C’est le moment d’en apprendre un peu plus, entre coupe de cheveux, pétards et menu du réveillon.
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Le Nouvel An lunaire est également appelé « Fête de la Lune » ou « Fête du Têt » (au Vietnam). Il est célébré dans une grande partie de l’Asie de l’Est et du Sud-Est (Hong Kong, Taiwan, Vietnam, Singapour, Corée, Malaisie et Tibet) mais également partout dans le monde grâce à sa diaspora. Cette journée si importante tombe le premier jour du calendrier luni-solaire et sa date, qui change chaque année, se situe généralement entre la fin du mois de janvier et la mi-février.
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Les festivités durent quinze jours, à partir de la nouvelle lune, jusqu’à la première pleine lune, marquée par la Fête des Lanternes. À New York, Vancouver, Londres, Sidney ou encore Paris, elles réunissent les communautés asiatiques mais boostent également le tourisme autour de temps forts comme les défilés de danse du lion et du dragon.
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Le 22 janvier 2023, nous entrons dans l’année du lapin (ou chat) d'eau.
Le 10 février 2024, ce sera l'année du Dragon de bois.
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Le Nouvel An lunaire se célèbre la veille au soir, comme Noël ou Kippour. Cette réunion familiale est un incontournable. Le réveillon se déroule autour d’un repas qui varie selon les pays. En Chine, on mange des raviolis à la viande (parce que l’année a été prospère), du poisson, des clémentines ou des nouilles (pour la longévité). Au Vietnam, on déguste un gâteau au riz gluant, haricots mungo et viande parfumée.
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La tradition veut que l’on célèbre ce passage à la nouvelle année dans son foyer, en famille, sous peine de se porter malchance. Ainsi, il faut s’attendre à de grandes migrations partout en Asie, où les grandes villes se vident pour que leurs habitants retournent dans leurs provinces. En Chine, des centaines de millions de personnes prennent quelques jours de congés (entre une semaine et dix jours) et se déplacent en train, en avion, en voiture ou en bateau, créant des embouteillages monstres.
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Les pétards, allumés après le souper, font fuir Niang, un esprit maléfique. Plus on fait de bruit, meilleure sera l’année. Cependant, depuis quelques temps, les pétards et feux d’artifices utilisés par les particuliers sont de plus en plus restreints par mesure de sécurité mais aussi afin de limiter la pollution.
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Le premier jour de l’An, on présente ses vœux aux aînés, en tout premier, puis à ses proches. On porte du rouge par superstition. Le rouge, symbole de joie, de prospérité et de bonne santé, est ainsi partout : sur les portes des maisons, les décorations dans les rues, et même les sous-vêtements. Par ailleurs, toute parole, toute action aura une répercussion sur l’année qui débute.
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On offre de petites enveloppes rouges contenant de l’argent aux plus jeunes. Cela leur apportera la prospérité. Ces enveloppes peuvent également s’échanger entre amis ou à destination des célibataires et sont désormais passées au numérique. En 2017, 46 milliards de dons ont été enregistrés sur WeChat en six jours. Attention, en Chine, le chiffre 4 représente la mort, alors on évite ses multiples !
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Les présentateurs Arthur et Patrick Sébastien ont leur égal en Chine. Le soir du réveillon, tous les Chinois sont devant CCTV, chaîne d’État, qui enregistre chaque année plus de 700 millions de téléspectateurs (en comparaison, le Super Bowl américain réunit un peu plus de 100 millions de personnes). Chants populaires, sketchs, performances acrobatiques et stars locales sont toujours de la partie. Même chose au Vietnam, sur HTV (au sud) ou VTV (au nord). Sur cette dernière chaîne, les Vietnamiens regardent en direct la cérémonie où l’on sonne la cloche du Temple de la montagne de jade et où les moines et officiels jettent des poissons dans le lac Hoan Kiem.
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Les portes et les fenêtres sont ouvertes jusqu’à minuit, afin de laisser l’année écoulée s’en aller. D’ailleurs, on laisse également derrière soi son ancienne coupe de cheveux en allant chez le coiffeur avant le Nouvel An, pour débuter l’année en beauté. Le jour même : interdiction de faire le ménage, au risque de balayer la bonne fortune !
Article initialement publié dans le magazine Koï, numéro 15, janvier-février 2020.
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Chasing Stars
Rating; Teen+
Original Work
Chapter 1 / ?
