angryhearts | you want to hear it? well

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mo dao zu shi: wei wuxian

you want to hear it? well —

ONLY, MY SECRET'S MINE, AND I WON'T TELL

The garden may no longer be available upon return to the hotel, but there is still a bustle of energy. How fortunate all the Oysters are, to reside in such a renowned place! It's a great honor for those in Wonderland to be granted opportunity to teach their skills or ply their trade here, and the Queen permits only the best. Hotel staff themselves seem to delight in the presence of the traveling merchants. Many trade teas or favors for enchanted items, and will eagerly discuss their purchases. "Oh, it happens regularly enough," they will say if asked, "but you never know if the merchant you liked or the item you eyed will be back next time!"

The talk lingers after the guest instructors and merchants have departed, but it isn't the only thing left behind. Glimmers of green may catch your eye, tucked away in hidden places that seem almost impossible to reach without drawing attention to yourself. Those who manage it will find a scrap of heavy paper with a drawing of a stylized caterpillar, a series of numbers, and the words call a friend.

Are you curious enough to input the numbers into your Empathy? It will ring, if you do, until an answering machine picks up and asks a single question — How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail? Do you dare leave a message? What will it be? Whatever you decide, the call will disconnect after a few minutes. It seems the only thing you can do now is wait for a call back.

But of course, the hotel is not in the habit of allowing such a thing as idle waiting. Her Royal Highness has noticed that some of her beloved Oysters seem quite reluctant to partake of the many splendors that the hotel provides, and she will be offering a special treat — indulgence.

QUEEN'S GAMES
8/12 - 8/22

What's more fun to indulge in than a little healthy competition? It's time for the Queen's Games, a truly dazzling spectacle. Competitors come from all over Wonderland, and this year for the first time ever, Oysters are invited to join! Announcements for the games schedule will be posted all throughout the hotel, along with directions on how to register to join.

The games will be held in either the pool area or the gym, which seems to have expanded to accommodate the number of spectators. Available games include:

archery
chess
croquet
artistic swimming
diving
gymnastics
flamingo flying
ice skating
ice sculptures

Of course, even the games that Oysters are familiar with may not be quite the same. Chess in Wonderland is a team sport, for example, with each member of the team filling a role as a chess piece and a coach as a strategist directing the plays. Attempting to capture one of the other team's pieces includes having to successfully win a fight against them. Gymnastics and diving competitors include growing and shrinking in size to their routines, ice sculptures come to life when they've been completed, artistic swimmers and ice skaters change costumes and swap partners in the blink of an eye.

If they're lucky, Oysters may find one of the competitors willing to show them the ropes. If they're even luckier, or more persistent, there may be a spot or two open on one of the teams that Oysters can slot themselves into. For the most part, team members will be delighted to have Oysters there.

"You all just feel so much," one may say, sounding a little awed.

"Show off those emotions, it'll get us points," another will add.

Although competitors are friendly, with Osyters and with each other, it's clear that most of them are here to win. Rivalries may flare up throughout the month, ex-lovers may be reunited and broken up again, infighting may spark among the teams — all things that can be soothed or exacerbated, for Oysters who may have inclinations towards utilizing such things to increase their chances of winning.

Or to fan the flames of drama for its own sake.

THE CALL
8/16

Starting in the early morning hours and continuing late into the night, any who left a message will get a call back.

Those who completed the poem will be greeted immediately by a friendly male voice, with an apology for the delay. "Ugh, our lines are backed up like crazy," the caller will say. "Where are you reporting in from?"

Those who somehow identified themselves as an Oyster, as residing in the hotel, from off world, being held by the Queen, or otherwise potentially against the Queen, will have their call returned by a cold female voice, guarded and wary.

"Show me your Oyster mark," the caller will request. "We can't risk giving you anything without proof."

Regardless of which caller contacts them, anyone who cooperates will receive similar information.

The friendly caller will readily provide assurances that the resistance base was not found, despite Mad March and the Order's attempt at reconnaissance in the old kingdom.

