14122/An Aquatic Misadventure

An Aquatic Misadventure
Date of Scene:	13 February 2022
Location:	Triskelion - Pool Area
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Yaozu Lin, Liansong "Song" Qing

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Yaozu Lin has posed:
It is a little while after midnight. The weather outside the base is inhospitable in that not only is it snowing, but it's also turned frigid. Again. This sort of winter isn't quite what he's used to, though winter does come to Beijing and other parts of China. Sleep feels both elusive and unwanted in the moment, and so he doesn't try to seek it out. While he might normally venture to Columbus Park on such a night to sort his mind out, that option was not a viable one tonight, and for not the first time. He left his bedroom, then the suite of rooms that he shares with Liansong, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him.

And Yaozu turned instead to the body of water that is upon the base itself. To the pool. It's perhaps a strange thing -- water is a source of peace and tranquility, and yet there are times when it is also a source of deeper and darker things for him. Though he oft turns to wearing robes when he's not technically on duty, he's wearing something different for today -- he wears a pair of matte black silk trousers, and a blue silk shirt of mid-thigh length with long sleeves and an upright collar and black Chinese frog buttons up the front. His parents had sent the outfit, though he'd had the clothes altered after they arrived. His black hair is unbound, left free to fall in its dark silken lengths over his back.

After standing at the poolside for many long minutes -- how long its been he couldn't say for as focused on the depths and sounds of the water as what he's been, his right hand resting at his back in familiar fashion, he shifts his weight with the intent to turn. What he hadn't expected is the slipperiness of the tiling on the pool deck where he was standing. He gets half turned before his talons slip and slide on the water-slicked tiles. It happens swiftly. There's a brief scrabbling of his talons on the tiles to seek purchase which likely brings up unpleasant sounds. His wings unfurl with a soft and feathery sound, but that doesn't help. With nothing near him to reach out to, and for as quickly as it happens, there's nothing he can do to stop what happens next.

His feet go out from under him, he gives a bit of a yelp that's half startled and half terrified or perhaps panicked, his head hits the edge of the pool at some point along the way, and he's unceremoniously dumped into the water with a splash of it radiating out from where he landed. Into water that's deeper than he is tall. If he hadn't hit his head, he'd be flailing, yet... he is still, and the water soaks him to the skin.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
For Liansong, any weather that is below sixteen degrees centigrade is inhospitable. Never mind this.. this... Frigid, frozen, arctic seeming wasteland of snow and ice. Liansong... doesn't like it. Not one little bit. Australia along the coast is never like this. And Liansong? He doesn't go to the hill country, thank you very much. Thankfully, all the facilities at the Triskaleon that make him happy are blessedly /indoors/. Not only that, they are even more /blessedly/ temperature controlled!

As good as his hearing is, Liansong couldn't help but to hear not only the restlessness of his suite mate, but the subsequent leaving of said individual. After an hour or so of the other avian not returning, Liansong drags his feathery self out of bed and slips into a silken kimono sort of affair in a pale blue that stands out against his black feathers, save that it's a bit flowier than your average kimono and covers him from head to talon tip. He paces out of the suite, talons clicking lightly on the surface of the floor beneath himself.

He spends half an hour before he finally finds where Yaozu had wandered off too. Liansong watches the fellow for a few minutes, curious as to what the other avian might be doing. He remains still, feathers fluffed out as he watches. Up until the other avian turns and skids on the tiles. Liansong moves into motion, not stopping to think. He skids to a stop at the edge of the pool, only to see Yaozu not moving, not trying to surface. Not even glilding further down as Liansong himself likely would have done.

Again, he doesn't stop to think. His legs bunch as he slips the silken wrap off of himself, letting it flutter to the damp tiles. muscles tense, and he bounces, up in a sight arc and then down into the water with a neat little splash. His wings flare open, and he strokes with them as well as with his arms and legs, moving swiftly toward the sinking Yaozu.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
Those in meteorological circles call this particular snap of cold weather a 'polar vortex'. Yaozu just calls it frigid, but then he's often not one to be terribly wordy about anything. Frigid applies well enough for his liking. There used to be some winter activities that he would take part in, but that was when he was still in China -- when he was still human. Things are different now, and he doesn't mind those differences.

