Uffff, how composed our Hanguang-Jun is. How accomplished. Tut-tut-tut.
[ But he's laughing between click-clacks of his tongue, instinct to tease at war with misplaced decorum. Somehow, still holding the ground. A troubled thing, entertaining the chief cultivator for dinner at the anonymous inn of a castaway village. His manners have already twice depleted themselves, between the pitter-patter of a scowling server and wafts of provincial, unrefined spice.
Broths fume their righteous indignation, Wei Wuxian fumbling to recover his chopsticks, and start fishing out the tofu from his bowl. Disgusting, how far and wide this fondness for health has spread in Gusu Lan. Just think the blessing a little bit of luscious rib might whisper in this stew.
With a sigh (careful, orchestrated, his finest yet), he ferries the silken white beads to a fresh home in Lan Zhan's bowl, humming when he follows up to repudiate his least-favoured vegetables also. There, a convoy of tofu and threadbare cabbage and strips of leak, for Lan Zhan's consideration. You don't kiss a man without gaining imperial rights over his dinner bowl after. Wei Wuxian might be hard-pressed to detail his limited experience in love trysts, but he's fairly sure at least one spring book reached this natural erotic conclusion. ]
How long do you have here? Really. Until they scour the earth to find you, every last one of your bureaucracy boys, carrying your papers? Do you like them? [ No. Never mind the pretence that aides are ever more than instruments representing cause, in the eyes of Hanguang-Jun. ] It. Any of it. Really.
[ The fussing, the meandering, the quarrels, the administration. Intimidating sect leaders into good behaviour, for their own wretched good. Diplomacy and manipulation and scandal — even past the original task of husbandry, of salvaging efficiency and dignity in the wake of Jin Guangyao.
Wei Wuxian would sooner incinerate himself. ]
I think you must be good at rule. You're good at — everything. But lonely.
[ Lan Zhan is also, as time and precedent have struggled to write down, lonely at all times. And now, the curse compounded: Zewu-Jun withdrawn, a single smiling face recused of its duties. Baby Yuan pursuing the noble feats that will lay down his own gentlemanly path. Wei Wuxian himself flickered, in and out of Gusu Lan existence. ]
no subject
[ But he's laughing between click-clacks of his tongue, instinct to tease at war with misplaced decorum. Somehow, still holding the ground. A troubled thing, entertaining the chief cultivator for dinner at the anonymous inn of a castaway village. His manners have already twice depleted themselves, between the pitter-patter of a scowling server and wafts of provincial, unrefined spice.
Broths fume their righteous indignation, Wei Wuxian fumbling to recover his chopsticks, and start fishing out the tofu from his bowl. Disgusting, how far and wide this fondness for health has spread in Gusu Lan. Just think the blessing a little bit of luscious rib might whisper in this stew.
With a sigh (careful, orchestrated, his finest yet), he ferries the silken white beads to a fresh home in Lan Zhan's bowl, humming when he follows up to repudiate his least-favoured vegetables also. There, a convoy of tofu and threadbare cabbage and strips of leak, for Lan Zhan's consideration. You don't kiss a man without gaining imperial rights over his dinner bowl after. Wei Wuxian might be hard-pressed to detail his limited experience in love trysts, but he's fairly sure at least one spring book reached this natural erotic conclusion. ]
How long do you have here? Really. Until they scour the earth to find you, every last one of your bureaucracy boys, carrying your papers? Do you like them? [ No. Never mind the pretence that aides are ever more than instruments representing cause, in the eyes of Hanguang-Jun. ] It. Any of it. Really.
[ The fussing, the meandering, the quarrels, the administration. Intimidating sect leaders into good behaviour, for their own wretched good. Diplomacy and manipulation and scandal — even past the original task of husbandry, of salvaging efficiency and dignity in the wake of Jin Guangyao.
Wei Wuxian would sooner incinerate himself. ]
I think you must be good at rule. You're good at — everything. But lonely.
[ Lan Zhan is also, as time and precedent have struggled to write down, lonely at all times. And now, the curse compounded: Zewu-Jun withdrawn, a single smiling face recused of its duties. Baby Yuan pursuing the noble feats that will lay down his own gentlemanly path. Wei Wuxian himself flickered, in and out of Gusu Lan existence. ]