![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[There's a familiar presence and knock at Itachi's door two days after their return from Xrisora, and when Itachi answers, Wei Wuxian is there with a bright grin in place.]
I have a present for you. Can I come in?
I have a present for you. Can I come in?
[ Quietly deposited by Itachi's door one day is a small box with an obscenely large ribbon on it. Lovingly wrapped in brightly coloured wrapping paper - it glitters! - there's also a note attached. It reads: ]
happy birthday! either early or late, you decide. ~ Sam
[ Inside the box is a necklace - a simple leather cord, but adorned with a small silver bell pendant. Yes, it chimes ever so faintly. ]
happy birthday! either early or late, you decide. ~ Sam
[ Inside the box is a necklace - a simple leather cord, but adorned with a small silver bell pendant. Yes, it chimes ever so faintly. ]
๏ผ this comes like three days later and it's not just because he hasn't left his room in that time bc he's got dramatic bitch disease right now, but — ๏ผ
Sam.
What is this?
๏ผ he is asking more like 'what the hell are you doing' rather than... what the item is. clearly, that's identifiable. ๏ผ
Sam.
What is this?
๏ผ he is asking more like 'what the hell are you doing' rather than... what the item is. clearly, that's identifiable. ๏ผ
[ yet another flyer ends up on every orber's door, evidently by the same culprit as last time, except now it's a more colorful display:
the back of the flyer features more details about the play and its characters, and soon enough, an announcement from rita herself goes public, giving more context about the event, which all can sign up for. ]
the back of the flyer features more details about the play and its characters, and soon enough, an announcement from rita herself goes public, giving more context about the event, which all can sign up for. ]
I forgot to tell you, congratulations on the arms and legs! Did you miss fingers?
[A few days after the new arrivals appear and a perhaps notable silence from him, he sends Itachi a text. ]
Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji is here. If you noticed another cultivator. I'm sure you'll meet him eventually so I thought it would be good to tell you.
Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji is here. If you noticed another cultivator. I'm sure you'll meet him eventually so I thought it would be good to tell you.
๏ผ his response is immediate, rather than the rather sedate pace at whichc he usually deigns answer wei wuxian's vague, meandering texts. he had sensed the presence of another cultivator, but is disinterested enough in the newcomers he had not troubled himself to investigate. foolish oversight now. ๏ผ
What do you require?
What do you require?
๏ผ he does not answer immediately. he is sitting on the floor of his hotel room in the dark, between the wall and the bed, and when the earpiece alerts him with the notification. he dismisses it without looking at the sender, not especially caring —
it's very likely wei wuxian, trying to ascertain his whereabouts or wellbeing. and itachi, who has never flinched away from anything unpleasant, finds he does not wish to speak to the man.
but at length, the fact that they are on a mission, that it could be a teammate in need — any number of things begin to needle at him. it is still a considerable time before he pulls up the mailbox, but when he does he sees the message is not from who he suspected, but from shang-chi.
his mouth immediately turns down at one corner, because — perhaps absurdly — the specificity of the question makes him wonder if wei wuxian had told him something had happened. as far as he knows, the two men are not close enough to warrant it, but the frown lingers as he responds: ๏ผ
Yes.
๏ผ leaving it at that would likely arouse no suspicion. he is known for being succinct. but after a moment: ๏ผ
Why?
it's very likely wei wuxian, trying to ascertain his whereabouts or wellbeing. and itachi, who has never flinched away from anything unpleasant, finds he does not wish to speak to the man.
but at length, the fact that they are on a mission, that it could be a teammate in need — any number of things begin to needle at him. it is still a considerable time before he pulls up the mailbox, but when he does he sees the message is not from who he suspected, but from shang-chi.
his mouth immediately turns down at one corner, because — perhaps absurdly — the specificity of the question makes him wonder if wei wuxian had told him something had happened. as far as he knows, the two men are not close enough to warrant it, but the frown lingers as he responds: ๏ผ
Yes.
๏ผ leaving it at that would likely arouse no suspicion. he is known for being succinct. but after a moment: ๏ผ
Why?
