RP: Fellows Suffering Misery
Characters: Cho Chang, Percy Weasley, and Mr. Chang(NPC).
Location: The flat.
Date: January 20th, 2000.
Status/Warning: Private.
Summary: Cho's father finally shows his face, and things get interesting.
Completion: Complete.
Tamarind was screaming before the knock even came.
And then it did: pert, sharp, and undeniably with intent.
.... Silence.
Cho lingered where she stood, barefoot in the kitchen. There was something very... Very... off-putting in the sound. Yes -- she was dressed, presentable, and certain that her head would keep level enough for civility. (Things had been much better lately, after all.) But there was something in the knock that made her feel apprehensive; for one thing, even though she paused for a good minute before responding there was never another... Just the first and its resounding clarity. For another, no matter how hard she craned her neck to hear, there was no sound from the hallway. Whoever it was, they were simply standing there.
"Percy," she hissed down the hall. She wasn't sure where he'd gone in the last ten minutes, but he certainly wasn't out here to answer it; if Cho were one for cursing outside of horrible situations, she might've. "Percy."
And there was nothing to do about it, really: though there was no sign from the other side of the door, Cho could feel their visitor growing impatient. It was almost as if it knew she were standing there, and already mulling over how to scold her for her rudene--
Oh God.
It had to be father, then.
She snuck closer, listening, and slowly -- slowly, but surely -- turned the knob.
The storm of Mandarin endearments that followed was unyielding as a wall; Cho took a step back, even, she was so overwhelmed. It pressed forward into the apartment, taking the shape of a man who looked much older than she remembered; behind him a wrinkled hand dragged an overladen hand cart, and --this almost caused an aneurysm -- an enormous owl swooped in over a familiar bald spot, nearly decapitating her with its wings.
If there were anything to break her catatonia, that was certainly it.
"These are muggle apartments," Cho hissed in English, quickly shutting the door. "You can't just walk in with a giant bird!" She floundered for a moment, gesturing wildly, and came to the conclusion that his language was far better suited for disbelief. "...And you -- you know that!"
Jun stood back, crossing his arms. "Oh, Qiu. Surely you see how much good this does your father? I am pleased to know you're still capable of scolding."
"I'm capable of much more, if you cause a scene like that ever again! How in the world did you even get in? I'll kick you out myself if I have to." Cho crossed her arms in turn, and stormed over to the opening of the hallway again, calling out in slightly-bewildered English. "Percy! Percy, please! Please come out at once!"
Perhaps the tone of her voice was becoming a little desperate.
"Oh God, Percy..."
With her back turned, apparently Jun saw fit to rummage through the cabinets; they all swung open at once with a wave of his hand, and there was an enormous crash as several pots and pans flew to the floor. The old man took a look at their supplies, shaking his grey head, and turned back to Cho -- who had practically flattened herself against the wall, unable to escape.
"This kitchen is under-equipped," he informed her, tsk-tsking. "Your man can't save you now."
"We've been in the hospital."
"Now I'm seeing what I should have done to help you. Poor little things. You try to run a house for mice."
"We've been in the hospital!" This she practically spat; Jun shook his head at her, returning to the handcart, and began levitating out the quarry he'd brought.
"I woke up this morning and something said to me: Jun, it's time. Her pride will be permissive. Did you really think I would risk having my head torn off by a bedridden swan? There is no dignity in that. And you wouldn't have wanted me there, I'm certain. You think I don't know you? I know you. You're me." He paused, grinning semi-toothily. Semi, because... Well. Old and all. "Here, I brought tribute to your love nest."
Apparently this consisted of groceries, and.... Several wrapped gifts. Cho watched, somehow calmed by the sight, and walked slowly to join him. For once he was right; after the letter, she'd been more grateful at his absence at anything else. And now that she was in an environment she felt more comfortable in, seeing his face was far easier; here she could at least make attempts at the strength he thought she possessed. It was easier to live up to his expectations, and... The hospital had made it difficult for anything of that nature.
And lately, if Cho were anyone, she was a good mixture of her father and someone entirely new.
