The man speaks to excess, joy of him blind, brazen, incandescent. The sort of unflinching, resolute vitality that Wei Ying presents, cheek immaculate, to the world — before the slaps come down.
Arc of his hand's wave trembled, fingers syrupy-slow when they sketch out, palm outwards, Halt. And, Breathe. Perhaps, Speak no further.
He hears, and as is the way of his people, he heeds. What does he honour, whom? Cut of his gaze dark, landing past the man's shoulder, to where the tent groans fat-bellied, straining against its posts. Like most of them, spread too thin, against its natural inclinations.
"We speak the inevitability of death. Modesty. Gravity." Dignity. To think of his uncle, pride. "Clan Gusu Lan speaks for the dead."
no subject
"Unnecessary."
The man speaks to excess, joy of him blind, brazen, incandescent. The sort of unflinching, resolute vitality that Wei Ying presents, cheek immaculate, to the world — before the slaps come down.
Arc of his hand's wave trembled, fingers syrupy-slow when they sketch out, palm outwards, Halt. And, Breathe. Perhaps, Speak no further.
He hears, and as is the way of his people, he heeds. What does he honour, whom? Cut of his gaze dark, landing past the man's shoulder, to where the tent groans fat-bellied, straining against its posts. Like most of them, spread too thin, against its natural inclinations.
"We speak the inevitability of death. Modesty. Gravity." Dignity. To think of his uncle, pride. "Clan Gusu Lan speaks for the dead."