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Entry tags:
WEEK ZERO EXECUTION
week zero: execution
murder of crows
murder of crows
Hopefully you got a long night of sleep? Barring that, you got whatever answers, or closure, you might have needed. Because it's strangely quiet, the following Sunday morning. Moreso than Cittàgazze typically is. There's something almost oppressive hanging over the city, but it's a bright, clear, Mediterranean day.
Breaking the silence, somewhere, much like the song of Friday, there is the echoing, cruel laughter of voices you should faintly recognize throughout the city. It's followed by humming of that newly familiar song. It's strongest, interestingly, close to the courtyard.
As the clocks of the city strike 1 PM, though, there is a change as the voices fade. While there's no compulsion to investigate it, there's a small gathering in the courtyard. Your three Watchers are here with their daemons, and so are... Qi Rong, and his daemon, front and center of the square. All damages and evidence, anything amiss from the weekend, is all gone, and replaced with the state of the courtyard from the week prior.
Nearby, Baraqiel's daemon is pacing along the edge of the courtyard in tiger form, as if on guard duty. Baraqiel themself is simply keeping an eye on Qi Rong, holding him with one hand around both wrists behind his back, ignoring him otherwise as he rants at the three of them. Gripping hard on their hood and pulling over their face, Shamsiel stands there in relative silence while a small bird circles above their head chirping anxiously. Suriel's daemon is nowhere to be seen, though their hood does shift oddly as they look on, hands clasped before them as if to offer a prayer. The three appear to be having a hushed conversation, in the meantime, but a hurried one, glancing around occasionally or checking on Qi Rong and Xiao Jing. Are they waiting for something..?
And then, another party will be compelled to join them. Xie Lian will find that his feet are carrying him to his destination, San Lang keeping pace with him as they make their way down the streets of Cigazze. Once he passes through the centermost area of the courtyard, past where Suriel and Shamsiel stand, he'll find that he can't go back, and neither can his daemon. Baraqiel and their daemon are unceremoniously expelled from the heart of the courtyard, away from Qi Rong, skidding as they catch themselves, the other two Celestials stabilizing their companion and looking shocked.
Likewise, no one can enter the courtyard further than where the three Watchers stand. There will be no interfering from outside parties, no matter what it is that's about to happen. Any attempts to do so will result in them meeting an invisible barrier, one that rebuffs them with the same amount of force used against it—so take care.
Breaking the silence, somewhere, much like the song of Friday, there is the echoing, cruel laughter of voices you should faintly recognize throughout the city. It's followed by humming of that newly familiar song. It's strongest, interestingly, close to the courtyard.
As the clocks of the city strike 1 PM, though, there is a change as the voices fade. While there's no compulsion to investigate it, there's a small gathering in the courtyard. Your three Watchers are here with their daemons, and so are... Qi Rong, and his daemon, front and center of the square. All damages and evidence, anything amiss from the weekend, is all gone, and replaced with the state of the courtyard from the week prior.
Nearby, Baraqiel's daemon is pacing along the edge of the courtyard in tiger form, as if on guard duty. Baraqiel themself is simply keeping an eye on Qi Rong, holding him with one hand around both wrists behind his back, ignoring him otherwise as he rants at the three of them. Gripping hard on their hood and pulling over their face, Shamsiel stands there in relative silence while a small bird circles above their head chirping anxiously. Suriel's daemon is nowhere to be seen, though their hood does shift oddly as they look on, hands clasped before them as if to offer a prayer. The three appear to be having a hushed conversation, in the meantime, but a hurried one, glancing around occasionally or checking on Qi Rong and Xiao Jing. Are they waiting for something..?
And then, another party will be compelled to join them. Xie Lian will find that his feet are carrying him to his destination, San Lang keeping pace with him as they make their way down the streets of Cigazze. Once he passes through the centermost area of the courtyard, past where Suriel and Shamsiel stand, he'll find that he can't go back, and neither can his daemon. Baraqiel and their daemon are unceremoniously expelled from the heart of the courtyard, away from Qi Rong, skidding as they catch themselves, the other two Celestials stabilizing their companion and looking shocked.
