13722/A Late Night Return

A Late Night Return
Date of Scene:	13 August 2021
Location:	Suite A5 Yaozu and Liansong, The Triskelion
Synopsis:	Yaozu returns to their suite to find Liansong working on a painting and ends up unintentionally startling him. The pair have tea, conversation, then watch a philharmonic orchestra recording.
Cast of Characters:	Yaozu Lin, Liansong "Song" Qing

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Yaozu Lin has posed:
It's rather late at night, currently. Past midnight, in fact. Yaozu has been away from the base for a number of hours. It had only been a short while after dinner when he had left the base, and in his usual manner, he hadn't offered any manner of explanation or left any sort of note. It wasn't a particularly strange thing. It's not quite one yet when there comes the snick-ticking of Yaozu's talons upon the residential hallway to mark his return to the base. As he has taken a habit of doing, he wears a set of traditional Chinese robes, and it is perhaps an unsurprising thing that they are mainly black in colour. The long sleeves, neckline edges and lower hem of the robe are trimmed in a pattern of leaf embroidery that's done in a pale green shade. The lower hem is also a bit damp, as is the lower edge of his left sleeve. Yaozu doesn't seem to have noticed that either is the case.

The midnight black feathers are slightly fluffed, and his ear tufts are up. Once he reaches the door of their room, he withdraws his key in order to unlock it, then slips the key away once again, this done with his left hand. Reaching out his right hand, he opens the door before stepping inside, and he closes the door as quietly as can be done, his ears listening for any sound from within the suite of rooms. His black hair is somewhat tamed into a braid, though it's no longer as neat as once it had been, some of his hair having been frayed out of it.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
The sounds from within are quite minimal. The only obvious sound is that of a brush spreading paint upon canvas. Not that people with normal hearing would be able to hear it. Nor the sound of breathing and a heartbeat, and yet both come from within. Upon entry into the suite, Liansong cannot be seen. The sounds all come from his room. The door happens to stand open.

When it's passed, within the lights are turned up and Liansong in naught but a pair of loose pants and all his starkly white feathered glory can be seen. He's standing in front of an easel he's set up on his desk within, and appears to be painting something. What it is cannot be seen, for he stands between it and the door, with his back to the door.

The white avian shakes his head. "No. That's not quite right," he mutters. So lost is he in what he's creating that he hadn't registered hearing the door open nor Yaozu's approach to the apartment moments prior to that event. Nope, he's busily painting away.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
The lock upon the door is snicked back into place after it's been closed. Yaozu turns to step further within the suite, his head tilting to one side in a manner that's more avian than human for the degree of it. He can hear Liansong's breathing and heartbeat, both of which reach his ears easily enough. And he knows that Liansong would be able to hear his own, both of which are steady and even at the moment.

Since Liansong's door is open, he steps over to it and stops, near to but not quite within the doorway. To be within the doorway itself or into the room itself, unbidden, would be to break propriety. He brings his hands together in front of himself, his hands vanishing up the opposite sleeves. "Ah'Song, would you care for something to eat or drink?" Yaozu offers, his tone soft spoken. There are different reasons that he could be offering, though he's likely planning on making himself a cup of tea.

He pauses for a moment, his ear tufts flickering a little bit. "Is something troubling you, ah'Song?" he asks, tilting his head to the other side. He can't see -- and doesn't try to be able to see -- the canvas that Liansong is working on. Doing so would be nosy.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
And yet, despite being able to hear these things, they don't register consciously within Liansong's mind. He's too engrossed. And is actively painting. He finally nods, seeming satisfied with whatever it is that hadn't been quite right before. The voice behind him comes unexpected and sudden. Liansong jumps, and yelps and whirls about, the paintbrush held up before him like a weapon. Upon the end, a beautiful shade of blue somewhere between aqua and royal.