Genre(s); Romance, Adventure, Slice of life
Story under cut!
* as an ongoing story, the tags will be updated per chapter. please be aware that things like depression, anxiety, references to self harm/suicide have a HIGH chance to be brought up. each chapter will be marked accordingly as needed!
Chapter 1
-*-
Annos 12
10:43PM
“.. late.. accept this.. morning..”
The voice is unfamiliar. It doesn’t belong to the merchant that had picked them up a few hours ago. It’s soft. Very soft. And it sounds slightly frustrated –
“.. see Lyris.. tomorrow..”
It’s fragmented. It comes out in pieces.
Rue slowly stirs awake at the voices, head painfully aching. The wagon is pitch, and his vision has trouble adjusting to it; blinking a few times doesn’t really help, and he’s left to lie there for a moment, letting the rest of his body wake up.
That isn’t the merchant’s voice. It’s a young one – it probably belongs to a young man around his own age.
“I’m really sorry.. some trouble.. Reng.. Lapine family..”
The merchant is talking to the young man. Apologising. Apologising for being late, it sounds like.
The merchant’s beasts have ceased their clopping against the ground; they grunt softly amongst themselves instead, and Rue can’t tell if they’re happy to be done with the journey, or not. They aren’t horses. When he first saw them a few hours ago, when he and Azalea first hitched a ride, they’d been a blackish blue sort of colour, and seemed to be dripping with water. Their manes had been made of seaweed..
.. maybe.
That’s the only part he’s unsure of. Outside of books, he’s never seen seaweed, and it looked different compared to the lakeweed that forested the bottom of the river and pond back home. The beast’s manes were longer, had less foliage to it.
It takes him another few seconds. Struggling to sit up, Rue tries his best to ignore the aches that rack his body; sleeping in a wagon with only a cloak for a blanket and pillow, between heavy barrels full of spice and chests full of supplies, is not the best on a body. His hands fumble clumsily in the dark, pressing against the cold floorboards as he tries to crawl toward the exit – a bottle sneaks its way under one of his palms, and he slips forward, cheek painfully meeting the floor with a hard thud. “Ow.. ugh..!” he groans, listening as his assailant rolls off to some other part of the wagon, meeting something with a soft clink!
Now his cheek hurts like the rest of his body does.
Barrels and chests are not proper substitutes for pillows and sheets.
The noise seems to draw someone’s attention. Their footsteps crunch softly against the snow, and a few seconds later, the wagon’s flap is pulled open.
Rue sits himself up as it is, and finds himself staring at a white haired human. There’s a lantern in his other hand, and Rue momentarily raises an arm to cover his eyes, shielding them as he tries giving himself time to adjust to the abrupt change in light.
“Ah.. sorry..”
Soft. It’s the same voice from before, the young one. The youth lowers the lantern, rests it on one of the wagon’s steps instead.
In response, Rue lowers his arm, and allows himself to stare at the other.
It looks like the two of them might be around the same age. It’s always a little tricky with humans – an elf could be one hundred and fifty seven, and look the same as a twenty-three year old human. But this one’s young, and Rue’s young – the white haired youth must be around twenty, at least. It doesn’t look as if the youth is dressed like a merchant – though, to be fair, the phvren from before is the first one Rue’s met. It doesn’t look as if he’s got any weapon or anything on him, either, so he probably isn’t a city guard..
“Who’re y–..” Rue starts to ask.
“Who ar–..” the white haired youth starts.
The two of them stop, the youth’s eyes widening in surprise for a second, a moment, before he looks away, face flushing a warm, flustered red.
Rue immediately bites on his lip, trying not to laugh. It’s difficult; he hadn’t tried to fluster the other young man on purpose, but..
“Ib.”
It’s soft, again.
The youth’s dark, dark red eyes glance toward Rue for a moment, narrowed in their fluster. They’re a pretty red. A wine or berry kind of red. “I’m Ib,” he murmurs, pulling at his snow-white bangs; he does not quite meet Rue’s eyes as he does, visibly still embarrassed.
“Ib,” Rue repeats after him.
It’s an easy name. An odd one.
‘Eye-buh’.
He repeats the name in his head, stretching it out, enunciating it.
An odd name indeed. Perhaps it’s short for something.
