Lan Wangji (蓝忘机) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightbearinglord) wrote2023-10-27 07:38 am
lightbearinglord) wrote2023-10-27 07:38 am
Entry tags:
[ open post: Lan Wangji, training ]
Lan Wangji is upside-down.
This is not unusual for him, although he is more used to practicing this in the company of students, his brother, or his husband.1 Recently, however, his mind has come up against more turmoil than he would prefer, and turmoil of a variety that is unusual for him. It can't go amiss to return himself to the basics of his training.
He is in a small enough room, largely bare aside from the stick of sandalwood incense2 he has set burning on a side table. Its scent drifts into the hallway, and anyone who follows it to the source may see a white-clad cultivator standing on his hands.
Well: standing on his hand. Lan Wangji needs one only to keep himself aloft, his body straight as an arrow. His hair is pulled into a ponytail so that it may pool off to one side over his neck and onto the floor rather than spilling in all directions, the long ends of his forehead ribbon tucked into the same tie and falling in the same way. He is in trousers and an undershirt of a decent heft, in deference to the fact that he is arguably in public.3
With the hand that is not currently holding him up, Lan Wangji is holding an ink brush. He is copying, from memory, the lines of a sutra.
1Wei Ying is not good at it. Particularly not in his second body.
2This may explain it to anyone who has been wondering why he always smells faintly of sandalwood himself.
3If he does this in their quarters, Wei Ying insists it must be done with nothing on his torso at all. Lan Wangji invariably becomes distracted. Now anyone else is welcome to distract him (in a different way, ideally).
This is not unusual for him, although he is more used to practicing this in the company of students, his brother, or his husband.1 Recently, however, his mind has come up against more turmoil than he would prefer, and turmoil of a variety that is unusual for him. It can't go amiss to return himself to the basics of his training.
He is in a small enough room, largely bare aside from the stick of sandalwood incense2 he has set burning on a side table. Its scent drifts into the hallway, and anyone who follows it to the source may see a white-clad cultivator standing on his hands.
Well: standing on his hand. Lan Wangji needs one only to keep himself aloft, his body straight as an arrow. His hair is pulled into a ponytail so that it may pool off to one side over his neck and onto the floor rather than spilling in all directions, the long ends of his forehead ribbon tucked into the same tie and falling in the same way. He is in trousers and an undershirt of a decent heft, in deference to the fact that he is arguably in public.3
With the hand that is not currently holding him up, Lan Wangji is holding an ink brush. He is copying, from memory, the lines of a sutra.
1Wei Ying is not good at it. Particularly not in his second body.
2This may explain it to anyone who has been wondering why he always smells faintly of sandalwood himself.
3If he does this in their quarters, Wei Ying insists it must be done with nothing on his torso at all. Lan Wangji invariably becomes distracted. Now anyone else is welcome to distract him (in a different way, ideally).
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Then he pops up, eyes wide. "Did you see that!" he says. "I held that for so long! Um, not as long as you, of course. But wow!" He grins at Lan Wangji. "I probably wouldn't have fallen right if I didn't practice falling off the top of a ship with my cousin's boyfriend a few --" Months? Years? -- "Some time ago."
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