"Jesus, mate," he explains. "Don't sneak up on a body like that! You scared me half to death." He tilts his own head. "'Ah'Song'?" He sounds curious. "New nickname?" He doesn't seem displeased. "Uh... no thanks. I have what's left of an iced coffee here." He half turns and gestures toward the desk beside his canvas. Part of the image can be seen. It appears to be water. "And no, nothing's troubling me. Why?" He turns back to the canvas and desk and drops the paintbrush into a jar half full of water. Can't have the paint drying upon the brush.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
It's an understandable thing, really. There are some things that Yaozu does that he becomes engrossed in as well, and the rest of the world seems to fade away. His violin playing is one of those things, not that he's been doing it lately. At the startlement that he's caused, Yaozu's feathers slick back, and he blinks a couple of times as his gaze falls to the paintbrush and the way it's held. "That is quite a lovely shade of blue," Yaozu says softly, giving a small nod. He shifts his hands slightly, the back of his right fitting to the palm of his left, and he bows apologetically, briefly. "I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you, ah'Song," he says softly, a small smile parting his beak slightly.

"Mm, yes. Ah'Song," he affirms, giving a small nod. His gaze follows the gesture, taking note of the iced coffee before he gives another small nod. "Mm, I will just make tea for myself," he says softly. He can't help but to notice the part of the image that can be seen, admiring that small portion of it. "Ah. Forgive me for overhearing... you said that something was not quite right," he says softly, his head ducking slightly.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong shakes his head without turning back to look at Yaozu. "It's fine," he says, his eyes on the canvas and what he's painting. "And yes it is, a lovely shade of blue. You'll probably like the whole of it when I'm done." The smile can be heard in his voice, though he doesn't move aside to provide a look.

"Ah. Yeah. Something wasn't quite right with what I'm painting. Fixed now, all good." He swirls the brush around for a moment to clean the paint off it, then lifts it from the jar to dry it on a paper towel next to the jar. He dips it again, and goes back to painting. "How was your day?"

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There is a small nod from Yaozu, and a hint of a smile that likely barely shows in his avian features. "Mm, I will take your word for it and believe you, ah'Song. I am sure that it will be as you say," Yaozu says softly, a warm note to his voice. His gaze has, in the meanwhile, lifted to Liansong's features so as to not be peeking at all to the canvas or what little can be seen upon it. "I am glad that it was able to be fixed," he adds, giving a small nod. He tilts his head a bit to one side, studying Liansong for a long moment. "Do you mind, that I call you 'ah'Song'?"

He shifts slightly then, moving away from the doorway of Liansong's room in order to head for the kitchenette and fill the kettle for tea. With his hearing as it is and the door standing open, he can easily still hear what is being said. There is the sound of the water running as he fills the kettle, and then he places it onto the stove before turning the burner on. "It was, by and large, a quiet sort of day. It was not a bad day," he says. "I meditated this morning and did some practice, and some other exercises. I am trying to strengthen my wings," he adds. He opens a cupboard to reach down a mug, placing it on the counter before he retrieves his tea. "I went to the park, in Chinatown, this evening... Columbus Park, I believe it is called. I practiced for a time, and then I stood overlooking the water," he offers. He doesn't usually offer much in the way of details about his day. "How has your day been?"

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
It will be as Liansong says. He will accept no less from himself, afterall! His loose pants are fairly non descript, are probably made of cotton, or perhaps raw silk, and are pale blue in color. They look comfortable. He pauses in painting and glances over his shoulder at Yaozu. His white feathers fluff up around his face as he looks to the other avian. "I don't mind at all, Yao." His beak gapes ever so slightly in an owl-grin, and he turns back to the canvas.

Now he's listening to what is going on as well as painting. And more importantly, listening to what Yaozu has to say. "Good. You need to strengthen your wings. What are you doing to strengthen them? Also, why are your robes damp?" Of course he'd noticed that! Despite the glance having been a fairly short one. "My day's been fine. Got off shift about two hours ago. Had something to eat. Been painting ever since."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There isn't anything more that Yaozu says about the painting, for he is patient -- he will wait to see it when it is finished. There is a fluff of Yaozu's black feathers that happens when Liansong gives voice to not minding the nickname, and he gives a small nod. "Good. It pleases me that you do not mind it, ah'Song," he says, a smile parting his beak. This said before he had made his way to the kitchen.

