“And that’s why you should always know a good healer,” Raika rasps.
“So they can fix you when you do stupid things?” JiaJia asks, biting into something crispy and delicious smelling.
She flicks her crutch at him, landing a chunk of snow on his shirt, much to his annoyance.
“Hey! It’s true!” JiaJia says. “Who asked an old cripple to wander into a fight between cultivators anyways? Stories like that will have me thinking you’re a liar, hag lady master.”
“You know just because I told you it’s ok to call me master doesn’t mean you should be so cheeky,” she snarls at him, flicking more snow, though he dodges this time.
“What do you expect!” the kid exclaims, mouth half full of fried meat. “You just told me you grabbed a monster and got lit on fire and all cut up! You can’t even grab me, so what was the plan there?”
He’s got a point, she thinks, and then shushes the thought for being dumb. “It threw me through a wall,” she grumbles. “I have a standing policy that nobody throws me through a wall without payback.”
“Huh.” JiaJia eventually nods, chewing thoughtfully. “I guess it’s a good policy. Maybe just don’t get thrown through a wall next time, though.”
“Oh my, why didn’t I think of that!” she grumbles. “Truly the student is become the master, and this one must simply bow before the wisdom of youth.”
He laughs, and she chuckles with him, and they sit in that moment for a moment, holding onto it by mutual and unspoken agreement.
But moments end, and eventually, JiaJia’s face falls a bit. He tries not to let the emotions show, but… he’s not quite grown, and he’s an idiot besides, and sometimes young idiots can’t help but look as sad and lonely as they feel.
“So you’re really leaving?” he asks.
She doesn’t move for a long moment, but… eventually she nods. “Li Shu invited me, and… surprisingly a sect shithead named Qen Hou backed her on it. I’m to work as a servant in the medical pavilion of the Purple-something-something sect.”
“The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect,” JiaJia sighs. “The greatest sect in all of Paleblossom city…”
“And it’s not for you,” she admonishes with another snowy projectile. “Wouldn’t suit you.”
“How would you know!” he asks. “Maybe I can make it in as your apprentice! And then I can help you while you’re there, and make sure you’re not too slow and help with walking around and carrying things. I don’t care how cool you are, you’re all bandaged and hurt and even if you’re telling the truth you still need me!”
She doesn’t respond for a while. She pretends not to see how wet his eyes have gotten by the last sentence, or how roughly he wipes away any leftover moisture. Sure is crazy how quickly snow melts, these days. Shocking; she must have hit him in the face and forgotten all about it. She’s tremendously skilled, after all.
“It wouldn’t suit you,” she repeats after a moment. “I just know. They’re all about fire and passion and the “beauty and purity of divine transformation by fire” and all that worthless mumbo jumbo. All those purple fire sect bastards can do is start fires and punch fast, and you have flint and Qi already in your hands or close by. You can grow more without them.”
He sniffs, taking another bite of whatever delicious thing he has on a stick and hasn’t shared. She recognizes the action; she didn’t grow up with all that much to eat either. There’s something comforting in having a full belly, and compulsive in making sure food doesn’t get wasted, an instinct that foraging in garbage hasn’t exactly disillusioned her about. Eventually, as the silence drags on, she goes to get up, shifting her weight slowly and getting her crutch under her-
“So… you’re saying I’m too good for them?” JiaJia asks.
She can’t help herself at that, freezing partway into the act of getting up and then breaking into a wracking, painful, from the gut kind of laughter, the sound like a crow cawing in the cold winter air.
“Finally, the idiot gets something right,” she rasps as she gets her breath back. “Yes, oh idiot apprentice of mine, you are too good for those purple flame morons.”
He smiles at that, a bittersweet smile mixed with one that holds all the joy of a little kid getting praised. It does fade, though. “I still wish you weren’t going,” he says. “I know it’s better for you, I’m glad you’ll have a place to be and better food, but… I mean I’m worried that you’ll need help but I’m also worried I’ll… that we won’t see each other again.”
She huffs, grumbles like an old dog and finishes the long, drawn out process of getting to her feet (or foot and crutch, really), limping over to the kid sitting atop the crate across from her. Before he can move, she’s grabbed him by the hair and started tousling it and shaking his head at the same time.
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“AaAaaAaaah!” he whines as she shakes. “What was that for!”
“An idiot apprentice is still an idiot apprentice,” Raika says, shaking her head. “Who said you won’t see me again? You think I’m not coming back? You think I want to spend all my time with those purple flame morons? Or that I plan to let you slack off on your training? No, JiaJia, you’re stuck with me now. I’ll be coming back here to see exactly how well you’re keeping to your cultivation, and you can bet I’ll come back strong enough that if you drag your feet I’ll be fast and strong enough to give you a proper ass-whooping for it.”
