My other meals have been here, from the cafeteria," he answers, his tone puzzled. He hadn't asked for any of what's happening to him, hadn't wanted it, either. "Extensive...? It is not able to be stopped, to be... affected?" Yaozu asks, quietly. He more means reversed, but affected is what ends up being said. It's not Song's fault, what's happening to him, and he's trying very hard not to say something he'd regret or to say something uncalled for.

Then Song is talking about wings. Which at first, Yaozu is fairly certain he can't have heard correctly. It simply isn't possible! This was a lot less complicated when he thought it was nothing more than just a rash! He ducks slightly, out from beneath the touch of Song's fingertips there on his back, scooting forward a bit before rising to his feet. "This is not possible," he says, quietly, stepping over to where he'd left his clothes on the couch. It's not that he doesn't believe Song, it's just rather overwhelming and he's not at the point of accepting it. He reaches out for the black inner robe that he'd been wearing, picking it up and slipping it on, his back to Song and his gaze downcast to the floor.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
That might raise the question of why... at least, if Liansong wasn't already aware of the fact that something had happened. Not that he's letting on, of course. So he asks the obvious question. "What interested you in the basics? Considering a new field of study?" Liansong tilts his head ever so slightly. "Hm. Same sequence of movements. As though perhaps that sequence of movements was programmed into them? Or more like that was the only sequence they had had time to learn?" He sounds truly curious.

Liansong doesn't miss the man rubbing his forehead. "Headache?" He is quiet as the questions are asked, and then his voice comes, very soft, but not quite a whisper. "I do not know. If it is like my family group's mutation... then no. There is no way to stop it. Or to reverse it." He already knows that is a question on the other's mind. It has long been a question on his own mind, afterall. "This is why I went into genetics and virology. When the mutation works... it is complicated. Complicated to figure out, and even more so to stop or reverse. I still have not managed to fully understand my family group's mutation." And that is likely something he hasn't openly admitted to anybody else.

Chances are, if something was said, Liansong would not take it personally. That seems to be the sort of person he is. As Yaozu scoots away, Liansong brings his arms in against himself and tucks his hands up against his lower chest, as though he would very much like to tuck them under his feathers. But those feathers are covered, so he can't really do that at present. "It is not an easy thing to accept," he says, voice soft, understanding.

There's a quiet sigh, and Liansong uncurls himself from where he'd been sat. He rises to his feet and moves into the kitchen. "I might be wrong. But the feathers coupled with the location on your back... For your sake, I hope I'm wrong." Hopes. But his words, and his tone, convey clearly the fact that he doesn't think he's wrong, and there's a sadness to the words, to the tone. He doesn't want to be right. Sometimes, being right is more horrible than being wrong.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There is quiet from Yaozu after the pair of questions, though he does give his head a small shake. "No, not considering a new field of study. I have never been particularly science-minded. Despite the wishes of my parents," Yaozu says with a faint hint of wistfulness to the words. His parents had, no doubt, hoped for other things for him besides the path he chose. And he's quiet a moment then, perhaps weighing out what all he should say. What all he could say. "The last mission I was in, in Beijing. It went sideways. Agents were killed. I was tazed. Captured by them. Sedated enough to be unable to fight them. They injected me with something, multiple times. The medical team in Beijing identified some RNA within me after that, which was not there in the medical examination prior to that mission. I wanted to learn what it might do, so I looked into it. Nothing manifested in Beijing, nothing came of it," he says, his brow furrowing anew. He gives a small shake of his head. Then he faintly tilts his head to one side, considering the question of the fighters. "It was more like they were programmed rather than that their learning was cut off. People who have truly learned the movements, they will apply them differently, depending on the attacker's movements. They were like carbon copies of one another," he explains.

Then he gives a small nod. "Mm. Yes," he affirms, about the headache. He does have one. It could have been caused from being so focused on the footage from the fighting, but it's more likely a combination of that paired to the revelations that Song has brought to his awareness. Then there's another piece added to the already wobbly stack of them. No way to stop it, no way to reverse it. What was he becoming? What would he end up as? He didn't know. But it was becoming apparent that he would not remain strictly 'human'. Not anymore. Song's words about his reasons for his field of work pull at his attention, and he turns his head to look to his friend, his roommate, even as he finishes with pulling on the inner robe and buttoning it in place.

Quietly, Yaozu steps over to where Song has moved into the kitchen. And, for the type of person he is, for as much as he maintains his own personal space, what he does might well be surprising. He generally doesn't initiate physical contact or allow it. It's how he was raised. He steps near enough to Song to be within his personal space, and then he lifts his left hand to very lightly bring his hand to rest on Song's shoulder, if he's allowed. "I am sorry, Song," he says softly, a gentle tone to his voice. He hadn't ever considered it from the perspective that Song has shared. He shouldn't have asked if it could be stopped.

"I think we need a pot of tea," Yaozu says softly, giving a small nod to Song. Because tea fixes everything. Except it doesn't, but sometimes... it really does help in its own way. Maybe it's the discipline of his mind that's caused his thoughts to turn to such a mundane thing as tea. "You do not believe that you are wrong. I can hear it in your voice," he says, a faint whisper of a smile finding the corners of his lips as he tilts his head a touch to one side to look to Song's face. Actually seeking eye contact, even if only for a moment. "There are many things worse than wings and feathers... and neither of those things will kill me. Even if they might itch like crazy," he says softly, one of his eyebrows quirking just a touch, a faint bit of amusement in his voice. He's not, by any stretch, come to terms with what's happening to him, yet, but he's trying.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong has to nod. "Yeah. My parents wish I would have not gone into science. They wish I was a bit more offensively minded. Don't get me wrong, I can fight.. I had to go through the same basic self defense and training as everyone else who winds up as an agent." He falls silent then, to listsen to what the man has to say. "Ah. Yeah. I think I'd be looking into the same thing, were I in your place. And that makes sense, with the programming. Such things are theoretically possible.." He says that as though he's never tried to do any such thing. He may have thought about it a time or two, though. "Clones. Kind of like clones. Only what they used..."

