"If we start wrestling, someone will notice," he says, dry enough, but he looks more glad for the pushback than anything else. He'd grown up wrestling a brother, a life of pinning or being pinned, or outright punching each other as you do, and while it's probably not what Lan Zhan means, it's silly enough in the moment, familiar enough in the moment nonetheless.
They don't need to waste energy on this, when neither of them appear to have all that much to spare.
He lifts his eyebrows at the offered cloth, but accepts it, kneeling down in turn and slopping it onto the ground with the awareness of how to do this correctly, and a reminder, "Errands, Lan Zhan. It wasn't an excuse." Before two hands meet one rag and push it forward in a familiar sort of manner, remembered through a growing boyhood, minimally.
Still, it's decent reason for murmured conversation, and he's not on a tight timeframe. He can choose to spend time without struggling through thin snows and slick streets and a foreign despair that feels familiar, seen from a certain perspective.
"Missing," he says, lips pressing into a thin line over the mines. Emptied of living, yes, but not of walking death, and he stares down at the floor before turning his head to the side, shifting his weight, scrubbing. "Along with anything else I'd had with me, last recalled. I came through the mines too. Haunted is one word for it." A realm of undeath he himself finds new, but the scent of all of it... he frowns. "Do you remember much of anything the ones who unchained us all said?"
Enough to be here, yes. Or someone he ran into in the mines remembered. There hadn't been much, but he's been picking at it, trying to understand and having not enough information to claim he really does.
no subject
They don't need to waste energy on this, when neither of them appear to have all that much to spare.
He lifts his eyebrows at the offered cloth, but accepts it, kneeling down in turn and slopping it onto the ground with the awareness of how to do this correctly, and a reminder, "Errands, Lan Zhan. It wasn't an excuse." Before two hands meet one rag and push it forward in a familiar sort of manner, remembered through a growing boyhood, minimally.
Still, it's decent reason for murmured conversation, and he's not on a tight timeframe. He can choose to spend time without struggling through thin snows and slick streets and a foreign despair that feels familiar, seen from a certain perspective.
"Missing," he says, lips pressing into a thin line over the mines. Emptied of living, yes, but not of walking death, and he stares down at the floor before turning his head to the side, shifting his weight, scrubbing. "Along with anything else I'd had with me, last recalled. I came through the mines too. Haunted is one word for it." A realm of undeath he himself finds new, but the scent of all of it... he frowns. "Do you remember much of anything the ones who unchained us all said?"
Enough to be here, yes. Or someone he ran into in the mines remembered. There hadn't been much, but he's been picking at it, trying to understand and having not enough information to claim he really does.