Jun made a face. "I would never go so far as to call your Mr. Percy a swan, though. He must be something else entirely." There was a pause, in which a large bag of sugar pirouetted through the air. "I wonder, will your little swanlings be red?"
"Dad." She took a deep breath. "Dad, that is a genetic impossibility."
(Well, alright. So maybe she wasn't entirely at peace with seeing him.)
Ru had perched menacingly on the highest point in the room, pressed awkwardly between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling; his yellow eyes were narrowed at the hallway, as if poised for attack. Understandably, Tamarind was... Nowhere in sight. Cho wasn't sure Hermes was even home at the moment, and the lack of wingbeats lent to the stillness Jun had brought with him, as though transferring the quality of her childhood home. Things were oddly quiet in the apartment for a good few minutes, and there was a sense of the surreal to match; she watched her father put away groceries in her own kitchen, as if he'd been there the entire time, and then stand back, looking rather arrogant.
"Now you can call this a kitchen! Where is your Mr.?"
Cho shook her head, taking a seat at the table. Perhaps this was a bit much, for a quiet afternoon. For once she wasn't even willing to consider things fully: as it was, she was happy to finally feel a parent cared for her, but... Honestly. "Hiding, if he has any sense. He doesn't speak Chinese, you know. If I couldn't understand what was being practically shouted in my girlfriend's face, I would disappear, too."
"There, there. I thought a coward was yellow, not red."
"...Is this a joke? My Mr. -- that is your word, not mine -- risked his life to save me. I can't help but notice that none of my relatives helped. None."
"No one asked us," said Jun simply.
For a moment they simply stood, staring at eachother -- black eye to considerably blacker, though in this light it was hard to tell which was which -- and finally he closed his old hands around a package, gesturing for her to come and open it.
Cho complied, seething quietly; with the paper off, it was nothing more than a brown box. "I -- I can't open it on my own," she admitted.
Jun tapped it with a finger, brow furrowed at her weakness, and the top opened gently.
Inside was...
An old record player. After the contraption was lifted (by father, with no effort) quite a few records revealed themselves at the bottom of the container. Most were in unsimplified characters she couldn't read, but the titles were vaguely familiar; she thought she might remember her father singing along those lines. In the Days of Spring. The Tune of Nightingales. Fellows Suffering Misery.
"I thought you would enjoy -- they're such old songs. I think if you listen you'll remember, from our summers in Shenzhen," Jun said. "It's the music of your grandparents, from years and years ago. I hope Mr. Percy can appreciate such a thing."
Cho was still lost, thinking of how to say thank you for something she had no use for -- but the thought was sweet, and for once she offered her father a smile. "Mr. Percy is not unrefined, you know."
Besides: the record player would make a lovely decoration, in the back of a closet somewhere.
"I think I may. Here, another gift--"
The next box was prepared with considerably more care: the wrapping was a shiny gold, and the ribbon an embellished crimson. Cho's slow hands were suited to such a task; she was careful not to tear the paper, though throughout the act a strange feeling came over her. It was difficult to describe: when she became aware of the change, it was not for sharpness, no piercing realization. Not like anger, not like love or fear -- Whatever it was, it became persistently heavier and heavier, weighing in the back of her heart like a bell's toll, and... Somehow her head grew tender in its presence, an odd ache, as if reveling in the echo of a particularly haunting note.
"Huh." Jun watched her carefully, brow furrowed. When it came time to lift the lid, he was forced to do it himself; her hands were shaking, and all the while her mind seemed strangely far away.
As if she'd known it all along.
Inside was an elaborate head dress of black and blue -- a meticulously beaded cap, turned up in places to resemble bird's wings, and hanging tassels of jade and shining gold shaped to resemble falling blossoms. White pearls hung from the forehead and along where the sides of a face might rest, hopefully in joy. Such a feeling radiated from its crown -- overrun with carvings of flowers -- and the sense of happiness it brought made Cho nearly dizzy; somehow she managed to lift it, admiring the beauty of the handiwork, and... "Oh."
Underneath.
Jun took it out himself, as gently as possible; the red silk hung delicately, inappropriate for such old and twisted fingers. Cho stared blankly, her eyes pausing over the muted designs: a phoenix and dragon flew in a wind of peony petals, intertwined like lovers in the delicate fabric. It was only then that she realised --
"This is my..."