No matter how quiet Yaozu is within their suite, there's never a time that he actually thinks that Liansong doesn't hear him -- not since his mutation had finished. He knows from his own experience what the owlish hearing is like. How sharp and keen it is. If he hears anything of Liansong's approach or arrival to the area of the pool, then there is no sign of it that shows in him at all. There are times when he can be quite focused, and those long minutes staring into the water were one of those times. Yaozu considers it a form of meditation, of finding the peace and balance within himself.

Yaozu knows the basics of how to swim. He never employs those basics, but he knows them. The water soaks through his silks and soaks into his feathers, and it gradually tugs him deeper into the pool. His wings remain spread but limp within the water, and still he doesn't move at all. Bubbles trickle up from his nares and from his parted beak. His black hair floats all around him, nigh like some inky cloud seaweed adrift within the water. Not even the sound of Liansong coming into the water brings him to stir at all.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong doesn't call it anything. He just fluffs his feathers and huddles miserably next to the nearest heat source. Liansong doesn't let his physical self being not visually human stop him from participating in activities. But he's from Australia. East coast Australia. He hates being cold. He'd never been cold at home. And while he'd had to rescue idiots from drowning before, he'd ever had to rescue an idiot who was terrified of water from drowning before. If Yaozu truly didn't mind the changes, he'd still be doing those winter activities.

Liansong makes a mental note to smack some sense into the other Avian. Meditating in a dangerous place is not just foolish, it's stupid. But that will have to wait for later. Save the idiot featherhead first. Closer, he draws. Closer. Closer yet. And then Liansong snags one of those limply spread black wings. Snags it, closes his fingers around it, talons linking together in a lock, and turns to flap and stroke his way to the surface.

The surface is breached a few seconds later, and Liansong takes a big breath. He drags Yaozu's head to the surface and then to the side of the pool. He shoves the black form up and out of the water, and then swings himself up out of the water with practiced grace. He moves immediately to the other avian's side, smacking him on either side of his beak several times. Not hard enough to do damage, but hard enough to snap him awake, he hopes. With his hearing, at least he doesn't have to feel for a pulse or breathing. He can hear them clearly when they are there.

And hear the silence just as clearly when they are not.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
No matter how warm Liansong sets the thermostat for their room, Yaozu never offers a complaint to it. Nor does he adjust the temperature himself. He willingly lets Liansong have free rein over it. It's a small thing, but it's an easy one. One day, he should take the time to look into the option of custom equipment for things -- clothing can be tailored, so why not other things? -- yet the notion has likely not taken the opportunity to wander through his brain as of yet.

When Liansong captures his wing, there still isn't a response from him. Not a tug or a twitch or anything. He body and self are, alas, so much in the way of dead weight as he's dragged up to the surface. And he remains that way as he's shoved out of the water and to the pool's edge. Back to the tiles that he been his downfall. One of his wings moves and makes a sodden splorch of sound when it slides from being atop of him to come to rest on the tiles.

There is the sound of his heartbeat, although it is slower than normal, which is likely not terribly surprising. Of breathing, there is no sound. No breath stirs within his feathery self. There's a burble and a weak sounding cough that happens after the initial smacking to either side of his beak. Then there's a moment of quiet followed by a slightly gasped and gurgly breath, and coughing that's more forceful and water that splutters up and out of his beak. A bit more coughing, and then there's a slight twitch of one of his wings. There's a more normal breath taken, a quiet groan of sound. "Aiyo," he murmurs softly. 'Ouch', in his native Mandarin. His head hurts. He gives a slight shudder, then his eyes flicker and open and look to Liansong. "Ah'Song." The name is said quietly, near a whisper in volume, and with a fair amount of both gratitude and relief in it.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
That's the thing. Liansong never sets it so high that Yaozu is uncomfortable. He just hugs he heater vents instead. Or wears something warm. Or covers up with a blanket. Liansong has never really changed it after the initial setting when he first arrived at the Triskelion. It had been set at that point to a comfortable seventy three or so farenheit. Everything can be customized. Liansong would be the first to say that, if he were to be asked. But, he hasn't been asked, and he hasn't thought to volunteer that information.

