![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
our troubles will be out of sight
WHO: Wanda and you!
WHEN: Month of December
WHERE: The Inn
WHAT: Checking things out, getting a feel for her new companions, etc
WARNINGS: Will note as needed.
I.THE LAKE
[A frozen lake is a frozen lake, but this one is strange. Wanda doesn't quite step on the ice itself, but she does stay very close to the edge, eyes narrowed as she tries to discern what she thinks she saw... bump the ice from below?]
Did you see that? [She'll ask whoever is near.]
II. THE MOUTH
Are you sure that's a good idea?
[Interested in taking a sword, shield, or whatever from that pit? Well, Wanda's making a face like she certainly doesn't think it's a good idea.]
III. THE WELLS
[A morning of wandering has Wanda slowly approaching the wells. Generally, she wouldn't care to look, but she's got nothing to do and nowhere to be, so she's allowing her curiosity to win. They look very old, possibly out of use, but as she draws near the first she gives the lid a little push. Far too snug for her to move using her own muscle, which she suspected, but she didn't expect to see blood on the light dusting of snow when she stepped back.
She crouches down to get a better look. It's pretty hard to mistake blood for anything else. Still...
Come spook her while she's already feeling vaguely spooked.]
IV. THE FOREST
[Collecting herbs and berries isn't the most engaging task to help out at the inn, but it does give her an opportunity to watch the villagers. It feels colder out here, and much more dangerous. Which is why Wanda calls out to whoever she might see,]
Careful. They said there are wolves around here.
[Wolves, direwolves. Same difference.]
[ooc: Easy peasy prompts! If you want something more specific, or more actiony, feel free to PM me and I'll gladly work something out for us.]
WHEN: Month of December
WHERE: The Inn
WHAT: Checking things out, getting a feel for her new companions, etc
WARNINGS: Will note as needed.
I.THE LAKE
[A frozen lake is a frozen lake, but this one is strange. Wanda doesn't quite step on the ice itself, but she does stay very close to the edge, eyes narrowed as she tries to discern what she thinks she saw... bump the ice from below?]
Did you see that? [She'll ask whoever is near.]
II. THE MOUTH
Are you sure that's a good idea?
[Interested in taking a sword, shield, or whatever from that pit? Well, Wanda's making a face like she certainly doesn't think it's a good idea.]
III. THE WELLS
[A morning of wandering has Wanda slowly approaching the wells. Generally, she wouldn't care to look, but she's got nothing to do and nowhere to be, so she's allowing her curiosity to win. They look very old, possibly out of use, but as she draws near the first she gives the lid a little push. Far too snug for her to move using her own muscle, which she suspected, but she didn't expect to see blood on the light dusting of snow when she stepped back.
She crouches down to get a better look. It's pretty hard to mistake blood for anything else. Still...
Come spook her while she's already feeling vaguely spooked.]
IV. THE FOREST
[Collecting herbs and berries isn't the most engaging task to help out at the inn, but it does give her an opportunity to watch the villagers. It feels colder out here, and much more dangerous. Which is why Wanda calls out to whoever she might see,]
Careful. They said there are wolves around here.
[Wolves, direwolves. Same difference.]
[ooc: Easy peasy prompts! If you want something more specific, or more actiony, feel free to PM me and I'll gladly work something out for us.]
no subject
( His hand latches, catches, turns. Tugs, and it's all in the gamble, in blind and soon rewarded faith that the silvered, ashen light of Bichen's blade will suffice to give them guidance.
No candle flame in the wet's dark depths. No north, no south, no pittance of direction. Gravity confounds them, the swiftly shifting thickness of the breaking ice pieces that scatter each way — hard and thick when freshly broken, slightly molten in descent, then heavy once more as they draw the cold of the abyss.
Youth taught Lan Wangji to choose his head over his heart. Maturity has calmly schooled him that reason is overruled by instinct. And they say there is no more wisdom to be had, as a man grows and greys.
Small mercies: the beast below does not give them chase. He draws the girl with him, paddles, unambiguously, breathless by the time he breaks water, and grateful for the warmed hands that reach for him — for them — and the braziers brought after, when the inn staff finds and fishes them out. His ears stay deafened, white light of their panic screaming sharp in his ears. Clawing them.
He blinks, when they're set on their sides and draped in blankets, while the inn's people dash to fetch a doctor of the main house. His fingers clench, shiver. The girl. The girl is no longer with hi — but he reaches out and rakes her flank or her shoulder or her calf, some strange amorphous line that bothers to sum into the totality of her person. The tips of his fingers come too stiff to hold her, so he paws, repeatedly, hollowly, gone. Then croaks: )
Srrrr... surra... ssscol. ( Yes, it's cold, very cold. Well done. ) Apol... apple... apolojee... pologies.
it's too late to apolojee (it's too laaaaate)
Oh, there he is. He's fine, more or less, just as she is, but she haltingly reaches out to touch in some form of reassurance. Her hand is so numb from cold she can't tell if they're actually touching or not, and she can feel her hair is stiff, water turning to ice.