Likewise, no one can enter the courtyard further than where the three Watchers stand. There will be no interfering from outside parties, no matter what it is that's about to happen. Any attempts to do so will result in them meeting an invisible barrier, one that rebuffs them with the same amount of force used against it—so take care.
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private conversations ✨ murder proposals ✨ curfew ✨ daemons ✨
private conversations ✨ murder proposals ✨ curfew ✨ daemons ✨
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instead, he just rushes at him and tries to slice him across the face with the rusty hook.]
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he puts distance between them again, this time, reaching back to touch the barrier as he hits the edge of the 'arena' - san lang leaps off of his shoulder and transform in mid graceful jump, into the shape of the dragon-headed qilin, who drops into a crouch in front of xie lian, snarling protectively. the sound of his teeth snapping echoes across the clearing.
xie lian raises his sword, this time, his expression hardening, from steady, easy calm into peace - the thin cut bleeds down his cheek, and he changes questioning tack, voice picking up a little volume. ] Why did you kill Mr. Marius? What were you trying to prove?
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[he flinches back from the qilin on impulse, but -
wait.
still giggling madly, he smirks, steps forward, and lifts the hand that isn't holding the hook to slap his palm directly on san lang's side.]
And now you're in my way!
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the daemon roars and recoils backwards - xie lian flinches, visibly, nearly losing his balance. it's revulsion that rattles his bones, and then pain, like being thrown across the room in a fight. his qilin dashes away from qi rong, to the other side of the "arena", within xie lian's eye sight, and though for the first time he fumbles, it isn't enough to knock him down. ]
You - [ his eyes flash with fury, for a moment, realization and horror and indignance - that qi rong would do something so dirty? of course he would. of course. at this age, he is still brash and his temper gets away from him, as the crown prince of xian le, the white lotus, frustrated, slighted and angry for marius, for this situation, for qi rong, who hasn't changed in eight centuries. ] Fight me, if you insist on this, you spineless coward!
[ this time, he lunges forward with the sword, san lang snapping his teeth at qi rong from behind - though even now, he doesn't aim to kill, and his daemon doesn't launch to attack qi rong, either, only threaten to pin him in. xie lian is lightning quick and slippery with a weapon, let alone with one as familiar as a sword; even if it's not as light as his jian, the blade practically hums in his grip, as he ducks into qi rong's space in a flurry of white silk, and he brings it up and into the curve of the hook to try and wrench it from qi rong's grip. ]
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finally, for once, he's really gotten under his skin. how many years has it been since he's gotten him to react like this? how many centuries? the flinch, the revulsion, the fury - that's what he'd been after this whole time. he's too used to a xie lian who never loses his cool.
for once, he feels like he has the upper hand.
it's while he's cackling to himself over this that xie lian gets in close, that the blade hooks into the curve and sends it flying away, out of his grip. it scrapes along the palm of his hand, and he hisses -
before spitting in xie lian's face.
xiao jing spits in his face, too.]
FiGhT mE, bah! [he mimics his voice badly.] Look at you, so noble, insisting on a fair fight while you deprive me of the only weapon I have. Why shouldn't I use everything at my disposal? We're fighting to survive, there's nothing spineless about that!
[he is
running his mouth instead of attacking. he really should have taken a page out of a-qing's book and kicked him in the dick, but he's too busy taunting him.]
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at least it's not jerky this time. his eye shuts, nose wrinkling, disgusted - but as the hook sails off and likely hits the barrier, xie lian pushes forward with his sword. he doesn't strike, but he will make qi rong dance out of the way, pushing him back, back, back, towards the other side of the arena. san lang snarls and snaps at his heels, but avoids being touched, just as graceful as his person. ]
Your inability to keep a hold on your weapon is your lack of training and diligence. [ his voice lowers, now, as xie lian repeats to himself, mentally, heart as still as water, heart as still as water. qi rong is no white no face. qi rong is no true ghost king. xie lian is stronger than that. he does not waver. he does not falter. he will not let qi rong be the reason that he does. each phrase comes with a strike of the sword. ] As you have always lacked, despite how we tried to teach you otherwise. How you refused to cultivate. How you refused to listen. I am not the reason that you are standing in this courtyard, Qi Rong -- you are!
