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Fang Yun

"I suppose what I do now ought to be beneath me. But very little is beneath me anymore."

0 · 342 views · located in Edo Japan

a character in “The Seven Samurai”, as played by Chrysalis

Description

ImageImageImageImageImageFang Yún

◙◙◙◙* Male...◙◙◙◙* 354...◙◙◙◙* 6'2"...◙◙◙◙* 185 lbs....◙◙◙◙* Qīnglóng

AASTR x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACON x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AASPD x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAAPWR x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAINT x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACNG x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAWPN x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACHA x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌


Image AQUAKINESIS Manipulate any phase of water, from gas to solid.
DRACONIC BODY Particularly strong and durable
TRANSFORMATION Capable of flight and waterbreathing
PURIFICATION Purify toxins or disease; limited



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PERSONALITY
Clichéd as it might be, the reptilian man is cold-blooded.

It's not a universal attribute, not one applied to every situation without discrimination—he understands nuance and complication and exception too well for that. Black and white are the concepts of younger beings than himself, simpler ones. Those who have seen less and understood less, and perhaps who have loved more. Or at least hoped that in the end, good would win out. But those hopes are no longer his, if ever they were to begin with. The chill in his heart seems well-suited to his appearance, which is a thing of perhaps slightly-uncomfortable beauty. His height and build prevent him from ever being mistaken for female, but he does have a rather pretty face, which honestly doesn't seem to have done him many favors in the past. His alienness is inescapable: he cannot even be mistaken for an albino, considering that his hair, like his scales, is actually a soft, sky-blue color. His eyes are actually coral-pink, of all the colors in the world, which helps matters exactly not at all. Anyone who believes in yōkai is near-certain to believe he is one, though he is often mistaken for a qilin. He tries not to feel insulted by this.

Naturally, this has led to some distinct feelings of alienation, especially considering that he has lived among humankind, willingly or not, for the better part of his life. At best, he's looked upon with vague suspicion and distrust. At worst, well... he prefers not to dwell on the worst.

Nature and experience alike have made him into a reserved sort of person; he rarely if ever goes out of his way to engage with strangers, and though he observes courtesy by default, he can easily abandon it if he feels the situation is one better served by silence. He's rarely outright rude, merely apathetic, unconcerned with the things going on around him, though he will always observe them watchfully for any sign of threat. He's bypassed the arrogant stage of his life where he believed being yōkai or quinglong specifically would prevent anything from so much as harming him. So he's wary, though he does have enough discipline not to let it translate into outright paranoia or anything of the kind.

Yún is a strong believer in reciprocity, the compensation of generosity for generosity or harm for harm in equal or comparable measure. He tends to reflect back how other people treat him at them, a sort of fundamental passivity that developed as the years of his life wore on. He isn't one to try and interfere too much with the course of fate, as he's become quite resigned to such things over time, and often believes that any kind of struggle is futile. This general nihilism can make him a bit gloomy, though he doesn't usually make it apparent that he thinks this sort of thing unless he is directly asked for his view. Honest enough to tell the truth most of the time, he is also tactful enough to lie if he believes it's called for, and appreciates the subtleties of real situations in life, not so easily reduced to "right" and "wrong." He's the first to see the merit of an opposing point of view, but it would be a mistake to call him weak-willed because of this. He sticks to his decisions unerringly, and always keeps his word, but he nevertheless sees the world with coolheaded logic rather than emotion.

He is somewhat different with respect to the few people he's ever been close to. The only such person at the moment is Xiaodan, and he looks after her with the patient indulgence of an older brother, bodyguard, and chaperone all at the same time. To look at them, one might assume that he's the one who decides the course their actions take, but that's actually exactly the wrong way around: Yún is the follower, and he goes where Xiaodan leads.

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HISTORY
Fang Yún (方 云) was born with another name, but it is one he has long since abandoned or forgotten. His new one was a gift, granted him by a strange human girl who needed something to call him and named him after a cloud. When a surname eventually became necessary, he just took hers.

He was born three and a half centuries ago, though at times it seems to him that it's been much longer than that. Having been born to a pair of quinglong, he was raised and inculcated in their elusive culture, making his home at the bottom of the South China Sea for his first several decades. Dragons have a rather unfortunate tendency towards cultural arrogance, and believing themselves superior to other yōkai and humans alike, some mix perhaps of their strength, well-known vitality, and tendency to be venerated by humans, where often other kinds of yōkai are reviled. Of course, all that breaks down immediately once one actually enters the wider world, as Yún discovered in his second century.

At that point, he was naive, unaware of the workings of the wider world, and quite convinced of his own invincibility. Most people in such situations learn their lesson harshly, but with a chance to actually recover from them. He wasn't quite so lucky—at least not initially. He emerged from the sea on Chinese land and wandered for a while, rather expecting to meet with adoration and worship. What he actually encountered were frightened villagers and then an ambitious Ming Dynasty general and his men.

In all fairness to him, Yún fought very well before he was eventually captured and dragged before the emperor. Having an actual dragon in captivity, one of the famed quinglong at that, was quite the impressive feat, and he became a dynasty trophy of sorts after that, kept from transforming or putting most of his power to use by potent drugs concocted by the Ministry of Rites. In this way, a hundred years passed.

