lightbearinglord | [ closed post: rabbit meditation power hour ]

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[ closed post: rabbit meditation power hour ]

The rabbits have been settling in. They have sweet, easygoing temperaments, which helps, and it helps, too, that the mansion has apparently noticed their presence and supplied Lan Wangji with a little wooden hutch for their keeping when he is not able to hold them. He does, on occasion, need his hands for other tasks. His preferred kitchen has also been forthcoming with hay and vegetables for their feeding. Wei Ying has already threatened to cook and eat them several times, which means he likes them and will be whittling toys for them any day now. Once winter passes, Lan Wangji will work on constructing a sturdier hutch for the outdoors as well, so that they can see the lake and the woods.¹

Because they are so sweet, and also so endearingly small, their presence is calming in itself. Lan Wangji does not exactly need help to meditate successfully -- he has been doing it daily since he was very young -- but the company does not go amiss, either. It is difficult to dwell overmuch on anything troublesome with two tiny, warm bodies in one's lap.

Lan Wangji is not actually meditating yet, but he is seated in that side room he prefers to use for the practice. There is incense burning, and he has a little brown rabbit, munching its way through a piece of watercress, perched on his knee. In his hands, he holds the equally little white rabbit, which is overall doing well, but which does have a greater tendency to startle and to want to hide itself. He is speaking to it under his breath, gently.

¹It's important for rabbits who began life in the bottom of a top hat to be exposed to nature.

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"As do I. Thank you." With Dangding taking crunching bites of watercress from his hand, he releases a breath, and he smiles. "I feel better, you know, when I have a plan. Where will you start investigating? Can I be of assistance?"

Lan Wangji takes a beat to order his thoughts. Typically, he is called to a night-hunt by a family or a village in need, because some spirit or yao is troubling them. No one has called him to this, and the mansion is at once larger and smaller than his usual hunting grounds, but he can start as he usually does. "I will need to ask questions. The abilities, and the rules that govern them, vary widely here." Speaking extensively to others is, obviously, not his favorite task, but when he comes at it with a purpose, it is not so bad. "Master Asmodean has considerable power," he says, masking his personal distaste for the man. "I may begin with him. You may ask your own questions of others. It's common for one person to give two different answers depending on the cultivator asking."

“I've no doubt of that," Claudius says, wry and knowing. "Another reason, I suppose, for why you and Wei Wuxian make an effective team — you'll garner quite different reactions from the people you encounter. I can't sense the flow of qi or any such thing, but I can at least speak to people and assess their motives. And I’m on cordial terms with Asmodean, despite his disinvitation to the dance. In their own ways, both the dance and the zombie attack were rare opportunities — since people arrive one at a time here, and seldom gather in groups, there are few chances for me to observe everyone at once. At the dance, I could take note of who spoke with whom, who showed signs of friendly rapport or romantic connection, and who was tellingly absent. The zombie attack brought out everyone with martial or magical abilities, and some interest in defending themselves. I saw most of them with Crowley who, of course, was at a window where he wouldn’t be seen doling out assistance. I have a fair idea who has significant powers and who they’re connected to, excepting the newest arrivals.” It’s revealing quite a bit about how calculating Claudius can be, how much he watches and assesses, even when he’s meant to be enjoying a dance he put on or hiding from people-eating corpses. But he doesn’t expect it will disturb Lan Wangji, or the depth of trust between them.

Indeed, Lan Wangji only nods calmly in answer to this. He has always been an observer, too, primarily by necessity; for nearly his entire life, he has stood apart from his peers, from the cultivation world, and watched silently. He notices most things, but Claudius has a much defter ability to maneuver amongst those things and pluck information that way. "Then we will make our own inquiries and observations and look for inconsistencies."

It truly does feel better, to have a plan, and a plan that has more than his own hand to steer and guide it. That waiting, fearful feeling still flutters in his chest, but it doesn't push so painfully against it that he can't breathe. There's a rabbit eating watercress in his lap. "Thank you," he repeats. "I've wanted so long to live in peace, you know -- there are few sacrifices I wouldn't make for it. When Enjolras gave his oration at the talent show, and shared his dream of a place where man might not be brought down to kill his fellow, I admit it touched me ... even as I thought ah, then I'd best not tell him about the business with the blood parasites." He gives a small, scoffing laugh. "I hope whatever results our investigations yield, there may be a peaceful resolution. But thank you for not advising I ignore it, or simply bite my tongue."

