( This composition... has the exact dignity of two children, squabbling. He tries very desperately not to feel as if he has emerged the one who greets the playground nose-first. )
( Even the precepts agree with the humble ant, as they do, unquestioningly, with Lan Wangji's horror at the spectacle far too literally unfolding beside him.
Forgive him Guanyin, for he has sinned. )
What are you doing? ( No, no. He knows exactly how this goes. )
( 'There is no reason.' 'The cold bites.' 'You have no core.'
The world of Wei Ying's silks tumbles down like snowfall. )
...may I not have this little as my own? ( But he speaks already as a man resigned, knowing the peace of his penance ended. A game of weiqi seen to conclusion from the first few hands. )
( Fingers deft on the ties of his inner robe, tugging them free of their bow. The second tie follows, robe opening with a sigh of silk over silk. He doesn't layer like Lan Zhan: only his innermost robe remains. )
Sometimes. Not this one.
( Sliding off shoulders, caught in arm and swung around to be folded over, then set down, joining the first.
Being who he is, without pants, he then makes to kneel by Lan Zhan's side, the expanse of his dark haired calves left exposed, a glimpse up along his thigh winking out at the world. )
( Beautiful, bare, warm. A proud display, within hand's reach. What is the gamble here? That he will concede, as he ever does, prioritising Wie Ying's welfare over his own hubris. The wretch has learned the way of it: to hold himself hostage until he has gained what he wishes won.
Lan Wangji has but moments, slipped like ashes between fingertips. )
You only push secrecy between us. That I must hereon do this discreetly. ( Hidden, without confession. Omissions are not lies. Silence, the key provider in the house of every great matrimony. ) Is this your wish?
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( .........burning the nest. )
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such kindness! such largesse! )
Your loss.
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( This just in, Wen Kexing: national punishment. )
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( Breathes in sweet vinegary delight. )
A chill envelops. Don my layers.
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( said cheerily, for your vinegar. )
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The hour is late and the night long, he'll wilt asleep on his own. )
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Then there is the deliberate footstep, the presence behind Lan Zhan. The heat of a chilled hand settled on his head.
The crouch of Wei Wuxian by his side, hand in place. )
Find any ants yet?
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( This composition... has the exact dignity of two children, squabbling. He tries very desperately not to feel as if he has emerged the one who greets the playground nose-first. )
Milling.
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( He quirks his brow, studying his husband's face from the side.
Lifts his hand.
... works on unwinding his waistband. )
They're usually so industrious. Dedicated to their causes. Unconcerned with the world at large.
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Diligence is the root.
( Even the precepts agree with the humble ant, as they do, unquestioningly, with Lan Wangji's horror at the spectacle far too literally unfolding beside him.
Forgive him Guanyin, for he has sinned. )
What are you doing? ( No, no. He knows exactly how this goes. )
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Yet they mill around right now? Confusion set in?
( letting the material fall down to the ground, he can work on shrugging out of his outermost robe, the one not likewise tied to him. )
Me? Undressing.
( Said with a crooked smile, shaking his now divested outer robe out. )
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( 'There is no reason.' 'The cold bites.' 'You have no core.'
The world of Wei Ying's silks tumbles down like snowfall. )
...may I not have this little as my own? ( But he speaks already as a man resigned, knowing the peace of his penance ended. A game of weiqi seen to conclusion from the first few hands. )
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( Fingers deft on the ties of his inner robe, tugging them free of their bow. The second tie follows, robe opening with a sigh of silk over silk. He doesn't layer like Lan Zhan: only his innermost robe remains. )
Sometimes. Not this one.
( Sliding off shoulders, caught in arm and swung around to be folded over, then set down, joining the first.
Being who he is, without pants, he then makes to kneel by Lan Zhan's side, the expanse of his dark haired calves left exposed, a glimpse up along his thigh winking out at the world. )
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( Beautiful, bare, warm. A proud display, within hand's reach. What is the gamble here? That he will concede, as he ever does, prioritising Wie Ying's welfare over his own hubris. The wretch has learned the way of it: to hold himself hostage until he has gained what he wishes won.
Lan Wangji has but moments, slipped like ashes between fingertips. )
You only push secrecy between us. That I must hereon do this discreetly. ( Hidden, without confession. Omissions are not lies. Silence, the key provider in the house of every great matrimony. ) Is this your wish?
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( Looking forward, into nothing particular. Tipping his head up, to seek the skies. )
So many threats. Can't we face them, side by side? Even if one or the other believes it's foolish, unbecoming, shameless, silly, certain?
( Head still tipped back, eyes still searching the heavens for answers which have never been there. )
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( It seems a pretty, strategic, acceptable compromise. No more, nor less than would be expected in a partnership: to share, to divide, to delegate.
Only, Lan Wangji rests, stricken — and what sleeps at stake is his own soul. )
...no. Not this. This is mine. As my scars are mine. As Bichen is mine. ( Part and principle. ) This is who I am.
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( He doesn't lower his head, still gazing skyward. Forever forward, if not always upward. If not always in hope. )
Why does it feel stolen?
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