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

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu is glad Galahad has taken to this so well, and pleased at his occasional, daybreak smiles, even if they don't quite last, but he can't quite forget the blank devastation on his face when he'd first arrived to the greenhouse, or the desperate longing showing through in his first flower choices. "Swallow-wort," he suggests, gently, eyes on Galahad's face.

[onthewillowsthere]

The playfulness evaporates as he drops his own gaze to the page, and his expression turns empty again, almost as if his face is incapable of rendering whatever emotion he feels and settles for nothing at all as a compromise. It's perhaps easy to see how this could have failed to win him friends, when his depth of feeling presents as stone-faced indifference.

He nods quietly.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Ox-eye," he says, "and black poplar, I think. Will you help me find them?"

[onthewillowsthere]

It's easier to talk this way, in this language of flowers, than to try and state his turmoil of feelings outright, and he's grateful to Shen Qingqiu for providing the translation. He nods.

[peaklordshen]

"Alright," says Shen Qingqiu. "I think a lot of these are sort of, herb-y... let's start with the sage." He leads Galahad around the gardens, puttering through flowerbeds and piling Galahad's arms high with his finds.

He laughs, at one point, seeing him bedecked with little white and yellow blossoms like stars. "They suit you," he says. "Maybe these we should weave into a crown of willows for your golden head."

[onthewillowsthere]

It makes him think of the crown of stars from his dream, and his breath catches softly. He remembers himself as Damien, then, with the crown of rosemary and columbine, with the oleander in his hair, and Claudius touching him to take it (he wonders whether Claudius still has the oleander). "...Perhaps. Willow is for mourning."

[peaklordshen]

"Some willow," says Shen Qingqiu, consulting the book. "Other willow can be for bravery, and humanity." He can't make that choice for Galahad, though—which willow, no willow at all, crown or no crown. It's only the second thing he ever made! It should be his!

He returns to their leaf-and-petal strewn workbench, and gestures for Galahad to arrange as he sees fit.

[onthewillowsthere]

It's like the billiards -- he has no innate talent for this, and with Shen Qingqiu not perfecting his work it's a lot more challenging, but it turns out that feels good. The flowers they've chosen are so delicate. He has to work hard not to crush them as he threads them together. It takes him a moment to work up the ability to ask, "Will you teach me how you do it?"

[peaklordshen]

There is no end to Galahad's sweetness - a better disciple Shen Qingqiu could never ask for (save one). "Of course," he says. "You may need to trim the leaves other than those just right by the flower's head. Choose where along the crown you want the flower to sit, and then thread the stem through the willows. That way you barely need touch the flower itself, so it will stay fresh longer." He lets a little bit of qi pass from his hands into the plants so that they will be preserved an unnaturally long time anyway, but Galahad doesn't need to know that.

[onthewillowsthere]

As he sets himself to his task, he thinks of how little he knows about Shen Qingqiu, other than that he has been unfailingly kind without regard to which self Galahad has been. He's been more than kind -- he's been tender, willing to gather Laurel in his arms and wish Galahad joy. Galahad knows a great deal about Percival, because Percival is always talking: he knows that he grew up in the woods with his sister Dindrane, that he can track any sort of animal, that he saw a knight in the forest once and thought he was an angel.

After a space of quiet, he glances up. "Tell me about you." As he often does, he utters it as an imperative.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu gives him a laughing little bow at the order. He... kind of hates this question, though. What's he supposed to do? Recite Shen Qingqiu's scum villain backstory, threadbare as it was? Talk about Shen Yuan's wasted potential of a life?? List out things he likes, like he's filling out an online dating profile??? "I am hardly interesting enough to keep you occupied," he demurs. "I—teach." Used to teach. "I read. I enjoy painting, and playing games of strategy with my martial brothers and sisters." Used to enjoy. Now he mainly rots, in his house on Qing Jing, all his joys subsumed by and then vanished along with Luo Binghe. Just like they have been here. His face, for the first time in hours, possibly for the first time that Galahad has seen, goes noticeably gloomy.

