semi-open post: portraiture

[peaklordshen]

After shifting his way through oil pastels, watercolors, house paint, colored pencils, and an endless variety of paint markers, Shen Yuan has finally managed to get the Mansion to produce a decent set of oil paints, and—wonder of wonders—an easel. He's set up in a spacious, well-lit hall, probably for dancing or salons or whatever, where he's arranged a bunch of furniture in various configurations—wooden screens that he's draped cloth¹ over for backdrops; armchairs stolen from the lounge, wooden stools and high-backed dining chairs from the kitchens; even a lovely chaise lounge in a deep purple that he wistfully thinks he won't actually use, because it would definitely be for Aleksander, and he doubts he'll be doing that entry in his protagonists of the Mansion series after all. He has one of the stools pulled up next to the easel to hold his paints, and is wearing a wide-necked sweater over a black turtleneck and some loose, worn jeans that already have a few flecks of paint on them from when he was doing his color tests.² He's pulled his hair back in a practical bun, and he's currently laying down a layer of gesso on his canvas.

¹ Look, he has to do something with all of those robes he accidentally conjured in his last post.
² After days of feeling very lost and confused about how he's not required to LARP anymore, he's pretty much decided that it actually means he can just change who he's LARPing as at will, and the main way to do this is through fashion. Today he is An Artist.

[Primarily for those Shen Yuan has offered to paint, but anyone else is also welcome to come bother him while he works.]

Comments

[sagramore]

"I can understand that, though it sounds as if you mean that differently from the way I would."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan regards him. "Tell me the way you mean, then?"

[sagramore]

"I suppose I mean-- I know I drink more than I should. But sometimes I find the alternative worse." He frowns. "And I've never particularly cared about that, but-- Laertes cares."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan nods at this, remembering how he'd almost instinctively dodged around Sagramore's drink, earlier, only to realize it wasn't there. On some level, though, he is surprised—it had seemed such a part and parcel with Sagramore's charm, the ex-knight with his curls, the twinkle in his eye, the drink in his hand. It's yet another reminder of the reality of the people he's surrounded by, rather than their fictional counterparts. No charmingly drunken knights in any myth he's heard have husbands concerned about their alcoholism.

"What about the alternative is worse?" he asks, curious. "Or—I suppose—what is it that drink gives you? I've never really understood the appeal, other than as a social thing."

[sagramore]

He sighs. "I don't like myself very much. I never have. I was a burdensome sickly child, and then a surly young man, and--" A pause, during which he's thinking about his conversation with Laertes the day before. "The man I was in love with was very good at cutting me down to size. I had been drunk a handful of times in Constantinople and it made me feel less sullen and more pleasant to be around, and, Christ, everyone in Britain drinks. The water's no good, and half the year the day is short and there's nothing to do. I drank a great deal with other people and after a while I drank a great deal by myself as well, especially when we were fighting, and Jesu knows we were often fighting. People seemed to like me better, or perhaps I just felt as though they liked me better, and in any case I always feel as though I'm thinking too much, I can never stop thinking, and the more I drink the more I can quiet myself down." He sighs again, not looking at Shen Yuan: he can imagine how Laertes would look if he'd said all this to him. He doesn't want to see it on Shen Yuan's face any more than he does on Laertes'. "It's easier than learning how to live with myself, I think."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan has a lot of immediate reactions to this speech, both verbal and non. He squashes most of them; the urge to be angry with the man Sagramore had been(?) in love with; the urge to tell him he understands about not liking yourself very much; the urge to tell him he's living with himself either way, there's no escaping that, even if you die and get transported to a world where you're supposed to be someone else entirely.

The nonverbal reaction he doesn't suppress is that he shifts sideways, just a little, so his thigh is pressed a little harder to Sagramore's, and then he turns his empty cup over in his hands, examining it. "So—there's two parts to that, it sounds like. Habit—there was nothing else to do, in dark old Britain, and everyone was doing it; that part seems easier to me to change, or to replace with something else." He knows people who are trying to get sober sometimes drink a lot of seltzer, or energy drinks. Maybe he should introduce Sagramore to Mountain Dew. "The second part is the harder part. I'd tell you you're actually a very lovely person to live with, and I have an entire Mansion full of your current housemates who would agree, but I know that doesn't mean you'll believe it."

[sagramore]

"I'd tell you that you've mostly been living with me at least a little drunk," with a short laugh; he presses his thigh back against Shen Yuan's. "And-- both parts are hard. If I don't drink, I do feel it. My hands shake, I get a headache, I go hot and cold. I consider selling my nonexistent firstborn."

[peaklordshen]

"Of course. I didn't mean to minimize the difficulties of withdrawal, just that psychologically I understand how habits can change, in contrast to your nonsensical and very stubborn lack of self-worth," says Shen Yuan, both genuine and a little teasing. "I do think all of that is temporary, but also that quitting cold turkey—that is, all at once, I don't know why that's a phrase, actually—is supposedly a pretty bad idea. So." He pours himself more wine, and lets Sagramore decide if he'll do the same.

