[ you are twenty years old, laying on a broken bed in a ramshackle house, feeling a torrent of emotions - misery, anger, paranoia - and have no rest.
you know this place as your temporary home. it is not - it is nothing like what you're used to, nothing like any of you are used to. nothing is anything like it used to be, and you have just finished trying to explain something to your former bodyguard - and you are angry. you've never been more angry, and bitter, and sad. this isn't you, your bodyguard told you, and you didn't care.
you don't get much time to stew today, though, because there is a knock at your door. you stay there, unmoving, for a moment, but eventually lift your exhausted head, and call out to whoever's on the other side.
"my son, it is your mother. let mother come in and take a look at you, alright?"
and no matter how angry, how miserable you are, you cannot refuse that request. you rise to your feet and answer the door, and she stands there.
she is beautiful, even now, though the weight of her exhaustion makes her seem older than she is. your beloved mother doesn't look like she fits in this place - she's too beautiful for it, ethereal, someone who has always been wealthy and now is poor, with a plate in her freshly weathered hands. she smiles at you, and you can see she's just as tired as you are. "My son, you haven't eaten yet, right?"
what she has on the plate looks terrible. it looks truly terrible, and smells foul, and the first thing you think is even if i haven't eaten, i don't want to eat what you've made, but the words die in your throat, because it is your mother, and you have stomached her cooking a thousand times since things became like this. you have begged her not to cook too much - you are a fine cook, so you do it, but right now, you just can't, and your mother...
you step to the side, to let her in the room.
"look," she says.
you feel a rise of bitterness again, and ask, "what's that?"
your mother gestures to the plate and says, in a serene voice, as if she is offering you treasure, "this is "Lovebirds Upon a Branch Meatballs", and this, is "Blooming Flowers and Full Moon Stew."
they both look absolutely horrendous. you interrupt her. "why did you name these things?"
"don't all dishes have names?"
"...that's for imperial dining, in the palace." you say, and the memory of your once charmed life touches the edges of your mind, the way your mother still looks like she will never belong, like a diamond placed in a coal mine, "Ordinary folks don't give names to dishes."
the queen falls silent for a moment. she watches you, then looks down at her dish, and then... she smiles at you, and you love your mother's smile. it feels like home. "Well, no one said you have to be dining imperially in order to give dishes names, so just take this as a wish for good fortune."
she hands you the chopsticks. you stare at her. you don't - you don't know what to say, and the memory fades away there.]
[ she's about to respond to the tomato discourse, when ruoye pops out of xie lian's sleeve and tries to scurry at her-- ]
Hello there, Ruoy--
[ oh.
and there it goes. a memory bubble. this is where i am going to shame sisi's beautifully written long tag with one of alex just looking confused. because that's what she does -- she looks confused, and a little bewildered at what she's seeing, when everything is so very different to what she's used to, and isn't even being seen through her eyes. ]
he blinks, surprised. ] What? I... Of course I did.
She was... my mother was incredibly precious to me. [ in fact, even more so than he ever really did his father. xie lian was a mama's boy through and through.
he glances down at his plate, and suddenly just feels a wave of quiet sadness, threatening to rise up in him, tied to something else, other memories of his mother. for a moment, he's thankful to the bubbles, that this was all they showed - perhaps it is a good thing to explain.
xie lian pushes it down, and huffs, a soft, near vulnerable noise. nostalgia threads into his voice. ] ...That... she was a terrible cook, my mother. Her food could make birds fall dead out of trees if you left the window open.
...I was certainly not in a very good place, at the time of that memory [ it was, actually, the worst time of his entire life; he was teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. ] - but even before that, I did not want to.
...My mother was a queen. She had never had to cook a meal in her life, until we left the palace. But, she tried to learn all of the hard parts of common life the best that she could, sometimes successfully, and sometimes not. Even if it was horrible, it made her so happy when we ate her food, that I always ate it. We would, of course, try to convince her away from cooking somehow, but... I loved my mother, and we were miserable, so I would do anything to make sure she was happy, even that. Her food, with its silly names...