He blinks and swings around, very nearly walking straight into Yaozu. Though he'd heard the man coming up behind him, Liansong hadn't heard it on a conscious level. He'd been too deep in his thoughts. He stops short and looks toward that hand that comes to rest on his shoulder. It doesn't feel like a normal person's shoulder. It's a bit more sloped, and.. springy. Like fabric over pine boughs would feel. Only, it's fabric over feathers.

Liansong's brain stutters to a halt, and his pale, glacial blue eyes are wide. "Uh... Sorry for what, mate?" The question is soft, but he really seems to not understand what the apology is for. Then he remembers what he was going for. "Oh! Need to have a look at that tablet," he mutters, stepping around Yaozu with a slight beak gape of a smile. He steps over to the tablet and turns it back on to look over.. something there. It's a bunch of numbers and letters that might rival computer programming for complexity. He scans through it and nods. Then taps the screen. "Here," he says.

"You hit on something, mate. Here is a sequence that would allow that sort of programming to be seeded." The mention of tea, Lian shakes his head. "Neh. Tea's gross. Thanks though. I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee." Though distracted, one thing he doesn't miss as the eye contact. "Well. In theory they won't kill you. In practice... hybridization is.. very tricksy. If it doesn't go just right, it has every potential to kill you." Wait. What?

But wait. There's more. "And there's nothing saying the wings will be functional, if what those bumps are what I suspect they are. Hell, mate. It could leave you crippled for life." Oh dear.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"It is hard to make parents happy, I have found. Mine were slightly appeased when I earned a degree, even though it was in nutrition and dietetics. One feels a certain obligation to do so, and yet... to walk a path that is not the right one would be akin to lying to one's self, every single day," Yaozu says softly, his brow furrowing briely. "It would not bring honour," he adds, in a quieter voice. Not to one's self or to one's family, let alone to one's ancestors. "If you wish to see the footage, I can retrieve it," he offers, a brief glance cast towards his bedroom door before his gaze turns to Liansong. And the apparent epiphany that happens.

When Liansong turns about and nearly steps into him, one of Yaozu's eyebrows faintly quirks up a touch. He hadn't expected Song to do that. And though he wasn't sure what to expect, he hadn't really expected the avian's shoulder to feel like that of another person's. The physiology is different, and there are feathers, so it makes sense that it doesn't.

He was about to explain the apology when Liansong becomes distracted by his original mission of fetching the tablet. There's a moment where he watches Song scanning the data, and then he turns to step into the kitchen. "Coffee, then, for you," Yaozu says, inclining his head slightly towards Song. The kettle is plucked from the stove before being filled with water and set on a burner, and the burner is turned on. Then he gets down coffee as well as tea, setting both on the counter. One mug is retrieved and placed on the counter. A filter spoon is retrieved from a drawer, and loose leaf tea is placed into it before it's snicked closed and placed into the mug. The tea is then put away. He's still listening to Liansong. One of his eyebrows quirks up a touch as he looks over to Song, his head tilting a touch to one side. "Mm. It seems a fair amount of trouble to go to, creating fighters in such a way," he comments. Then his attention returns to what he's doing.

He reaches for a second mug, to bring it down from the cupboard. Which happens to be about the moment when Liansong is essentially reminding him of his mortality. And then it's his brain's turn to screech to a halt. The mug slips out of his fingers, tumbling towards the floor. "Nantekotta i?!" Yaozu exclaims, blinking once. It's not Chinese, this time. He swiftly crouches in an attempt to catch it, the effort knocking it into the door of a lower cupboard with a thunk of sound and enough force to cause it to break. He catches a broken piece of the mug, and a sharp edge of it passes the meaty part of his palm to open a small cut there. He lowers to one of his knees on the floor, then blinks at the broken pieces. Well, that wasn't supposed to happen. His gaze happens to then fall to his hand, where one of the broken pieces is still, becoming aware of a line of blood that's risen to the cut there. "Watashi wa sono yona bakadesu," he grouses to himself. Still not Chinese. His tongue flicks out, briefly, damping his lips, and he closes his eyes as he exhales a breath. "Crippled, dead, or useful... the odds seem not in my favour," he says quietly.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong blows a breath out through his nares. "Tell me about it, mate," he says, regarding parents. "Mine were very slightly comforted that I got some self defense training beyond the little they could convince me of growing up." From that comment, it could easily be inferred that Liansong was not much of a guy for fighting at all when he was younger. He might still not be.

The offer brings a nod. "The footage might be helpful," he agrees. And he might see things the man does not. "Coffee coffee," he says, the words so close together they might be one. "I never turn down a cup of coffee." There's a beak click. For the moment, Liansong's eyes are back on the tablet, and sticking to it like glue. He's even making some notations here and there.

In truth, it's the sound of the cursing, and then the mug hitting solid objects that brings his head up and swiftly to locate the sound. In that moment, it might become obvious just how keen his senses are, especially for pinpointing sound. His pupils pin, just a little, as his eyes focus on the pieces of the mug on the floor. Then his head moves to take in the piece in Yaozu's hand, and the blood there.