He's never missed search engines more than right now. They have this stuff figured out, in the 21st century! Whole programs for it! Enormous backlogs of research on what's good and bad for alcoholics! If he had his phone right now he could call upon the probably contradictory, fake news and snake-oil filled collective wisdom of the entire internet to help him with this conversation! Okay, maybe Sagramore's better off with just what Shen Yuan remembers. Which—might include something about weed?

"I have something that might help," he says. "With the headaches, anyway, and maybe some of the other symptoms. It's also an intoxicant, technically, but very different from alcohol, and from what I know not nearly so addictive. It might be worth a shot, next time, if you're interested." He looks at Sagramore, holding his eyes. "Even if you're not, you can always come to me when you're feeling it, even—especially if you're irritable. As we've already established, some of my favorite people are breathtakingly mean."

[sagramore]

"Wait, wait, go back--- there's a word for that?" holding up a hand. "Withdrawal?" He's sufficiently distracted that he doesn't refill his cup.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan blinks. "Oh." Right, god—Sagramore is doing this with like, literal Dark Ages medical knowledge. Maybe even without search engines Shen Yuan can be useful. "Sorry, I—yes. The symptoms you're talking about, when you don't drink, they're called withdrawal. It happens because, like, over the years your body has built up a chemical dependence on alcohol, and it—reacts, when it's not there and it expects it." He cocks his head. "What did you think was happening?"

[sagramore]

"I--" Silence. "I thought I was weak-willed."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan stares at him in distress. "Weak–no," he says, aghast. "It's—this happens to everyone. If you drank as much as you do and you weren't experiencing withdrawal you'd be some kind of medical miracle."

[sagramore]

"That's-- enlightening," he says, looking steadily at his hands, not trusting himself to speak further or look at Shen Yuan.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan puts an arm behind him to rub little circles into his back. "Like I said, I'm no doctor, but by my time, alcoholism is--it's a known issue," he says, quietly. "Not only withdrawal, but the compulsion to drink, too. Neither makes you weak, nor are you alone in it." He thinks about Claudius, another man he's barely seen without a drink in his hand, or Wei Wuxian, with his endless bottles of Emperor's Smile. "I suspect you're not even alone in it here, though I don't know for sure."

[sagramore]

"Jesu. There's no -- even so, there's no cure?" He is miserably sick of cures, none of which has ever done anything for his seizures, but right now he thinks he'd be willing to try anything that would ease that longing for a drink.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan shakes his head. "Just time," he says, very aware that this is the same advice he could have given if this conversation had remained focused on Sagramore's heartbreak alone. "You—wean yourself off the drink, slowly, so the withdrawal won't kill you, and then you can stop entirely. Eventually, apparently, the desire to drink goes too."

[sagramore]

Sagramore shoots him a little smile. "That sounds miserable. I suppose I'd have to start by quantifying how much I do drink."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan nods. "I, um. I hear it helps to have an accountability buddy. Someone who knows what you're going through, who you can talk to about it. Even just to let them know how much you've had in a week, or whatever. Not so they judge, or even tell you to drink less, but just so you're aware, and not, like, alone in it." This is an offer, but he doesn't want to be presumptuous about it, in case there's something else Sagramore would rather do this with.

[sagramore]

"Thou'rt offering?"

[peaklordshen]

"Yeah," says Shen Yuan. "If--if that's welcome."

[sagramore]

"I-- yes. It would be. I'd appreciate it very much." He squeezes Shen Yuan's hand. "Thou'rt a true bro, know thou."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan privately thinks that anyone who knows Sagramore, like, at all would be happy to do the same, but he likes it when Sagramore calls him bro in such a heartfelt way, so he doesn't protest. He squeezes his hand back. "I meant it about coming to me when you're dealing with withdrawal, too. I don't know if the herb I have will help with all of it, but it eases pain and should help with the part where you can't stop thinking."

[sagramore]

"That would be a mercy, certainly." He's quiet again. To be honest, this isn't the revelation he'd expected -- he'd thought he might talk a little about Asmodean, and then be embarrassed by his own wallowing and move things back to Shen Yuan. Now he's left wondering what else about himself he might have borne like a curse that someone could lifted from him (not that he expects to get over the guilt of half a century of blaming himself for drinking all the time as quickly as all that, but it does give him something to grasp onto that he hadn't had before). That line of thinking is dangerous too -- the part of him that's quick to blame himself immediately turns to well, if you'd just asked someone earlier, you wouldn't be in so much trouble now, would you? so it's still your fault, just differently than you'd thought it was -- but he wrestles that back.

The point is that Shen Yuan isn't disgusted by him, hasn't grown bored with him. Shen Yuan wants to help him as much as he's wanted to help Shen Yuan. Sagramore has only done to him what he was doing to Laertes, holding him at arm's length rather than let himself be seen.

"Thou hast my thanks," he says finally, leaning over to refill his cup at last. "I'm sorry I told thee none of this. I was ashamed."

[peaklordshen]

"No need," says Shen Yuan, immediately. "For the apology or the shame. But I get it—the first and hardest step is admitting you have a problem." He winces at how trite this is, but at least Sagramore probably doesn't know it's trite. He means it, anyway, and hopefully that part comes through. "Especially if you thought it was your own fault, bro. I can't imagine carrying that around all the time."

[sagramore]

"I think," he says carefully, because this still feels self-pitying to admit, "I carry more than a few things I should try to put down."