[ something in him softens, then, and he lifts his hand, touching his heart. ]
...You know, I used to be a pretty decent cook. I was naturally talented at most anything in my youth, so it wasn't difficult for me to figure out. [ that is probably hard to believe but.
it's about to make a lot more sense. ] ...my mother passed away not long after that memory, and so did my father. Naming food, and some of her conventions of cooking... I started off making her terrible recipes on purpose, and I still name dishes now. Of course, now, I'm unable to cook entirely, because that was a very, very long time ago... but that was how it began.
Literally so, yes. Which... to answer what your next question I think may be [ "does that make you a prince" ] -- yes. Do bear in mind this was centuries ago, though.
[ a beat, and then -- xie lian scratches his cheek and laughs, sheepishly. ] Eheh... [ that's a yes. ]
Haha... sorry. If it helps, the kingdom has been gone for so long, it doesn't really matter. I only really think of it because people sometimes still call me "your highness", but even that's new.
[ he seems fairly unperturbed by this, taking a bite of whatever food he ordered. tasty! ]
Mn - and, not really. I've had a lot of time. [ to get. that bad at cooking. he also starved for like... seven hundred years, but he is also not dropping that emotional spaghetti on alex right now. he doesn't seem too perturbed by his own memory drop, so that's good, at least... time for another one from alex, ]
So I should just keep calling you as I have been, and not dropping any titles in there as well?
[ she looks more amused than anything. she couldn't really think about calling him something too fancy, not after she's seen him destroy meatballs and failing to open doors. ]
That's... impressive in its own way, Xie Lian. [ she's leaning over to try a bit of one of the dishes he's got on the table and, of course, sticks her hand right through a bubble thatpopsintoexistencerightwhereherhandwasgoing. ]
as xie lian comes out of the memory, he takes a sharp, surprised breath. alex's "why did it have to be me" echoes in the back of his mind, and it takes him one blink, two blinks, three to try and force himself to reality once more. ]
...Miss Alex. [ he says, softly, because -- what else do you say? his voice is heavy, compassion and sorrow and recognition for so much pain, all at once. he reaches across the table, where her hand was, and immediately covers it with his own. ]
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no subject
you know this place as your temporary home. it is not - it is nothing like what you're used to, nothing like any of you are used to. nothing is anything like it used to be, and you have just finished trying to explain something to your former bodyguard - and you are angry. you've never been more angry, and bitter, and sad. this isn't you, your bodyguard told you, and you didn't care.
you don't get much time to stew today, though, because there is a knock at your door. you stay there, unmoving, for a moment, but eventually lift your exhausted head, and call out to whoever's on the other side.
"my son, it is your mother. let mother come in and take a look at you, alright?"
and no matter how angry, how miserable you are, you cannot refuse that request. you rise to your feet and answer the door, and she stands there.
she is beautiful, even now, though the weight of her exhaustion makes her seem older than she is. your beloved mother doesn't look like she fits in this place - she's too beautiful for it, ethereal, someone who has always been wealthy and now is poor, with a plate in her freshly weathered hands. she smiles at you, and you can see she's just as tired as you are. "My son, you haven't eaten yet, right?"
what she has on the plate looks terrible. it looks truly terrible, and smells foul, and the first thing you think is even if i haven't eaten, i don't want to eat what you've made, but the words die in your throat, because it is your mother, and you have stomached her cooking a thousand times since things became like this. you have begged her not to cook too much - you are a fine cook, so you do it, but right now, you just can't, and your mother...
you step to the side, to let her in the room.
"look," she says.
you feel a rise of bitterness again, and ask, "what's that?"
your mother gestures to the plate and says, in a serene voice, as if she is offering you treasure, "this is "Lovebirds Upon a Branch Meatballs", and this, is "Blooming Flowers and Full Moon Stew."
they both look absolutely horrendous. you interrupt her. "why did you name these things?"
"don't all dishes have names?"