She bows down a bit to get herself at eye level with the kid as she relaxes her grip, keeping her hand on his head. “You helped me when no one else did, idiot. I don’t let debts like that just die, not on my life. There are those I owe whose debts were erased when they left me to die, and those I owe that I will pay back even if it takes me all my other limbs and my whole life, and without you I wouldn’t even be alive. You’ve only just started cultivating; don’t assume that our journeys will be short, or that they will not cross again. I swear it. And the next time I see you, you had better have a foundation you can brag about.”
So much snow today. She must have hit him with a much more densely packed snowball than she thought for it to still be leaking so much water down his face. She pats him on the head and knocks his forehead against her own and just breathes, soft and slow, letting him feel her breathing beside him until he calms down, and his breaths begin to match hers.
“I’ll see you again, JiaJia,” she says. “And the next time I do, we’ll both be further in our journeys. That’ll be all that’s different.”
He nods, eyes determined. “Yes, master,” he whispers.
She gives him one last pat on the head and straightens, cracking and popping her back like six different ways as she does, to a smile from JiaJia. “I’ll see you when I see you, idiot apprentice,” she says, turning to walk off.
“I’ll see you when I see you, old hag master,” JiaJia replies.
Damn. She got some snow on her face too. Fine aim, that JiaJia.
She emerges from the alleyway twice as happy as she went in, walking over to the carriage she was brought in on.
It’s an ornate thing, overly decorated for her taste, even for a sect vehicle (and they have way fancier ones than even this!). There’s purple flower petals, and two lanterns, one behind and one in front, glowing with magenta fire, and light gilding and carved scenes of some kind decorating the pillars and roof of the damnable thing. She shuffles forward and desperately tries to avoid rolling her eyes at the sheer sight of the damn thing, especially in such a poor neighborhood; it looks like some incredibly snobbish rich brat is kidnapping some old cripple for something nefarious at best.
The aforementioned snobbish rich brat is waiting outside the carriage, though, so best not to be too rude, especially with how nice he’s been lately, technically. Raika’s well aware she’s ornery at the best of times and perfectly ready to punch back and keep punching if she sees something stupid or if someone tries to take from her, but she’s not so inconsiderate she won’t acknowledge the fact that Qen Hou has been far more accommodating than he technically needs to be.
“Done with your goodbye, then?” he asks.
She nods, “I’ll be back to see him,” she rasps.
Qen Hou rolls his eyes. “Doubtful,” he says, “but if you can make it here in your free time, you’re free to do so. Far be it from me to keep you in a place with better Qi, resources, beddings, clothes, food…”
“Ah, stuff it, senior brother,” she mumbles. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to tell me all about how marvelous it all is on the way to whatever chores you have me doing.”
He huffs, and she does marvel at that a little; not a week ago he probably would’ve slapped some teeth out for that sort of cheek, but now he just lets it slide whenever they’re not near other sect members. Ah, the privileges of proving yourself terrifying even while weak; it’s always fun how tunes change when they see you do something horrifyingly violent, like kill a squid made of razors with one’s teeth.
Slowly, step by agonizing step of medically disadvantaged gymnastics and bandage-straining olympics, she makes it into the carriage, Qen Hou not bothering to help and her not bothering to call him a shithead for the duration of the process (in large part for how out of breath it leaves her). He just steps into the carriage as soon as she’s finished, shutting the door behind him and sending a small burst of Qi towards the driver to begin taking them back.
“I still think you belong out here,” the cultivator says casually as he leans one hand and looks out the window. “You’re lucky Li Shu claims you’re some kind of pet project.”
“Woof, woof,” Raika rasps. “I hear some people pay good money for that sort of thing, and here we are enjoying it entirely at the expense of the Purple Flame sect.”
Qen Hou blushes for a moment, looking like he’s about to shoot off some comment before he reigns himself back in. “I mean, you were a cultivator, right?” he asks. “How in the hells did you get anywhere at all with a mouth like that?”
“You and your obsession with my mouth,” she chuckles, giving him a "sultry" grin with a nice view of her scars. “Used to be people might have paid good money for that too.”
He scoffs, poorly hiding a smile as he holds in a laugh. “You walked into that one,” she rasps with a smile. “Can’t keep giving me ammunition like that, I have poor trigger discipline.”
“...I hear that happens to lots of folks your age,” he replies, quietly. “You know, shooting early and often.”
She laughs a lot louder than he failed to, the sound of crows cawing following the carriage as they head towards one of the biggest plateaus in the city, the artificially raised mountain that is the sign of any sect holding up the massive castle walls and glowing indigo, purple and magenta fires of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.