ESSAY TIME IS SO BACK - Tumblr Posts
shaking his head makes his brain rattle inside his skull. chongyun can't remember the extent of his injuries and maladies, and any discussion over how long he'd spent in recovery is still up in the air too. it's days like this when he has the most clarity ― when the sun is out and he's able to get up and actually enjoy the city (even with a pounding headache). even with that clarity, chongyun's memory is like the shifting breeze: it tends to fade in and out.
already he can barely remember asking about the kasa, though chongyun is grasping onto that conversation fiercely, physically leaning on his walking stick as he furrows his brow. the gold trimming paired with the colorful dots are entrancingly beautiful, he's sure his parents would adore something like that hanging in their home. he can barely remember their faces, but chongyun KNOWS they must miss him too. would they accept a similar looking adornment, if he were to have one made for them?
"custom made," chongyun repeats, trying to bring himself back to the present. his mind wanders far too much for his own liking. it's frustrating to lose his mind so figuratively, so often. he can only imagine how he LOOKS to this stranger. "pardon me, but did you say where?" they're already reaching slowly for their pockets, tucking their stick under their armpit for balance as they try to check their funds. chongyun doesn't have a whole lot of money on them at the moment, since they hadn't intended on shopping.
"i'm sorry." they apologize. "i don't mean to be a bother." they try to smile, but it feels more hollow. maybe they can inquire about hats later, after they've gone back to rest. they need to focus on the rest of the conversation.
"...and you're correct. i'm originally from liyue." even though chongyun's got something simple on right now, a simple sumaru tunic and pants mostly for healing, chongyun is still wearing some relics from home. the tassel earring they never removed, from an old friend. a talisman from their family, and some beading. it's not a lot, but it's enough for most people to recognize chongyun's home nation.
"have you been there before?"
it seems he has been ever so GRACIOUSLY afforded a sum of mora to put toward research expenses on the akademiya's behalf — a fact ren has only quite recently been made aware of. sources of income can be awfully tricky to come by these days; ordinarily he would prefer to make do with whatever he can rightfully take from those FOOLISH ENOUGH to pick a fight — but that isn't exactly reliable. fortunately, the majority of the wanderer's so-called research is merely information pulled from the veritable library of information making itself at home in the back of his skull. the most troublesome part is weaving a satisfactory lie to act as his alleged sources. maintaining the charade of humanity is as cumbersome as ever, but he tends to it diligently — for the alternative is not something he's willing to risk. not again. not when he lives surrounded by so many inquisitive minds who would jump at the opportunity to see how the creation of a god TICKS. ( never again. )
in any case, that just means his research funds are free mora to be used however he pleases — right? so if he wants to purchase a bit of tea, there's really nothing stopping him.
he's gazing down at a merchant's assortment of blends, one hand raised thoughtfully to his chin. the wanderer has always been terribly frugal even when he had the fatui's nigh-infinite pool of wealth to draw from; excess leaves an awful taste in his mouth. he would hate to purchase something that isn't to his liking — if only because he knows he would FORCE HIMSELF to drink it regardless. a click of the tongue and ren suddenly reaches out, fingertips just barely brushing against the cool metal of a tin that's caught his eye. before he has the opportunity to make his decision, another voice reaches his ears. it's faint, barely a rasp on the wind — but steeped in enough familiarity to make his blood run even colder than it already does.
caesor. breath catches as if an invisible set of hands have curled around his throat. the wanderer freezes — only for a moment, though that single split second seems to drag on for an ETERNITY in its own right. he thought he died. burnt to cinder at the behest of an uncaring, aspiring god. or perhaps snatched away by the fatui in a desperate ( or petty ) bid to recoup their losses before irminsul scrubbed their memories clean. but that is entirely the ISSUE, isn't it? the tree doesn't erase the ripples marring the water's surface; it merely recontextualizes their source. and the balladeer broke him. carelessly, cruelly, like working tough leather into a malleable state. the thought of what might remain in the wake of his erasure is ... admittedly enough to leave even ren feeling unsettled.
he has to remind himself to blink, to breathe. to stop staring like an idiot and say SOMETHING. ❝ it's ... custom made. ❞ a hand comes to rest on the hat in question. there's an itching in his fingertips that begs him to cover his face out of habit — yet the wanderer refuses. ( he doesn't have the right to hide from them. ) turning his attention back to his companion, ren pauses for a moment longer before asking, ❝ you aren't from around here, are you? ❞ and then, realizing how odd a question that might sound, quickly adds, ❝ call it a hunch. ❞