His beak clicks. "You have injured yourself. Let me get my kit. You get that under cold water. I'll be right back." He doesn't understand the words, but he's heard enough languages in his lifespan to have a feeling the words spoken are Japanese, most likely. They have the sound.

Liansong goes to his room, laying the tablet on the table while he goes. He returns about in time to see Yaozu still where he'd left him, muttering to himself. "Come come," he says. "Get up and stop wallowing in self pity. It will happen, or it will not. And you can damn well bet that every scientist and doctor here in Shield is going to do their utmost to make sure you wind up better than you were before the end. Even if you wind up crippled, there are things that can be done. The technology we have these days is enough to make that a guarantee. So up. Get up, stand tall, and own it." Little bit tactless there, Liansong. But perhaps... it needs to be said?

Liansong grabs his tablet on his way back into the kitchen, and speaks at it. "Audio translation. Nantekotta i. Watashi wa sono yona bakadesu." Apparently, it's also voice activated. Who'd have thought it? And Liansong says the words back with exactly the same inflections as they'd been spoken by Yaozu initially. The thing beeps and speaks the words back, first in Japanese, then in English. The voice comes, synthesized, "What the hell. I am such an idiot." Liansong blinks, owlishly, and turns his head to regard Yaozu. "Just what about being in shock conveys any idea of idiocy?" His voice is level, and a bit on the quiet side.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Self defense training is important to have," Yaozu says, glancing in Liansong's direction. "I started in martial arts when I was quite young. My parents both wished for me to be able to defend myself. To be able to protect others. So I learned. I practiced, and I trained," he says, his brow furrowing slightly before he gives his head a small shake of his head. He's a fighter, and yet... it's not all he is. There's the violin, after all, even though it hasn't been played since his arrival here.

Coffee for Liansong, and tea for himself, had been the intention. And then he had meant to fetch the tablet with the footage on it for Liansong to be able to view. But intentions, it seems, will need to wait until the wrench is freed from the works. He lifts his right hand, his fingers flicking his hair back over his shoulder in mildly irritated fashion, and then he moves aside the broken piece of mug from his left hand, staring at the cut for a moment. He's aware of Liansong's attention upon him, even before the avian mentions that he's hurt. And he gives a small nod, at that. "Yes. I am injured," he agrees quietly, his brow furrowing slightly. And even though he was told to get it under cold water, there's a part of his brain that simply isn't functioning right now. And so he is, thus, still where he'd been when Liansong returns with his kit.

There's a pair of blinks at Liansong's mention of self pity and wallowing, and Yaozu tilts his head faintly to one side, his hazel gaze turning towards the avian. What? And he's quiet for a significant moment before he inclines his head to Song. "As you say. It will happen, or it will not happen," he says quietly. He glances briefly down to his cut hand, and then he shifts his weight before rising to his feet. He steps over to the sink and turns on the cold water before putting his left hand under the stream of water. The words are not entirely unlike ones he's been told in the past. Get up and get over it, essentially. It did need to be said, and Yaozu doesn't seem to hold it against him for saying it. "Thank you, Song, for reminding me," he says softly, a whisper of a smile finding the corners of his lips.

And as Liansong uses his tablet to translate the Japanese that Yaozu had said, Yaozu gives a slight wince. Ah, hell. That wasn't expected. His brow furrows at that, and his gaze holds to the wound in his left palm. And at Liansong's question, he dips his chin, looking down, his cheeks colouring. "The idiocy was in attempting to catch the mug," he says quietly. Sort of. It's a thing he's successfuly done in the past, and so it was instinct. But he should have just let it fall.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong nods in agreement. "It is, especially in our line of work. You never know when the shit's gonna hit the fan," he says, beak parted in a small smile of sorts. A scientist isn't all Liansong is either, though the rest of what he is hasn't been seen by Yaozu as of yet. He hasn't seen the art. Any of it. Liansong hasn't brought any of it out to even hint at it.

It's a fair bet to say that Liansong has probably heard those words to get over it a time or three in his life, too. Especially when one takes into account that his father is Chinese. "You're welcome," he says. "My father.. Yeah. He says that. Has said it to me on more than one occasion. Not in ..." He pauses and takes a breath. "God. It's been ten years since the last time." He shakes his head at the memory.

The words of explanation are met with a snort. "Yeah. Like I believe that," he says. "The idiocy was you berating yourself because you /failed/ to catch the mug, not because you made the attempt to do so." Oooh. Blunt seems to be a thing with this mutant! Truth to the point of pain. Sometimes, though, this is not a bad thing. He flicks a wing out and lightly baps the back of Yaozu's head with it. It's just the outermost flight feathers, so it really doesn't amount to much more than a breath of air going past. His wing closes with a sound of feathers on feathers, an almost silky sound that has a bit more body to it.

Then, Liansong steps up to the counter next to the sink. He places what is very obviously a medical kit atop the counter and flips it open. Inside are all the things one would expect a doctor to carry. Including a small kit for stitches. The first thing Liansong does is borrow the faucet to wash his hands. Once they're dry, he pulls a pair of medical type gloves on. "How bad is it?" He hasn't even looked at it since seeing it initially. He's been busy getting things ready to begin repair of it.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Yes. That is a very true thing," Yaozu agrees, giving a small nod. The shit had hit the fan with his last mission, after all. "It has a way of doing so when it is least expected to happen," he comments, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Lifting his right hand, he gathers up his hair before settling it to rest at his back. A fair part of it will likely fall forward over his shoulders again, but such is the way of things.

