[ ...oh. Oh, but Hanguang-Jun really shouldn't be trusted with disciples any longer. It would seem he is past any point of battling fairly. For one of his moments (wasted), Wei Wuxian is wrecked helplessly on the ground, staring down the dry print of Lan Zhan's clever mouth on his fingers, the worrying, implicit promise. This is fire, one of them will burn. Wrinkling his nose, Wei Wuxian smells ashes.
He's given three moments, so he takes ten. Then, another few heartbeats. Then, cheating when Lan Zhan doesn't call out the indulgence, another set, until his back feels pleasantly moulded to answer the negative spaces of Lan Zhan's spine.
He thinks, once the sky dilutes and expels the last coppers of sunset, he's pushed his luck as far as it will bend. The stars are all too literally rising in uproar against his cowardice. It's all very well to loiter, until astral bodies decide to embarrass you. After a certain point, action can't be helped.
Stiffness oils his joints by the time he's shifting again, the defensive draw of his knees up now rewarding him with a flinch. He moves, anyway, half crouching, half crawling, and tsk, there a pebble bites into his knees — until he sits before Lan Zhan again, plopping down to kneel in the familiar slouch of every last one of his repentance sessions, back when madame Yu still guided his punishments. A man with experience.
He cheats, inevitably, stealing a glance of Lan Zhan's work on his talisman, before remembering the spark that sets his smile alight: ]
Hi. [ Hello. Greetings. How do you do. ] You look well. I'm glad to see you. You'd better tell me the precious fruit of my youthful turnip passions is well too.
[ Will he ever tire of embarrassing his darling baby Yuan under the guise of the first sweet nothing that comes to his tongue? Most likely not. He is owed, for sixteen years of absence — which he may well have caused, but surely no one who was present can bring himself to prove it.
History chronicles have done a fine job of recording everyone but Wei Wuxian's part in his physical downfall. He is credited, generously, with full authorship of his moral corruption. ]
no subject
He's given three moments, so he takes ten. Then, another few heartbeats. Then, cheating when Lan Zhan doesn't call out the indulgence, another set, until his back feels pleasantly moulded to answer the negative spaces of Lan Zhan's spine.
He thinks, once the sky dilutes and expels the last coppers of sunset, he's pushed his luck as far as it will bend. The stars are all too literally rising in uproar against his cowardice. It's all very well to loiter, until astral bodies decide to embarrass you. After a certain point, action can't be helped.
Stiffness oils his joints by the time he's shifting again, the defensive draw of his knees up now rewarding him with a flinch. He moves, anyway, half crouching, half crawling, and tsk, there a pebble bites into his knees — until he sits before Lan Zhan again, plopping down to kneel in the familiar slouch of every last one of his repentance sessions, back when madame Yu still guided his punishments. A man with experience.
He cheats, inevitably, stealing a glance of Lan Zhan's work on his talisman, before remembering the spark that sets his smile alight: ]
Hi. [ Hello. Greetings. How do you do. ] You look well. I'm glad to see you. You'd better tell me the precious fruit of my youthful turnip passions is well too.
[ Will he ever tire of embarrassing his darling baby Yuan under the guise of the first sweet nothing that comes to his tongue? Most likely not. He is owed, for sixteen years of absence — which he may well have caused, but surely no one who was present can bring himself to prove it.
History chronicles have done a fine job of recording everyone but Wei Wuxian's part in his physical downfall. He is credited, generously, with full authorship of his moral corruption. ]
That's how this should have started.