"Can't say much more than that over these channels, you know, but worry not! Everyone is safe. We have a follow up from the last mission — sorry about the air conditioning, you know, couldn't be helped — you ready for this? Keycodes. Access keycodes. Didn't get more than a handful, of course, and the intel is vague about what they access. Are we glad to get your call! How about it, you ready to try one out and see what information you can get?"

The guarded caller will allude to the Order not being able to find what they wanted out in the ruins.

"Did you think they took you out there to show you the sights? They're looking for us, obviously. No I'm not going to tell you more than that — just because you're an Oyster doesn't mean we can completely trust you. All right, look. Last time we broke into the hotel, we recovered a few access codes. We had to get out of there before we could find out what they accessed. How about a trade? We give you the code, you call us back and tell us what you find."

INDULGENCE
8/13 - 8/23

Throughout the event, there will be a number of activities available alongside the games designed to encourage unwinding. A concert set up in the hotel lobby will kick off the start of the games, at which indulgence teas will be made available for the first time. They will continue to be served readily at all hours of the day. Enhanced spa facilities will be made available as well — dazzling pedicures and manicures with nail polish that can do anything from change colors based on your mood to emit light so bright it can function as a flashlight; makeup that gives you a kiss that will literally stun the recipient; aromatherapy that will cure any kind of hangover; oils that double as aphrodisiacs, for those interested; healing massages that will take away your aches and pains, wiping away any bruises or injuries with no questions asked. A clean slate, ready to indulge again.

Then, of course, there are the less official activities. Whispers will begin to spread about another kind of competition being run after hours, when all good competitors should be sleeping. No one quite knows who's running it — one person heard it was the coach of one of the chess teams, eager to get her players extra practice; another heard it was one of the chess players themselves; still another will say it is an ice skater, a flamingo pilot, a gymnast. After all, it hardly matters, does it, as long as it runs, and there is a fight every night? Oysters are welcomed into this competition as well, where the only rule is not to kill your opponent. Teas of all kinds exchange hands as bets are placed on the fights, and the champion is rumored to receive a truly spectacular prize.

If fighting is not to your speed, fear not. All of the competitors seem to have different ways to unwind after the games are completed for the day, and all are happy to allow Oysters to indulge in attending the various get-togethers and parties they host. The knight on one of the chess teams has the most renowned wine collection, and he's brought some of his finest with him to be enjoyed alongside cheeses and poetry. One of the swimmers is a passionate musician, and has recruited anyone who can play an instrument to discuss musical theory and play together. A croquet player is known for hosting the wildest parties, with free-flowing moonshine and sips of ecstacy tea readily available. There is a flamingo pilot with a book club, an archer who is a fabulous chef, a diver who is a skilled debater with a wicked tongue — whatever you like to indulge in, chances are, someone's throwing a party for it.

The games will end on the 23rd, with a roaring celebration of all who participated in the competition. The pool area will be taken over for the farewell party, with music, food, alcohol, and dancing available. It is here that the winners of the competitions will be announced, and prizes will be awarded.

If you have any questions, please leave them over here! Results for the access code sign ups and the distractions will go out on the 14th, so players have until then to sign up. Characters can use the keycodes to access areas and cause distractions from the 16th through the 23rd — and beyond, but after the final party they may no longer have an easy excuse. If you wish to have your character compete in one of the competitions for the prizes, you can sign up here! Winners will be RNGed.

PREMISE RULES FAQ TAKEN RESERVES APPLICATION MOD CONTACT HIATUS & DROPS WORLD INFO NPCS CALENDAR AC REWARDS PLAYER CONTACT

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's exactly the sort of incentive Wei Wuxian needs. He can't think of a better way to break in a friendship than over a few drinks and swapping stories. And Shepard is sure to have some good ones.

"Oh, I knew I liked you," he laughs, throwing a punch once one of the fighters gets within his range. There's fewer and fewer willing to come up against them, and once Wei Wuxian catches sight of the uniformly suited people working for the queen, he knows exactly why. He makes a startled noise, not wishing for a repeat of his last encounter with them, and chases after Shepard for all he's worth.

