westwhere | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO: Lan Wangji, Wen Qing, Emilia + others to be added...
WHEN: mid/just post-revolution.
WHERE: Palace of the Doxe, broader Taravast.
WHAT: Revolution, spiritual inquisition, the undue instinct to take inspiration from one ~~old, Machievallian~~ man's quest for immortality.
WARNINGS: descriptions of carnage, some roughening up of spirits during interrogation.

NOTE: so far, this houses a few follow-up or pre-discussed catch-up logs, but definitely please PM if you'd like to do something \o/

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( He startles, again. It is the hour for it, Lan Wangji rattled in the way of animals removed from the safety of their shelter, exposed to the hunting grounds — and Beitang Moran a veteran of the bow and arrow favoured by convolutions of politics.

This man can secure an audience. Can ask prettily, wittily, possessed of every grace Zewu-Jun flaunted by right of birth and his own diligent, mannered cultivation. The righteous path is but one bridge for diplomats to walk, and Lan Wangji's step ever comes too heavy.

He gazes at Beitang Moran long, and sees him, for the first time, less as an inconvenience, or the whimsical thief of Wei Ying's likeness — more as an opportunity. )

Ask... ( For Wangji would spoil the encounter, would hiss and threaten a blade, he knows himself so uncontainable. ) If they survived the day, ask of their means to extend a life.

... Would you not want to hear the answer yourself, then? You might be more apt to comprehend it than I would, even if I'll make every effort to transcribe it faithfully.

Of course, that's assuming they'll be willing to answer. Or that the answer is something different from simply a magical power they've developed and cultivated in themselves than can be wielded by no other.

[Let him go and pout some more tea as he ponders, and offer Lan Wangji a cup, because he has manners.]

From what we have gathered at the very least, the process is quite long, since it involves stripping a living body of their soul, but without it dying until it can be replaced with the other one. So they seem to strip it little by little. There has to be a benefit to doing it that way, too, or else, they' just ask their necromancers to reanimate the Doxe as soon as he dies... but of course that would put him under their thrall as well, so not a good solution.

What answer are you expecting, Master Lan, if any?

( Selfish answers, foolish. Gossamer transparent and raw under midday sun. Illusory, transient and dishonest.

Whatever sorcery these witches have mustered has served them not. Many spread vanquished in the hallrooms, defeated. Others, having conceded their lives. If they wielded such monstrous power that could steer the course of life, then their own welfare should not have eluded them.

And if Lan Wangji were any better than a flustered, pale and weak-willed child, he would know too that to receive one's desire is so often to tarnish the dream of it, whole. )

Ones that win a companion days further.

... Does your companion know you are asking on their behalf?

[He's going to wager 'no', but honestly, does it matter. Lan Wangji is the type to try and solve problems on his own without asking for anyone's help.]

I will ask your question, Master Lan. I advise you to be careful with whatever answer I bring back.

( You know as I know that he is unaware. That ignorance crowns Wei Ying's frailty like glistened jewels rim the bridal veil. No ache will live in him and sprawl for impossible truths deprived of plausible deniability, if he did not taste their stubborn, acrid seed, to start.

Let him wander, but never wonder. Set a warm, shimmer-wet hand on his belly and drag the blood of every war he's won, coreless and strange. Let him drift, loosened of anchors.

And let Beitang Moran speak nothing, to no one.

The bow of Wangji's back is a calculated concession, deeper than etiquette or the hour or the depth of his bristling wound suggest or allow. He holds it — one and tow and three, dripped and trickling, and acid beneath the tongue — and how the grandmaster, his uncle, would be pleased by it, how, beneath the weave of his silks and that of his scars, the stairs of Lan Wangji's spine strain to suggest bone. )

Gratitude for master Beitang's discretion.

Do not thank me just yet, Master Lan. You have yet to give me a good reason for my... discretion.

[He absolutely agreed to ask the questions, but he hasn't agreed not to say anything about it yet. ]

Lack of consent from the target is a huge part of why this endeavor was so detestable in the first place. I assume you won't be making that mistake, but I dislike making assumptions with only partial information at my disposal.

If you find the answer workable enough for your needs, will you tell him?

( He has not paid, Beitang Moran does not say, but there are tells to a man, to his impatience. Lan Wangji has stumbled upon cooperation before, ill won. He does not think this is the sand that pours desperately between his fingers now, no better than he'd know how to tease the edges and skins of Beitang Moran and slip his nails in, broker anchor.

Their gazes, crossed, are dark and baleful things, lakes at midnight — still, reflective. He stands quietly, lax, like every feline that has beheld prey and understood the spill of its blood is one sinuous twist away from his palms and grateful teeth.

Gold washes him in obscene, lavish reflection. His rotten heart feels unctuous and Jin. )

There is nothing to say.

( For now. Forever. What difference will it make? Beitang Moran has yet to deliver answers. Speak after. )

... Suit yourself, Master Lan.

[But know he feels himself not beholden to any secrecy as far as he is concerned.]

I will let you know once I have whatever answer I am given.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only