"Both of my parents have said similar, before. My mother is Chinese, my father is Japanese. I was born and raised in China," Yaozu says softly. His right shoulder lifts in the faintest of shrugs, and he's quiet for a long moment. He hasn't spoken to his parents since he'd arrived, and that was simply to let them know that he was here and safely so. How does he explain this? Right now, though, there was no need, and so he pushed the thought aside to worry over later.

Liansong is more willing to call him on his crap, it would seem. And the fact that he does, brings a new flurry of colour to his cheeks, though his gaze remains downcast and to the sink. He's quiet for a moment after the words, but then he does give a small and single nod. "... Yes. It was," he admits, albeit quietly. At the thwap to the back of his head, Yaozu closes his eyes, and there's... a flicker of a smile that comes to the corners of his lips in response to it. Could it be a smile from the contact or from being called on his shit?

When Liansong borrows the faucet to wash his hands, he moves his hands out of the way. "It does not feel too bad. But it could be numb from the cold," he comments, tilting his head a touch to one side as he looks over to Song. It's not a very long cut, and could perhaps benefit from one or two stitches to hold the worst of it closed. "Song... you asked, earlier, what I was sorry for. It is more than one thing," he says softly, his brow furrowing a bit. "I am sorry for asking a question that was not very considerate. And I am sorry, too... that I left when you were helping me," he adds, quietly. He looks down for a moment, and then lifts his gaze to Song.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong lifts up a hand, one finger pointed upward. "Least expected and most inconvenient," he ammends what Yaozu had said. He doesn't look at the man while he gets what he needs ready. And perhaps more than he needs, just in case it's needed as well. "Da is Chinese. Second gen in Oz. Grandparents immigrated from China. Mum's family has been in Oz for generations. Since the first penal ships to settle into a colony at Sydney, in fact. Irish and Scottish, there. Mum's a spitfire. Tiny thing. No idea how she birthed me. Except, well, egg, I suppose." He chuckles. Wait. Egg? Had he really said egg?

The only real way to explain this was one word at a time and hope for the best. Liansong had had it much easier than Song. His father, having been raised mostly on Oz, is pretty easy going.

Since they'd wound up sharing a suite, one thing Yaozu may have noticed about Liansong is that he's not afraid to speak his mind and call it as he sees it. That's really coming home to roost now, though. Poor Yaozu. His head turns to regard the other agent for a moment, and he nods. "Yeah. I know it was." His beak gapes into a grin. "Not stupid, ya know. Bit out of touch sometimes, but not stupid." The way he says it makes it sound like people have called him that before, but not that he thinks Yaozu is calling him thus.

That smile is caught. He doesn't know what it's for, precisely. He's thinking it's for calling the other on his crap. Afterall, there's no contact at present.

"Well, yeah. But that's part of why we run cuts under cold water. And because it makes the blood vessels shrink a bit, which helps control the bleeding." Only now does he look to the wound, and look it over. "Hmm... I think stitches, yes. A couple, at least." He reaches for a disposable paper towel and beckons for Yaozu's hand. "Here," he says, fully expecting the paw to come into his own talon range.

His head tilts at the words of explanation, and then turns to regard the man, entirely sideways. "Pish," he says. "There was nothing wrong with your question. That? Is a very natural question to ask when a person's body is doing things it shouldn't. Can it be stopped? Reversed? Those are often the first questions asked. Nothing to worry about, mate." But for the last part, Liansong's feathers on his face first fluff out for a moment, and then slick back down to what they had been. "It's okay, Yaozu. You did what you needed to do in the moment." His hand still waits, palm up and fingers with their talons on the ends, though gloved, for the man's hand to be placed in his. The gloves seem to be normal gloves. Liansong simply only uses four of the available finger spaces. This, he seems well used to.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Mm," Yaozu says, giving a small nod. "Yes. Least expected and most inconvenience," he adds, tilting his head slightly to one side. "It was the first time that a mission I was on went awry. There had been injuries before, of course, but... nothing like this had happened," he comments, his brow furrowing a touch. He tilts his head again, lifting his gaze to Song and studying him for a long moment after the mention of the egg. "Are... were...," he begins, then softly clears his throat before actually asking, "Were you really hatched from an egg?" He isn't sure if the words are true or meant to be messing with him.

"Mm. No, you are far from stupid, Song. You are probably the smartest person that I have ever met," Yaozu says in a soft tone of voice, a smile finding the corenrs of his lips and tugging there. He doesn't seem to mind that Liansong is willing to speak his mind, to call him out on his crap. So many people back home don't. It's refreshing and welcome.

"It makes sense. The cold water," Yaozu says, giving a small nod. "I suspected it may be enough to warrant at least a stitch or two," he adds, wrinkling his nose ever-so-slightly. And he willingly does move his hand into Liansong's talon range, and further into his hand, to let it be tended. He trusts Song, with his hand and, if it came to it, with his life.

"I... suppose it is a normal question," Yaozu admits, his brow furrowing briefly. His right hand moves, to slip to the small of his back, that familiar habit easily returning. Then he tilts his head a touch to one side. "You fluffed. Are you sure there is nothing to worry about?" he asks, one of his eyebrows quirking up just a touch. Then he gives a small shake of his head, his lips pursing briefly and his brow furrowing a bit. "No. It was not what needed to be done. It is not what should have been done. It is what Chinese culture would dictate," he says softly, lifting his gaze to Song's. "I should have remained where I was," he adds, a bit quieter.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong nods about the mission. "I can't even imagine. But, I have never been out int he field, so I suppose it's a lot different." At the question, on the topic that seems to have caught Yaozu completely offguard, Liansong manages to keep a perfectly straight face. 'cause beak. They don't twitch and curl up like lips do. But his feathers sure do puff out. Then he can't hold it any longer and he laughs. "No mate, I'm funnin' ya. I was born like any other human. I'm a mutant from human stock melded with avian. But we don't have nests or eggs. Normal nests are kinda pokey. 'cause they're made from branches and stuff." Clearly, Liansong was messing with the man. Some of his trickster personality coming out. And possibly an attempt to lighten the mood a bit.