Edited 2022-10-11 02:49 (UTC)
[He has spent hours opening up a message to Itachi and then closing it again, words pouring out before he deletes them over and over again. He knows what not to say, but every time he tries to say something that won't get ignored or end up fucking everything up, it all ends up a mess.
He'd drafted four different apologies that got tossed upon realizing that if their situations were reversed, an apology would only add fuel to the fire, but he doesn't know what to say. He's never been good at figuring out where to go after a fuck up, and Itachi isn't Jiang Cheng, he can't just slap him on the back, make a bad joke about things, and then act like nothing's happened. Well. He can't slap him on the back or joke about it anyway.
Eventually he fires off a stupid question that he'd intended originally for Gwen and holds his breath as he waits for a response.]
do you know what a latte is?
He'd drafted four different apologies that got tossed upon realizing that if their situations were reversed, an apology would only add fuel to the fire, but he doesn't know what to say. He's never been good at figuring out where to go after a fuck up, and Itachi isn't Jiang Cheng, he can't just slap him on the back, make a bad joke about things, and then act like nothing's happened. Well. He can't slap him on the back or joke about it anyway.
Eventually he fires off a stupid question that he'd intended originally for Gwen and holds his breath as he waits for a response.]
do you know what a latte is?
๏ผ he does not answer.
hours tick by, become days. become nearly a full week.
wei wuxian is so transparent, it only makes him wish he had done worse with tsukuyomi. regret at his own leniency peels back the bars of his self-imposed prison — truthfully, he has not left his hotel room, nor eaten since the school. foolish. he needs his strength. there have not been many missions on which his skills are not useful at the end. he has not had the inclination to do much beyond exist, since that day.
finally, at length: ๏ผ
Yes.
๏ผ because of course he does. ๏ผ
hours tick by, become days. become nearly a full week.
wei wuxian is so transparent, it only makes him wish he had done worse with tsukuyomi. regret at his own leniency peels back the bars of his self-imposed prison — truthfully, he has not left his hotel room, nor eaten since the school. foolish. he needs his strength. there have not been many missions on which his skills are not useful at the end. he has not had the inclination to do much beyond exist, since that day.
finally, at length: ๏ผ
Yes.
๏ผ because of course he does. ๏ผ
ใ there are spiders in his shoes.
not a strange sight for uchiha itachi, the creatures familiar in their unnatural glossiness. they mill about in his footwear as if prepared to journey with him wherever he might go. they also appear to be guarding something, easily surrendered to him.
the little scroll is only a few inches high. made out of construction paper and cut with decorative edger scissors, it is keen to re-roll. the interior is a new voucher: good for one evening of no talking.
regardless of his answer, the spiders stay with him. ใ
not a strange sight for uchiha itachi, the creatures familiar in their unnatural glossiness. they mill about in his footwear as if prepared to journey with him wherever he might go. they also appear to be guarding something, easily surrendered to him.
the little scroll is only a few inches high. made out of construction paper and cut with decorative edger scissors, it is keen to re-roll. the interior is a new voucher: good for one evening of no talking.
regardless of his answer, the spiders stay with him. ใ
๏ผ he thumbs at the small scroll, flattening it out on the bedside table in his hotel room. spiders then, he reaches out to gwen: ๏ผ
Are you all right?
๏ผ he doubts very much wei wuxian spoke of their encounter in the school, so he does not feel under any obligation to act recalcitrant. she will expect normalcy, and so he will be normal for her. ๏ผ
Are you all right?
๏ผ he doubts very much wei wuxian spoke of their encounter in the school, so he does not feel under any obligation to act recalcitrant. she will expect normalcy, and so he will be normal for her. ๏ผ
How does sealing items in your scroll work? Me and Andy had a conversation a while ago and I never had a chance to ask. Where do the items actually go?
To Itachi,
I've decided to go ahead with going back home. I can't stay here and hope to fix something that happened in the past, when I could be back in Wano, fighting my father, liberating the country, helping Luffy and Momonosuke to bring about a new dawn.