Jun nodded proudly. "Your grandmother's wedding outfit. I can understand, if you are frightened to keep it -- such a thing is old and elaborate, and any chance of harming it... Simply unacceptable. My mother gave it to me, during the dedication of your memorial in the garden; I think she meant it as a comfort, but... I could not hold a broken dream in my house. Not that it was yours, Qiu -- you know how old women can be. They are especially selfish in imagining." He paused. "It must be in horrendously bad custom to give this to you, but... It was your grandmother's hope for you to accept it as a gift. She wanted you to have the dress either way, you know, on second thought. I believe she wanted to send it for your birthday."
Twenty years old.
Cho had been struggling with herself, torn between walking away and calling for Percy again, and in the end simply staring won out. She gaped at her father, gaped at the dress, the remaining unopened presents, Ru's unfaltering gaze, beadwork, a phoenix tail, and--
"How dare you bring such a thing into my house! Gift or no --!" Her chest heaved painfully; she managed to point at the door, but the hand fell tiredly. "Gift or no... I am disrespected. How dare you present me with... With this thing."
"A piece of our history!" Jun interjected, still holding the dress. "A beautiful piece. This is a great honor! Do you know how many other grandchildren she could have offered this to? You are greatly respected. I am the one who should be ashamed!"
He took a step back, imposing. "I see nothing's changed. You are still a strong-willed, selfish, inconsiderate little child. A little weakling! This is your heritage, and you kick it like a dead dog."
And perhaps... Perhaps it was good. For the first time, there was the will to fight again; her mouth twisted angrily, but there was a glint in her eye that said otherwise. "You make me sick!"
With that, there was really no choice in the matter -- she stalked away, fists clenched. And no, Cho wasn't entirely sure what she was feeling at the moment, but it had almost nothing to do with her father's present.
Somewhere in the empty living room, Jun laughed. She could hear him laughing, even as she opened the door to the bedroom, and as it faded the image of his satisfied smirk was clearer to her than day. There was the sound of pots and pans clattering, and... Silence.
Location: The flat.
Date: January 20th, 2000.
Status/Warning: Private.
Summary: Cho's father finally shows his face, and things get interesting.
Completion: Complete.
Tamarind was screaming before the knock even came.
And then it did: pert, sharp, and undeniably with intent.
.... Silence.
Cho lingered where she stood, barefoot in the kitchen. There was something very... Very... off-putting in the sound. Yes -- she was dressed, presentable, and certain that her head would keep level enough for civility. (Things had been much better lately, after all.) But there was something in the knock that made her feel apprehensive; for one thing, even though she paused for a good minute before responding there was never another... Just the first and its resounding clarity. For another, no matter how hard she craned her neck to hear, there was no sound from the hallway. Whoever it was, they were simply standing there.
"Percy," she hissed down the hall. She wasn't sure where he'd gone in the last ten minutes, but he certainly wasn't out here to answer it; if Cho were one for cursing outside of horrible situations, she might've. "Percy."
And there was nothing to do about it, really: though there was no sign from the other side of the door, Cho could feel their visitor growing impatient. It was almost as if it knew she were standing there, and already mulling over how to scold her for her rudene--
Oh God.
It had to be father, then.
She snuck closer, listening, and slowly -- slowly, but surely -- turned the knob.
The storm of Mandarin endearments that followed was unyielding as a wall; Cho took a step back, even, she was so overwhelmed. It pressed forward into the apartment, taking the shape of a man who looked much older than she remembered; behind him a wrinkled hand dragged an overladen hand cart, and --this almost caused an aneurysm -- an enormous owl swooped in over a familiar bald spot, nearly decapitating her with its wings.
If there were anything to break her catatonia, that was certainly it.
"These are muggle apartments," Cho hissed in English, quickly shutting the door. "You can't just walk in with a giant bird!" She floundered for a moment, gesturing wildly, and came to the conclusion that his language was far better suited for disbelief. "...And you -- you know that!"
Jun stood back, crossing his arms. "Oh, Qiu. Surely you see how much good this does your father? I am pleased to know you're still capable of scolding."