"Pish. I'm certain I'm not the smartest person you've ever met. I just happen to know about tricksy things, is all. Lots of people besides me do." Of course, it never occurs to Liansong that just because /he's/ met a lot of those other people, or at least chatted with them on social media or IMs or the phone, that it doesn't mean Yaozu has as well.

Sometimes, different than the proverbial 'back home' is a good thing. Especially when it's refreshing and a good thing. He doesn't hesitate once he has the hand. He dries it off, dabbing it gently so as not to further aggravate the wound, and gets a closer inspection on it. He peers through the glasses that he always wears. They're special lenses that help him see up close while doing nothing to hinder his distance vision.

He has started to get medication to further numb the area for the stitches, and pauses with it halfway to its destination. Feathers slicked back, sucked in tight at being called on fluffing. He blinks, and then his hand resumes its motion to numb the area.

"Fluffing is generally either a sign of happiness or amusement, not being warm enough, or being angry or territorial. But the fluffing is a bit different. LIke this, for angry or territorial." And the feathers of his face fluff out, and atop his head and along the sides of his head, and the front of his throat but not the back of his neck. How the feathers are fluffed right now gives him an almost eagle or falcon sort of look, and is not the same as when all his feathers fluff out. The feathers relax and puff out all the way. "Like this means the aforementioned. Happy. Cold. Or just comfortable in general. If they're more fluffed than, like this," and they poof out to what seems as far out as they can go. "Means I'm really cold. The further puffed out they are, the better they retain warm. I'll also fluff out fully like that when I just feel the need to shake myself and get the loose feathers off me."

While he talks, he's worked on the wound. Numbing, and then stitching. Now, he's done and tying off the last one. There are three in all. He laps a light bandage on it, more of a big bandaid really, and releases the hand gently. He looks up at Yaozu then, head turning to facilitate doing so. "Yes," he agrees, to the scooting away having been dictated by culture. "But it was also what you needed to do, for you, at the time. I do not take it personally." He might have at the time, but he's clearly already gotten over it. Probably.

His left wing curls forward, the one with that single white pinfeather that is slightly longer than it had been earlier. It curls forward and just touches Yaozu's shoulder briefly before going back to rest at his back. "Perhaps you should have. Perhaps you shouldn't have. What is done is done and there is no use dwelling on it." He pauses and his eyes narrow just a bit. "Wait a minute. Are you just sucking up to get more back scratches?" Though his eyes are narrowed, his tone holds amusement to it and his feathers have fluffed out just enough to indicate happiness or content.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Field work comes with significant risks. And sometimes... sometimes, the risks mean not coming home. It is part of the job," Yaozu says softly, a thoughtful tone to his voice. Definitely different than working in a lab, though that isn't without risks of its own. When Liansong laughs at the question, Yaozu's eyes narrow slightly, and then he chuckles. "I was not certain if you were messing with me or not, about the egg," he comments, a flicker of amusement sounding in his voice. "It makes sense. About the nests and eggs, but sometimes... asking questions is the only way to find out for certain," he adds, giving a nod, his hazel eyes showing a slight spark within them. He doesn't take offense at being messed with.

"You might not think that you are, but... I assure you, you are," he says softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The words are sincere. "One might consider my social circle to be somewhat limited in scope. The field agents that I worked with, some friends from university now and again, some members of the medical team in Beijing, and my family, a handful of others. Social Media's influence and reach is extremely limited, there," he says, inclining his head slightly towards Song.

Different than home is a good thing. Perhaps it's one of the reasons that Yaozu came here. To see first hand what other places are like. He watches as Liansong cleans the wound, looking it over briefly before he lifts his gaze to Song. He's noticed the glasses, but this close, he's able to get a better look at them. One of his eyebrows quirks up just a touch as fluffing is explained, and he's quiet to listen attentively. And to watch closely, as well, as the fluffing is demonstrated. "I remember the cold fluff, from when I first arrived and you were here already. The feathers trap the warm air between them and it becomes like insulation, yes?" he asks, curious. He knows a little bit about birds, but not everything.

He glances down at the wound as the bandage is put in place over it, and he moves his hand a bit as though testing if the bandage will be a bothersome thing. And it doesn't seem to be, which has him then stop moving his hand about since he doesn't want to distress the stitched up wound at all. "Perhaps it was that as well, in part. Sometimes it can be challenging to determine when a thing is done by need or by cultural habit that has become reflex," he says softly. Especially when it has to do with his skin being on display, his personal space, and being touched.

Yaozu seems to relax a bit at the touch of that wing to his shoulder, and he tilts his head to one side as he turns his hazel gaze to Liansong. "A cup of spilled milk cannot be unspilled, only cleaned up and a new one poured," he comments, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Learn from the past instead of dwelling in it. It's not always an easy thing. And he stares at Song in the wake of the teasing accusation that the avian makes, managing to keep a straight face. "That depends," he says softly, his tone level, one of his eyebrows quirking up a touch. "Is it working?" he asks, his hazel eyes betraying a sparkle of amusement and a soft laugh escaping despite his best efforts. It's been a bit of a crazy night.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
That earns an expression from Liansong that is somehow reminiscient of thoughtfulness. He nods slowly. "Yeah. It's a bit different, working in a lab. I mean, accidents happen. Sometimes very bad accidents that can cripple or kill a person. But... we don't usually have people actively trying to kill us in a lab." Definitely different.