I'm going to live with my face turned towards the future, not the past.
I hope you achieve what you want, here. You're a just, reliable person... and most importantly, you have been a good friend. Since Ace, I didn't really have any friends, and even if I forget you, I believe I'll always remember how much you mean to me in my heart!
With this note, you'll find a piece of paper. It's part of my vivre card. It will always point to whatever direction I'm in, and as long as it doesn't burn away, you'll know I'm alive.
Good luck, and good bye.
Your friend,
ใคใใ
I've decided to go ahead with going back home. I can't stay here and hope to fix something that happened in the past, when I could be back in Wano, fighting my father, liberating the country, helping Luffy and Momonosuke to bring about a new dawn.
I'm going to live with my face turned towards the future, not the past.
I hope you achieve what you want, here. You're a just, reliable person... and most importantly, you have been a good friend. Since Ace, I didn't really have any friends, and even if I forget you, I believe I'll always remember how much you mean to me in my heart!
With this note, you'll find a piece of paper. It's part of my vivre card. It will always point to whatever direction I'm in, and as long as it doesn't burn away, you'll know I'm alive.
Good luck, and good bye.
Your friend,
ใคใใ
๏ผ he does not need to — perfect recall renders such things redundant — but he reads it twice.
the note is then folded between the pages of a book of poetry. flanked on either side by particular poems, it is otherwise left alone.
but the vivre card is carefully, painstakingly preserved in a small, clear box, and tucked away in a drawer alongside a lightsabre. ๏ผ
the note is then folded between the pages of a book of poetry. flanked on either side by particular poems, it is otherwise left alone.
but the vivre card is carefully, painstakingly preserved in a small, clear box, and tucked away in a drawer alongside a lightsabre. ๏ผ
[Wei Wuxian doesn't like to think of himself as a needy person. He knows he is but he doesn't like to think about it, and he doesn't like to indulge in it outside of what can be passed off as playful or ridiculous. At least that way, he can pull back when people get tired of him without making everyone involved feel awkward.
Still, he knows that deep down he thrives best when surrounded by people he cares about. Apparently, he's come to realize, living with Gwen for the last nine months now means that "being surrounded by people" has taken on a new meaning.
He does what he can to keep himself busy in Gwen's absence: training, spending time with friends, and otherwise making himself a nuisance mostly in Itachi's direction, but the truth is that the nights are harder than he wants to admit. It hasn't been long enough since the last mission for the residual effects of his resentful energy use to completely fade either, so his nightmares are much worse than usual. Without another person in the room, it's harder to shake the resentful energy clinging to him and whispering in his ears when he gasps awake.
He makes it a few days before he finds himself knocking on Itachi's door, arms crossed behind his neck in a casual pose that belies the deep bags beneath his eyes.
It's late, but definitely not late enough for his friend to be asleep. If he's very lucky, he can grab a cup of tea with him or perhaps a game of go, and then head back to his room and pass out immediately.]
It's me. [He says, unnecessarily. He doesn't know how exactly Itachi recognizes him, but he's sure by now that he does.]
Still, he knows that deep down he thrives best when surrounded by people he cares about. Apparently, he's come to realize, living with Gwen for the last nine months now means that "being surrounded by people" has taken on a new meaning.
He does what he can to keep himself busy in Gwen's absence: training, spending time with friends, and otherwise making himself a nuisance mostly in Itachi's direction, but the truth is that the nights are harder than he wants to admit. It hasn't been long enough since the last mission for the residual effects of his resentful energy use to completely fade either, so his nightmares are much worse than usual. Without another person in the room, it's harder to shake the resentful energy clinging to him and whispering in his ears when he gasps awake.
He makes it a few days before he finds himself knocking on Itachi's door, arms crossed behind his neck in a casual pose that belies the deep bags beneath his eyes.
It's late, but definitely not late enough for his friend to be asleep. If he's very lucky, he can grab a cup of tea with him or perhaps a game of go, and then head back to his room and pass out immediately.]
