openmisc | Aaron/Huaisang

Huaisang can’t help but wear the pleased little smile the compliment creates. He bats his fan a little, the bracelets clicking on his wrist.

“Simple matter of access,” he tells him, grinning. “This is where all my things are.”

But power does suit him. He’s a good sect leader, and his disciples adore him. They’re the only ones who do at the moment, not that he cares one bit.

Aaron raises a brow at him, still toying with the braids. "So, why don't you give me the grand tour? After you show me how those fucking robes work."

“Nie braids are sacred,” he teases, pulling his head back from Aaron’s grip.

“Eat first, then I’ll show you the Impure Realm.”

"Who are you, my grandmother? I ate!" he insists, full of energy now that he knows he's not in danger. He knows that Huaisang will take care of shit, which is all he's really needed. Someone else to do the protecting for a while.

Huaisang snaps his fan shut and knocks Aaron on the knuckles. “I’m the sect leader! You’ll do as I say, or I’ll throw you in the dungeon.”

He grins and climbs back to his feet, rather gracefully for a man wearing quite a few robes. “If you really are finished I’ll show you how to dress.”

That gets a sort of mean-sounding laugh.

"Yeah, well, I'm some sort of vengeful ghost."

He picks up the robes again and holds them out to him to inspect.

"You look like one!"

He prods through the robes, deciding that no, these won't do at all! They don't fit his complexion at all. He scoffs softly and shakes his head.

"No, no. I've got better robes than this. Come with me."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, but follows along behind him rather dutifully. "What's wrong with the ones I have?"

"They're too plain! They're the clothes of a disciple; that's not who you are. You're my guest."

Huaisang walks breezily though the long, stone hallways of the Impure Realm, out of the guest quarters and through the lush gardens until they reach another hall. This one is closer to the middle of the complex, and it's clear it's the most ornate.

He tries not to gape. It's difficult, considering the abject lavishness of the place, and he hides it as best he can.

The gardens are beautiful, like something out of a dream, and the hall he leads him to is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

"The hell is a disciple here, anyway?"

"Someone who learns cultivation techniques from my clan," Huaisang explains, though he knows he needs to take that statement apart as well. "In my world, people can develop something called a golden core. With this golden core you can harness qi, move it through your body, affect the world around you. Fly on swords. My clan cultivates with swords."

"Uh huh." He doesn't necessarily disbelieve him, but it is a lot to take in. "So how come you don't use a sword all that much?"

"A fair question," Huaisang replies, his smile fading just a little. He brings Aaron up the stairs and into the living quarters of the Nie family -- quiet now that his entire family's deceased.

"I never liked it. The Nie Clan doesn't just use a simple sword, we use a saber. A saber that eats up resentful energy of monsters and beasts. It makes the cultivator powerful, but it's dangerous. Resentful energy can eat away at your soul and your qi."

He's starting to understand.

"But you had your brother. Who would be able to to do that shit for you so you could do your art and fuckall?"

He is only guessing, but he's confident in those guesses.

"Yeah," Huaisang replies, nodding. "Fuckall. I could pursue what I wanted to while da-ge ran the sect. He was the eldest son, the heir apparent."

He brings Aaron through the more stern and well-polished parts of the Nie living quarters towards his warm and airy rooms. There are chimes blowing in the soft wind, plants and paintings and fine porcelain. Huaisang's made it into a home.

"Some clans cultivate through music, others through good deeds or heroics. Some even isolate themselves to develop their spiritual energy. Our ancestors were butchers -- we're born into this violent, shortened life. My father wanted to spare me, but he died too soon when his saber was destroyed. My brother had to take his place and fight hard to save the clan from all sorts of threats, and because of it he was living on borrowed time. Jin Guangyao made him deviate sooner, but he wouldn't have made it past forty."

"You really weren't cut out for that," he agrees, though he isn't meaning to be unkind about it. He reaches out to touch one of the chimes, fascinated by the aesthetics of the room. It all seems of Huaisang, like his touch has been on it all. It's pretty, in its own way, in an artistic form that Aaron could never achieve himself.

He doesn’t take any offense by Aaron’s statement; he knows he was never suited to be a butcher. Not in the way his brother was, in any case.

He leads Aaron into his inner chambers — formerly his brother’s, and before that his father’s. They were the rooms of the Master of the Nie Sect, though of course Huaisang made them all his own.

He finds his wardrobe and begins to pick through to find just the right pieces. “Start with that,” he says, handing him a simple set of trousers. “Then this is the inner robe. Tie it right over left.”

Huh. That seems specific, but he nods, folding them over his arm. And automatically, unconsciously, he points to him as a prickle starts in the back of his neck.

"Alright, then fucking turn around," he demands, all sarcastic smiles.

Huaisang does so with a quiet laugh. It’s cute, Aaron not wanting to be seen bare by him. “There’s a privacy screen just over there! Go change behind that!”

"How the fuck was I supposed to know that?" he mutters, but walks over to duck behind the screen. He undresses and comes out, bare chested, and holds out the ties. "There."

He turns and his eyebrows raise. He didn’t expect Aaron to make such a fuss and then come out still half undressed!

“Did you need help with the ties?” he asks, waving his fan as he steps forward.

"No, I got it."

He does tie it quickly, adjusting some of the edges. "How do I look?"

And Aaron strikes a pose.

He can’t stop himself from staring, even as Aaron quickly covers his chest with the robes. Thank gods for his fan; he actively uses it to cover his lower face as he watches him.

“Good. You need the outer robe now.” Is he sweating? He feels like he’s sweating.

Aaron watches that fucking fan and then raises his eyes. "Another one," he mutters, going to retrieve it.

"You alright, man?"

"I'm fine," he scoffs, straightening himself slightly. "I'm fine. Just put on your robe so you can be decent."

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