The still outlines of Lan Wangji's expression soften at that insincere little laugh. "Peace is my hope, too," he says. He thinks he has yearned for peace since the day Qishan Wen came to the Cloud Recesses, pounding on Qingheng-jun's door and smashing Lan Wangji's leg with the hilt of a sword. If not then, it must have been the first day of the Sunshot Campaign, the first time another cultivator fell to Bichen's blade. "But I have lived through peace that was a folding screen concealing violence and atrocity. I would like to hope for better."

"Well-put," Claudius says with a small, appreciative smile. "I've been an unsuccessful soldier, and a successful mediator, but many times my mediation was only to move the folding screen. Whatever hid behind was still waiting, but it was all I knew how to do. I'd rather learn another way." He hesitates to say more, to break even this fragile peace, this shared hope spoken out loud. "That's my other concern, I suppose. I told you I had one or two. I don't wish to go back to what I was before ... or be forced back."

Lan Wangji sobers anew, setting a gentle hand atop Xiaoxue's back. He has, by now, considerably mixed feelings about this prospect, but he knows that this is something that troubles Magnus, too. The nature of the mansion is unpredictable. "When I met with Queen Gertrude," he says, "I had come directly from seeing my own brother." That is another question of monsterhood, the question of Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen's sword through his gut. "The passage to this room had been replaced by a passage to the hanshi. Wei Ying was still abed. I was glad that he was, because I did not have to choose between leaving this place and going home."

Claudius looks at Lan Wangji with new, intent interest -- he has a tendency to avoid eye contact, to gaze into the middle distance, when speaking of his fears and hopes. "The other Twin Jade," he says with a laugh. "What I would've given to meet him. Selfishly, I suppose I'm glad you didn't have to make the choice, either. How did it go? Was he well?"

One of Lan Wangji's characteristic silences ensues, but not a terribly long one. He glances down at the rabbit under his hand, then back up to meet Claudius' gaze again. "Xiongzhang is recovering." He imagines Claudius will remember what he said about Jin Guangyao at the burn book gathering, that Lan Xichen is in seclusion for a reason. "All our lives, he has wanted me to make friends."

Claudius understands enough to paint a picture in broad strokes, colored by the painful circumstances of Lan Wangji's own seclusion, and a knowledge of the hurts that make a man retreat from the world. He also understands Lan Wangji long loved a mother kept behind closed doors -- a mother who teased him, who smiled even when he bit at her, because he felt so much and she knew how much her son's heart could hold.

Lan Xichen must have seen his brother's devotion every day Lan Wangji waited outside that closed door. It must've been a dear hope of his, not to let Lan Wangji’s devotion go to waste. I think I've spent most of my life worrying about you.

"It must've been a comfort to him," Claudius says, with a softer smile, “to see thee well-befriended. Such selfless people never stop worrying about the ones they love, even when they’ve their own sorrows to bear.”

Claudius is right, he thinks. Lan Xichen has enough of his own worries and troubles, the toil of running a sect from seclusion and the everyday pain of his memories of Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Lan Wangji knows his brother. Lan Xichen's face isn't so subtle as his own, but its gentle smiles can hold their own puzzles to unravel. He could see that Lan Xichen was, with all his grief and weariness, truly eased to see his cold and distant younger brother finding a place somewhere outside the regimented Cloud Recesses.

He's quiet again as he remembers his brother's arms around him, the clean smell of the Cloud Recesses and Gusu tea, his name in Lan Xichen's warm voice. It may be that he can never show Claudius the back mountain dotted with soft white rabbits or watch with amusement as he looks in disbelief at the four thousand and counting rules carved into the Wall of Discipline. There is, however, a request he has been meaning to make since Claudius passingly called him by his title the month prior.

"Claudius," he says, perhaps a little abruptly. "You may address me as Wangji, if you would prefer."

"Wangji," Claudius repeats, and his smile broadens around it. When they were strangers to each other, he remembers copying Lan Wangji's courtesies, correcting himself through observation, sliding Lan back into his greetings as though he'd never let it slip. He wanted all his adaptations to look effortless, to prove his cosmopolitanism, which was absurd when they weren't even from the same world. To his surprise, Wangji doesn't feel like a step backwards, returning to his first clumsy tests with terms of address. It feels lighter on his tongue, lighter than even Lan Wangji with the title. Simply put, "I like the sound of it. You’ll be hearing it until you’re sick of it, I’m sure. Wangji, I’ve such a story tell thee. Wangji, I need thy counsel. Wangji, what does cut-sleeve mean? The last comes from meeting your unfortunate in-law.”

Edited 2024-01-12 19:01 (UTC)

Lan Wangji had hardly realized his own trepidation about this request until it has passed. He has never explicitly asked such a thing before; he was Lan Zhan, or A-Zhan to his mother, and then he was Lan Wangji, and his brother and his uncle adjusted accordingly. He finds himself smiling at Claudius' recitation, warmed enough that even an allusion to Jiang Wanyin's existence, which is unfortunate indeed, does not dampen his mood.