[ another push with the sword - this time, he strikes out with the flat of the blade, pouring his strength into hitting him in the chest with it to force him backwards, and he steps back again, this time, blade turned sharp side out, this time a xie lian ready for true combat. ]
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there isn't anything at all graceful in the way he moves to avoid xie lian's strikes. he dances to one side, ducks to the other, and each step is rough and graceless, a desperate attempt to avoid getting hurt rather than an elegant dodge. it's easy to tell who inherited the elegance in this family -
or who cultivated it, rather.]
Fuck you! That damn guoshi wouldn't teach me a thing even if I—
[that's when he gets the sword to the chest and is forced back, further away from the hook. he stumbles over a rock, hitting the ground hard on his ass and sucking in a breath at the impact - xiao jing's claws dig into his skin, and he hisses at that, too - before snatching the rock up and chucking it at xie lian's face.]
This is how you always fucking do it! You lecture me, you treat me like nothing worthy of your attention, and then you blame me for fucking wanting it - why did I ever want that, you were never going to take me for anything, YOU WERE ALWAYS LOOKING DOWN ON ME LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!
[he screams that and throws a second rock, and then -
lunges for san lang again, this time reaching out with both hands to grip and squeeze.]
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You - [ he has something to say, because nothing worthy of your attention is nearly a slight, in and of itself - because he had spent his time with qi rong as a child, he had tried to teach him, tried to help him understand the world in ways that were not so harsh and cruel, and qi rong attempted to get it by being crueler and crueler. it's always like this - a misunderstanding, this twisting of his words and his actions in ways that echo of something even worse, even more familiar.
but he doesn't get to say it.
san lang screams in pain when qi rong grabs him, thrashing wildly -- his tail swings in the direction of qi rong blindly, and the resulting pain of the grip takes xie lian's breath away. he drops to the ground with an - ] Ngh - [ and though he maintains his grip on the sword, driving the point down into the ground so he doesn't fall completely to the ground in a heap, knee slamming into the cobblestones, the pain from the touch is so brilliant and blinding that it whites out his vision, setting off every pain alarm xie lian has. ]
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he fights dirty.
he doesn't have the skill to fight fair. he's not good enough for an honorable fight, and he never has been. he's the type to take multiple goons with him to beat up a child. for someone like him, inflicting pain and revulsion through touching a daemon is nothing, despite the taboo - he hisses when san lang's tail hits him, but digs his nails in to keep his grip, fighting against the thrashes until he sees xie lian's knee hit the ground.
that's when he lets go, digs into his sleeve, and pulls out something shiny - it looks like a coin. but didn't he give his to xie lian at the trial?
...apparently not, because when he looks at it, a small rock appears as if from nowhere and shoots itself at xie lian while qi rong makes a run for the hook. and then he's running back, hook in hand, throwing himself at him to slash wildly with the hook and punch and kick wildly with his free hand and feet.]
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get up.
he has to get to san lang. he has to help him, has to win this. he cannot let qi rong harm anyone else. he has to take the pain of it, take the fight, take every ounce of the hurt, whatever it is. he has to stop this, he has to keep going. san lang hits the ground when qi rong lets go, and it takes him a moment to stagger to his feet, too, but as the grip loosens, the weight like an iron crushing his ribs seems to starts to fade.
he starts to try and push himself up - but the moment xie lian's head lifts, qi rong is in his space and practically tackles him. he hits the ground with another noise, the sword clattering out of his hand - and for a brief moment, in the wild confusion of it all, qi rong has free reign. the slash of the hook lands a deep, wrenching cut across his chest, slicing his robes and sending blood splattering across the courtyard - xie lian grits his teeth and doesn't make a sound, trying to throw an elbow, to pivot his weight, to get qi rong off of him. as he lands another hit with a punch near his sternum, and the technique is poor but qi rong is annoying and the weight of him presses into his ribs and the new cut bleeding freely down his chest, and trying to get a grip on him in the middle of this scuffle feels nigh impossible -- ]
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there's a flash of something dark and shimmery out of the corner of his eye - qi rong is distracted by it, turning his head in that direction and ceasing with the punching and kicking, and that'll give xie lian the opportunity he needs to get a grip on him and take the upper hand.
because now, he's outright staring, as clouds of something awful slither their way into the ring, visible to the adults - but to the children, it's harder to see, just faint shimmers of dark dust, vague impressions that something that shouldn't be here, is. what little color there was in his face drains away, and he gives a shudder.
xiao jing makes a low, distressed sound, and burrows under his clothing, clinging to his skin with needle-like claws.]