Her magic is not as it should be, but she thinks (hopes) she can at least dry their clothing. There's a grunt from her, in the effort it takes to reach her hand further towards him, the red glow at her fingertips brief before she makes contact with his clothing. Clothing that is now dry, though the now-damp blanket isn't great, it's not daggers tightening around them.
When her hand retreats back to herself, another touch has her clothes dry, too.
The hair is still an icy mess, though. Something had to be the test subject to see whether she was still capable of it or not--or if something worse would happen.
Though the feeling of her hair turning into one solid mass is pretty high up there for miserable things that have happened as of late.]
sobbing in my hands
( Heat, indiscriminate, violent. Dark of his hair spread on the ice bank like weeds until a young girl thinks to relieve him — them — until they bring braziers close and sit their heads on shivered laps, so they do not stick to ground surface. The cold dispels from him, in a sudden burst, and he sees the girl's hand, and he knows, of course he knows, it should have been plain, to start — )
...you. ( His tongue slack, slow, gelid. Heavy, in ways that work his jaw to open like a chasm. He only intends to speak. Heaves, and something ruptures, as if each word is of ice itself. He curls, diminutively, the great static heap of his limbs scratching the frost beneath. Conserve your strength. Within him, a core of energy roils and blooms and remembers itself. )
You tore me from the creature's clutches. ( When it started, when the tide of their misfortunes turned. When Lan Wangji stumbled them into the water. ) Gratitude.
no subject
Don't. [She shakes her head in his direction. There's more to say.]
Don't... go on the ice. Again.
[Look. He went there once when it was clearly suspect. What's to stop him from going again?]
no subject
( Of all the countless, misplaced counsel, of all the frayed instructions, all the reprimands, all the passive or openly aggressive observations —
...this, stirring his belly to depths of buried laughter that translate as half-gasped, futile wheezing, is, perhaps, earned. He was advised against the waters. Saw and presented himself before the graceless, curious, deadly creatures.
Did not stay his steps. Did not heed.
And he must have retrieved enough slivers of his health again, if the foremost of his concerns, barely turning over, is to mutter: )
We... ahhhh. We. Are upon. ( Lick of his lips nearly freezes his tongue to teeth. ) Upon ice now.
( What a joker. )
no subject
Not funny.
[Then there's more fussing, someone that knows better about cold and ice and likely treated the occasional fisherman or youth that got too close to cracks in the ice before, and Wanda is quick to insist she's fine. Despite the icicles. It's fine. Really.
Regardless, the consensus is that they need to be inside.]
no subject
( Yet you laughed. He is not Wei Ying, so easily lent to flirtation, relief and entertainment to the maidens who encounter him. Not a scholar of wit, not a poet, a bard.
And yet, even Lan Wangji, thoughts scattered and fingers too tightly curled to capture purchase on iced ground, trying to raise himself — even he can accept the heart-warming splendour of lightening her spirits. )
You gave no name.
( Neither did Lan Wangji, succumbed to the more troubling distraction of staying alive. Who knew survival could be so discourteous? All the time, she seems young in ways his bones barely remember. She may introduce herself first. )
no subject
[She's quick to point out the obvious. Still, as she watches him struggle, she decides there's no harm in it.]
Wanda. I'm Wanda.
[And--]
Careful.
[There's a half-hearted attempt to get up herself, in order to help him. It's very newborn deer trying to walk for the first time.]
no subject
( Where one stumbles, the other may retrieve and rescue. This can be their balance, Lan Wangji slow to negotiate his footing, silks knotting at his ankles, a tangle at his knees. Like weeds, like hooks. Like lines of ropes and strong, dead things.
He watches her, distantly, raise herself with a lean that indicates she either intends to give him her hand — or is instinctively driven to topple in his direction. Ah. It can be so simple, then.
Unbidden, he eases close, hand hovered within her reach, never quite intruding with his offer. Under a slate, stubborn sky, staff aggressively orbiting them to pull out the body of the creature they'd slaughtered from the waters, in their nets — they can have this much courtesy. )
Wangji, clan Lan. You arrived of late. ( As if there is a time for misfortune. ) With your... sorcery.
( This, more, to confirm his eyes caught well. )
no subject
Yeah. [Sorcery, magic. No use in clarifying she's a witch, not a sorcerer. Not here.] Thanks for the welcome.
[She tips her head to the gaping hole in the ice and the labors going on there.]
A warmer one, next time.
[Ha ha. Get it. Warm welcome.]
no subject
( ...ah, but there's a flinch to it, inevitable, stubborn, strong — enough to purposefully unbalance his elbow from her grasp and infuse their camaraderie with distance. Touch singes him, stains. Earns a muted hiss of distaste, like every long-suffering cat who has tolerated far too much of an overbearing owner's affections.
He does not repudiate her presence, does not excuse his disinterest. Only proceeds, each step measured so as to prove he can prevail, cautious to aim his heel where the sheen of ice below thickens to opacity, or he senses the slow, crumbling grit of salts beneath his feet.