"I am a cut-sleeve," he says, a little wryness in the lingering quirk at the corner of his mouth. "A man who desires other men."

"So you've a term for it! You know, I thought it might be something of the kind." Does that mean Jiang Wanyin is a heterosexual? If that's how self-declared heterosexuals behave, Claudius isn't convinced. But he does so enjoy collecting words and their meanings, and asks, "Why 'cut-sleeve'?"

As he speaks, Lan Wangji returns to petting between Xiaoxue's ears. "Emperor Ai's closest official, Dong Xian, was also his lover. The emperor awoke one day to Dong Xian asleep, head on his sleeve." Lan Wangji lifts the hand that is not occupied with a rabbit to show the long drape of his own sleeve. "The emperor cut his sleeve rather than disturb the man he loved."

"Wangji," Claudius says in impressed, delighted tones. "I knew you had a way with stories, but that is perhaps the most romantic story I've ever heard. We should read the romances of your culture next."

Cut-sleeve is almost never a word used in kindness, but Claudius looks so thrilled, and the informal use of his courtesy name alone is enough of a charming novelty, that Lan Wangji does not tell him that. At least not today. "Mn," he agrees. He will think on possible texts for that; poetry, most likely. The thought of Crowley sitting through a discussion of the Shijing is enticingly entertaining.

Now, though, he does give Claudius a briskly sharp look of assessment. "You encountered Jiang Wanyin?"

Edited 2024-01-13 15:59 (UTC)

"Oh, yes," Claudius reports cheerfully. He was fondly imagining Galahad with his halo of shining hair pillowed upon the long sleeve of a robe, but he shelves aside the thought for later. "I thought Jiang Wanyin seemed like a charming new arrival, someone I could coax into putting down his weapons to share drinks and flirtations. Know'st thou, there's never been a man more like a rotten loquat. Sometimes a coarse, desultory manner can add to one's charm, but in his case, it quite detracts from it. I'm not sure whether he needs more confidence or less to pull it off. He seemed both overly sure of himself and desperate to prove it about himself, which makes an unappealing, unconvincing middle ground. Whenever he insisted he wasn't a cut-sleeve, for instance, as though I should at once know what it means and why he couldn't be." Claudius rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I kissed him on the cheek, and that broke him¹. He went completely still, like a mouse cornered by a housecat ... I'm not that frightening, am I, Wangji?"

^{1Some say Jiang Wanyin is still bluescreening to this day.}

Lan Wangji gives him a look, a look that says you already know my answer to this question. His mouth twitches a little, whether in amusement or horror at the thought of Claudius bestowing a kiss upon Jiang Wanyin's face -- not even he is entirely certain. Claudius' description of Jiang Wanyin's personality defects is cutting and accurate in the extreme, and Claudius is apparently unharmed. "Sect Leader Jiang is a trial," he says, managing some dryness despite the undercurrent of quite sincere loathing. There is too much history to explain without first making absolutely certain: "He did not use his whip on you?"

"No, I flattered him into putting it away. Or perhaps I shamed him into putting it away?" That distinction doesn't matter overmuch, with both tactics being so intertwined. Claudius inclines his head at Lan Wangji, curious. "Is it uniquely dangerous?"

Claudius talked Jiang Wanyin into putting Zidian away. Not that Lan Wangji has ever lacked respect for Claudius, but he does take a moment to reflect on that. He could not have managed such a feat in a thousand years of trying. "Zidian's lightning could do considerable damage to someone without spiritual power. It also separates the soul and body of anyone possessed. Apparently it had no effect on Crowley." A little more visibly irritated, he adds, "Jiang Wanyin used it to prevent me from leaving with Wei Ying that day."

Claudius takes the knowledge in stride, with only a flickering scowl and an eye-roll when hears his two dearest friends met the business end of that whip — of course a man who storms about a place with weapons drawn is well-prepared to use them. “What an ass,” he says, a shorter and more pointed take-down of Jiang Wanyin’s personality. “Wert thou able to scape him even so?”

Truthfully, Lan Wangji dislikes Jiang Wanyin so ardently that he could nearly leap to the defense of asses on behalf of Wei Ying's ill-tempered pet donkey. He takes the point, though, and nods. "Once, Jiang Wanyin and I battled for the better part of a day. This time, Magnus found us and disarmed us. I retrieved Bichen and took Wei Ying and Magnus both away before Jiang Wanyin could recover Zidian."

"Deftly done on Magnus's part," Claudius says with a smile full of fondness. "How did he manage to disarm you both?"

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