[ When the man who wields fruit against rot and rust and decay and squalor, and somehow prevails against these odds, gives his word. Lan Wangji, a splendour of tarnished white only battered further by the deluge of flaking grime that storms down upon his shivered head, will not be the man to oppose him.
One last stab of Bichen up, then the blade withdraws, and he waits, serpentine, for the word —
That comes, and Lan Wangji's shoulder lends the weight called of it, the width of his sword sheath used to bruise the grate, and the stranger's strength yielding the last push in. Iron surrenders like oil to water, repelled, once the right gears have been set, shrieking, in motion. Behind them screams the horde.
A shameful occasion, when flight serves the better than fight. He spares the crowds one last glance, then the snapped delivery of a talisman behind him, barely enough that — energy crackling — the half-formed barrier can lessen the horde's advance. They trample it, but Lan Wangji's already setting in motion, part nudging, part dragging the man to slip up, past the grate. ]
Hasten. [ And muttered, as he comes close behind the man, barely breathing: ] You know your way with... fruit.
[ Damn Wangji's eyes and his name, if he doesn't shove the grate back into its watch and position, the second they've passed. ]
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One last stab of Bichen up, then the blade withdraws, and he waits, serpentine, for the word —
That comes, and Lan Wangji's shoulder lends the weight called of it, the width of his sword sheath used to bruise the grate, and the stranger's strength yielding the last push in. Iron surrenders like oil to water, repelled, once the right gears have been set, shrieking, in motion. Behind them screams the horde.
A shameful occasion, when flight serves the better than fight. He spares the crowds one last glance, then the snapped delivery of a talisman behind him, barely enough that — energy crackling — the half-formed barrier can lessen the horde's advance. They trample it, but Lan Wangji's already setting in motion, part nudging, part dragging the man to slip up, past the grate. ]
Hasten. [ And muttered, as he comes close behind the man, barely breathing: ] You know your way with... fruit.
[ Damn Wangji's eyes and his name, if he doesn't shove the grate back into its watch and position, the second they've passed. ]