He measures out the looseleaf tea into the mug, then replaces the canister of it back to the cupboard. He glances to the kettle, though it's not anywhere near ready, and he gives a small nod. "Yes. If I am to try to fly, to see if it will work, then they must be stronger," Yaozu says, a thoughtful tone to his voice. He does want to try to fly, and hopefully not before he's actually ready to do so. "I have exercises that I have been doing to try to strengthen the muscles. I can show them to you, if you wish?" he offers, looking towards Liansong's room for a moment. He looks down to the lower edge of his robe for a moment and blinks as though considering it for a moment. "I had to get closer to the water in order to float a yellow lotus flower on the surface of it. For someone that I cared about," he says softly, his gaze lifting to the kettle to wait for it to boil. "For Jin Huang," he adds, in a slightly softer tone.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong seems satisfied enough to stop with his painting about the time Yaozu mentions Jin Huang. He'd been listening prior to that, murmuring 'mmhmm' at the appropriate intervals, but not really commenting on anything said. He cleans the paint brush once more and dries it before laying it aside. He takes up the palette he'd been using and walks into the kitchen with it. He walks over to the sink and starts rinsing it off before he speaks.

"Jin Huang?" For a moment, that's all he says. Then he speaks again. "I would like to see your excercises. Then I can tell you if they're working or if you need different ones. We'll have to go to the gym or outside though. It's too small in here to work well." There's a short pause as he sets the palette aside to dry and reaches for a hand towel to dry his hands. "You haven't been playing your violin lately, mate. Why?"

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There are the signs that Liansong is listening, and Yaozu doesn't seem to mind that there aren't any comments offered up. As Liansong enters the kitchen, he turns his attention away from the kettle and towards his roommate, watching him. He seems at ease, waiting for the kettle. Lifting his left hand, he catches a stray bit of hair between his fingers, twisting it briefly before tucking it back into his braid. It's unlikely to stay there, but it does get it out of his face for the moment.

He gives a small nod to Liansong. The fingers of his right hand stir slightly beneath the sleeve of his robe, turning the ring that he wears. "Yes. I was twelve, perhaps thirteen, when I met him. When I came to know him," he says softly. There's a pause there, and he reaches out his left hand to claim the kettle before pouring it into his waiting mug. His gaze is upon his tea, watching it, and he reaches out to place the kettle back in place. "He was the first that I loved, and he died the end of that school year," he adds in a softer tone of voice. He gives a small nod before looking aside to Liansong. "I will show them to you, perhaps later tonight or tomorrow, either outside or in the gym would work well," he offers. He glances towards the palette as it's set aside, and then he tilts his head to one side at the unexpected question, his gaze lifting to Liansong. "I have not been, that is true. In part, I have been afraid to try it in case I am not able to play any more, in case the talons I have now will damage the violin. It is more than that, though... I have not entirely been of the right mind for it," he admits in a soft tone.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong is almost always listening, except when he's in the middle of something that has him thoroughly distracted. Such as painting or work. He finishes drying his hands and turns to face Yaozu. Without really looking, for the peripheral vision of owls is quite good, he hangs the towel back where he'd gotten it from. And he listens. Quietly and without comment until the other avian seems done speaking.

"I'm sorry that you lost your first love," he says softly. That seems to be really all that can be said in that situation. Liansong doesn't want to pry, and so he doesn't. There's genuine sympathy in his tone, as well. "Why haven't you been of the right mind? And if you're worried about damaging your violin, get a different one to practice with. One that doesn't mean as much to you."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
Reaching out with his left hand, Yaozu stirs his tea before lifting the spoon holding the loose leaf tea out of the mug. He sets it aside on a saucer, and then he brings his left hand to pick up his cup of tea. He gives a small nod, to the apology that Liansong offers. "Thank you, ah'Song," Yaozu says softly. He's quiet for a moment, perhaps considering what more to offer of it.