It's a mad dash through the hallways, and there's always this weird sense of misplacement in the hotel. The basement byways that had been used to find the hidden Fight Club had no more personality nor distinction than the more approved spaces above, though they were less opulent, and bursting into the public area was like stepping through a portal into another world. Everything was abruptly normal again, all the ordinary bustle and noise of people, muffled by carpet and baffle-walls, but present all the same. Shepard glanced in one direction, first instinct to simply keep running, and then, very deliberately, straightened.

"We've been here for an hour," She told the bartender, after a carefully casual walk, and when he gave her an odd look Shepard slid a thin vial across to him, full of amber liquid. Eyes widened and he turned to the sink so that by the time Wei Wuxian had joined her, there were already twin collections of used shot-glasses and a fresh finger of whisky in Shepard's hand, "To your health."

To your ongoing good luck, sir.

He's never more than a few lengths behind, chasing Shepard up from the basement and into the bar. His playful smile doesn't leave his lips, even as he huffs for breath, trying to steady his heartbeats, so he can blame the flush in his cheeks on alcohol and a night of laughter with a friend.

Wei Wuxian is still chuckling softly as he motions for a glass and joins her.

"Cheers," he nods, and raises his cup once it arrives. The drinking customs here are certainly different, he's noticed, and most of the cups too large to drain in one go, though it rarely stops him from making a concerted effort that usually ends with a fair amount dribbling down his chin. He doesn't have his usual sleeves, so the back of his hand has to do for wiping away the excess.

"So," he huffs a breath, "where were we? Bio... Biotics?"

"Biotics," She corrects him, merging the first syllables into one slurring sound, and emphasizing the last, "It's both a special ability and a kind of person. You have to be born with it. And then you have to be lucky enough that it doesn't kill you as a child. Or as adult, come to think of it."

Which, even the cancer didn't get you, it often would. Biotic development in humans was a rocky, unpleasant road.

"Me, I mean. I'm a Biotic. Comes with a lot of side effects, and a few good perks."

"Biotics," he repeats, not altogether smoothly. It's definitely one of those foreign words that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but he tries to catalog it anyway, along with the other vocabulary Shepard has given him. Bio-this, bio-that. He wondered if it was anything like being born with the ability to cultivate a golden core. Similar, was his guess, at least. Maybe it's like the difference between a Cultivator and the act of Cultivation? Only, more lethal, it sounds like.

"What kind of perks?" he asks honestly. Really, they must be pretty good if people are willing to kill children just for the chance of having it. He takes another draw from his cup, and this time most of it makes it into his mouth this time.

"You're like a child, c'mon," the bartender plops down her refill at the opportune moment and Shepard seizes upon the opportunity fate has offered her, thuslywise; "Don't just gulp, you're not doing shots here. Like this."

Shepard tosses back the drink in three long, uninterrupted swallows, slow and golden and well-practiced. She shakes her head to clear the buzz with a low, appreciative woargh. And then slams the empty glass onto the counter. Done.

"You don't gain weight, no matter what you eat. And you can kill your enemies faster than almost anything else. Nobody's scarier than a pissed-off Biotic, tactically speaking."

Edited 2020-09-07 01:13 (UTC)

It wasn't the first time he'd been compared to a child and it wouldn't be the last. His parents had been apt in his given name, well, that or he'd chosen to live up to it. Either way. He makes a sufficiently impressed sound as she drains her cup, chuckling at the one she makes as she sets her cup down.

"Fine, fine, fine," he sighs resignedly.

He's been drinking... fairly heavily since his early teens, and can drain his wine without so much as a flinch, but the alcohol served here is very different, some stronger, some weaker, some with exciting flavors and some that make him wrinkle his nose. Never one to turn down a challenge, he takes his time, draining his cup and then sets it down in return, with only a couple wheezy coughs to show for it.

The buzz takes its time, but he can already feel his insides warming up, starting in his stomach and prickling over his skin, giving him what will soon be a rosy complexion.

"Satisfied?" he asks, and yes, he did dribble a little out the side of his mouth, but it's a negligible few drops, best effort so far.

Wei Wuxian waves for another, never liking the look of an empty glass, and takes the time to think on what this Biotic thing means. It doesn't seem all that different from Wen Ning's condition, really. Faster, deadlier, scarier than anyone he'd been set against, an ideal warrior, though the cost to become it was far more than anyone should have to pay.

