open post: pollen science

[peaklordshen]

After his conversation with Sagramore, Shen Qingqiu had taken a long, hot shower, mainly for the novelty of it, and then gotten dressed again in his robes—although he wore fewer layers than were truly proper for a peak lord, and he'd forgone his guan in favor of just braiding his hair in a thick coil against his neck. He leaves the two looser loops at the front—he still can't find his fan, and it felt wrong to not have any frame to his face at all. He's not thinking about why he feels loath to fully don his Shen Qingqiu persona. He's not thinking about much, about the last few days. Instead, he's thinking about pollen.

He's in the greenhouse, carefully laying out a sample cut from every plant in the place, as well as every plant he can imagine producing pollen of any kind from the grounds. Grasses, flowers, buds, leaves, even a few species of harmless-looking mushroom. He's using a pair of tweezers he found to gentle separate them so he can examine the internal structures. Some he recognizes as entirely harmless - Earth flora; others are stranger, more alien. Some even look similar to plants from Proud Immortal Demon Way, though thankfully none are obviously aphrodisiac in nature. Shen Qingqiu is wearing his gloves and mask again anyway—he doesn't want to breathe in the wrong pollen; normal sex pollen would just increase his normal desires and make him hyper-straight, totally defeating the purpose.

He has his notebook open to a fresh page, and is making meticulous lists.

Comments

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad has every reason not to come back to the greenhouse -- even if he wasn't the one who made it, he takes seriously his vow not to encounter Crowley (or Claudius, who also loves plants, but he knows Claudius is more likely to be in the gardens). But he's feeling a little less scraped out after learning to play billiards, a little more like the world isn't completely pointless, and when he sees Shen Qingqiu he remembers all the times he was comforted by him. So many people here have been needlessly kind to him, in spite of how much he's been stiff and awkward or mannerless and naive; he can think of a hundred times someone taught him something or tried to console him or took care of his hurts. No one is Percival, but it's not like Camelot or the nunnery, where no one spoke to him or touched him or liked him, and he feels again as if SecUnit saved him for something, as if he owes it to someone (or all of them) to try. God has cast him away, and Claudius, but everyone else has kept trying to draw him back.

So he sees Shen Qingqiu through the glass and foliage, and he comes to the door.

"Shen Qingqiu?" He sounds different from the way he did as Damien, or Laurel; he holds himself differently. Laurel was always relaxed, openly curious. Galahad is straight-backed as a sword, and his expression is largely blank, a careful study in not making himself too easy to hurt.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu looks up, and then stands up, crossing to him with a smile. "Damien," he greets, and then, correcting himself now that he sees the change in stance, in expression, "Sorry—it's Galahad, now. Galahad again, I suppose."

[onthewillowsthere]

He nods. "Again."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu steps a little closer. There's something about Galahad's expression, or maybe its his posture, something—rigid and reticent; it makes him want to touch, reassure, settle him like you would a bird with its feathers protectively raised. He holds out a hand that Galahad can either take or ignore. "Are you alright?" he asks, gently.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad is silent. He wants to take Shen Qingqiu's hand, but just as the night before with Laertes, it seems impossible to take what he wants. He's never been permitted, and even though he can see how easy it would be, he can see that there are only inches between them and it would be nothing to close the space, it's some great engulfing chasm instead, and he can't -- if God were still there, He would say no.

He shakes his head. He's not all right.

[peaklordshen]

"Oh, sweetheart," says Shen Qingqiu. He reaches up to brush Galahad's hair out of his eyes, then pulls him forward into a hug, cradling Galahad's head against his shoulder and holding him tight. "I'm so sorry. All your burdens returned, and none of the new ones lifted."

It's a little bit of a surprise—he'd thought that with his memories back, Da–Galahad would be self-assured, a stirring and courageous hero ready to set off to adventure at a moment's notice. But maybe he, like Binghe, is lost, here; unable to properly don the mantle of Protagonist without the proper story around him. Galahad, Galahad. That's Arthurian for sure—he'll have to ask Sagramore about his great purpose. It doesn't seem like Galahad himself is in a place to explain.