"He was drowned, and I found him so," Yaozu says softly. His right hand slips out of the long sleeve of his robes, joining his left hand upon his mug of tea. "His death was in July," he adds, offering that much more. He looks down into his tea for a long moment, and his wings shift slightly at his back. "China is different than here, in many ways," he says softly, his feathers slicking down. "My mind has not been a quiet place and my thoughts have been of a darker cast, ah'Song," he adds. This is not said easily, but he does at least admit it. "Perhaps I can find a second hand violin to be able to practice with, to be able to learn where my talons will rest upon it and figure out a solution, if one is needed."

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
The thanks is met with a nod but no further words on that score. Instead, Liansong listens again. He shifts back a bit to lean against the counter, but his crystal blue eyes remain upon Yaozu. Listens, but once again does not comment. Not on the other avian's dead love. Instead, he shifts the subject over to the other's darker thoughts. "Why have your thoughts been dark?"

He nods about a second hand violin, and then thinks about it. "You know, if you file the tips of your talons so they're not needle sharp, you should still be able to play just fine without damaging anything. And you'll eventually be able to learn the fine motor control necessary that you don't pierce anything with them." His beak opens in a smile. "At least your talons retract. Mine don't. They can be a nightmare in surgery." He keeps his filed. Yaozu has witnessed him doing this a time or two. Filed and as short as is safely possible.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There is a stretch where Yaozu is quiet. He listens to the question that Liansong asks, but there is no answer that is offered immediately to it. He lowers his head, looking down into his tea whilst he weighs the words for a lingering moment. "That they have been dark is not entirely unusual," Yaozu says softly. His ear tufts lift, and then fall after a moment. "Cutsleeves are not viewed well in China. There are many negative views that fall upon them. Jin Huang was drowned because of being one. Bullied for it, first. As was I, in years before, until I fought back and convinced them that they should not bully me," he muses, shifting his tea to his left hand before lifting it to take a sip of it. The fingers of his right hand turn the silver ring worn on one of his fingers. "As is also the case with left-handed people," he adds, giving a small shake of his head. This is something that Liansong would know that Yaozu is, from his files. "I am not in balance with myself, in many ways. I have always struggled with both trying to be good enough and knowing that I cannot be," he says quietly.

He shifts his right hand, to look to his talons and the sharp ends of them, considering the suggestion of filing them. "I could file them, that is true. It could work, and I am willing to try it. I would still prefer to practice on a second hand one rather than the one that I already own, until I know for sure that it will work. I am still learning to control the talons. I have many things to learn, about being what I have become, about using what I now have that is different than being human," he says softly. He's quiet for a moment, and he takes a sip of his tea, watching Liansong as he does. "I recorded a philharmonic performance. If you wish, we can sit and listen to it before turning in for the night," he suggests, a bit hopeful. He enjoys Liansong's company, and has found himself to have trust in him as well.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Those talons being a nightmare in surgery may well have been part of the reason why Liansong hadn't gone the path of a surgeon, but had instead gone more into the research end of things. Which isn't to say that he doesn't have the skills necessary for being a doctor. He does. He had his residency treating patients just like everyone else in his line of work had. Liansong tilts his head sideways a bit, so he's looking at Yaozu at sort of a cockeyed diagonal. "Cut.. sleeves..? This means what?" Despite the fact that he does speak fluent Mandarin, Liansong was not born in China. In truth, he's never actually been to that particular country. Thus it is that Liansong does not understand the connection between cutsleeves and dark moods.

The way Liansong's feathers lay, mostly slicked back, he looks perplexed. He isn't entirely sure what is being spoken about. He understands being bullied, though. And his feathers fluff out as it's mentioned that someone was drowned because of whatever being a cutsleeve is. Children who have all of their parents' prejudices and none of their restraint can be terrible. He knows this from experience.

His crystal blue eyes are drawn to the fiddling with of that silver ring. He knows about the other avian being left handed. And he raises a brow. "People still hold prejudices against left handed people?" He shakes his head, and still looks perplexed. He snorts out a breath, though, and looks annoyed. "Whoever said you weren't good enough is an idiot, mate. Toss that thought right on out of your head."

