eastbound inbox.

[lanclan]

inbox for the mirror pendant of 'Average Sighren'.

“Please leave your message and I will attend it as soon as possible.”

Comments

[downswing]

Brother. ( By way of greeting, the largest part of his wounding a graze. Bleeding, as such things do, far worse than the puncture warrants. He performs the token bow, partly out of respect deserved and to illustrate the arm retains nearly perfect use.

Not so injured, then. Mere inconvenience. Mo Ran had not struck so deeply. )

Dried. ( But then, he keeps the company of demons, here, in Messalina's loaned villa, and every wisp of red is an unfair invitation. )

[lanclan]

[ Proverbial darkness recoils from the burning force of Xichen as he enters the villa, as if the light cleaves to him. He holds out a hand for the wound, wanting to see it. ]

Tell me how and who did this.

[downswing]

( 'Do not lie.' 'Do not lie.' 'Do not lie.' And yet, he offers the forlorn weight of his arm like snakes do their discarded skins. )

A perpetrator of the Chained God's temple. ( Not an unfair description of Mo Ran, under those circumstances. ) As Mo Weiyu and I infiltrated. We were... negligent.

( In not grasping the extent of the corruption. All the same: ) The matter now attended.

[lanclan]

Where is Mo Weiyu now?

[ Two fingers channel qi into the wound, his spiritual energy rolling down the pathways of Wangji's meridians like a river along a familiar bed, as familiar as his own. He infuses him with strength, a depthless reservoir like an inverted mountain of qi to be tapped for Wangji's benefit. ]

[downswing]

We — ( A moment, teeth gritting, jaw at lock. The contrast between the balm of his brother's soothing presence and energy, like sea spumes, and the biological necessity of sinew binding, flesh restoring and a body exerting itself to accelerate healing. He breathes — eases himself to tolerate the mute aches that always accompany this exercise — and at long last, continues: )

...parted paths before the god's chamber. He appears unharmed.

( For a young man fleetingly corrupted in the maws of a hellhole. )

[lanclan]

Easy. Relax.

[ He glances up from his work, scrutinising Wangji's expression. ]

Where is Wei Wuxian? I'm not leaving you here alone like this.

[downswing]

( Flinched, his arm nearly pulls back. He steadies, levels a gaze cutting, sharp. And the next breath, brittle: )

I requested you, so he need not know.

( Do not... betray him in this way, not with Wei Ying so often prone to drowning in the well of his easy anger, his impatience. )

[lanclan]

[ Oh, so that's how it is. Levelling Wangji's huffing with a flat look (that nevertheless agrees, Xichen will not inform Wei Wuxian), he focuses once more on healing him. He sends waves of qi into his brother for those tired and strained meridians to eat up, ensuring he's almost as good as new. ]

How do I know you will be alright once I leave?

[downswing]

( Easy and moderate and slow, so very slow. Breathe. He must breathe with it. Channels his discipline and strength in righting his posture and welcoming the intrusion that cultivated bodies so often detest of another's energy.

It is his brother's, so close to his own that meridians are neatly fooled, readily accepting the transplant. Perhaps another reason to prefer Xichen in this.

Fixed, his arm wilts down, before he gives the arm a slow, careful swing to test it for any lingering hurts. None present. It lands, finally, drooping beside him — and this is new, he supposes, Wei Ying's and learned, a call for proximity and casual touch, when he reaches out and captures Xichen's hand in his own. )

How did you know during the Sunshot campaign?

[lanclan]

[ His surprise over Wangji holding his hand, reaching for him at all, allays the soft Tsk behind his tongue. He squeezes that hand back in understanding. ]

Promise me you will eat and rest well, at some point.

[downswing]

( And a squeeze back, like a pulse or a heartbeat. Like understanding. )

Will my brother?

[lanclan]

I intend to after I find Mo Weiyu, I said I would look out for him. I'll make sure he's alright too.

[ The grown man who is, really, barely used to being considered an adult at all and more of a boy than he likes to let people know. That's Xichen's next stop. ]

[downswing]

( And would Xichen by 'all right' after such an encounter? He evaluates, gaze downward, moments bidden and trickling.

No. The boy has spoken, since. He appears — in possession of himself. Perhaps, only to bide time. )

Sit with me.

[lanclan]

[ After telling him he has to leave, he gives Wangji a curious look when asked to stay and sit. ]

Is something wrong?

[downswing]

( And is it? He lacks in the skills required to bide time. No matter. They are brothers, accustomed to each other's company. )

Need it be? To sit together. Since brother has already adjourned.

[lanclan]

Wangji, I should help the boy. He has no shizun and is lonelier than he admits, I think. What you both just went through, there is no one to check on him as I have for you.

[ Tarrying while Mo Ran is in a potentially similar state puts Xichen ill at ease. ]

I will return and find you later, then we may talk into the night if you still wish.

[downswing]

He is in health.

( Better than so, well attended. Lacking in nothing, including daggers. Excuse Lan Wangji, flinched but withdrawing into himself, ever prone to silence when scolded. It is rare to ask — less so, of late, for brother to deny him in the name of new acquaintances.

He rises first. )

As you wish.

[lanclan]

[ Noting the brusqueness to the way he loses that eye-contact, he nods and rises after a moment too. Shuoyue takes up position and he steps onto her, still looking at Wangji as his brother has a mild tantrum under the surface. He knows the signs. ]

I am a sect leader again. Is this responsibility not what you wanted of me, when I was a ghost of myself? Wangji.

... I will return.

[ Shuoyue sings as she swerves and lifts him into the sky. ]