[Exploring new places puts Xingchen at a natural disadvantage, but he tries to take the environment in stride. The lack of Shuanghua leaves him both at ease and disquieted; how can he help with so few skills outside of cultivation? Well, it seems whoever grabs him by the wrist doesn't mind that part at all because as soon as Xingchen passes another threshold, he finds a knife and some produce thrust into his hands.
Oh. This must be-- Metal clicks on wood, meat fat sears in pans, and the smell of oil all tell him that he's found the kitchen. Another set of hands nudge him and a body presses behind. He's in the way. Where should he-- He follows the crunches of knives through vegetables and settles in next to someone.
He always liked to keep busy; idle hands never suited him. Hesitating a moment, mind on the well-wrapped injury on his throat, he feels around for the edge of the potato in his hands.]
ii - b. staff for a day - laundry
[Xingchen volunteers for more work as soon as his portion of meal preparation is finished. If he keeps moving, he won't have time to think. So, he eagerly accepts the next task of distributing fresh sheets to the other guests. Of course, folding might have been easier job, but each has a place in the process.
A squeaky wheel of the cart dims his ability to hear people coming and as he rounds a corner he knocks straight into someone, tilting the entire batch of laundry onto the floor. Oh now he's done it.]
Forgive me. [Xingchen crouches down in an instant, collecting the swath of fabric covering the floor.] You are not hurt, are you?
iv. - a welcome home (not his home)
[By the end of the day, a headache eats into Xingchen's patience with himself as he works to remember the door he came out of earlier. Counting steps and recalling physical landmarks can only get him so far when his head is absolutely pounding. He touches the bandages at his throat for a moment as he pauses near another door. There are still so many unanswered questions that need explanation: why he's here, why he seems to be surrounded by people, and, most importantly, why he's alive. Last he recalled he-
The door creaks open and Xingchen drops his hand to his side. Stepping away from the source of the noise, he supposes that this door, like many others, is not his.
He can only hope he hasn't scared the occupant.]
iv - b welcome home (his home)(cw: talk of violence, potentially self-harm/SI)
[At long last, Xingchen finds the nameplate bearing his name and sighs in relief. He can't remember the last time he struggled this much, but there's so much extra sound here: the whirring of strange mechanical parts, people laughing and talking, the hum of the wind through overhead boxes. It's all so much more than even the busiest villages Xingchen wandered through before.
But now he's finally at his door and he tugs it open. The familiar smell of the coffin house greets him, filling him in an instant with tainted memories. His cot is easy to pick out-- the only one without wrapped candies-- and he settles down, feeling heavier than ever. Everything he tried to ignore by keeping busy has come back in full effect and he wonders if this is why they took Shuanghua away from a murderer like him, so he doesn't kill the innocents around him.
Xingchen doesn't blame his hosts, but why bring him here in the first place if he cannot be trusted, why bring him back to a life he didn't want or deserve? This whole place, this Wonderland, cannot be the next step after death.
He doesn't realize he's left the door to the hall open until he hears footsteps.
xiao xingchen } the untamed
[Exploring new places puts Xingchen at a natural disadvantage, but he tries to take the environment in stride. The lack of Shuanghua leaves him both at ease and disquieted; how can he help with so few skills outside of cultivation? Well, it seems whoever grabs him by the wrist doesn't mind that part at all because as soon as Xingchen passes another threshold, he finds a knife and some produce thrust into his hands.
Oh. This must be-- Metal clicks on wood, meat fat sears in pans, and the smell of oil all tell him that he's found the kitchen. Another set of hands nudge him and a body presses behind. He's in the way. Where should he-- He follows the crunches of knives through vegetables and settles in next to someone.
He always liked to keep busy; idle hands never suited him. Hesitating a moment, mind on the well-wrapped injury on his throat, he feels around for the edge of the potato in his hands.]
ii - b. staff for a day - laundry
[Xingchen volunteers for more work as soon as his portion of meal preparation is finished. If he keeps moving, he won't have time to think. So, he eagerly accepts the next task of distributing fresh sheets to the other guests. Of course, folding might have been easier job, but each has a place in the process.
A squeaky wheel of the cart dims his ability to hear people coming and as he rounds a corner he knocks straight into someone, tilting the entire batch of laundry onto the floor. Oh now he's done it.]
Forgive me. [Xingchen crouches down in an instant, collecting the swath of fabric covering the floor.] You are not hurt, are you?
iv. - a welcome home (not his home)
[By the end of the day, a headache eats into Xingchen's patience with himself as he works to remember the door he came out of earlier. Counting steps and recalling physical landmarks can only get him so far when his head is absolutely pounding. He touches the bandages at his throat for a moment as he pauses near another door. There are still so many unanswered questions that need explanation: why he's here, why he seems to be surrounded by people, and, most importantly, why he's alive. Last he recalled he-
The door creaks open and Xingchen drops his hand to his side. Stepping away from the source of the noise, he supposes that this door, like many others, is not his.
He can only hope he hasn't scared the occupant.]
iv - b welcome home (his home)(cw: talk of violence, potentially self-harm/SI)
[At long last, Xingchen finds the nameplate bearing his name and sighs in relief. He can't remember the last time he struggled this much, but there's so much extra sound here: the whirring of strange mechanical parts, people laughing and talking, the hum of the wind through overhead boxes. It's all so much more than even the busiest villages Xingchen wandered through before.
But now he's finally at his door and he tugs it open. The familiar smell of the coffin house greets him, filling him in an instant with tainted memories. His cot is easy to pick out-- the only one without wrapped candies-- and he settles down, feeling heavier than ever. Everything he tried to ignore by keeping busy has come back in full effect and he wonders if this is why they took Shuanghua away from a murderer like him, so he doesn't kill the innocents around him.
Xingchen doesn't blame his hosts, but why bring him here in the first place if he cannot be trusted, why bring him back to a life he didn't want or deserve? This whole place, this Wonderland, cannot be the next step after death.
He doesn't realize he's left the door to the hall open until he hears footsteps.