"Is it hard to control that?" he asks, genuinely interested.

"We'll work on it," Shepard is willing to acknowledge his efforts. Mostly she acknowledges them as as sub-par, but... her standards are what they are, and she makes no apology.

"Ah...Yeah, it can be tough," Hard to control. That was a sticky one. Shepard thought for a minute, how to put it, "Let me put it this way, I don't know a human biotic who's never killed anyone. And it's easy to accidentally turn somebody in paste, if you don't know what you're doing, or if you don't have the right kind of help."

Shepard lapses into thought again, running her finger around the rim of the glass; once, twice, and again.

"...Actually, it's easy to cause destruction period, accident or otherwise. I've got a friend who's taken whole stations right out of the sky, in a fit of rage. Oh—" Right, he wouldn't have context for that, "—Like a town. Or maybe a little smaller. I don't know, how many people does it take to make something a city, to you?"

About what he thought. Seemed there were some constants no matter what world you were part of; the more powerful one became the harder that power was to control, and the more dire the consequences if control was lost. It was no wonder Shepard fought so ruthlessly and efficiently, even against such a large group. Wei Wuxian's experience was less up close and personal with those he was fighting, simply by virtue of his deviant path of cultivation. He couldn't wield a sword the same way as he once did, so his fighting style had to change.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," he nodded along, trying not to mentally stumble at the idea of an entire city, let along multiple cities in the sky. The more he heard about Shepard's world, the more convinced he became it was real; what started as fantasy, there was just no way to hold onto so many small details and bits of knowledge and keep it all straight if it were a lie.

"Ah... it sort of depends. Anywhere from a few hundred to several thousand, I guess?" he was pretty sure it had more to do with the ruling entity and what they decided to call it, be it kingdom, city, town, or village. Who kept track of that sort of thing?

"Why? How many people fit in your sky stations?"

"Space Station," Shepard corrects, automatically, "And, it depends on the station. Citadel had to have about ten million people, and Arcturus used to get about fifty-thousand on a busy day, but uh... Purgatory was a prison-outfit..."

Well, technically it had been about human trafficking, but then what else would you call a for-profit independent prison? Shit, she wasn't about to mourn the place. Even if they'd only been trying to do their damn jobs, they weren't more than two-chit slavers and she hadn't the time for them, not alive or dead.

"...Had to be three or four thousand, at least. But I wasn't exactly sad to see 'em go, given that they were trying to collar or kill me at the time."

"Sky, Space, what's the difference?" he shakes his head. It was all the same vast unknown, wasn't that just being picky? He's not too concerned, at least, not while trying to fathom a city large enough to house ten million. If they were fighting, it might be some division of soldiers, but if it was a city, wouldn't that be an awful lot of civilians too? And a prison? Maybe that was a conversation for another time, when they weren't trying to skirt the authorities here.

"I hope you realize, I'm going to absolutely bombard you with questions about that later," he says truthfully. For the moment though, he doesn't want to get too far off track.

"But first I wanna know more about Biotics" the word rolls of his tongue a little easier the second time, "you have to be born one, but is it like... hm. Is there a process? What sort of spell do they use? Or is it more like alchemy?"

"About what," Shepard wonders, but it's clear the question is rhetorical when he just bulls forward, "What am I, Avina?"

Still, being a mobile information VI is still better than drinking alone. Maybe some parts of the Shore Leave Marathon were starting to get to her, after all. Yes, and she'll take a fresh drink to go with it that existential disgruntlement, bartender, thank you.

"I don't know anything about spells or alchemy or whatever. I just... do it. It's..." She makes a abrupt, almost frustrated motion, as if trying to skip an invisible stone across an unseen pond, and then subsides. How to explain what it felt like from the inside, when the gravity surged in your blood, and you felt your own tidal force warping the world around you? It was intense, and it was invisible, "I'm not a doctor, but. What I was told was, the electrical impulses in your brain power the eezo-compatible mutations, at your nerve-endings. So that generates a mass effect field, and the shape and use of it depends on how you manipulate the field, but in practice, it's just a lot of work. It takes years to master, the closest thing to a shortcut is the mnemonic method and it's not like it's a time saver so much as just efficient lesson plan."

