video: average sighren
[ The scene is one of steam and muffled, echoing male voices from elsewhere, tiles covering walls. Xichen's face is in shot, hair unbound and soaked where it falls down his bare shoulders, pink from the hot water (no fear, he has a thin robe shrugged off but tied about his waist out of shot) where he is leaning over the edge of the bath. ]
This is rather unorthodox, in many ways, as first meetings go. Pardon my appearance, robes are somewhat contradictory to my surroundings. [ But he's out of seclusion, in a strange realm, and this is the only way he knows to prove the bathhouse is safe: by using it. ] Some of you already know my younger brother, Lan Wangji. You may call me Lan Xichen.
[ He sighs, nasal and soft. More of an exhale. His smile hitches back up. ]
I now live above the bathhouse. Technically, [ here he glances over blandly to a pair of guffawing sailors in the background, lips pursing as he holds back his real opinion, ] this is a private residence, but it would be rude to deny access to those who wish to use the downstairs, so I would like to invite over anyone who wishes to bathe in something other than cold lake-water — if my housemates wouldn't mind, I should like to meet all of you, too.
There is a separate area for women, of course. Please use the rinsing stations before entering the main baths and wear something discreet, for the sake of others.
[ Xichen glances around as someone calls his name and there is a momentary wider shot of him soaked to the waist as he straightens to nod in answer, raking back his hair so it isn't stuck to his chestyou're welcome. He looks again to the video and smiles warmly, tilting his head in apology for the break in his attention. ]
It is seemingly busier in the afternoons.
This is rather unorthodox, in many ways, as first meetings go. Pardon my appearance, robes are somewhat contradictory to my surroundings. [ But he's out of seclusion, in a strange realm, and this is the only way he knows to prove the bathhouse is safe: by using it. ] Some of you already know my younger brother, Lan Wangji. You may call me Lan Xichen.
[ He sighs, nasal and soft. More of an exhale. His smile hitches back up. ]
I now live above the bathhouse. Technically, [ here he glances over blandly to a pair of guffawing sailors in the background, lips pursing as he holds back his real opinion, ] this is a private residence, but it would be rude to deny access to those who wish to use the downstairs, so I would like to invite over anyone who wishes to bathe in something other than cold lake-water — if my housemates wouldn't mind, I should like to meet all of you, too.
There is a separate area for women, of course. Please use the rinsing stations before entering the main baths and wear something discreet, for the sake of others.
[ Xichen glances around as someone calls his name and there is a momentary wider shot of him soaked to the waist as he straightens to nod in answer, raking back his hair so it isn't stuck to his chest
It is seemingly busier in the afternoons.
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( that's a 'no'. )
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i'm so glad within one conversation, lan xichen has the entire measure of marc
(he will be successful at precisely one of these tasks.)
he doesn't reply. he reads the message and leaves it on read, making his way downstairs, to where he can hear the sailors and, presumably, to where lan xichen can be found and, presently, joins him.
lan xichen and marc are the same height, give or take, but where lan xichen is lithe, marc is less so — stockier, and looking for all the world like he's not long woken up (perhaps because that's precisely the case). fading bruises are evident about his person, a nose that's been broken a dozen or more times and hasn't healed quite right on at least one of those occasions, and a variety of scars — hands, notably, his back, and just the one on his face — through his left eyebrow, implying a narrow miss and a certain luckiness to still having both his sight and his eye.
(marc spector, for all that it matters, exists in a near-perpetual state of dishevelment.)
well-worn lines suggest that the frown he wears is his default expression and not an inherent display of displeasure. a breath of a pause before he speaks (he doesn't need to confirm that this is lan xichen, the video had been more than enough. then— ) —As frightening as you imagined?
c': fingerguns
I've seen scarier.
[ He inclines his head politely. ]
Please, join me.
[ Slender and pale, his blush from the heat stands out pink and obvious over his neck and chest and, notably, there are no scars to break it up. ]
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—Like I said, I present better in person. ( dryly. marc may not always be self-aware, but in terms of his reputation, he's under no illusions. a beat. ) Spector's my family name. Nominative determinism at its finest.
Lan Xichen, I assume.
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[ There are a few versions of things to call him. ]
Spector is not unpleasant, I apologise for giving that impression if I did.
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Marc. ( half in acknowledgement — xichen — and half as a concession of sorts. strictly speaking, it's not how he prefers to introduce himself — that's 'mr. knight', but 'mr. knight' is the suit and the mask. it's not-marc, someone not entirely different but different enough, and the suit's upstairs.
the corners of his lips quirk in a fleeting impression of a smile, thin-lipped and not entirely humourless. ) Unpleasant wouldn't be the worst thing I've been called.
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[ Steering that smile in a better mood, he swishes his hands idly underwater and plays with the ends of his long hair. ]
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surprise, then, gives way to reticence, gives way to— ) Charismatic.
( unpleasant yet charismatic? sure, why not. )
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[ Interesting, to see this man's opinion of others' views. ]
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( not the same thing and he knows it, but it's arguably a better answer than the blunt truth — that is, no, marc does not consider himself to be especially charismatic. steven, perhaps, or even jake, but marc spector? that's not his purpose. )
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[ He says it graciously, as though he has no choice but to believe it since they don't know each other that well. Steeped in good manners, Xichen inclines his head in a nod. ]
Please, if you would, tell me more about yourself.
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—he is not interested in this. on the network, it'd be easier, he could just leave the message on read, avoid it, and never come back to it.
(it occurs to marc, too, that if they are to be housemates, if they are to share a living space, then knowing more about each other is not only fair but expected. but still.) )
I'm a priest.
( is he? kind of 'yes', but also 'absolutely fucking not'. )
Your turn.
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[ It's rare to encounter other religions, he tilts his head inquisitively. Dark brown eyes weigh heavily on Marc, waiting for a further explanation. ]
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khonshu has no religion, nothing much to speak of but marc's devotion (such as it is) and the form it takes. marc is a self-titled priest, a man who calls himself such because it's the only way he can make sense of what he does and why he does it. )
Mine is the god of the moon, ( unworthy of worship, but what choice does he have? ) The protector of those that travel at night.
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[ There are plenty of folktales and myths about the moon, Xichen is pleased by the turn that Marc took there. He expected different.
Sitting up against the tiles, he brings a handful of water up over his shoulder to warm himself, musing how to describe himself and what he does. ]
I am the sect leader of the Lan clan of Gusu, a cultivator. Some would say we practice mystical arts in order to achieve a higher elevation of qi. Those who do can stay young for a very long time, the goal being to ascend spiritually as best a person can while grounded in this life. Strength of body and mind comes from intensive cultivation.
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(badr had said there was nothing of beauty in marc, in the way he fights. marc had argued there was none in anything they did in khonshu's name.)
neither gusu nor cultivator mean much to marc, and his expression is briefly questioning before he settles on acceptance. spirtuality has never much resonated with marc, he's never much understood it.
(and strength of mind? marc has never had any of that.) )
Some say — you wouldn't?
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[ The same way Marc is devoted to his Khonshu, as little as it sounds he reveres him. ]