At least there's a response to the slapping. Liansong has no means to give mouth to mouth. Not with a human, and not with another avian. No flexible lips to form a seal with. "You're an idiot," states Liansong. "What the actual /fuck/ did you think you were doing, next to the pool, at this time of night with nobody else around? No lifeguard around, you stay the bloody fuck away." Ooh, someone is /not/ happy! "You're damn lucky I decided to go looking for you, you feathered fucking moron." This might well be the first time anyone has heard Liansong use anything stronger than 'bloody'. Gratitude? Not returned. Liansong is /pissed/. And not afraid to show it.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
A couple of extra fluffy blankets might have appeared in the suite with winter settling in as it has. With as cold as it gets outside, there are times when Yaozu appreciates to sit wrapped in a blanket, too. Especially after he's returned from practicing his martial arts when he does it outside. It's also a good way to enjoy a cup of tea. And a cookie or three. Or a healthier snack.

There's a blink in response to Liansong's first choice of words for him. That... doesn't particular bode well for the words that are to follow. And when those words come, Yaozu's feathers slick and his ear tufts flatten. He stares up at Liansong, and he blinks, and he's silent as he's well and truly told off and scolded. Liansong has a temper, and the verbal display of it forces him to think.

He exhales a breath through his nares, and then his feathers fluff -- sort of, for being soaked -- and he gives a small nod. He doesn't state the obvious, that he's made Liansong angry. "Yes, ah'Song," he says quietly. There's a brief pause there. "I was being an idiot. I was listening to the water, watching it... sometimes, I think it might be not a bad idea to get used to the water," he offers, in explanation. At least he knows better than to say he's done it a number of times before! "I will stay away from it, going forward, unless the lifeguard is here. Yes, I am lucky that you looked for me. And grateful that you did," he adds, giving another small nod.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
That? That is not truly told off. Scolded, yes. Liansong has only barely begun. "And if I even catch a /hint/ that you might be leaning toward suicidal tendencies, you'll be pulled from active duty faster than you can blink," he says, voice low and full of threat. He may have suspected such tendencies prior to this, and it has inched that suspicion up just a hair. Not enough for him to make good on that threat. Not yet.

Then, Liansong forces a breath in, and eases it out. Calming himself. Somewhat. "As it is, you're going in for a scan. Avian lungs don't take well to being filled full of water. Come." He rises to his feet, turns on his heel, and stalks over to first, pick up his discarded silken wrap, the silk already starting to discolor from the water it had fallen into. And then, toward the exit. The feathers on his head are all spikey fluffed out. The rest are slicked down. His head is lowered in a pretty predatory posture. Still pissed.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
It's more told off than what Yaozu has been in a long time! The ear tufts flatten at the mention of suicidal tendencies, and he gives a small nod. "I understand, ah'Song. Entirely. This was not that. This was not intentional, at all. This was an accident. I am sorry," he says quite softly, his tone sincere. He doesn't doubt that Liansong would pull him from active duty -- he's done it before, albeit not for the reason he threatens now. "I do not wish to die," he adds, in a quieter tone. It at least applies in this moment -- he doesn't want to die, and he does want to live.

"Whatever you deem to be the best to do. I will not argue to it," Yaozu says softly, giving a small nod about the scan. He lifts a hand to rub the spot on his head that had struck the edge of the pool, wincing a little bit. Then he moves to get to his feet before pulling his wings in close against his back. With Liansong still visibly pissed, his own feathers slick down and his ear tufts flatten, and he makes to follow his roommate.