(no subject)
WHO: Lan Wangji & Xichen
WHEN: midway through the stay at the castle of Netvor!
WHERE: the castle gardens
WHAT: brotherly... 'bonding'...
WARNINGS: ...why is the snow not gone.
( Snows powdered, swept. Slippery and slick beneath feet, fresh wept on grounds that bleeds. Snow hides fleshly remains, snow does not erase them. In Lan Wangji's hand, fished and discarded from cupped findings, ice shavings could kill. He rounds the rest in a ball, matte and tight.
He has called his brother to the gardens like a thief in the night, low light of fledgling dawns barely opening its eye. Cold blues lining the stretch of statues, decayed stone walls and the gathered chill.
A lazy hour, by the Lan standard. In Cloud Recesses, the grounds would long have bustled. Here, even the... ladles sleep, and only the bones of the fireplace still quiver. He does not speak of them, now. In one hand, the snowball, coarse. In another, a basket of late-blooming hellebore, rust-red and bright white, roots surviving, rather than cut.
He should greet his brother's silhouette with a bow, a salute. Instead, politely, once Xichen's silhouette peers — he throws the snowball, squarely, at his brother's face. Feed him snow as an infant, why won't you.
Then, as if nothing at all has passed, raising the basket to signal it: )
Come. Brother is adrift. We must set him roots.

no subject
By knocking some sense into me, or ice?
[ A morning ambush!! ]
no subject
A nourishing diet.
( To be sure, given how well and thoroughly and frightfully strong Lan Wangji has grown, assuredly. Why, fit as a fiddle, tall as a beanstalk, mighty as Guan Gong. Surely, Zewu-Jun cannot complain of the feeding he served his youngest, his only brother with such disarming generosity.
For now, seemingly indifferent to Shuoyue, Wangji only signals the basket with a nod that alerts friendly fire has ended, all debts have gone repaid, the time of assault is done. Behold their peace broker: fresh flowers, vibrant and livened. )
Come. Seed life with me today. We have enough blood shed, between us.
no subject
[ Calmly walking over to a nearby wall, he sets down Shuoyue on a pristine patch of snow and gathers a handful, making it into a ball ... ]
no subject
( A better ide —
...no. No, his brother will not be the fiend, the aggressor, the traitor. Surely not.
Lan Wangji stabs him with every ounce of his incredulity, focused and sharply directed. Daring Xichen to step forward, while valiantly clutching his spread of flowers close.
Look here: a man, come in peace. )
You would not do this to me again. ( Calmly, reasonably. ) There is no bowl.
no subject
Arm yourself.
no subject
( This... is not happening. It is not. It is not. Woe. Agony. His — ...his basket of flowers, risen and presented, as if they might serve him as a white flag of mercy and resignation. )
When will we plant? ( That sad moment when he knows himself, fast and hard-footed in place: if he concedes now, at least he must earn the later gains of some manner of advantage. )
no subject
[ His pyramid of snowballs is awfully high ... ]
no subject
...this is foolish.
( But he discards his basket, neatly positioned after cautious, frightened glances Xichen's way — as if he fears, like any animal of prey might, what the predator intends him. Behind a mound, then, neatly balanced so that any future... turbulences need not bury it beneath snow. )
This is unseemly. ( They are men grown, so-called jades of Lan. Heir and spare. And Lan Wangji, slipping to a knee, never quite construction a snowball but spreading his fingers, spidered, on the ground, to ease in and grasp what snow rests there. ) You have the advantage of experience.
( Having nourished his brother with snow. )