As for the violin, Liansong nods. "Well of course. Until you know what you can do with your new talons and how they function and can control them, you should use a second hand instrument. Even filed, you could still cause unintentional damage to anything in your hands until you learn that control." There's a reason Liansong had suggested a second hand violin! At the offer of listening to a philharmonic performance, Liansong looks a bit hesitant, but finally nods. "Yeah, sure mate. We can do that." He doesn't /sound/ hesitant, at least. And he straightens from the counter to walk toward the livingroom and the couch.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
Even in research, the talons can be somewhat in the way for a number of different tasks. He has more than one reason to trust in Liansong's medical abilities, not the least of which has to do with that he's been a patient under Liansong's care before. He blinks at the cockeyed look that he gets, and his ear tufts lift slightly before laying back at the question which follows. He should have expected that given that the slang is a bit of a cultural term rather than being more wide spread. His beak makes a soft snicking sound as he considers just what to say, and his feathers slick down. "It... is a slang term used commonly in China," he says softly, and he can't help but to look down after saying that. There isn't really an easy way for him to end up saying it, and he's not familiar with the American term for it to be able to use it instead. "It is a term that is used for those who prefer their own sex for relationships," he offers in a voice that is both soft and shy at the same time, a bit hesitant, as he doesn't often speak this openly about himself. There is a slight crimson iridescence that might be caught lurking about the feathers above where his robes close at his chest.

He doesn't know what to expect in the next moments after offering the explanation. This is different territory for him to be in. His feathers stay mostly slicked down, and it's a long moment before he lifts his gaze back to Liansong. To watch his friend, his roommate. He shifts the cup of tea slightly in his hand, yet he does naught more with it than to keep it in hand, for the moment.

He gives a small nod, at the question about left handed people. "Yes, it is so. I was not permitted to use my left hand for things, in school. There were... various methods used to prevent it. When I was home, so long as there were not guests, my parents allowed me to use my left hand," Yaozu says softly. His feathers fluff up a little bit, as this is a bit easier for him to talk about than being a cut sleeve is. "China has a high population and a very low percentage of left handed individuals. Those who are born left handed are not permitted to remain so, generally," he says softly, lifting one of his shoulders in a very small shrug. He had to accept it, when he was younger.

There is a small smile that parts his beak at Liansong's words about the notion of not being good enough. And it is only at this point that he takes a sip of his tea. Then he inclines his head slightly towards Liansong. "I will try, ah'Song. Beliefs can be challenging to change or alter. As it could be said, I am my worst critic and I am most harsh when judging myself or my actions or skills," he says softly.

"Yes. I have damaged some things, already. Unintentionally, but... it has happened all the same," he admits. Clothes, dishes, towels... any number of things have suffered the sharpness of his talons as he's tried to become accustomed to them so far. There's a smile that returns at Liansong's acceptance of watching the performance, and Yaozu gives a small nod. What he didn't say is that it's the Sydney philharmonic that he'd recorded, but he'll wait for the recording to divulge that when it's started. With the tea in hand, he shadows after Liansong towards the living room and the couch.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
There's a quality about Liansong that says if he had eyebrows, he'd be raising one now. But as it is, one eye narrows whilst the other remains open. Both are fixed on Yaozu. "A slang term," he states. Not asks, but states. And then waits for clarification. And when it comes, that narrowed eye opens again for a more normal owlish expression. "Ah. Slang for 'gay'. Isn't it easier to just say you're gay, mate?" Liansong shakes his head and a quiet chuckle can be heard coming from him. "And here, I thought a cutsleeve was something /bad/." He chuckles again and resumes his walk to the couch. He doesn't appear to have noticed anything odd about the feathers. But he was looking at Yaozu's face, so he might not have seen.