Liansong's beak gapes open in an owl-grin. Yup. He's amused by his joke. Silly bird boy. He nods firmly, however. "Yep. The only way to get answers is to ask questions. I mean, you can research to get answers, but... you still have to have the questions in the first place. That's how knowledge is gained."

The compliment finally penetrates his thick face and the skin around his nares flushes a darker pink. "I do see what you're saying but... I really can't be, can I? Really? The smartest person you know?" Somehow, Liansong just can't buy that. The glasses look like they're just normal glasses. Wire frames in a pretty metallic blue that is a nice contrast to his black feathers. Lenses that are probably coated plastic of some sort.

As for the fluffing, he nods. "Right.When they're fluffed out, the trap warm air and become great insulation. When they're slicked down, the warmer air gets pushed out from between them so there's not quite so much heat. If we're too hot, we also hold our wings out, like this." Liansong spreads his wings so they're still folded at the tips, but lifted out and away from his back and sides at the top. This exposes the 'arm' of the wing, the structure of it. It might be curious to note that the feathers are quite thin beneath the wings. There's quite a lot of skin showing. It's pale, pale pink, like there's very little or no pigment at all to the skin that's visible there. That, coupled with the single white feather coming in on Lian's wing might point to the fact that he's an albino.

There's no comment about the man flexing his hand once the bandage is applied. It's a pretty normal thing to do, to see how something not normal is going to affect movement. He nods about cultural habit and reflex. "And then, sometimes things become so ingrained that that's just how a person is. Whether it's cultural habit or reflex, something we learn when we're young becomes part of who we are. It's something that others should respect. Sometimes, I have a hard time recognizing things I should respect and leave alone." He shrugs a little bit, and his wings finally relax and come back down to rest position.

Liansong nods. "Exactly so. One can only clean up the mess and move on. Sometimes, that's how science is. Actually, a lot of the time, that's how science is. Experiments fail more often than they succeed. Such as with the footage from that video. Only so much can be programmed. That might be an experiment that was only partially successful. Enough to use them as cannon fodder."

That sparkle of amusement is not missed, and the laugh is especially not missed. "I dunno. It might be working. It might not be. With owls? It's hard to tell sometimes." Liansong says that perfectly deadpan, too. Then his beak gapes partially open in a grin.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Accidents can happen anywhere. It is kind of why they are called accidents," Yaozu comments. That's a bit dark, but not entirely untrue. Accidents can and do happen in a great many places. Whether in the laboratory or in the field or even at home and all of the places in between. "There are times when I could do without the people actively trying to kill me and the rest of the team part of things," Yaozu begins, pausing a moment before adding, "It was difficult, finding out the others had been killed, after I had been rescued."

"Mm," Yaozu says, giving a small nod. That, it seems, is all he's going to add to the topic of needing questions to find answers or to know where to dig for said answers. He lifts his right hand, his fingers flicking some of his hair over his shoulder, and he faintly tilts his head to one side, noticing the colour that comes to the bits of skin that are visible. Lifting his right hand, he lightly (and harmlessly) flicks the feathers at a midpoint of Liansong's forehead. And he actually attempts to fix the avian with a more direct stare. Though there is a tempering of it with the corners of his lips twitching. "You can be and you are. You have multiple degrees and doctorates accredited to your name. The smartest person I know. Yes," Yaozu says, giving a small nod.

There's a nod, then, about the way feathers become insulation. He had been right about that, it seems. Then he tilts his head faintly to one side. "If you fluff your feathers for more than one reason, then do they also slick down for other than just being too warm?" he asks, curious. He likely never thought he'd be asking about feathers while working at Shield! His attention turns to the wings when the different positions are demonstrated, and he notices the thinner layer of feathers there. "The layer of feathers are thinner there. To more easily let excess heat out? And to be less bulky underneath them?" he asks. The albinism -- if he puts the pieces together and recognizes it for what it is -- is something he doesn't ask about.

"They do, sometimes. Culture has a way of seeping into a person, of playing a part in shaping them. It is what we are steeped in, if you will. Stained by it. You have not overstepped anything, with me. And if ever you do, then I will tell you so that you will know. This, I promise," Yaozu says softly, the words sincere.

"Mm," he agrees, about experiments, giving a small nod. "When the experiment does not turn out as you wish it then you change things, to change the result. The next lot may not be so... structured."

Yaozu quirks a bit of a grin, and then he nods to Song. "Mm. I will have to hope that it has worked enough, then," he comments, a flicker of amusement in his voice. Then his gaze lowers to the broken mug and bit of blood on the floor, and he wrinkles his nose briefly. "After cleaning things up and making our drinks," he adds.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong nods, a very little bit. "Yeah. But not generally the sort of accidents I mean," he says. "Accidents in the lab rarely turn out good." He pauses. "Sometimes they lead to scientific breakthroughs. He chuckles. "Well, yeah. But then, I can't imagine having someone trying to kill you is cery comfortable." He nods, anout the others of the team having been killed, but doesn't comment further on that. He doesn't know what to say, having never been in a similar situation himself.

As his forehead is reached for, Liansong goes absolutely still. The flinch and squeezed closed eyes that comes with the flick says he was expecting something altogether worse than just having his feathers flicked. And shows that something not good may have happened to him at some point in his past. Liansong even takes a step back, head ducking down until his beak is all but touching his chest. The comment about him being smart with degrees and doctorates goes unnoticed entirely.

It doesn't get better. It gets worse. Liansong stands there, hunched in on himself, hands curling up against his chest again. Slight trembles can be seen, but only in the trailing feathers of his wings.

