( Like any fine man who decisively earns, but notably does not utilise his salt, Lan Wangji heeds instruction.
She speaks it plainly, within the narrow jurisdiction of that which even a perfect neophyte, veteran of slow nictation and careful, feline tips of the head, can hope to achieve. Count to thirty. Watch, as the whale's webbed hand flinches and rolls over the great, chunky plate, spinning. Take inventory, when red glistens, stopped, under candle light, and what numbers win final position.
At first, he thinks it a matter of chance: there is no art to this, no skill, no periodicity. Only the whale, turning the... plate? 'Roulette.' In jagged rotations. Then, it strikes him: as with the sword, there is a logical undercurrent to where the little trinket lands: how the arc of the whale's wrist bone juts when he applies force to the turn, versus lazily swings it. The exact limitation of how far the wheel will go, what range that creates and the strength with which he tosses the missile — the ball — and how it ricochets after.
It emerges that war and the roulette table share a great deal in common. Lingered by the table, half sat and half looming, he murmurs: )
The wheel, spun a full circle and nearly 25 positions after every soft spin. Two soft spins of a full circle and five, eight positions in between.
don't tell him :' (
( Like any fine man who decisively earns, but notably does not utilise his salt, Lan Wangji heeds instruction.
She speaks it plainly, within the narrow jurisdiction of that which even a perfect neophyte, veteran of slow nictation and careful, feline tips of the head, can hope to achieve. Count to thirty. Watch, as the whale's webbed hand flinches and rolls over the great, chunky plate, spinning. Take inventory, when red glistens, stopped, under candle light, and what numbers win final position.
At first, he thinks it a matter of chance: there is no art to this, no skill, no periodicity. Only the whale, turning the... plate? 'Roulette.' In jagged rotations. Then, it strikes him: as with the sword, there is a logical undercurrent to where the little trinket lands: how the arc of the whale's wrist bone juts when he applies force to the turn, versus lazily swings it. The exact limitation of how far the wheel will go, what range that creates and the strength with which he tosses the missile — the ball — and how it ricochets after.
It emerges that war and the roulette table share a great deal in common. Lingered by the table, half sat and half looming, he murmurs: )
The wheel, spun a full circle and nearly 25 positions after every soft spin. Two soft spins of a full circle and five, eight positions in between.
( It... is not colour and number. But.
...ah. Wait. ) Is this... cheating?