"I'm capable of much more, if you cause a scene like that ever again! How in the world did you even get in? I'll kick you out myself if I have to." Cho crossed her arms in turn, and stormed over to the opening of the hallway again, calling out in slightly-bewildered English. "Percy! Percy, please! Please come out at once!"
Perhaps the tone of her voice was becoming a little desperate.
"Oh God, Percy..."
With her back turned, apparently Jun saw fit to rummage through the cabinets; they all swung open at once with a wave of his hand, and there was an enormous crash as several pots and pans flew to the floor. The old man took a look at their supplies, shaking his grey head, and turned back to Cho -- who had practically flattened herself against the wall, unable to escape.
"This kitchen is under-equipped," he informed her, tsk-tsking. "Your man can't save you now."
"We've been in the hospital."
"Now I'm seeing what I should have done to help you. Poor little things. You try to run a house for mice."
"We've been in the hospital!" This she practically spat; Jun shook his head at her, returning to the handcart, and began levitating out the quarry he'd brought.
"I woke up this morning and something said to me: Jun, it's time. Her pride will be permissive. Did you really think I would risk having my head torn off by a bedridden swan? There is no dignity in that. And you wouldn't have wanted me there, I'm certain. You think I don't know you? I know you. You're me." He paused, grinning semi-toothily. Semi, because... Well. Old and all. "Here, I brought tribute to your love nest."
Apparently this consisted of groceries, and.... Several wrapped gifts. Cho watched, somehow calmed by the sight, and walked slowly to join him. For once he was right; after the letter, she'd been more grateful at his absence at anything else. And now that she was in an environment she felt more comfortable in, seeing his face was far easier; here she could at least make attempts at the strength he thought she possessed. It was easier to live up to his expectations, and... The hospital had made it difficult for anything of that nature.
And lately, if Cho were anyone, she was a good mixture of her father and someone entirely new.
Jun made a face. "I would never go so far as to call your Mr. Percy a swan, though. He must be something else entirely." There was a pause, in which a large bag of sugar pirouetted through the air. "I wonder, will your little swanlings be red?"
"Dad." She took a deep breath. "Dad, that is a genetic impossibility."
(Well, alright. So maybe she wasn't entirely at peace with seeing him.)
Ru had perched menacingly on the highest point in the room, pressed awkwardly between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling; his yellow eyes were narrowed at the hallway, as if poised for attack. Understandably, Tamarind was... Nowhere in sight. Cho wasn't sure Hermes was even home at the moment, and the lack of wingbeats lent to the stillness Jun had brought with him, as though transferring the quality of her childhood home. Things were oddly quiet in the apartment for a good few minutes, and there was a sense of the surreal to match; she watched her father put away groceries in her own kitchen, as if he'd been there the entire time, and then stand back, looking rather arrogant.
"Now you can call this a kitchen! Where is your Mr.?"
Cho shook her head, taking a seat at the table. Perhaps this was a bit much, for a quiet afternoon. For once she wasn't even willing to consider things fully: as it was, she was happy to finally feel a parent cared for her, but... Honestly. "Hiding, if he has any sense. He doesn't speak Chinese, you know. If I couldn't understand what was being practically shouted in my girlfriend's face, I would disappear, too."
"There, there. I thought a coward was yellow, not red."
"...Is this a joke? My Mr. -- that is your word, not mine -- risked his life to save me. I can't help but notice that none of my relatives helped. None."
"No one asked us," said Jun simply.
For a moment they simply stood, staring at eachother -- black eye to considerably blacker, though in this light it was hard to tell which was which -- and finally he closed his old hands around a package, gesturing for her to come and open it.
Cho complied, seething quietly; with the paper off, it was nothing more than a brown box. "I -- I can't open it on my own," she admitted.
Jun tapped it with a finger, brow furrowed at her weakness, and the top opened gently.
Inside was...
An old record player. After the contraption was lifted (by father, with no effort) quite a few records revealed themselves at the bottom of the container. Most were in unsimplified characters she couldn't read, but the titles were vaguely familiar; she thought she might remember her father singing along those lines. In the Days of Spring. The Tune of Nightingales. Fellows Suffering Misery.
