[ open post: Lan Wangji and guests ]

[lightbearinglord]

In the wake of his disorienting and unpleasant stint in Gu Xiang's body, Lan Wangji has done his utmost to resume and enjoy all of his usual pursuits. He has, he believes, thoroughly made up for his lapse in his promise to Wei Ying. He has wielded kitchen knives, his ink brush, and Bichen with precision and enthusiasm. He has sunk into long, restorative shichen of meditation. He has, at Claudius' behest, thoroughly perused Emily Post's instructions regarding how to conduct oneself as the best man at a wedding.

There is the matter of his qin, too. The discovery of the spirit in Gideon's sword struck Lan Wangji with greater surprise than he might have expected. Such things were once commonplace for him; he hardly went two weeks, before he came to this place, without finding himself called to some night-hunt. He does not like to believe that he could become complacent, and he has always practiced diligently, but still.

The tableau is a familiar one: a certain parlor near the entryway of the mansion, one that often houses this particular cultivator along with his spiritual instrument. Wangji is balanced on a table at the center of the room, polished black wood gleaming and strings freshly tuned, and Lan Wangji sits cross-legged before it. He is not actually playing it at this precise moment, however, because he currently has guests. A small white rabbit sits next to the qin, munching his way through a piece of lettuce. An equally small brown rabbit is perched in the crook of Lan Wangji's elbow, eyeing his brother with some envy. Ostensibly, the rabbits are in trouble, because they have recently laid waste to Lan Wangji's copy of Emma. It is impossible to tell, because Lan Wangji is petting Danding's head with exactly as much solemn focus as always.

Comments

[lightbearinglord]

"Mn." Lan Wangji scoops Danding up with care and sets him on the ground with a gentle nudge on the rear. That is all the encouragement the rabbit needs to head under the table and directly for Sagramore, whom he recognizes. Their first meeting feels impossibly long ago, longer ago than it truly was. "I have played it most of my life."

[sagramore]

Sagramore unwraps the paper towel, which is damp from washing the lettuce, and offers it to Danding. "How long has that been, precisely?"

[lightbearinglord]

Sagramore has an instantly receptive audience for his vegetable offering, which may also have gone without saying. Lan Wangji, meanwhile, betrays a little amusement at the question. "My life? Thirty-eight years."

[sagramore]

At that he looks up and grins. "Oh, I'm only a year older than you. Thank you for not going on with young master Sagramore."

[lightbearinglord]

Given the recent influx of ridiculously young people, there is some relief in learning that Sagramore is around his own age. "Among cultivators, age can be difficult to determine at a glance. When one is unsure, it is polite to err on the side of a presumption of youth." Typically, people he knows are likely to look younger than they are -- much as he does -- rather than older, but it is generally difficult to be certain.

[sagramore]

"Oh, is that what it is? Fair enough." He watches Danding munch on the arugula leaf for a few moments of uncharacteristic silence, and then says, diffidently, "If you like, you can call me by my title. Sir Sagramore, I mean."

[lightbearinglord]

So many people here have explicitly requested that he not use a title that Lan Wangji looks at Sagramore with faint surprise. "Thank you," he says after a beat. He wants almost to explain himself -- to say something about his upbringing, about the three thousand rules that became four thousand, about his uncle and the simultaneous weight and comfort of all his perfectly precise expectations. Something about the way Wei Ying used his birth name without asking, a ploy to get his attention that worked better than he ever meant it to. As usual, the words stick somewhere around the height of his sternum. He strokes Xiaoxue's head, between his ears.

[sagramore]

Sagramore glances up. "Don't use all the titles, though. It'll get too long in a hurry."

[lightbearinglord]

"Sir Sagramore the Reckless, the Rash, the Unruly, the Desirous, the Impetuous, of the Desert," Lan Wangji recites, perfectly deadpan and straight-faced. "Mn. I take your point."

[sagramore]

"It's unwieldy," he agrees. "But your memory is excellent."

[lightbearinglord]

Ah; that provides a less circuitous opening. "My sect has four thousand rules that must be followed within the Cloud Recesses walls. When I was a child, three thousand."

[sagramore]

"Be serious," Sagramore says, before he can stop himself. "--I'm sorry, I know you are. That's an incredible output."

[lightbearinglord]

Of course Lan Wangji is serious. He straightens his spine, although this is as unnecessary as it usually is, and says, "No vulgar language. Do not walk too fast. Do not be picky with food. Do not succumb to rage. Be respectful and humble."

[sagramore]

"Jesu Christ, I'd be out on my ear."

[lightbearinglord]

The look Lan Wangji gives Sagramore could be described as fond, if the onlooker happened to be paying close attention. "No. You would be my guest." His tone does slide into more overt fondness, now. "Wei Ying can hardly go half an incense time without breaking a Cloud Recesses rule."

[sagramore]

"I'm not surprised in the slightest." Carefully, he strokes between Danding's ears with two fingers. "What a man."

[lightbearinglord]

Obviously, saying good things about Wei Ying is an easy way to Lan Wangji's heart. The perpetual sting of a world that threw celebratory feasts for the occasion of his death has yet to fade. "Mn," he says, managing to pack at least two decades of unrelenting love into a single understated syllable.

[sagramore]

Sagramore sits with the warmth of that love, so economically expressed and yet so obviously vast, for several long moments. "So guests get an exception to the rules?"

[lightbearinglord]

"No," Lan Wangji admits, glancing at Sagramore. Not if you ask his uncle, anyway. "But my brother is the sect leader." And he is Hanguang-jun, his reputation only recently tarnished by his poor marital choices.

[sagramore]

He laughs. "I see. The power of good connections."

[lightbearinglord]

This configuration of connections has, yet again, left Gusu Lan with a sect leader in seclusion, but if Lan Wangji dwells on that little parallel, he will lose his enjoyment of Sagramore's company, so he chooses not to. "Wei Ying studied at the Cloud Recesses when we were young. He was perpetually sent for punishment."

[sagramore]

"That wouldn't happen to have been your job, would it?"

[lightbearinglord]

"It was," Lan Wangji says, this second admission delivered with a little more embarrassment than the first one.

[sagramore]

He laughs. "That seems like an easy way to fall in love with someone, watching them make trouble."

[lightbearinglord]

It was ridiculously easy, so easy that Lan Wangji only knew it was happening because he fought it with everything in him. Nothing he did had any effect. "I..." A little uncharacteristically, he hesitates mid-sentence. What can he say? He had never met anyone like Wei Wuxian. He never did again. He had believed with utter sincerity for weeks on end that he was losing his mind and that clarity of thought would be inaccessible to him for the rest of time. "Yes," he agrees, after that little pause, with slightly more obvious feeling than usual. "He did not listen to me."