[onthewillowsthere]

"Do you paint here?" He's focused back on the flowers now, and reading over people's emotions has never been his strong suit.

[peaklordshen]

"Not yet," says Shen Qingqiu. Unless you count the lotuses and bamboo he'd decorated Luo Binghe's invitation to talk with. Once again—all roads lead there. "But—maybe I will." He regards Galahad, sitting there, pale head bowed, his hands busy with their careful work. "Have you ever sat for a portrait?"

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad looks up again. "No. For you?"

[peaklordshen]

"Only if you want to," says Shen Qingqiu, quickly, in case Galahad hates the idea.

[onthewillowsthere]

"It would be vanity," although he already suspects this is not a meaningful concept for Shen Qingqiu. "I have never been permitted vanity before." And, after a beat, "I would like to."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu's smile goes impish. "I would love to help you indulge your vanity," he says. "In fact, I require it--if you come to me for your portrait, I want you to take a long and luxurious bath, first, and wear whatever you feel most comfortable and beautiful in, and I shall paint you looking at your best, so you can indulge in vanity every time you look at the portrait."

[onthewillowsthere]

The idea of that makes him laugh, startled. There are so many things there he's never once considered -- the idea of bathing as a pleasure, of clothes as more than necessity, of what it would mean to look his best -- and he feels guilty to imagine any of it. And then again he thinks, who would care? Does God look at anything he does now? (God sees the falling of a sparrow, but Galahad is less than a sparrow, which has been tasked with nothing and is good in and of itself for existing and cannot disappoint God.)

He's quiet for a very long time before he says, "All right."

[peaklordshen]

"Alright," Shen Qingqiu echoes, smiling. He nods at the crown in Galahad's hands. "Are you finished?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"I think so." He lifts it and places it on his wild halo of hair, and tilts his head at Shen Qingqiu.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu beams at him. He looks adorable -- the crown slightly clumsy, one of the larger flowers hanging over one eye; he reminds Shen Qingqiu of a sweet and sad-faced dog someone would post on weibo for hundreds of thousands of likes. "Lovely."

[onthewillowsthere]

In spite of himself, he smiles again -- he thinks Shen Qingqiu means it. "Worthy of vanity?"

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu absolutely does mean it, comparisons to cute online dogs notwithstanding. The crown looks right, somehow, on Galahad's head, suiting his coloring and his understated style of dress. He reaches up to turn it, slightly, so the larger bloom lays over his ear, rather than his eye, which does a lot to reduce the ridiculousness in favor of the beautiful, and then rummages around in his sleeve again, coming out with a small hand mirror. "Here. See for yourself."

[onthewillowsthere]

"You have everything," with another soft laugh. Then he looks in the mirror, and summarily freezes.

He's vaguely aware that he spent a considerable amount of time looking at himself as Damien, but that memory has been well buried under a considerable number of other, more pressing memories, and he barely remembers what he saw there. It feels entirely different to see himself now. He hadn't realized how pale he is, or how untamed his hair, and his features look ill-married to his critical eyes, his mouth too thin and his cheeks too hollow and the line of his jaw too severe. But the flowers do look pretty in his hair all the same, and he reaches up to touch the crown carefully.

[peaklordshen]

"I like to be prepared," Shen Qingqiu blusters, to cover for the real answer, which is that he's maybe a little bit of a hoarder and enabled by having basically a bag of holding in his sleeves at all times. He just—tends to pick up things that could be interesting, or useful later, and stow them away. Call it an instinct, born in PIDW, of gathering anything that could be considered a scenario-pusher. Which—

He suddenly remembers a true scenario-pusher, something stowed in his sleeve on Qing Jing mountain after watching A Formative Luo Binghe Bullying Experience. As soon as he remembers it, it seems to weigh down his sleeve dramatically, far too dramatically for counterfeit jade. He flicks his wrist, annoyed, and concentrates again on Galahad. "Like I said," he says firmly. "Lovely."