Rue smiles, and then helps his younger sister sit up, an arm beneath one of her own. “Do you work for that merchant, Ib? The phvren?” he asks. He watches Ib glance between the two of them, pretty red eyes lingering over their hooded faces. The heavy hoods hide most of their face, hide their ears but it isn’t intentional – their ears, being longer, get cold much easier and much quicker.
It’s not worth it to remove the hood just yet. It’s still freezing, and people are going to be surprised, anyway. Elves are extremely uncommon in cities, according to the books he’s read; elven tribes often choose to wander aimlessly, or settle in places far from other people. Theirs is the latter kind. And other than the few extended family members he’s met, and the people he met at the hospital, he’s never met any other elves before.
“.. for.. for Orin?” Ib questions, frowning now – his small white brows furrow, and he shakes his head, once, twice, “No, no, I.. I work at the inn, for Lyris..”
Rue stares for a moment.
Ib’s eyelashes are white, too – they stand out against his tanned skin, stand out with his pretty, dark, dark red eyes.
It takes him a bit to realise what Ib had just said.
“The inn?”
Ib nods. The flush in his cheek slightens, and he breathes out, again.
More white fog comes out.
“Can you take us there?” Rue asks, eager – the prospect of a real bed with a real pillow so close within reach, now. If Ib hadn’t come along, he probably would’ve had to ask the merchant to escort him and risk getting a ‘no’; he does, after all, still have to mind after this wagon and the supplies. “I can pay,” he adds, just in case.
Azalea told him not to mention exactly how much llore they have; just that they do have it. Neither of them are quite sure how much anything costs. Living in a village where money is unneeded and useless never gave them the experience or knowledge they needed about it. Before the two of them left, they were told that the goldish ones are worth one llore.. pink are worth five, blue are worth twenty-five..
They didn’t get into any values after that. They don’t have any other coins on them other than those three types. Hopefully the fee for the room won’t exceed the two hundred thirty-nine that they have.
“I.. I can,” Ib says, nodding again. Grabbing the lantern, he lets it dangle in his hand, away from eye-level so it doesn’t hurt their eyes, again. “Do you, um.. do you need help..?” he asks, and he gestures toward Azalea. Despite the question, he remains standing still.
It’s nice. It seems he won’t do anything without a yes or a no, first, and Rue appreciates that.
“No, I’ve got her,” Rue says, shaking his head. If possible, he’d rather no one else touch her – even if that someone happens to be a cute human with pretty eyes and hair who works at an inn. It takes some extra effort, but he manages to hoist Azalea up onto his back, forcing her limp arms over his shoulders. “You can get our backpack, though,” he says, slowly exiting the wagon. The snow crunches softly beneath his heeled boots, and he takes a step backward once he does, making enough room for Ib to crawl in and grab their pack.
Ib does, but only after securing the lantern to his belt. It hangs, sways with each small movement, but the bulb inside is safe enough, and after he ensures it will not fall, he climbs in to grab their backpack, surprisingly easily. Their backpack’s a bit on the heavy side, filled with their magicked essentials, but he grabs it and carries it over his shoulder with relative ease, face starting to flush from the biting cold. Gesturing toward the rest of the city, to a small staircase that leads deeper within, he says, “Please, um.. please follow me.”
Rue does.
Each step causes the snow to quietly crunch beneath his boots, a little louder, a little heavier than it had been before. Azalea’s extra weight causes him to sink a little deeper than he normally would.
This part of the city is more crowded. There are more buildings, and it feels tighter, more restricted – Ib threads his way through the alleys, easily. It isn’t surprising; as a citizen of Dewberry, he should be very familiar with the layout of the city. It’s dimmer here, though. The light from the streetlamps don’t reach in the alleys, and most of the buildings have their curtains drawn, allowing no light to seep through the windows. The only light that remains is the lantern on Ib’s belt, which casts small shadows as they move along.
It’s a little harder to breathe here. There’s more air down here than there is up on the mountain; Rue has to force himself to take shallower breaths in an attempt to stave off dizziness.
It helps.
The breeze carries the taste and the smell of the sea with it. It tastes of salt and cold. It smells of fish. It’s a different feeling compared to the river and lake in their small village.
After another few moments, they come upon another set of stairs. They open up into what looks like a small plaza, with seating and a view of a small docking harbour. There is yet another set of stairs leading directly into the sea, covered in what looks like moss, the waves lapping at the stone and the rotted wood.