It's entirely clear that the confession has not bothered Liansong in the slightest. It's also clear that he doesn't view being gay as a bad thing. He seems far more bothered about the left handed thing, in fact. "People in China are assholes. I'm glad I didn't grow up there." He pauses and looks over his shoulder at the other avian, something he can easily do. "I'm sorry you had such a bad time of it." He carries his tea with him, of course. He grunts at the words of beliefs. "Let me put it this way. I catch you acting like you're not good enough, or if you say it, I'm going ta thump ya." He snorts a breath out his nares and flops down on the couch, without paying any mind to his feathers. "I'll help ya file your talons later, if you'd like. Not much different than filing human nails. Just making them smooth instead of sharp."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Mm. Yes. A slang term," Yaozu acknowledges, giving a small nod. He ducks his head slightly, looking down for a brief moment before he lifts his gaze back to Liansong. "I did not know the proper English word for it, just... that one," he admits, a touch sheepishly. "I do not usually speak of it, at all, to need to say either," he adds. With those words, too, there's a flicker of that crimson iridescence to touch his feathers again. He tilts his head a bit to one side. "It... depends on the perspective, ah'Song. In China, it was not a good thing to be. It has never been. Different in any way is not a good thing to be," he says softly. The way China is had shaped him in many ways.

Yaozu pauses along the way to the living room, lifting his cup of tea to take a sip from it. Then he continues towards the couch, to settle there. His feathers have fluffed back towards a more normal and relaxed state with noticing that Liansong has not been bothered by his admission. He tilts his head to one side as he looks to Liansong. "Mm. Some can be, this is true. The overall societal and cultural expectation of being like everyone else is strong there," he comments. "I am grateful that you did not grow up there as well," he adds. He doesn't mention what might have happened to Liansong, given the other's appearance -- what would happen to himself if he returned -- but there's a shadow to the words. "I appreciate that, ah'Song. I grew to accept the way it was, to deal with it. I did not like it, but there was nothing I could do about it to change it or make it different," Yaozu says softly. His ear tufts wobble slightly at the threatened thumping, and he tilts his head and attempts to restrain a bit of a grin as a hint of a sparkle rises to touch his eyes. "I will have to mind my Japanese, then," he comments. He knows it's likely that Liansong has continued to learn the language. "Between you and my shixiong, I will learn. Eventually," he adds in a soft and mildly amused tone. Then he gives a nod to the offer, his beak parting in a smile. "I would like that, please. They have grown to be rather sharp." He sets his tea aside before pickig up the remote and navigating to the recording and pressing play for it to begin.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong makes a quiet sound, but doesn't speak aloud how he feels about China and the way it shapes people. To say that he's unimpressed.... would be very accurate. He doesn't have demons from China, but he has his own demons from how he had grown up. Not that he is willing, in the slightest, to mention those to Yaozu. The avian has more than enough problems on his plate without Liansong adding more to them. He snorts a breath out his nares. "You would be wise to mind your Japanese. If I find out you've belittled yourself, even in another language, I'm going to thump you." He turns his head to look at the black feathered avian, crystal blue eyes narrowed as he /stares/ at him. Nope. Yaozu is not going to get away with that in the future. Nope. Not at all. He nods about the talons, and settles in to watch the recording, and do his best to enjoy the tea and company while it plays.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
The black avian has his own sentiments about his homeland, but he doesn't offer them. He had little reason to know that other places were so much different when he still lived there, since he was born and raised there. He has demons a-plenty that have followed him from there to here, though hopefully he'll end up losing some of them at some point in time. He is, at least, extending trust where in his homeland he would otherwise not do such a thing. "I will do my best to mind it. It slips out sometimes," Yaozu admits, giving a small nod and a glance towards Liansong. He turns his head though, to meet that crystal blue gaze for at least a moment before he ducks his head slightly and gives a small nod. "I believe you. I will do my best," he says softly. He settles in a bit more, making himself a touch more comfortable there on the couch as the recording starts. For these moments, at least, Yaozu finds a measure of contentment -- he's with a friend and someone he trusts, he has a cup of tea, and he has music even if it's not of his own creation. For these moments, his demons can bugger off.