"I thought you would enjoy -- they're such old songs. I think if you listen you'll remember, from our summers in Shenzhen," Jun said. "It's the music of your grandparents, from years and years ago. I hope Mr. Percy can appreciate such a thing."
Cho was still lost, thinking of how to say thank you for something she had no use for -- but the thought was sweet, and for once she offered her father a smile. "Mr. Percy is not unrefined, you know."
Besides: the record player would make a lovely decoration, in the back of a closet somewhere.
"I think I may. Here, another gift--"
The next box was prepared with considerably more care: the wrapping was a shiny gold, and the ribbon an embellished crimson. Cho's slow hands were suited to such a task; she was careful not to tear the paper, though throughout the act a strange feeling came over her. It was difficult to describe: when she became aware of the change, it was not for sharpness, no piercing realization. Not like anger, not like love or fear -- Whatever it was, it became persistently heavier and heavier, weighing in the back of her heart like a bell's toll, and... Somehow her head grew tender in its presence, an odd ache, as if reveling in the echo of a particularly haunting note.
"Huh." Jun watched her carefully, brow furrowed. When it came time to lift the lid, he was forced to do it himself; her hands were shaking, and all the while her mind seemed strangely far away.
As if she'd known it all along.
Inside was an elaborate head dress of black and blue -- a meticulously beaded cap, turned up in places to resemble bird's wings, and hanging tassels of jade and shining gold shaped to resemble falling blossoms. White pearls hung from the forehead and along where the sides of a face might rest, hopefully in joy. Such a feeling radiated from its crown -- overrun with carvings of flowers -- and the sense of happiness it brought made Cho nearly dizzy; somehow she managed to lift it, admiring the beauty of the handiwork, and... "Oh."
Underneath.
Jun took it out himself, as gently as possible; the red silk hung delicately, inappropriate for such old and twisted fingers. Cho stared blankly, her eyes pausing over the muted designs: a phoenix and dragon flew in a wind of peony petals, intertwined like lovers in the delicate fabric. It was only then that she realised --
"This is my..."
Jun nodded proudly. "Your grandmother's wedding outfit. I can understand, if you are frightened to keep it -- such a thing is old and elaborate, and any chance of harming it... Simply unacceptable. My mother gave it to me, during the dedication of your memorial in the garden; I think she meant it as a comfort, but... I could not hold a broken dream in my house. Not that it was yours, Qiu -- you know how old women can be. They are especially selfish in imagining." He paused. "It must be in horrendously bad custom to give this to you, but... It was your grandmother's hope for you to accept it as a gift. She wanted you to have the dress either way, you know, on second thought. I believe she wanted to send it for your birthday."
Twenty years old.
Cho had been struggling with herself, torn between walking away and calling for Percy again, and in the end simply staring won out. She gaped at her father, gaped at the dress, the remaining unopened presents, Ru's unfaltering gaze, beadwork, a phoenix tail, and--
"How dare you bring such a thing into my house! Gift or no --!" Her chest heaved painfully; she managed to point at the door, but the hand fell tiredly. "Gift or no... I am disrespected. How dare you present me with... With this thing."
"A piece of our history!" Jun interjected, still holding the dress. "A beautiful piece. This is a great honor! Do you know how many other grandchildren she could have offered this to? You are greatly respected. I am the one who should be ashamed!"
He took a step back, imposing. "I see nothing's changed. You are still a strong-willed, selfish, inconsiderate little child. A little weakling! This is your heritage, and you kick it like a dead dog."
And perhaps... Perhaps it was good. For the first time, there was the will to fight again; her mouth twisted angrily, but there was a glint in her eye that said otherwise. "You make me sick!"
With that, there was really no choice in the matter -- she stalked away, fists clenched. And no, Cho wasn't entirely sure what she was feeling at the moment, but it had almost nothing to do with her father's present.
Somewhere in the empty living room, Jun laughed. She could hear him laughing, even as she opened the door to the bedroom, and as it faded the image of his satisfied smirk was clearer to her than day. There was the sound of pots and pans clattering, and... Silence.