( A game of sleight of hands and folly, but her metaphor is no lie, and so the cut of Lan Wangji's gaze, lifting, is glass unscratched and clean. It strikes him, for the first time, that Hanguang-Jun is negligible here: mere muscle to ferry weight that he recalls, at the last moment, to shift leaned on his back for fairer distribution. Emilia is a force that slivers of inconvenience should not stifle.
Before them, one of the sailors stands especially tall, thin, muscled like rope. Sturdy. If it's to come to this, swing a blade round and aim for the joints, the wrists, the ankles, the bridges of delicate connection that so often suffer strain in bodies deprived of classical proportion. Farther out, a stodgier fellow gives their captive a hesitant glance — for him, better a beating, and a toppling over, and perhaps knotting him in the sails.
Violence does not visit them. In the end, Lan Wangji, Emilia and their... friend are waved forward, steered to the great halls, "Leave'im to his rest." Only, they cannot cage themselves below deck, not with a burden and the mightier chance of recognition from a veteran sailor who knows the names and faces of the crew aboard both ships —
When Lan Wangji drags the infiltrator again, the man's knees nearly give, he folds inward like brittle parchment, and the buckles of his shoes lash the deck in sordid staccato. He hisses, behind himself: )
Air. For fast awakening.
( And affords himself one long, quiet exhalation when the sailors who watch them nod on, and Emilia and he may retire to the other end of the trembled ship. To her, under his breath: )
no subject
Before them, one of the sailors stands especially tall, thin, muscled like rope. Sturdy. If it's to come to this, swing a blade round and aim for the joints, the wrists, the ankles, the bridges of delicate connection that so often suffer strain in bodies deprived of classical proportion. Farther out, a stodgier fellow gives their captive a hesitant glance — for him, better a beating, and a toppling over, and perhaps knotting him in the sails.
Violence does not visit them. In the end, Lan Wangji, Emilia and their... friend are waved forward, steered to the great halls, "Leave'im to his rest." Only, they cannot cage themselves below deck, not with a burden and the mightier chance of recognition from a veteran sailor who knows the names and faces of the crew aboard both ships —
When Lan Wangji drags the infiltrator again, the man's knees nearly give, he folds inward like brittle parchment, and the buckles of his shoes lash the deck in sordid staccato. He hisses, behind himself: )
Air. For fast awakening.
( And affords himself one long, quiet exhalation when the sailors who watch them nod on, and Emilia and he may retire to the other end of the trembled ship. To her, under his breath: )
They keep boats bound close.