He doesn't answer the question about slicked down feathers, but the answer is an obvious yes, considering his feathers are as tight to his body as he can make them. The question of less feathers below gets a very tiny nod but nothing else. Another very small nod about overstepping bounds and Yaozu's promise to tell him if he does. Again, a very tiny nod about cleaning up. And then Liansong's voice finally comes, very tiny and whispered. "Let me. Your hand needs to heal."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Accidents anywhere seldom turn out good," Yaozu observes, tilting his head faintly to one side. "It is... not particularly comfortable. On a mission that is dangerous, any breath could be your last. You have your teammates and you have your own skills to put trust in. Instinct. Sometimes it is enough. Sometimes it is not," he adds, his brow furrowing a bit. He's been hurt before on missions, but he doesn't open that can of worms at the moment.

The instant in which Liansong reacts the way he does, Yaozu is aware that he has taken a step across a line that he should not have done. There's a slight half-step as he minutely nudges closer to Song, realizes it's a mistake to do so and then shifts a step backwards instead, to give him space. Then he eases back a half step further before he bows deeply, right hand inside the left, the gesture both respectful and apologetic in nature, his long hair tumbling over both shoulders and likely coming near to touching the floor. "Liansong, I am so very sorry. I would never hurt you. Never. I would protect you with every skill I have, with every breath in me," he says quite softly, intently and sincerely. He holds the bow for perhaps longer than his strictly necessary before straightening. His brow furrows with worry, for he'd never considered that the playful gesture would earn such a reaction as it did! He's upset with himself, for damaging what friendship he's managed to earn and build with Liansong thus far. At least any berating of himself happens inside his head instead of verbally. "Ah'Song, please... can you forgive me?" he asks, still in that soft voice, a voice that just crosses into the realm of pleading.

And he's quiet for a moment, thinking. Trying to think, his hazel gaze on Liansong. Worried, and dutifully keeping his hands to himself, fervently hoping that his friend won't flee from him. "Song... are you okay? You can speak with me about anything. If you want to. I would never tell another soul," he says softly. He takes a half step back before lowering to his knees on the floor, near to the pieces of the broken mug, snagging a dish towel with his left hand. "You are more important than my hand. It will heal," he says quietly, looking over the mess and the floor and glancing quickly to Song. His hand has been tended, after all. He carefully reaches out for one of the broken pieces, with his right hand. "I... will not do it again, ah'Song," he says quietly. He wants to understand why it was wrong, but he doesn't want to push. He picks up the broken piece then and moves it over to set it in the dish towel that's cradled in his left hand.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Accidents do, yes. Liansong, however, isn't offering any further argument. Or much of anything in this moment, really. He's still stuck in.. whatever it is. Yes, a line has been crossed. However, it wasn't a line Yaozu was warned about, so there was no reason for him to have been careful of it.

For a change, the bow doesn't elicit anything in Liansong, who still has his eyes tightly closed. He can almost certainly hear it, though, as sensative as his ears are. It likely wasn't the gesture itself that had caused the reaction, but the place it had been aimed. He reacted a lot like he'd been hit there before.

It takes him a fair few minutes before he finally manages to draw a deeper breath. "Not your fault," he finally manages to drag out of his still half frozen vocal chords. "Of course you're forgiven. You did nothing wrong in the first place. I reacted poorly. That isn't your fault." He takes several more deep breaths before his head lifts, his eyes open, and he straightens from that horrible hunched posture.

"Stop," he says quietly. "This isn't your fault. Just.. reach toward me anywhere but my forehead, yeah? I got picked on a lot as a kid and.." He trails off, head turning to look away. After another few breaths he shakes his head and looks to Yaozu again. "Oi. Thought I said I was gonna do that," he protests. "I swear, if you cut yourself again, you're getting stitched without any novacaine." That last has the sound of a semi-threat, the half playful nature coming back just as fast as it had retreated.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
It's only when Liansong speaks again that Yaozu manages to relax a smidge. Not fully, but a little bit. And he gives a faint shake of his head at the words, his dark hair whispering against the silk of his robe. "I made the action that caused the reaction. Had I not, it would not have happened," he says quietly. There's a glance towards Song, but then his gaze falls to the floor and the remaining mess there. He believes that he did do something wrong. The fact that Liansong reacted in a way that indicated he's been hit there before is not lost on Yaozu.

Yaozu shakes his head, faintly. "Your reaction was instinct. Instinct exists for a reason. It is burned into the very fibre of our beings," he says quietly. His hazel gaze lifts from the floor, to Liansong, and he faintly tilts his head to one side. "If anyone ever hurts you then I will deliver it back upon them tenfold," Yaozu says, giving a small and single nod. He might be feeling a smidge protective just now. With Liansong's easing from the hunched posture that he'd adopted, Yaozu's own tension eases off a bit as well.

One of his eyebrows quirks up just a touch, and then he gives a small nod before half bowing towards Song. "Anywhere but the forehead. I understand. Children can be cruel, especially to those who are different," he says softly. He's quiet a moment then, and whether or not he has experience with bullies is something that he leaves unsaid. Then there's a flicker of a smile that finds the corners of his lips, and he gives a nod. "You did. And you can. With my help. And I will deserve it, if I cut myself again," Yaozu says, one of his eyebrows nudging up slightly and a hint of amusement finding the words. He reaches out with his right hand, picking up another piece of the broken mug.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Yaozu may have amanged to relax a smidge, but Liansong doesn't seem to have entirely managed that feat yet for himself. The best that can be said is he is at least no longer curled in on himself. That has to be a bonus, right? And he no longer seems to be trembling. Visibly, at least. "Not your fault, Yaozu." He pauses for a moment, head tilting a bit to the side. "Also... Ah'Song? What does that mean? I haven't ever heard my name said like that before." Which might be telling of how his family considers him an outsider. "The only thing like that that I've heard is my da calling me Song'er."

