Slash of one smile, meeting the sly awareness of another smile, from the
now that knew of a prior then.
His body remembers, muscles taught in years and yearning that said he never
forgot what he set down for the sake of sacrifices asked and unwelcomed.
There's no greater betrayal than each time Suibian sat in his hands, blade
freed rarely, swiftly handed to one who could feed its beautiful greed, and
Wen Ning was his choice, one he trusted.
Jiang Cheng held on in despair and denial, until he broke to rebuild
himself, claiming that loving heartbreak that family was, within a
generation or outside of one. Not resolution, but how, fragile and bloody.
Here, he moves with grace, swift in invitation, no indulgences for the
flash he once breathed within if it didn't also serve for more than beauty
within steel. To rise and greet in the singing strike of metal against
like, deflections into parry, a shift and leap on stone or off the same,
his blood hums with it.
Lan Zhan says come here, and he smiles, blade lifted, honest in the sweat
of a body that still knows cultivation, that fine tuned it's energies to
minimal loss, so that water and heat and energy spent is not burning
spiritual at both ends.
"If only you said please."
Yet he comes, and it's to turn with speed from attack to delay, defense,
sure footed, because this sword demands nothing of him but the respect to
use it well.
no subject
Slash of one smile, meeting the sly awareness of another smile, from the now that knew of a prior then.
His body remembers, muscles taught in years and yearning that said he never forgot what he set down for the sake of sacrifices asked and unwelcomed. There's no greater betrayal than each time Suibian sat in his hands, blade freed rarely, swiftly handed to one who could feed its beautiful greed, and Wen Ning was his choice, one he trusted.
Jiang Cheng held on in despair and denial, until he broke to rebuild himself, claiming that loving heartbreak that family was, within a generation or outside of one. Not resolution, but how, fragile and bloody.
Here, he moves with grace, swift in invitation, no indulgences for the flash he once breathed within if it didn't also serve for more than beauty within steel. To rise and greet in the singing strike of metal against like, deflections into parry, a shift and leap on stone or off the same, his blood hums with it.
Lan Zhan says come here, and he smiles, blade lifted, honest in the sweat of a body that still knows cultivation, that fine tuned it's energies to minimal loss, so that water and heat and energy spent is not burning spiritual at both ends.
"If only you said please."
Yet he comes, and it's to turn with speed from attack to delay, defense, sure footed, because this sword demands nothing of him but the respect to use it well.