[ open post: Lan Wangji, training ]

[lightbearinglord]

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).

Comments

[lightbearinglord]

The expressionless expression on Lan Wangji's face likely makes it clear that he has no idea what Crowley could mean. He does, actually, pause to think on the matter, however. Talking in circles again and again has begun to wear on him. What have he and Claudius discussed, that Claudius would be likely to share with another? He pauses, then ventures, "Are you grieving for someone?"

[aflashbastard]

“What? No,” Crowley says, frowning a little. He’s trying to jog his own memory as well. “This was right after we were talking about the — the bird. And the mountain. That whole story.”

[lightbearinglord]

"I do not remember," Lan Wangji repeats, aiming to remain patient. He can understand that memory loss following one cup of wine is unusual, and perhaps Crowley is having trouble understanding that he means it. But it is still the truth.

[aflashbastard]

Crowley’s willing to walk it back a step. “It was a story. I told it once, for the first time, to represent the eternity it would take for a bird to fly from here to the end of the universe and sharpen its beak enough to wear down an entire mountain.”

[lightbearinglord]

Ah, so this is a parable. Lan Wangji takes the time to picture this bird and its journey. "What is the lesson of this story?" He can make some guesses -- patience, or endurance, or a moral about the nature of time itself.

[aflashbastard]

“Just putting into perspective how long you’re willing to tolerate something, I suppose. Or wait for something to happen,” he adds, for whatever reason.

[lightbearinglord]

Although he was still enough already, not given to fidgeting or unnecessary motion as a whole, Lan Wangji stills further, somehow. How long can one wait for something to happen? How long can one tolerate a desire unfulfilled?

"Did I speak of Wei Ying that night?" he asks carefully. It would be unsurprising if he had.

[aflashbastard]

"You mentioned him," Crowley says, then he looks a bit amused. "It's how I remembered his name when I was trying to ask if you if you were divorced."

[lightbearinglord]

"His courtesy name is Wei Wuxian," Lan Wangji says, as his first order of business. Wei Ying won't prefer anyone but Lan Wangji himself to address him or refer to him by his birth name.¹ He continues, then, clasping his hands behind himself and looking directly at Crowley. "We met at the age of fifteen and did not marry until I was thirty-five."

¹This is probably true, but Lan Wangji is projecting a little bit. He's heard so many cruel men refer to his husband by birth name, as though he hasn't earned the dignity of the courtesy name that was given to him as recognition of his status and accomplishments, that he himself likes that name to come only from his own mouth.

[aflashbastard]

"Oh. So you waited for him," Crowley says, extrapolating a little. It isn't that long by his standards, but he could understand how 20 years could feel like an eternity.

[lightbearinglord]

"Yes."

One could say that. When they were teenagers, Lan Wangji didn't yet know he was waiting. He knew only that he wanted something like he had never wanted anything before. During the war, he hoped that he was waiting -- waiting for Wei Ying to come to his senses, to return to the correct path and stop harming his body and mind. And after Wei Ying's death, he couldn't have known that he was waiting at all. There was nothing to wait for, until there was Mo Xuanyu and an old song on a bamboo flute.

Lan Wangji continues looking at Crowley, steadily. Speaking of waiting, that is what he is doing now, with the question Are you waiting for someone? at the edges of his expression.

[aflashbastard]

“Not me,” Crowley says after the brief silence, managing to figure out that that’s probably what he’s waiting for. “…Well, in the most literal of terms I might have been waiting to see if a colleague was going to show himself here.”

[lightbearinglord]

"Young master Claudius mentioned a celestial colleague," Lan Wangji says, "with whom you have an interesting balance." He's not the type to engage in knowing looks or attempts to insinuate anything, so his tone and expression remain neutral. It would be a lie to say that he has no curiosity on the topic, however.

[aflashbastard]

“Yeah, Aziraphale,” Crowley responds. “He’s here now.” It might be notable that he doesn’t elaborate on this like he does on everything else.

[lightbearinglord]

Lan Wangji raises his eyebrows, just the slightest bit. So, Aziraphale is here. Crowley is no longer waiting for him to arrive. Lan Wangji thinks on this for a long moment. There is something that Claudius thought Crowley might need to hear from him. Claudius is mistaken when he claims that Lan Wangji is eloquent, but not, of course, when he claims that Lan Wangji may understand the feeling of frustrated love.

"It is possible," he says slowly, "to wait for someone who is right beside you."

[aflashbastard]

Crowley pauses for a moment to consider it, to really think about what he could be waiting for Aziraphale for - aside from fussing over his bookshop before heading out - then shrugs.

“I don’t think that’s the case. Aziraphale’s essentially been the same all 6000 years I’ve known him and there’s very little chance of him changing.”

[lightbearinglord]

Politely, Lan Wangji does not raise his eyebrows again, although he is tempted. That is not what he meant, and Crowley ought to know it, but these things can't be rushed. "As you say," he says, still neutrally.

[aflashbastard]

“Now that I can finally speak,” is the accusation he gets in response - but it’s lukewarm as far as tone goes.

[lightbearinglord]

Something like a smile dances just at the edges of Lan Wangji's expression, solely in the eyes. "Mn." He nods, not about to apologize, and prepares to get back to his training.