What the fuck—
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and the sight of the - whatever those are is the first thing he sees.
black, ominous dust instead of sparkling gold, in monstrous, inklike shapes; the entire arena suddenly feels heavy with resentful energy. he's no fool, and as qi rong takes the moment to swear, xie lian says - ]
Spectres.
[ san lang, still a qilin, is at xie lian's side in a second, crouching beside him, and xie lian immediately pulls up his sword, protectively putting himself between the daemon and the creatures - his eyes move from them to qi rong as this suddenly oppressive feeling starts to press harder and harder down. ]
Qi Rong - [ xie lian starts, low, not making any sudden movements, as the odd creatures writhe and slither through the air and that feeling of dread begins to creep down his spine- ] Qi Rong, get behind me.
[ because even now, even after everything qi rong has done, xie lian is protective of the lives of others. ]
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he's still bleeding, though.
but the laughter doesn't stop. sometimes, you don't need to be confused about whether to laugh or cry; you're so terrified that all you can do is laugh. xiao jing vanishes further under his robes, as if he can hide from the spectres by burrowing under the next layer.
he doesn't seem to notice what xie lian is saying, at first.
get behind me?
there's a long few moments, and then he snorts.]
Tch, get behind you, yeah right...
[for someone who seemed so prideful of his lungs the day before, he says that pretty quietly.]
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[ the spectres come closer, starting to press closer to xie lian and qi rong both - goosebumps go up xie lian's arms, and the shout of his cousin's name is somewhere between angry and distressed. san lang presses closer to xie lian's feet, still as a qilin, and the crown prince of xian le decides to swerve into action instead of waiting for qi rong to actually listen.
he jumps, leaping over his daemon in a cloud of white - a holy beacon in the middle of the ominous darkness, and makes it to qi rong, boots landing soundlessly on the cobblestone. the action agitates the wound in his chest - but xie lian ignores it and brings his sword back up, even willingly putting his back in front of qi rong without a second thought.
he's your family. are you alright?
the storm of the spectres makes xie lian's heart pound. he's not afraid, not of these creatures. he's not, he's not.
this could be it - trapped in a box like this, surrounded by the spectres that start to press closer and closer to them. one inky cloud sails over their heads, almost close enough to brush the top of xie lian's bun, and he shivers, racking his brain for something to do. he can't use spells, he can't endow his sword with energy, he can't - what can he even do? ] Stay close to me. Don't move.
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right here, right now. he could do it. his cousin's attention is on the spectres; all it would take would be for him to lift his hand, the one holding the hook, and plunge it into his flesh. would it take that much strength to rip and tear and—?
...but he doesn't move.
maybe he's listening to xie lian, for once in his miserable existence. stay close to me. don't move. he's still close, and he's not moving. it's the creatures around them that are moving, swirling, ducking in close, moving away like a whisper of silk against the air -
but then there's the loud clatter of something. metal on cobblestone, and the onlookers won't have to look far to see what it is: qi rong's grip has gone slack, and he's dropped the hook. it bounces once or twice, then lies motionless at its feet.
one of the spectres has swooped down and attached itself to him, settling itself around his shoulders like a cloak.
he doesn't move.]
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[ because if this ends - if one of them dies right now, what will happen? will the barriers disappear? will these creatures launch themselves at everyone else? a rock and a hard place, a decision on a decision. kill qi rong and complete this task as required - kill his cousin, who took the life of someone else, who deserves it to say the least - and release the spectres? allow the spectres to consume - them? is that what they'll do? (if he looks up too long, the spectres could almost be fluttering, long sleeves in the wind, in a city burning to ashes - they could form the face of of a mask, half smiling, half crying - )
the dread crushes down on xie lian. harder. it presses, pushes - a spectre writhes over xie lian's head - and the words of the white no face start to echo in his head like the siren songs of before. xian le, xian le. you're going to lose. a spectre curls around his waist like an old friend, over the bleeding wound at his chest, down, down, towards san lang. san lang gets lower to the ground, too, curling closer to xie lian's legs, as if he could avoid the touch of the creatures. again.