The indignity of his current weakness, too, shall pass. And there's a scattering of lights at distance, flame in heating braziers, steadied to guide the work of dozens of men gathered to pour ice and cold sorcery into the lake's nethers. They need only reach the lights. )
Beg the merchant's boon. Perhaps your next abduction will better satisfy.
( ...seeing as she has. Expectations. )
no subject
As far as near-death experiences go, I've had worse.
[Would it have been death? Maybe. The water was so cold she couldn't think. Oh, but since this witch thing has entered her life, she really doesn't want to die by drowning. Too cliché. Add fire to the list, too.]
no subject
Apologies.
( For the touch relinquished. Better still, the deathly experience narrowly avoided. The braid of interludes that appear to have preceded it. He hesitates, step dragged and splintering fresh shavings of snow from the trodden path, while various inn keepers interject with offers of further blankets, hot water, tea. They look to him to assess his steadiness, his progress, the likelihood, he knows, that he will topple irrevocably onto the hard, fresh-cut lake glass.
He does not. Refuses, on principle, to be less than he is: slowed under the blinking haze of the settling, morose evening. At ease with his flimsy gravity, waving the woman — Wanda — beside him. )
You do not require protection. ( Of the two, it appears he might be in deeper need. ) But, assistance. Call, and it will be done.
no subject
For now, she's happy in her willful ignorance.]
Yeah. Well... I owe you one, too.
[Even if she'll forever pin the mess on his curiosity, they did have to sort of rescue one another. It's something.]
no subject
( Ah, but he is slow to ease, to fall into the trappings of informality, bend of his back already carefully positioned into a rehearsed bow. When he recovers, looser-limbed, it is to transgress with a conclusion: )
No debts between us.
( ...but then, she excused him of the creature's burden, where he only ensnared them further in the lake's depths. He frowns, imperceptible, weak. )
Your... sorcery. What did it achieve? ( It thrust the creature off Wangji's trail. Delivered him to safety. And then? )
no subject
Not enough, apparently. My magic can do a lot of things, but something's not right, here.
[An attack like that would have been over in moments, were she at her full potential. She looks down at her hands momentarily, not sure what she expects to see other than cold, pale fingers.]
no subject
( This much he knows, agrees with a stubborn nod like a jolt, a motion both propelled and stunted. The cold has him, heavy and daunting chills. He breathes with the certainty of his imprecisions, steps no better calculated than when he had refused Wanda's assistance.
Better men offer him aid, still. An arm to lean on, another with warmed waters. Tea, he murmurs to a kitchen's boy in passing, and the young lad's hastened footsteps barely land, toes before heel. )
The grounds pervert ability. Shackle it.
( It feels shallow, dusted to his own ears. Stale. An excuse, as if the lands deserve it. We will speak no more of the unpleasantness. )
You may yet recover.
no subject
She did help make sure they didn't drown, after all. And no one got hurt.
Creatures of the deep aside.]
You're a swordsman?
[Obviously, but it's a group effort to speak less of unpleasant things and keep moving on all fronts.]
no subject
An exorcist.
( Possessed of a blade he waves like a crutch now, a cane, a superfluous but attentively positioned appendage. Smear of her tip on frosted snow is rivulet of scratches he will polish doubly thereafter. Best — and he raises Bichen's blade even now, her silvers glinting with the start of dus — to avoid her toils completely.
But then, this is what glints at distance: not the man, his skill, his worth, but his weapon. They traverse a territory uncivilised enough to prioritise hostility over negotiation. So be it. )
The creature should have been my toil alone. ( And yet, she has had to intercede. It rankles, rattles, stings. ) I showed negligence.
no subject
Wanda can't help the amused huff, breath hanging in the air. She could have used an exorcist not too long ago, really.]
I'm considered a witch. [Nothing to do with sorcery.] We're a good pair.
no subject
( A good pair, measured. Survivors of cool and uncaring lands, and Lan Wangji still faintly dismantled for it. His head is quiet, candid ache. An unkindness of rattling.
Unbidden, he offers his hand distantly beside his body, as if instinct compels him to see out Wanda, just as he might a child. To care and shepherd beside himself. Habit. In all things, recovery. Above all, routine. )
That which you summon is what which I disperse?
( A counterproductive pair, perhaps, profoundly inefficient. Humour compels the observation. He waves Wanda along. )
We number witches. You are not without people.
no subject
I could have probably used an exorcism not too long ago, she almost jokes, but it's not funny.]
Do you get along with them?
no subject
( And does he?
Emilia, who would just as soon flay the skin off his back as burn down those who touch wisps of his hair. Hermione, obstinate but fond, reckless but sweetened. Vanessa, cadaverous, irresponsible, darker than the mahogany of the inn's vermin-grazed plank.
Before them, Lily. When he shivers, it's an ache that husks his body and lives within him. A silent, drawn out thing, like drips of mildew from an ill-squeezed rag. )
They seek to end me no more than others. ( ...as measuring tools go, perhaps less lacking than many. ) And you gave me rescue.
( Not the worst of companions, witches and their kind. )
no subject
This time.
[She's kidding. Despite no longer referring to herself as an Avenger, the desire to do good is strong. It surprises her.]