#jin.talk

rope slipped like a serpentine whip between well worn fingers and calloused palms before a grip tightened around it. as a sandbag fell to the floor off in the wing of the theatre, momentum rocketed jin from the stadium ground up to a wire which was set at a practice height for the afternoon. they landed with the arcs of their feet positioned to keep balance when they noted a pair of eyes on them from near the doorway. "most people buy tickets to see me fly." they announced. "so what will you buy for fu instead?"

an eel offering writhed in the embers as it cremated slowly and joined the rest of the soot. jin stuck a thumb into the still white hot ash and marked a sharp black line across their forehead, then a second across their neck. they rolled the hemline of their sleeve up to the elbow and proceeded to mark twelve more prints along their forearm. the act was too deliberate; a routine ritual of mourning.

"have you ever tried chrysanthemum wine, princess?" jin asked without glancing away from the flickering flames to note the silhouette of royalty arriving. "samhain does not exist where I was born, nor the all hallowed day."