it's going to happen again. he's going to --
the clatter of the metal hitting the cobblestones strikes through his thoughts.
no.
as the spectres start to grab onto his shoulders and latch on, xie lian pushes back. he fights it, fights the feeling that he's going to be drained dry, that everything is hopeless, because it's not, it's not it's not. not again, xie lian thinks, almost venomously, stubbornly, and he swings his sword in an upwards arc as he whirls around with a shout, a bright beacon of white and silver in a cloud of inky black gray, sending the spectres that are attaching to him scattering back. not again. ]
Go! [ this time, he yells it, and lifts his blade towards qi rong. ] Snap out of it!
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he doesn't spit or curse or scream.
he just stands there, motionless. his expression is blank and his eyes are glassy, and he doesn't seem to be responding to much of anything. like this, he looks more like a ghost than he ever has - devoid of any of the fire and rage and resentment that has fueled him for the last eight hundred years.]
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he sees xiao jing, instead, the little prince. loud. obnoxious. cruel. but sometimes - there were moments where he could have been something else. a child on a swing, a shared meal with his mother nearby, ruffling xiao jing's hair. where things could have been different. eight hundred years have passed, unbeknownst to xie lian, and he's seen the way that they have twisted an already cruel person into a resentful, venomous wreck, a foul-mouthed and furious wrath level ghost, who has committed horrific crimes.
caught between this rock and a hard place, xie lian pauses, for a moment, still bleeding down his front, eyes a little wide, breathing hard.
another spectre swoops in, near his ear. it sounds like familiar laughter. you're going to lose!
for a moment, it feels like time stops. qi rong is miserable. perhaps the spectres draining him like this, motionless and silent, has changed him into the person he really was all along.
he takes a breath, just long enough, and closes his eyes. ]
I'm sorry.
[ sorry for what happened to xian le. sorry, that he failed the prince xiao jing at the start. sorry, that this is what qi rong has become. that he let this happen. that he didn't do more. that he couldn't help him even now, when he's at his least deserving - qi rong is vile and cruel and heartless, but his life is still alife. he's sorry, that things have turned out this way, even if sorry means nothing.
xie lian opens his eyes, and with one graceful swing, he changes his grip on the sword, and drives the point up into qi rong's heart.
perhaps, if nothing else, xie lian can offer the mercy that qi rong never afforded anyone else. ]
REMEMBER -
But the Watchers step forward in unison as the barrier falls, the same as they had with the verdict against Qi Rong. With their presence and a sheen of light and Dust, before the uninvited participants can weave amongst the crowd gathered, the spectres are forced to disperse from the courtyard. Their reactions after the light fades vary - with Shamsiel's seemingly unfocused and distant, Baraqiel's cold fury, Suriel's quiet dismay, but it's clear to them that this is the end.
Qi Rong falls by his cousin's mercy, vacant even before he hits the ground, before the sword takes his life, and Xiao Jing shimmers into golden Dust, fading on the wind. The meat hook and sword both disappear much like the knife had after they were chosen, and it seems like nothing will be left behind.
And that includes the executed, Qi Rong's body turning to Dust much like his daemon - and then there's nothing left.
Qi Rong is dead.
The laughter from before returns, echoing, before the unknown but newly familiar voices turn to song again:
A gruesome sight to see, most grim.
This one refused to take the blame,
But cousin ends the family shame.
And now he pays for his crime -
A type of justice most divine.
After the Dust clears, and the song ends with more of that laughter, the Watchers will disappear in a shift of space around them. Xie Lian and San Lang are left alone in the heart of the courtyard.
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xie lian is still bleeding down his front when the light and the dust all clear, the sword vanishing from xie lian's hand - and all he does is drop to his knees, san lang shifting immediately from qilin to tiny ferret.
ow. ]
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Xie Lian! [he glances back over to everyone else.] Does anyone have their medical supplies!?
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My dear fellow, let's get you out of here. To a place where you can rest and get treatment, yes?
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[Kim's gotten over here in a hurry, too.]
Let me see. How bad is it?
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Just tell me what you need help with.
[ This is also in part directed to Kim and Sholmes, who are offering aid. ]
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Is... Is there anything I can do for you?