Until he met Fang Xiaodan.

At first, he paid her no more mind than the others. He'd seen her family come and go over his time in the Court, always from a distance. He recognized her immediately by the red hair, for he had known the first of her ancestors to have it. He didn't expect that they would ever exchange words—though he was occasionally forced to give up his scales, hair, or blood for some alchemic purpose or another, it was never those dedicated to cultivating the elixir that came into contact with him. Indeed, they met quite by accident, when she was still a girl at her father's knee.

She seemed to take a shine to him, though he knew not why, exactly—she wasn't of age to be enchanted by his appearance, as some occasionally were. Initially he thought her nothing more than a cruel thing, come to mock the beast in his cage, but that turned out to be just as false. When she asked for his name, he told her he had none, and so she called him Yún, on the odd rationale that his hair reminded her of a cloud. In the end, she saved him—on her way out of the court, she freed him, and together they fled her execution and his torment.

For the sake of convenience—and perhaps partially from gratitude—he adopted her surname and a place as her watchman and protector. She has come to treat him as a brother, and he returns the favor as well as he can. He has not her flighty genius nor her intrinsic warmth and compassion. But he can at least make sure that neither of those otherwise-admirable traits get her killed. Though he fights with his hands as well or better, he carries tiger hooks for this purpose; he's discovered that being armed is more of a deterrent than simply being large. And all in all, he'd rather be a deterrent than actually fight everyone who looks at them the wrong way.

Though it's been a century and a half since he saw anything of his family, he's never really felt the desire to return to the ocean on any permanent basis, though he retains his fondness for the water and instinct to be near it.

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*Character sheet inspired by Maccotango, and Aethyia.
*All Credit belongs to them.


So begins...

Fang Yun's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fang Xiaodan Character Portrait: Fang Yun

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Yún trailed dutifully behind the woman in front of him, tracking her erratic motions with his eyes but offering no comment. She moved around like she was blown on a breeze he could not feel, dressed in an overlarge and ragged yukata, a string tied around her waist in addition to the obi. The twine supported several small pouches and tools, which occasionally clinked together as she skipped about.

Whenever she diverted too far off the path to crouch and examine or collect some plant or patch of soil, he drew to a stop. Yún had no particular interest in such gathering himself, and he knew much less of plants than she did, but he could at least make sure nothing untoward happened to her while she was so diverted. Nothing short of a charging warhorse would draw Xiaodan's attention while she was absorbed in her work. It was doubtful the horse would even succeed, in truth.

He watched her brown headscarf disappear from his line of sight; she'd chosen a section of tall grasses to inspect this time. Casting his eyes out over the road, he reached up with his free hand and tugged the hood a little further down over his head. Neither of them had very many options for remaining beneath notice, but they'd done what they could: drab clothes, cloth covering their hair, and one of her alchemic concoctions to dull the colors of their eyes. His were a ruddy brown now, hers a dark grey. His other hand adjusted the lay of the strap over his torso. The medicine chest was not difficult for him to carry; more than anything the bulk of it was inconvenient. That was why he was carrying it instead of her, though.

A bread of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, sliding beneath the collar of his shitagi. The clothing styles here weren't yet familiar, but they worked well enough for their purposes. Not much would do for staving off the heat of full summer, though; that was going to be oppressive in the middle of the day like this regardless. A breeze picked up from the west; it was a subtle relief, stirring the grasses. Yún resisted the urge to turn into it so that it would hit at least some of his skin directly, instead simply shifting his balance.

Xiaodan's head-covering reappeared; he wasn't sure how, but she'd managed to get dirt on her face. A big streak of it, right over her left cheek. He sighed through his nose. She scanned for him; as soon as their eyes met, she was wading through the grass, a half-smile pulling at the edge of her mouth. His shoulders released a small bit of their near-permanent tension. She'd found what she was looking for, then.

"Guess what?" Her voice was light, always light. Like a gust could carry it away, and her as well. The tinkling of glass, the drift of ash ascending from a fire, a petal dropping onto the surface of a pond. Yún didn't know why he always thought in metaphors like that, but he conceded that the comparisons had merit.

He tilted his head at her. "I take it you located your elusive flowers?" His eyes fell pointedly to the small cluster of white blossoms in her hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, you're no fun at all."

Yún sighed. "Xiaodan—"

"Hikari." She blinked slowly at him, then turned her attention back to the road. He read her thoughts off her face and followed her back onto it. "I'm Hikari now. And you're Kirigumo."

He felt his mouth pull down into a frown. "No one is going to believe that is my name. I am not certain it is anybody's name."

But she was already not listening to him, drifting down the road ahead at her usual surprisingly-quick flitting pace. Yún ignored the threatening headache behind his eyes and trailed after her. At least she was still pointing them toward Edo. He'd asked around in the last village and heard of a bathhouse out this way... one where they might not have to go to such lengths to appear to be other than what they were. Perhaps all he needed to feel better about this was to be clean and sleep somewhere other than in the dirt for a night.

He really doubted it.