[ Lan Zhan lets out a huff of annoyance soft enough to barely disrupt the hair that frames the sides of his face. When he speaks, it is succinctly and honestly, his talk of poets and cultivation both truths rather than distractions. It is not so much an attempt at deflection as it is a lack of experience: how can he reveal himself to Wei Ying when he has spent his life hiding it from others? Years of disciplined study with books as his only companions, that fleeting time when Wei Ying had spoken for both of them, his years of seclusion and penitence. He hopes, at least, that Wei Ying can understand that his stunted conversation is not born from a lack of trying or desire to avoid him.
He hums at the taunt, uncaring if the piece of vanity sitting cold and weighty in Wei Ying's satchel might be bartered for anything that may please Wei Ying. Wine, perhaps, would earn some envy if it were to grace Wei Ying's lips after being purchased with the silver of one who would lay claim to that part of him. His brow does furrow, maybe revealing a wrinkle, but also unveiling his discomfort at being asked to talk of things he has put in the past. A hand raises, unbidden, to press at the left side of his chest where the Wen brand marks his skin with an unnecessary reminder of both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan's own penchant for dramatic melancholy when drunk. Wine is an eternal enemy. ]
Years. [ The rejection of the alcohol soothes the petty green beast in Lan Zhan heart, laying it back to rest for the moment. When the tea arrives in wake of the wine, he is quick to pour for them both so that Wei Ying may wet his lips with something in light of his nervous worrying of such precious lips. ] The proper posture was difficult to maintain. It took longer to gather enough energy to play with purpose.
[ A flash of light in Wei Ying's eyes catches his attention, and though he doesn't know whether it was a reflection of firelight or something more tumultuous within him, it encourages him to speak further. Strange, but he is willing to fill a silence if it is to bring Wei Ying peace of mind, a poor replacement for the song of clarity but adequate for the setting. ]
There is little pain. I wear the scars with honor.
no subject
He hums at the taunt, uncaring if the piece of vanity sitting cold and weighty in Wei Ying's satchel might be bartered for anything that may please Wei Ying. Wine, perhaps, would earn some envy if it were to grace Wei Ying's lips after being purchased with the silver of one who would lay claim to that part of him. His brow does furrow, maybe revealing a wrinkle, but also unveiling his discomfort at being asked to talk of things he has put in the past. A hand raises, unbidden, to press at the left side of his chest where the Wen brand marks his skin with an unnecessary reminder of both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan's own penchant for dramatic melancholy when drunk. Wine is an eternal enemy. ]
Years. [ The rejection of the alcohol soothes the petty green beast in Lan Zhan heart, laying it back to rest for the moment. When the tea arrives in wake of the wine, he is quick to pour for them both so that Wei Ying may wet his lips with something in light of his nervous worrying of such precious lips. ] The proper posture was difficult to maintain. It took longer to gather enough energy to play with purpose.
[ A flash of light in Wei Ying's eyes catches his attention, and though he doesn't know whether it was a reflection of firelight or something more tumultuous within him, it encourages him to speak further. Strange, but he is willing to fill a silence if it is to bring Wei Ying peace of mind, a poor replacement for the song of clarity but adequate for the setting. ]
There is little pain. I wear the scars with honor.