[ Each wound sears, bleeding stills, flesh mends — or gives, and the body with it, and he aches to know, foreign heartbeat so close, he shares a bed with a killer.
Turns, abrupt like summer storm, to shift the head that contained the rabbit's bellied roundness before and splay it, proprietary, over the land of Wei Ying's breast, slipped down — to the core that waits, a haunting of itself, house and home to wasted potential. Nothingness, consuming the qi Wangji directs senselessly, without reason. Most energy will separate and eradicate itself before reaching its intended target. Only a fraction survives the resentment's filter, and yet he feeds, stubborn and fond and joints twitching, holds Wei Ying's gaze for gelid drifts of time and dares him to object. ]
Better. [ Cartilage broken and splinters of bone, between grit-gravel of teeth. ] Come morning.
[ Presume, then, to intercede: to deny Lan Wangji the invasion of a healing hand, but accept Jiang Cheng's dauntless intrusion. Presume to summon him from the dead, limp mouth of Lotus pier's strength here, to share Wangji's bed. Enough of him, his sickness, the cut of his poisoned mouth like a coiled snake's, waiting to strike at Nightless City — turmoiled, when Wei Ying let go, as if his sword had not wished it so, had not struck the opportunity.
Jiang Cheng is lord here, but no king is always welcome.
He sleeps, steadfast, still seeding energy squandered first on the rabbit, then on Wei Ying, two recipients unlikely to dismiss him — startles awake, with a jolt and dried mouth and stiffness of his back, where the slate's eaten its home against his spine. Sun seeps in like tea infusion, shy with early spring — pale as Lanling Jin's maidens, crafty with their powders.
He stirs, considered: knowing that not all creatures wake with mao shi, that Wei Ying will want a handful of incense sticks further. That Qingshan barely blinks to brief awareness, then curls into his stilled father, patting Wei Ying's arm with a disgruntled fist, as if to punish the one man who stays within reach of his aggression. The rabbit, traitorous, reshapes itself as a sickle against Wei Ying's hip, grazing in sleep.
Better, come morning: Wei Ying at peace, Qingshan refresh, the rabbit aglow with a full coat of fur. Protesting, Wangji's limbs negotiate his release of the slate, the morning rituals of cleansing, meditation, a choice few stretches through the forms. A torpid binding of his clothes, then a slow walk beyond their quarters, once the inn is abuzz with enough life to sketch the course of the morning servants.
Early milk for Qingshan, barely spilled. A request for Wei Ying's fresh water, a proper meal, some vegetables for their... furred visitor. And a lengthier interview, a few choice conversations, the inevitable logistics.
He returns a man victorious, thick doors whispered to a close behind him, step light on ill-lacquered floor. Knelt by the bed-side, he dares the final act of bravery: stirring Wei Ying awake, with barely the suggestion of his hand on a willowy back, two fingers tapping the starting notes of a once-upon-a-time lost song on the pale stretch of Wei Ying's cheek. ]
Wei Ying. [ Wake. Wake, now. Come. He waits until there's the start of light behind Wei Ying's eyes, when they open, until there is wit enough in them that he might yet hope for answer. ] Outside waits Lian Hua. Sixteen of age. Elder sister to four. She mends inn cloth and visitors' robes.
[ Her name, her happenstance, her occupation. Her credentials. Listen. ]
She offers to mind Qingshan. Rise. [ Wake one eye, then the other, and the bones that carry this carcass whole. ] Give blessing.
[ Bathe swiftly. Meet her, one child grateful to attend to another, for a wealth of silvered shrapnel. Unlikely, that Wei Ying should scrape the rust off his dark heart and mine within the resent to reject her, once Lan Wangji has tried the girl, only to find her worthy and true. All the same, one parent's courtesy, extended to another: he may pass judgement of her, before they entrust her with a loved son. ]
no subject
Turns, abrupt like summer storm, to shift the head that contained the rabbit's bellied roundness before and splay it, proprietary, over the land of Wei Ying's breast, slipped down — to the core that waits, a haunting of itself, house and home to wasted potential. Nothingness, consuming the qi Wangji directs senselessly, without reason. Most energy will separate and eradicate itself before reaching its intended target. Only a fraction survives the resentment's filter, and yet he feeds, stubborn and fond and joints twitching, holds Wei Ying's gaze for gelid drifts of time and dares him to object. ]
Better. [ Cartilage broken and splinters of bone, between grit-gravel of teeth. ] Come morning.
[ Presume, then, to intercede: to deny Lan Wangji the invasion of a healing hand, but accept Jiang Cheng's dauntless intrusion. Presume to summon him from the dead, limp mouth of Lotus pier's strength here, to share Wangji's bed. Enough of him, his sickness, the cut of his poisoned mouth like a coiled snake's, waiting to strike at Nightless City — turmoiled, when Wei Ying let go, as if his sword had not wished it so, had not struck the opportunity.
Jiang Cheng is lord here, but no king is always welcome.
He sleeps, steadfast, still seeding energy squandered first on the rabbit, then on Wei Ying, two recipients unlikely to dismiss him — startles awake, with a jolt and dried mouth and stiffness of his back, where the slate's eaten its home against his spine. Sun seeps in like tea infusion, shy with early spring — pale as Lanling Jin's maidens, crafty with their powders.
He stirs, considered: knowing that not all creatures wake with mao shi, that Wei Ying will want a handful of incense sticks further. That Qingshan barely blinks to brief awareness, then curls into his stilled father, patting Wei Ying's arm with a disgruntled fist, as if to punish the one man who stays within reach of his aggression. The rabbit, traitorous, reshapes itself as a sickle against Wei Ying's hip, grazing in sleep.
Better, come morning: Wei Ying at peace, Qingshan refresh, the rabbit aglow with a full coat of fur. Protesting, Wangji's limbs negotiate his release of the slate, the morning rituals of cleansing, meditation, a choice few stretches through the forms. A torpid binding of his clothes, then a slow walk beyond their quarters, once the inn is abuzz with enough life to sketch the course of the morning servants.
Early milk for Qingshan, barely spilled. A request for Wei Ying's fresh water, a proper meal, some vegetables for their... furred visitor. And a lengthier interview, a few choice conversations, the inevitable logistics.
He returns a man victorious, thick doors whispered to a close behind him, step light on ill-lacquered floor. Knelt by the bed-side, he dares the final act of bravery: stirring Wei Ying awake, with barely the suggestion of his hand on a willowy back, two fingers tapping the starting notes of a once-upon-a-time lost song on the pale stretch of Wei Ying's cheek. ]
Wei Ying. [ Wake. Wake, now. Come. He waits until there's the start of light behind Wei Ying's eyes, when they open, until there is wit enough in them that he might yet hope for answer. ] Outside waits Lian Hua. Sixteen of age. Elder sister to four. She mends inn cloth and visitors' robes.
[ Her name, her happenstance, her occupation. Her credentials. Listen. ]
She offers to mind Qingshan. Rise. [ Wake one eye, then the other, and the bones that carry this carcass whole. ] Give blessing.
[ Bathe swiftly. Meet her, one child grateful to attend to another, for a wealth of silvered shrapnel. Unlikely, that Wei Ying should scrape the rust off his dark heart and mine within the resent to reject her, once Lan Wangji has tried the girl, only to find her worthy and true. All the same, one parent's courtesy, extended to another: he may pass judgement of her, before they entrust her with a loved son. ]