He nods, about instinct, and it being burned into the very fibre of a person's soul. It's true, afterall. He is quiet for several breaths of time before his voice comes again, quietly. More quietly than the man's had. "I haven't been hurt like that for some years now. But.. sometimes the memory returns to bite me at unexpected times. It's okay. Honest. I'm fine." And he seems to be telling the truth. Liansong seems to be perfectly fine.

The fact of that protectiveness clearly surprises Liansong. His glacial blue eyes are wide as he stares at Yaozu. Finally, he does something he hadn't done in a very, very long time. He does the same bow that Yaozu tends to do. Hands cupped and bent forward at the waist. "Thank you, Yaozu. That... is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." He holds the bow for a breath longer, then straightens up. Perhaps he simply hadn't found anyone worthy to be bowed to prior to this.

"Wasn't just children," he says quietly, almost offhand. Then shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. What's over can't be changed." Though it sure can shape a person!

Liansong nods, and reaches for the trash bin to bring it closer to the broken pieces. He leaves it where Yaozu can reach it. "Okay. You dry, I'll sweep up any extra shards." Something that might be a very good idea, since Liansong doesn't wear shoes!

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There is a small smile that ghosts about the corners of his lips at Liansong's insistence of him having no fault in what happened. Politely, respectfully, Yaozu inclines his head towards Song. "As you say," he says softly, relenting. He's not going to argue the matter further, it would seem. He busies himself with picking up another piece of the broken mug, remaining on his knees on the floor. "Mm," he offers, acknowledging being the first to call him 'ah'Song' but offering no enlightenment as to the meaning behind it. "It is not uncommon for a parent to do so. The 'er' suffix is often used for children or for close friends," Yaozu offers, explaining that part. Odd, perhaps, that he explains what wasn't asked and leaves alone what was asked.

"The memory remains," Yaozu says softly, looking over to Liansong for a long moment. "A similar situation, a similar movement... it brings it back with all of the clarity and sentiments attached to that past moment," he adds, his brow furrowing slightly. He's quiet for a long moment, simply picking up another piece of porcelain to add to the collection in the dish towel. "Mm," he offers again, in acknowledgement this time that Liansong is fine. He will not belabour the point. But he reserves the right to break the fingers (or possibly more) of anyone that does anything to stir up those memories again.

There's a soft wash of colour that comes to his cheeks when Liansong bows to him, for it was unexpected, and he gives a small nod. "You are welcome, Song," he says softly. There is a moment then in which Yaozu is incredibly still when he hears that it wasn't just children. And his gaze slowly lifts to Liansong, studying him for a long moment, a flicker of surprise dashing through his eyes. There's something quietly fierce within him that stirs at that, and he takes a deep breath before letting it out softly. The past is the past, and it cannot be changed. "It cannot be changed. But I will do all that I can to prevent it from happening again to you, Song," he says softly, giving a small nod. Adut or child, he cares little -- he will wreak vengeance on any that hurts Song.

Once the trash bin is closer, he lifts the dish towel in order to tip the pieces into the bin, and then he gives a nod to the suggestion in regards to cleaning up the mess.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
It really wasn't his fault! Really. And that's why Liansong is insisting that it wasn't. It was Liansong's own fault for reacting how he had. He usually has a much better grip on himself than that! It's likely good there's no further argument. Liansong seems to be pretty stubborn.

The fact that something was explained that wasn't asked, while what was asked wasn't... Liansong narrows his glacial blue eyes, but... doesn't ask again. He will likely look it up later. Not now, though. Now, he opts to leave it alone. Stubbornness aside, he won't be able to leave it entirely alone, of course. He's just not going to bug Yaozu about it.

His head tilts a bit and he nods. "All the memories remain," he says. "All of them." A statement that might, perhaps, explain just what his memory is like. He doesn't comment on the words offered, about preventing such in the future. It might happen. It might not. It will greatly depend on whether or not the man is there at the time of such happenings. Liansong gets the mop once the glass is cleared, and mops up the spill. Then it's the broom to make sure any remaining shards are cleared away. Once that is done, he murmurs something about having food inbound, and leaves the room. He probably ordered dinner and it should be arriving about this point.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There's a brief glance towards Liansong in the wake of the explanation that he had offered, an explanation which had not included what had been asked. A part of him had wanted to say and yet, the part of him that hadn't even been aware of the fact he'd used the honorific had won out and the information had not been offered. He hadn't expected that he would use the term, let alone be asked what it meant. Given that Liansong had found out the Japanese words he'd used so easily, he has no doubt in his mind that it will also be done with this.

The statement about Liansong's memory is taken in, and his brow furrows briefly before he gives a little nod. "Mm," he acknowledges. He isn't sure what else to say to that. Though it could be both a blessing and a curse, he realizes. The bad and the good. Once he finishes with picking up the shards and throwing them into the trash bin, he rises smoothly to his feet before stepping carefully past the area and out of the kitchen to make way for the area to be cleaned the rest of the way. Though he notices the quietness that possesses Liansong in these moments, he doesn't try to lure him out of it. "It is a good idea. I will be in my room," he says softly, bowing slightly towards Liansong before the other leaves the room. And then he retreats towards his bedroom of the suite. Depending on how long Liansong is gone from the room, he may or may not hear the sweet tones of the violin from Yaozu's room.