She stop for a minute, thinking. No, that all sounded right. Oh no, wait. She'd nearly forgotten:

"...And, you'd need an implant."

"If Avina knows all about Space Stations, then yes," he returns. He wonders how on earth there can be so many words for things he doesn't know, but that's just a little bit of the difference between their world. Shepard has shown she's just as clueless about demonic cultivation as he is about space.

Talking to Shepard though, often felt like deciphering old texts. Constantly referring to other notes he had and trying to piece the meanings together coherently. Electricity, that was a sort of power, he recalled, but he didn't realize it was also something running through a person. Probably like qi, he figures. Just like how he used qi to create threads or nets or other spells, so too could Shepard use hers to create a mass effect field, whatever that was.

Maybe this biotic power wasn't really so different from having a golden core? It takes years to master and control, and works with one's qi to power their spells, heal, use weapons, or fight. And it could be implanted?

"That makes a surprising amount of sense," he admits, taking a slow sip for the first time since their arrival.

"I think I understand it, more or less. Except the implant, I suppose. How does that work? You need one to control the ah... mass effect field?"

"Just to boost control output. It's a little metal thing, goes in right here," Shepard tilts her head to the side and taps the indicated spot, just at the soft point hear the base of her skull, "Brain implant."

Yes, Wei Wuxian, Shepard let them put something physically inside her brain.

"They hardly ever kill people, anymore."

Wei Wuxian wears his emotions readily, on his face. And while there's usually a smile, it's just as easy to see things like worry, curiosity, or distaste. The one he wears now is a little of all three.

It does make sense, he thinks, depending on the metal that was used. What sort of spells it was reinforced with. He'd even theorized such things in his research, when he was helping Wen Ning. Just like Wen Qing's proficiency with needles, when applied correctly, he was sure such an implant could have both devastating and beneficial results, but he'd just... never followed up on it. Wen Ning had recovered enough of his spirit to be in control, he'd thought there was little need. There were a number of meridians bundled at the base of the skull, at any rate, and if they were messing with those, sending things into her head, hmm.

"A~ah," he sighs, taking another sip, "I wish I could see the research that went into them. I was studying something like that before ah- before I died."

He raises a hand, expression tipping further toward curious as he reaches out, "is it still there? Can I touch it?"

"Absolutely fucking not," Shepard tells him, missing not a breath to thought. He can stretch his grabby little fingers a bit farther, if he wants to lose them; there's a moment there, a reaction. Shepard can see it so clearly in her mind's eye. The way the glass would break, the blood, the way the shards would go into his face if she lunged, if she struck...

It passes, but just for a breath there, just a moment, her control had wavered. Shepard settles back onto her barstool, comfortably, and as best she can provides no outward sign of the near-miss. Had she still possession of her biotics, it would have meant something of a light-show, she was sure. Shameful.

"Nothing to see, anyways; doubt there's even a scar. It's all internal. What kind of research."

"Okay, okay, touchy," he pulls his hand back, and is shameless enough to look disappointed. He's not sure he's heard a no so strong and definitive since he'd first tried to touch Lan Zhan's headband. Though, at least this time he hadn't gotten his hand slapped. If he ever stopped to think about it, he might notice a habit, of touching things he shouldn't, but it's one of those thoughts that's there and gone as quickly as it'd come.

"On the metal things," he clarifies, "the implants. Like, how they make them, and how they react to your..."

He reaches for the word for a moment, "...electrical impulses, what kind of metal they use, that kind of thing."

"And what do you know about it?" Shepard asks swirling the drink in her hand. It's starting to hit now, and she's reminded yet again of how strongly alcohol affects her now, how all her natural advantages have flown away, "That's not exactly basic stuff. You'd have to be pretty smart to already know enough to even know what you were looking at."

She's got a suspicion about you, you little bastard, and she's feeling just grumpy enough to run with it.

"Which part? I only know what you've told me. I don't see any other experts on biotics around here," he scrunches his nose. His research had been mostly theoretical anyway. And it wasn't a crime to be curious. Well. It wasn't technically a crime. Mostly.

