Kaisou Mod Account (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kaisoumods) wrote2023-02-16 10:09 am
kaisoumods) wrote2023-02-16 10:09 am
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BLACK ORDER GROUP CHAT [BLACK ORDER MEMBERS ONLY] (OLD)
The Black Order
per umbras ponere ordinem
MEMBERS:
2024 Group Chat
[OOC: this is a catch-all group chat for the Black Order members to use however they'd like. This chat is open ONLY to Black Order members and is not actually part of the Libra app (but their own separate network). ]
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[He's trembling, caught somewhere between fury and panic, but he tries to keep his voice steady. The temperature stays where it is for now, but...]
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[He reaches inside his coat and pulls out Jusis's phone, which has a little sand on it still. He holds it out to Fugo with one gloved hand.]
... I have no intention of leaving him to die.
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Neither do I.
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Take a deep breath and count to ten. I understand your anger, but it won't help Jusis if you destroy everything around you right now. You need to form a plan and prepare.
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I know that! [... Fuck. Deep breath.] I know. But I can't form a plan like this. Just... just let me be angry first, and then I'll get to work.
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Anger is your right. I won't deny that.
Is there something Jusis usually did to help you through this?
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Wait here. It'll only take a moment.
[Not six hours, he promises. Though he's unfamiliar with Jusis' kitchen, you bet your ass he's in there opening up cupboards trying to find something resembling a teapot or a kettle or hell, even a damn k-cup. He's had to Adapt these past few weeks.
It takes longer than a moment, but not an eternity. He comes back out with a kettle of oolong tea, a few cups, milk and a little dish of sugar. It looks appropriately perfect and arranged in a particular way. He sets the tray on the table and then pours Fugo a cup, and then himself.]
... Oolong tea comes from the Fujian province, which has been known for its tea since antiquity. According to one theory about its origin as a "tribute tea", oolong tea was served to the Emperor and his court, and later spread throughout the dynasties, spanning from the seventh century onward. Another tale says that a man forgot his tea while distracted and it became partially oxidized, and the name oolong was taken from his name, Wu Liang.
In truth, it is testament to oolong's superiority as a strong, hearty tea that it caught on in the court of the Tang Dynasty. A lesser tea could have done so with the right political influence, and spread much like other royal trends at the time, but it did not. How fortunate we are that oolong was chosen instead.
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He watches as the tea is poured, and... well. The small history lesson is almost expected, frankly, but he's not as excited about it as he normally would be.]
... yeah. Definitely fortunate.
[He's trying. He just can't work up the enthusiasm like this.]
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... The weight of a single boulder is strong, yet on the backs of many boulders are mountains built.
[He takes a sip of his tea and swallows.]
... There was a boy in the village who struggled to keep up with the others. As the only son of his family, he had the full weight of their expectations. Carry the water, milk the goats, feed the animals, clean the stalls... He did everything that the other boys could, but he was slower for his lack of strength.
When he was pushed into the mud, he was furious. When the nets he hauled into shore were empty of fish, he raged. He prayed, and then he yelled at the gods when they didn't answer him. But he... still did not give up.
You might ask where this foolishness came from. If he wasn't as strong as his peers, then why did he keep trying? Why not accept that he was born apart, and was perhaps meant for a different destiny?
Perhaps it wasn't a new vocation that he needed, but a change in perspective. Yet for all his stubbornness, this also meant that he didn't know how to think... differently. He struggled because that was all he knew.
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He makes a noise of acknowledgement. He's listening.]
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Outside of the village, a battle was brewing between two warlords who fought for territory. Men recruiting for their lord visited, and took the boys who were old enough to learn to fight. Once again the boy was passed over and discarded...
Yet the battle that waged outside was an ugly and bitter one. It wasn't long before it spilled into their lands, slaughtering the sheep and torching the fields. The boy could only watch as his pitiful strength remained all that stood between his neighbors and the bloodthirsty lords who had forgotten what it was to protect something dear.
"There is nothing for us," the people cried, as fire and bloodshed poisoned the land and stole all they had worked for. They fell to their knees and prayed, and some of them even cursed the gods, but there was no response. With no men left to defend the village, it was only the elderly, women, and children who were left to watch over it and defend it... and one boy, who straggled behind everyone else, but simply refused to surrender.
[He sips his tea.]
He grabbed a spear off the wall, once used to hunt wild boar, and turned it against the troublemakers who sought to ransack the land. The fire choked the air and turned the skies black and red, but he still did not back down. He struggled... because that was all he knew and understood. The first soldiers tasted the end of his spear, but he was quickly overpowered and thrown aside. He lay there bloodied and broken as the ash fell down like rain.
What was it all for? Why had he been cursed with such inferior strength? If he couldn't even defend his land, what was the point in living?
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"Pick up your spear."
He dared not disobey. The boy crawled on hands and knees to his fallen weapon. The soldiers thought he had risen from the dead; one of them was afraid, but the other charged forward and swung his sword at the boy. This time, when the boy swung his spear, it was light and fast in his hands like the sweetest steel—singing as it sliced the wind.
One, two, five men, then ten. None of them could stand against the boy and his godly spear. His neighbors heard the soldiers retreating and came out from hiding, only to see the weakest boy in the village fending off the honorless wolves of the local warlords. If this weak boy could find the strength, what excuse did they have to hide? They were ashamed. Everyone who could hold a weapon grabbed one and formed up a line at the boy's side. Once shunned, the boy now found himself at the center of an impenetrable, impossible wall.
That was how a boulder became a mountain.
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So pick up your spear tomorrow, Patrizio. Stand side by side with the others.
You won't fall.
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He's still angry, but for the moment, he can swallow it back. He'll just opt for one of his solo outlets later.
He finishes his tea and sets the cup down.]
... no, I know I won't. [He hasn't calmed, not in the slightest, but for the moment he can pretend he has. Maybe if he pretends enough, it'll actually work.] Thank you for the tea and the story.
[It is mostly sincere, at least, even if Fugo's expression is one of measured neutrality.]