[onthewillowsthere]

He sinks into the embrace just as he had the last time, and wonders if he would have given up his purpose for something as small as this, to be held and called sweet heart, if he had not already given it for greater sins. He doesn't weep this time, but he stays there as long as Shen Qingqiu lets him.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu will let him for an indulgently long time. He does eventually pull back, though, staying within touching distance, one hand casually on Galahad's arm. "I should thank you, you know," he says. "For your help with the congee."

[onthewillowsthere]

The touch is nice, too. He blinks at Shen Qingqiu. "The-- what?"

[peaklordshen]

"The meal you helped me with," says Shen Qingqiu. "When we first met, in the kitchen." He smiles, wryly. "It was not good, but that wasn't your fault, and somehow it worked anyway."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad's expression clears. It was three selves ago, but he remembers, vaguely. "The porridge. With the fish."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu laughs, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "Yes," he says. "The fish porridge. I wish I'd had a chance to ask Binghe exactly why it was so bad, but." He shakes his head, sharply. He's not thinking about that.

[onthewillowsthere]

"We made it for Luo Binghe?"

[peaklordshen]

"We did," says Shen Qingqiu, calmly and without apology. He has no idea how much, if at all, Galahad and Binghe have interacted, but he hasn't backed down from defending his honor yet and he's certainly not going to start now. "It was an apology. I--" he cringes at the memory of telling Sagramore the whole of it, put my sword through his chest-- "I hurt him. Badly."

[onthewillowsthere]

He has the fleeting thought, maybe that's what I should do, bring him food, but he doesn't know what Claudius likes to eat, only his taste in wines, which he sometimes spoke of, and anyway he promised to leave him alone, and having given back the key seems final enough on that point. Eventually he realizes he hasn't responded, and he says quietly, "I'm sorry."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu blinks, surprised. "Sorry? For what?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"For--" Galahad sighs. "I don't know."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu pats his head fondly. "You have no apology to make to me."

[onthewillowsthere]

He keeps his head bowed, eyes down. "No. I want to apologize to someone else."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu gently herds Galahad over to the stool at his work table and makes him sit. "Who?" he asks. He wonders if it's Sagramore. Maybe they're supposed to be on Galahad's great quest together, and Galahad wants to apologize for not being able to pursue it, here, or not wanting to pursue it anymore, or—really any number of possibilities. If that's the case, Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure Sagramore won't mind. He gets ready to reassure Galahad of the same.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad sits with his hands perfectly still in his lap, the way he would at mass -- no fidgeting, straight posture, ready to be a vessel who receives God's word. He looks at Shen Qingqiu, focusing his gaze on Shen Qingqiu's eyes.

"Claudius."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu nearly gapes at him. "Claud—Claudius?" he asks, all of his noble visions of Galahad and Sagramore riding into battle side by side vanishing like smoke. "What could you have possibly done to Claudius that deserves apology?" He barely thinks what Binghe did to Claudius is deserving of apology, and he's pretty sure Galahad doesn't even have blood parasites.

[onthewillowsthere]

I came to him as someone else. I didn't make it clear enough I wasn't myself. I broke my vows and he thinks it's his fault. I tried to offer him absolution he didn't want, and I don't have the power anymore to give. I told him I want to die. I flinched away from his hand. I didn't let Lan Wangji touch my mind even though it's what he wanted. I asked him questions through a messenger after I said I would let him alone. I still want him to take me back.

He's too overwhelmed with possibilities to speak. It's been so long since he had to try and remember how to express himself -- it's been five years with Percival, and Percival always understood him without much effort. Everything here is emotions and explanations and Galahad freezes under the prospect. He shakes his head at Shen Qingqiu.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu nods back, accepting the silence as an answer for now. He's disappointed, but not enough to press—Galahad is too fragile for that, and this might be gossip he can get from other sources. Claudius might even tell him himself, he seems free enough with his tongue.¹

"Well," he says instead. "I'm not—exactly an expert in apologies. Ours worked, but I think it was more due to luck than anything else. And I'm not sure I would advise trying with food, unless your memories are filled with expert cooking lessons that have now all flooded back to you."

¹Pun intended.

[onthewillowsthere]

"No. Only catechisms."