It.. doesn’t look very safe. But it is very interesting. Rue will have to come back and check it during the morning. There are a few boats down there, smaller canoes loaded up with fishing gear and lanterns and chests. Only a few of them are manned.
Following after Ib, Rue is careful once again as he descends these next steps. A few of them are replaced with wood here, too, but they’re not rotted. They’re too high up and away from the ocean. They continue along, sticking close to the railing.
This part of the city is just a bit more open than the other part – there aren’t as many alley ways, and this area has a much bigger residential building in the center. It towers over all the others, nearly all its windows lit up as silhouettes pass by. They pass a much smaller building that smells of fire, with plumes of smoke billowing up through the chimneys on the roof. Across from it is a storehouse, doors wide open as people – more humans – chatter within its confines as they move things around, some of them disappearing down a staircase. Rue catches glimpses of crates and more barrels, and he hears glass shatter and someone swear.
An accident.
A few people quickly rush over and start cleaning up.
Ib doesn’t stop.
It looks like he is used to the various noises of a city. They pass a machine that looks like it’s got a claw on the end of it. Perhaps it is used to pick things up; they don’t have these back at home, and he has no idea what it is. There are logs stacked and tied down beside the storehouse, various woods, most he doesn’t recognise. There are a few more barrels out here as well, mixed amongst crates of what looks like rocks and sand. And before them, all the way tucked up against a tall hill, is a building that is three stories tall. It has a dark roof with spikes atop it, and a staircase leading up to the second and third floors on the outside. The entrance is recessed further in, giving some space for people to stand outside and under the second floor. There is a large board with a map on it in the center, and a few benches up against the walls.
This has to be the inn.
Ib continues on, footsteps growing a bit louder as they head under the covering, where the snow has been shoveled out to expose the hard stone, a bit slower as he approaches the door. “This is the..” he starts to say, stopping to wait for Rue to catch up, polite. “.. this is the Tydedaze Inn,” he continues, and he pushes the door open, holding it for Rue, who quickly lets himself through.
The inside of the inn is warm. It smells like fire in here, though Rue can’t see any fireplaces, or stoves, or anything of the kind. The first floor looks pretty normal, with seating arranged against the walls, and small bookshelves, and he wastes no time plopping Azalea down into a chair before accepting their pack from Ib, and following him back to the counter. There are quite a few rooms down here, it looks like; hopefully one of them will be available so he will not have to carry his younger sister upstairs or into an elevator.
“I need you to um, sign here..” Ib says, and he places a book on the counter between them, and opens it up to some page in the middle. A good sign. People stay here. Lots of people. He unhooks the lantern from his belt and flips a switch at its base, and sets that down on the counter, too. “I assume you want a room with two beds?” he asks, pretty red eyes flickering toward Azalea, “We have a few small ones available..”
“Do you have one on this floor?” Rue questions, and he signs his initials, ‘RP’, in messy, barely legible Veylin. It doesn’t have to be good, and he’s never been any good at writing, anyway; Ib must not mind, or does not show he minds because he’s busy checking the small column off to the right where it gives room numbers. Or colours, in this case. They’re all labelled with colours, followed by a number.
“We.. we do. Room ‘Green 106’ is available,” Ib says, and he leans over the counter slightly to gesture – he points over toward the room near a small window, aptly labelled ‘G-106’.
Rue follows his gaze. Neither he nor Azalea particularly care about the size of the room; as long as it is comfortable and warm, it’ll suit their needs. There are other, bigger rooms in the hall, with signs hanging from their handles reading ‘taken’. Nodding, he offers the white haired youth a small smile, “We’ll take that one, then. How much?” he asks, and he starts digging through their pack for their coin purse. It isn’t in here. “Uh.. give me a sec,” he says, walking over to Azalea. He pulls at her cloak, rifling through her pockets – “Ah, here it is. You should’ve put it away, Az,” he says, and he only earns a tired groan. She’ll be awake soon, to walk herself over toward the room only to fall asleep immediately again, in a real bed.
Ib continues watching him, face still a warm red, and his gaze keeps slipping. It probably doesn’t help that he can’t actually see Rue’s eyes; he definitely looks like the type that’s easy to fluster. “It’s, ah, forty-five per night..” he says, soft, and he glances again toward Azalea, for a moment, a second, “You can pay once every night, or, um, for however many nights you need..”
