[sidereal - the dreaming]

[laughitoff]

[for MDZS AU plot-related shenanigans]

Comments

[laughitoff]

Nooo, no, don't lie. Lying is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, isn't it?

[just kind of, brightening up a bit with the teasing, like a guttering lamp being given new oil]

[strikingchords]

Not lying.

[it is comical and nonsensical, after all.

...he likes feeling that...]

[laughitoff]

So mean, Hanguang-Jun! What a stick-in-the-mud!

[strikingchords]

Playing around.

[feel SCOLDED with the POWER OF THIS SCOLDING, Wei Ying]

[laughitoff]

[he kind of, relaxes a little more? familiarity...]

You should try it sometime!

[strikingchords]

No.

[they remain close enough (is Wei Wuxian still leaning on him?) that it is basically unavoidable to pick up on the fact that Lan Wangji is relaxing into the teasing a little too, that he enjoys this; that especially in this chill dark context his irritation is the faint warming itch of a familiar wool blanket, not unwelcome. oh.]

[laughitoff]

[Wei Wuxian is still leaning on him, not acknowledging the comfort of it, of finding that lost old dynamic one more time aloud. but he isn't moving away, and that's its own answer, isn't it...?]

No fun at all!

[strikingchords]

[he does some equivalent of turning away mock-dismissively, directing his internal attention away from Wei Wuxian so pointedly that it's clear Wei Wuxian is meant to notice and react; the corner of his mouth twitches up for a moment. they are being so careful, taking advantage of this closeness to telegraph intent as much as possible while it lasts, very slowly and tentatively dancing out the old steps...]

[laughitoff]

[he feels a little pull of energy channeled through him again -- rather like the gestures he uses to do things like turn lamps off, but resentful -- and then a faint whisper of movement as the ends of his forehead ribbon get tweaked]

[strikingchords]

[startles the slightest bit against him and goes still, but doesn't pull back]

[laughitoff]

['-'

he just does it the once]

[strikingchords]

[he walks (they walk?) in total silence for a chunk of tunnel...]








It was the song.

[laughitoff]

What was?

[strikingchords]

Well-done technique.

[laughitoff]

Oh. ...oh?

[a bubble of surprise, warmth; he got it that time, finally]

You too.

[strikingchords]

[his fingers curl a couple of millimeters towards his palms; he is (glad)? the bright pressure of it is momentarily disorienting.

on some other track entirely he is responding, the barest hint of dryness in his level voice:]

I had hands.

[laughitoff]

[waves a mental hand of his own]

Your instrument is made to be played by spirits too.

[strikingchords]

Mm.

[the tunnel in front of them is brightening, though it's still sloping down rather than up; it takes a bit of a wrench to redirect some of his attention outward again, as focused as he was on Wei Wuxian]

[laughitoff]

[the light is coming from actual holes knocked in the roof of the tunnel. the edges are squared. man-made...? they still see nothing but the reddened stormcloud-ridden sky of Burial Mounds through them, though]

[strikingchords]

[glances at Wei Wuxian: ?]

[laughitoff]

[shortly]

Don't know.

[the faint daylight gleams off something embedded in the floor of the tunnel, though]

[strikingchords]

[he turns aside to check it out...?]

[laughitoff]

[it's a shard of milky white quartz stone that must have been a piece of a much larger rock. Lan Wangji can still see a thin sliver of some circular array drawn on its smooth side; a couple of characters for warding. he can feel Wei Wuxian's recognition]

A piece of boundary stone? It must have dropped through the holes...

[strikingchords]

[huh. he picks it up to examine it better.]

[laughitoff]

[he's very angry when he reached the habitable edge of the Burial Mounds at long last. it's far, far away from where he was originally thrown in. it's taken him -- he doesn't know anymore, he's stopped being able to track time in this perpetually twilit land, but it's been, at the least, several weeks. he's taken in so much resentment he feels less than human, carved out of blood and bone and rage that's only half-his. he destroys the stone holding this section of the Wen barrier with raw power, instead of taking the time to puzzle it out and pick it apart. he patches the barrier behind him as an afterthought; he doesn't really want uncontrolled corpses and ghouls leaking out and flooding Yiling.

improbably, impossibly, he's alive and free. so what should he do?

What do you think? he asks the ghoul-child walking at his side. it hisses, baring its sharp black teeth at him. he chuckles coldly. Yes, you have a point. I'm hungry too.

a small part of him knows where he should go; where he would have gone before. back to Jiang Cheng's side if he's still in the Yunmeng area, or to Meishan and Shijie if he's left to go to her. he would have done this if he'd only been gone for a week or two, perhaps.

but Jiang Cheng is an uncertainty, and it is likely he gave up on Wei Wuxian for dead. who would blame him? it's been so long, there were signs of their struggle and a great deal of Wei Wuxian's blood left at the mountain's foot, and Wei Wuxian was thrown somewhere that living cultivators don't think or dare to go. he would not have been found no matter where his brother looked, if his brother or any possible allies looked. the reasonableness of the logic is something to set against the bitterness in his heart.

he hopes Jiang Cheng has recovered. he hopes he is still alive. but it is the Wens, the Wen presence in his adopted hometown and homeland, in Jiang Sect's home and territory, that is the true certainty.

he supposes he will get supplies from the little village he sees below, and then start hunting tonight, instead.