"...that's for imperial dining, in the palace." you say, and the memory of your once charmed life touches the edges of your mind, the way your mother still looks like she will never belong, like a diamond placed in a coal mine, "Ordinary folks don't give names to dishes."
the queen falls silent for a moment. she watches you, then looks down at her dish, and then... she smiles at you, and you love your mother's smile. it feels like home. "Well, no one said you have to be dining imperially in order to give dishes names, so just take this as a wish for good fortune."
she hands you the chopsticks. you stare at her. you don't - you don't know what to say, and the memory fades away there.]
no subject
Hello there, Ruoy--
[ oh.
and there it goes. a memory bubble. this is where i am going to shame sisi's beautifully written long tag with one of alex just looking confused. because that's what she does -- she looks confused, and a little bewildered at what she's seeing, when everything is so very different to what she's used to, and isn't even being seen through her eyes. ]
...
[ oh. ]
Do you not get along with your mother, Xie Lian?
no subject
that is not what he's expecting!
he blinks, surprised. ] What? I... Of course I did.
She was... my mother was incredibly precious to me. [ in fact, even more so than he ever really did his father. xie lian was a mama's boy through and through.
he glances down at his plate, and suddenly just feels a wave of quiet sadness, threatening to rise up in him, tied to something else, other memories of his mother. for a moment, he's thankful to the bubbles, that this was all they showed - perhaps it is a good thing to explain.
xie lian pushes it down, and huffs, a soft, near vulnerable noise. nostalgia threads into his voice. ] ...That... she was a terrible cook, my mother. Her food could make birds fall dead out of trees if you left the window open.
no subject
[ xie lian... is this where your talents came from? ]
no subject
...I was certainly not in a very good place, at the time of that memory [ it was, actually, the worst time of his entire life; he was teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. ] - but even before that, I did not want to.
...My mother was a queen. She had never had to cook a meal in her life, until we left the palace. But, she tried to learn all of the hard parts of common life the best that she could, sometimes successfully, and sometimes not. Even if it was horrible, it made her so happy when we ate her food, that I always ate it. We would, of course, try to convince her away from cooking somehow, but... I loved my mother, and we were miserable, so I would do anything to make sure she was happy, even that. Her food, with its silly names...
[ something in him softens, then, and he lifts his hand, touching his heart. ]
...You know, I used to be a pretty decent cook. I was naturally talented at most anything in my youth, so it wasn't difficult for me to figure out. [ that is probably hard to believe but.
it's about to make a lot more sense. ] ...my mother passed away not long after that memory, and so did my father. Naming food, and some of her conventions of cooking... I started off making her terrible recipes on purpose, and I still name dishes now. Of course, now, I'm unable to cook entirely, because that was a very, very long time ago... but that was how it began.
no subject
[ she leans forward a little listening to what he’s saying. ]
We do the most intense things for the people we love. Even eating food that isn’t well made.
... did you just cook the way for so long it overtook the cooking you were actually able to do?
no subject
[ a beat, and then -- xie lian scratches his cheek and laughs, sheepishly. ] Eheh... [ that's a yes. ]
no subject
[ ... ] That must've taken a lot of work.
no subject
[ he seems fairly unperturbed by this, taking a bite of whatever food he ordered. tasty! ]
Mn - and, not really. I've had a lot of time. [ to get. that bad at cooking. he also starved for like... seven hundred years, but he is also not dropping that emotional spaghetti on alex right now. he doesn't seem too perturbed by his own memory drop, so that's good, at least... time for another one from alex, ]
cw: gore, decapitation (... haha...)
[ she looks more amused than anything. she couldn't really think about calling him something too fancy, not after she's seen him destroy meatballs and failing to open doors. ]
That's... impressive in its own way, Xie Lian. [ she's leaning over to try a bit of one of the dishes he's got on the table and, of course, sticks her hand right through a bubble that pops into existence right where her hand was going. ]
OOF
as xie lian comes out of the memory, he takes a sharp, surprised breath. alex's "why did it have to be me" echoes in the back of his mind, and it takes him one blink, two blinks, three to try and force himself to reality once more. ]
...Miss Alex. [ he says, softly, because -- what else do you say? his voice is heavy, compassion and sorrow and recognition for so much pain, all at once. he reaches across the table, where her hand was, and immediately covers it with his own. ]
oo-oof...
I really, really don't like it when they just pop up like that.