( It would not do to sneak up, and yet they've readied for subterfuge, for the subtle, calculated dance of what passes for... draconic courtesy. Lan Wangji's peripatetic youth has prepared him to dress the uncommon in easy, carefree tolerance — to swallow his hesitations and assume an appetite for the eccentric. He digests the curious and the obscene better than he is often credited.
Beside him, Wrathion carries out the bestial greetings of his people. Lan Wangji, hand flirting over the hilt of his sword, never clawing into a hard clasp, walks in a lazy arc, allowing his dragon companion his berth and open to securing him, should the other, nesting creatures assault him.
The mouth of the Heavens is a cleaved smile, pleased and pleasing. )
May you speak to them? ( As Lan Wangji, unbound, cannot. As Lan Wangji, corseted by human flesh and human manner, cannot. ) Beg their leave that we may near the children.
( The mother, he sees her: like a whip, trashing, coiled round and round, gathered to bracket the shape of her beautiful pearls, her eggs. She does not hiss or scowl or seek to incinerate them. She seems, a lethargic candle sheen lighting her back, to barely flinch at all. )
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( It would not do to sneak up, and yet they've readied for subterfuge, for the subtle, calculated dance of what passes for... draconic courtesy. Lan Wangji's peripatetic youth has prepared him to dress the uncommon in easy, carefree tolerance — to swallow his hesitations and assume an appetite for the eccentric. He digests the curious and the obscene better than he is often credited.
Beside him, Wrathion carries out the bestial greetings of his people. Lan Wangji, hand flirting over the hilt of his sword, never clawing into a hard clasp, walks in a lazy arc, allowing his dragon companion his berth and open to securing him, should the other, nesting creatures assault him.
The mouth of the Heavens is a cleaved smile, pleased and pleasing. )
May you speak to them? ( As Lan Wangji, unbound, cannot. As Lan Wangji, corseted by human flesh and human manner, cannot. ) Beg their leave that we may near the children.
( The mother, he sees her: like a whip, trashing, coiled round and round, gathered to bracket the shape of her beautiful pearls, her eggs. She does not hiss or scowl or seek to incinerate them. She seems, a lethargic candle sheen lighting her back, to barely flinch at all. )