[ closed ]

[wags]

Who ⬤ gorou & chongyun
What ⬤ cherry blossom meet-cute.
When ⬤ during the night parade.
Where ⬤ one of the cherry blossom groves.
Content Warnings ⬤ will update as necessary.



( i'm sorry, comes the whisper. it's the third one he's heard. i'm so sorry.

and in some ways, he's used to situations like this. how many times has he heard the sound of a bottle of liquor opened from tents away, or heard the gentle, sobering footsteps of one of the shrine maidens from down the path? how many times has one of his men asked him to strain to listen for the sounds of a house in the distance, longing to know what the beautiful woman inside must be doing? the ears are good for many things, certainly, but their primary use is this: he can hear things from much further away, can pick up on smaller cues, can notice when things are off or when things are quiet, and here, in this cherry blossom grove: he's heard this young woman's whispering.

he isn't here on official business. rather, in his quest to enjoy--and patrol--the festival and all events leading up to it, walking through the cherry blossom trees to tidy up after some of the less attentive youkai has been a soothing task. empty bento lids and dango sticks left lying around have been put into the proper trash bins, abandoned blankets have been folded up and left in a neat pile near the entrance. this is a place that feels far more like home than any place in the city itself--it's a comfort to be beneath the blossoms, and he thinks nothing of it. just another kind duty, and one expected of him in his new station.

but the whispering? another one comes, but the words are impossible to make out. it sounds more like someone pleading, or crying, than anything; reluctantly, he turns on his heels to head in the direction of it, worried what he might find. his ears, twitching, take him towards one tree in particular--but set among the rest, there's really nothing making it distinct from any other tree, except that there's already a boy standing before it, like he's heard something too.

carefully, gorou approaches him. )

...This one? ( he asks, giving a gesture towards the tree with one gloved hand. he wonders if the boy will even know what he's talking about--he pads forward another few steps, nodding. ) Is it this one? Do you hear it, too?

( or maybe he's about to be sealed away for being the crazy dog-boy that talks to trees. hard to say. )

Comments

[cutcloud]

[ Rumors are like dandelions. Once they catch wind and break apart, one never quite knows where the seeds might wind up. How they might land. Where they might settle: in a river, caught in a gutter, or fall safely into the grass. News of the spectral cherry blossoms had come swift; whispers of what lay far beneath their roots had come on its tail, much quieter and without the fanfare.

Ear always to the earth in search of rumors and new things to investigate, the young exorcist had heard the gossip. As a member of the Tamamo clan he's learned that his compatriots have a penchant for talking and exchanging secrets as easily as breathing. It isn't in their clan's brand, but given the lines of work that branch out of their specialized clubs and the red-light district, there's little that doesn't pass through their territory. Vice and indulgence makes mouths sloppy. There'a a lot to listen in on and a lot to overhear.

But Chongyun had reserved judgement. A burial ground in Hell? Restless souls? Yet, when he had stepped into the grove and watched the flutter of silvery blossoms fall to the earth in phantom mimicry, had felt the flush of chill run across his flesh, he sensed that it was no normal grove. Aside from the fact that the trees are incorporeal, of course. It feels very much like some parts of Liyue.

He had stopped beneath a particularly large tree. Standing, with eyes closed, Chongyun had listened. Trying to catch the words. At first it's nothing but senseless whispering with a sense of emotion ... but the longer he stands, the more he's able to piece together. I'm... I'm ... I'm... I ... need...

Need something.

Eyes opening once more, he glances toward the young man who's approached. Someone else who's also heard the voices—most of the others who had passed by behind him hadn't seemed to. With drinks in hand and dango caught between their teeth, they had teetered drunkenly along without paying the tickle of voice any mind. Maybe they really hadn't heard. It seems, even in Hell, the dead go overlooked. ]

Yes. [ he nods, impressed, ] It's this one.

[ Pale eyes turn back onto the tree. It's gone quiet for a moment, leaving eerie silence and the soft sound of their breathing. ]

I think she needs something. [ ... ] She sounds sad. Maybe whatever it is she needs, it will help her rest.