Rue tries not to wince. Forty-five is.. an amount. A large amount, for what the two of them have, but it’s probably very normal for people who actually have llore on them. He tries to do the quick math in his head – forty-five, ninety one hundred thirty-five.. then.. one hundred eighty, two twenty-five.. two seventy..
No. Too much already. That means they only have enough for five nights, and that’s not factoring in how much the tickets to ship themselves elsewhere will cost.
“We’ll, um.. pay every night,” he says, starting to pull out coins from their small purse, setting them down on the counter. One blue one, worth twenty-five, three pink ones worth five each.. and five goldish ones, worth one each. That leaves them with less than two hundred; now, he’s too worried to try and get the exact amount. He and Azalea will have to think of ways to quickly earn some more llore – they’d passed a small labyrinth on the way here, perhaps some monster parts or labyrinth specific flora will earn them some coin..
Ib only nods and takes the coins, depositing them within the small register to his side. It opens with a key, and locks with the same one once he’s finished messing with it. “Here..” Crouching down for a moment, he pulls out another key, and it looks old and fancy and is covered in flaking, white paint. “Your room key. Please make sure you don’t lose this.. if you do, it’ll cost you to replace it,” he says, and he smiles again, sheepish and apologetic. “I hope you have a nice night. Enjoy your stay,” he says, bowing his head slightly –
That part is routine. Clear.
“Thank you,” Rue returns, taking the key. Picking up their backpack, he looks toward his younger sister, starting to call, “Az–..”
“Coming..” Azalea murmurs, cutting him off.
Ib makes a soft sound of surprise, caught off-guard; when Rue glances toward him, his tanned cheeks have flushed further, and his pretty, wine red eyes are wide.
Rue can’t help it, this time; he starts laughing, terribly amused by this human’s reactions. Hopefully there’ll be more amusing ones to meet on their trip – he’d been worried they might not be able to fit in with them, but it seems that won’t be an issue. “Have a good night, Ib,” he says, playful and warm and a grin pulls at his lips as he picks up their backpack, “I hope we can talk more tomorrow! You’re very nice.”
Ib looks toward him for a moment before groaning to himself, red eyes narrowing in embarrassment. “Have.. have a good night..” he says again, drained.
Azalea follows after Rue, without so much of an acknowledgement toward the white haired youth. “We’re staying here?” she questions, voice soft and flat.
“Mm. I didn’t see any other inns, so..” Rue hands her the key, allowing her to let herself in first. “This is fine, right?” he asks, and he steals one last glance toward Ib, who has found a stool and sat himself down; the poor human’s face is still all red, and he looks like he’s mumbling something to himself.
“.. sure,” she nods, “If it’s the only one..”
.. we don’t have much of a choice, he finishes, listening to the door click quietly behind him. “Night, Az. Ask around about llore when you wake up, ‘kay? We’re gonna need some more..” Pulling his hood off, he breathes out. The room is warm, smells like fire again, of burning, sweet smelling wood. There are two beds, as Ib had promised, covered with green, thick sheets and blankets and comforters. It isn’t the nicest green. Azalea probably likes it. And there’s a chest of drawers for them to put their things in, as well as two nightstands and a small loveseat.
She only makes a soft sound as she sits down, roughly, and the bed dips a bit with her weight. She unfastens her boots and tosses them toward the wall before tucking herself in. It doesn’t take long for her breathing to even out once again.
It was exhausting, making that trek down the mountain. Even with the merchant helping them, the wood made it very difficult to get restful sleep, and their bodies ache from the awful positioning they’d been forced to deal with.
Setting their backpack down, he hums softly and sits himself down on his own bed, stares up at the ceiling. The sheets are soft. Comfortable. The ceiling, lined with wooden planks, is old and some of the wood has warped. The building must be old. How old, he wouldn’t know, or couldn’t possibly guess. But this city has existed for at least fifty years, White had mentioned as much, and that means it will be helpful in their journey.
Finally..
Smiling somewhat, Rue starts unlacing his boots, pulls at the strings until they loosen just enough for him to slide them off. Like Azalea, he tosses them aside and then tucks himself in. The smell of the sweet, burning wood has already seeped into the blankets, hiding any soap that may have been used.
Dewberry. The small city by the ocean..
I can’t wait..
His heart’s already pounding in his chest, excited, nervous, anxious, eager. Tomorrow, he will be free to explore to his heart’s content.
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