( A slow, slithering, wormed exit. The first citizens who come close do so with open hands, some seeking to stroke. It has arrived with them, with something like delayed finality, that if the Great Dark Dragon departs now, he will not be seen again — and with him will flee their single opportunity to say they've touched his fine, nightmarish scales.
A part of Lan Wangji metabolises their curiosity as affection. They are people fond of dragons, inured to them. Accustomed to their presence, from life as young as that barely drifted from a cradle.
They do not intend to offend or ridicule him. And Lan Wangji, carefully gliding to lower the nearest searching fingers with a slow swing of his sheathed blade's hilt, does not reward their overture with violence.
When he reaches Wrathion, he thinks to search him for reins. Shudders, with the abrupt realisation that he has neglected a freed creature wants no fetters. But submission is expected, cooperation paramount, and so in the world's most unexpected approximation of Wei Ying, he —
...whistles. Once, curly, done. And a nod later sees him giving the start, waiting on the great beast to shift his heft beside him. )
We intend to depart peacefully to the nests. ( A pause, then. ) Do not touch him. He is — ...dark. For his sorrows.
( Not a lie, in truth. Most of Wrathion's griefs, after all, start in his head. Come along, now. )
no subject
( A slow, slithering, wormed exit. The first citizens who come close do so with open hands, some seeking to stroke. It has arrived with them, with something like delayed finality, that if the Great Dark Dragon departs now, he will not be seen again — and with him will flee their single opportunity to say they've touched his fine, nightmarish scales.
A part of Lan Wangji metabolises their curiosity as affection. They are people fond of dragons, inured to them. Accustomed to their presence, from life as young as that barely drifted from a cradle.
They do not intend to offend or ridicule him. And Lan Wangji, carefully gliding to lower the nearest searching fingers with a slow swing of his sheathed blade's hilt, does not reward their overture with violence.
When he reaches Wrathion, he thinks to search him for reins. Shudders, with the abrupt realisation that he has neglected a freed creature wants no fetters. But submission is expected, cooperation paramount, and so in the world's most unexpected approximation of Wei Ying, he —
...whistles. Once, curly, done. And a nod later sees him giving the start, waiting on the great beast to shift his heft beside him. )
We intend to depart peacefully to the nests. ( A pause, then. ) Do not touch him. He is — ...dark. For his sorrows.
( Not a lie, in truth. Most of Wrathion's griefs, after all, start in his head. Come along, now. )