"Hey, hey, I happen to be pretty smart, just not in Shepard-world-magic, spells, technology, whatever you want to call it," he adds, just for the sake of his pride.

"...Science," She tells him, after he's stumbled his way through three wrong answers and a whatever, "I'm hardly an expert. I'm just a soldier."

Which is not, strictly true. But despite that Shepard hadn't been just an anything for quite a long time, she's not about to recognize that for a generalization.

"Alright, smart guy. Your turn. Educate me."

"Fine, science," he parrots. Shepard and her insistence on all these proper names for things. As if it wasn't perfectly understandable to call something a Sky Station. He happened to think Shepard-world-magic had a nice ring to it.

He hasn't got halfway through his second glass yet, but there's a faint pink glow in his cheeks and a warmth running under his skin. Wei Wuxian hardly has a filter as it is, and it takes a lot more than that to get him well and truly drunk, but it's enough to loosen his tongue.

"Hm? You haven't asked me any questions," he blinks, then breaks into an even wider smile, "oh, are you worried I'm holding out on you? Go on, ask, I'm not shy."

She looks at him flat-eyed and still a little sour. One thing Shepard wasn't up for, was being someone's little lab experiment. Never again. And maybe, in a sane and normal world, he wouldn't have been suggesting that. It may not be his intention, even now, but...

Well, they aren't currently inhabiting a world that could be called sane. Or normal.

"How does somebody get to be a cultivator, anyways?" she asks, quite as if the pause had been for actual contemplation and not just brooding, "You just... learn it somewhere? Anybody can do it?"

He's not sure what he said to deserve that look, but alcohol has him just a little fuzzy, but it's hardly enough to keep him from smiling. As much as he likes asking Shepard about her world, he likes running his mouth just as much.

"The concept is simple, but not everyone is born with the capacity to do it," he starts, getting a better understanding of how Shepard feels, explaining something so basic in her own world to someone who has no concept of it.

"The act of cultivation in and of itself is just self-improvement. Improving your martial arts, mystical arts, and manipulating your qi, more or less" he explains, "but not everyone has the innate ability to do all of those things. At least, all of them well enough to form a golden core."

He downs the rest of his drink, before setting it down, still toying with it as he continues, "before you ask, a golden core mmm... it's like, using the body as a crucible and your qi as raw material, you form a core? Anyway, once you've formed it, you want to build upon it, strengthen it, all that. There's different ways to do so, different schools, different thoughts on what makes them strongest. How's that?"

"And qi is...?"

From context, it must be something fairly basic. Sure, she's seen a few kung-fu vids, who hasn't, but there was that and then there was the intervening decade of combat, trauma, death, revival, and everything else. Don't fault her if her first thought isn't barely-remembered cultural artifacts from ten years ago and a country she's never actually visited.

She doesn't even know if there still is a China, come to think of it. The Reapers went after leadership first, she can remember that much.

"And, it's just something you do once, then you got it?" The way he talks it sounds almost like bodybuilding. But then, also, like a technology. Organic, home-grown technology. Excrete it yourself! "You just have to.... upgrade it."

He blinks. Really? They don't even have qi? It's kind of a startling realization for him. Didn't every living thing have it? Even if they were unaware of it flowing in their body, they should still know it exists, right?

"Oh, right ah..." he's a bit muddled by the question, and has to fumble for the answer, "it's like um. A life force? An energy that flows through you."

But at the rest, he nods, "right, you only need to form a core, well, can only form it, the once."

His hand hovers at his lower dantian, just below his navel, to gesture about where in the body it sits, physically, "once you have it, it stays, but you have to feed it, to grow stronger, yeah. The body is always generating it, but it takes focus to direct it, cultivate it, into what you need it to be."

Upgrade was kind of a strange word to use, but he supposes it's not altogether wrong.

ONLY, MY SECRET'S MINE, AND I WON'T TELL

QUEEN'S GAMES 8/12 - 8/22

THE CALL 8/16

INDULGENCE 8/13 - 8/23

Yay~

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QUEEN'S GAMES
8/12 - 8/22

THE CALL
8/16

INDULGENCE
8/13 - 8/23