It's me. [He says, unnecessarily. He doesn't know how exactly Itachi recognizes him, but he's sure by now that he does.]
๏ผ he does not want company.
it is the predominant thought that chases at the heels of his shadow. it hounds him in the small hours of the morning when he is alone in the training room and then the kitchens, up much earlier than the other organics aboard the station. other people entering a shared space tends to result in his politely excusing himself, and returning to the small room he still does not, in a year's worth of time aboard the ximilia, think of as his.
but — he is always somewhat isolationist, finding it difficult to endure the company of others for any significant stretch of time. some people's presences have become easier to bear, but he has a tendency to view that the same way he views increasing one's immunity to poison over time — an interruption of the natural order of things, perhaps usefully so.
wei wuxian knocks at the door and he considers rather strongly not answering. there is a long moment where he studies the drip of ink across paper where he had been drafting a new fuinjutsu, and then he sets his brush aside and stands. opens the door wordlessly, and steps back to permit entry.
he looks no different than normal, though his hair is freshly washed and still down, hanging like lank tendrils of black ink. there's a very faint wave to it when wet that won't survive the drying, and like this it's now nearly to his waist, pushed back over the damp shoulders of his overlarge black shirt.
his room is identical to every other time wei wuxian has been here, the only differences a matter of superficiality. a new book on his shelf, a sword hung ornamentally on the wall. everything else is tucked away neatly in drawers, or the narrow closet. he gestures to the bed he never uses, by now wei wuxian's customary place to sit during his incursions into itachi's quarters. ๏ผ
Gwen will be fine.
๏ผ — is what he leads with. ๏ผ
it is the predominant thought that chases at the heels of his shadow. it hounds him in the small hours of the morning when he is alone in the training room and then the kitchens, up much earlier than the other organics aboard the station. other people entering a shared space tends to result in his politely excusing himself, and returning to the small room he still does not, in a year's worth of time aboard the ximilia, think of as his.
but — he is always somewhat isolationist, finding it difficult to endure the company of others for any significant stretch of time. some people's presences have become easier to bear, but he has a tendency to view that the same way he views increasing one's immunity to poison over time — an interruption of the natural order of things, perhaps usefully so.
wei wuxian knocks at the door and he considers rather strongly not answering. there is a long moment where he studies the drip of ink across paper where he had been drafting a new fuinjutsu, and then he sets his brush aside and stands. opens the door wordlessly, and steps back to permit entry.
he looks no different than normal, though his hair is freshly washed and still down, hanging like lank tendrils of black ink. there's a very faint wave to it when wet that won't survive the drying, and like this it's now nearly to his waist, pushed back over the damp shoulders of his overlarge black shirt.
his room is identical to every other time wei wuxian has been here, the only differences a matter of superficiality. a new book on his shelf, a sword hung ornamentally on the wall. everything else is tucked away neatly in drawers, or the narrow closet. he gestures to the bed he never uses, by now wei wuxian's customary place to sit during his incursions into itachi's quarters. ๏ผ
Gwen will be fine.
๏ผ — is what he leads with. ๏ผ
Itachi, can I get your help with something? [He sounds a little out of breath, but there's something excitable in his voice, the same way he gets when he's just about worked out some sort of problem with his talismanic array designs.]
[Finn walks up to the box, squinting down into it thoughtfully. Apparently, gift giving was the custom around here. A human custom, as far as Finn could tell. The thought gives him a weird fluttering in his stomach as he focuses on one of the new people he's met -- human or not -- racking his brain for what they might want...]
What do you get a guy who already has so many math swords? Maybe something cool to help personalize his blades... Oh, like a keychain! [He chuckles, clearly amused by his own mental gymnastics.] Heh, sword-chain.
Later...
[This month's supply drop has arrived and with it, a little something special for Uchiha. He'll see a box wrapped in sleek silver paper, a dark green bow, and a small glittery gold tag with 'From Finn' printed on it. The wrapping job is too neat to be from Finn himself, clearly created by the ship's replicator based on his gift request.
Inside the box, Uchiha will find a collection of beaded keychains. Most are generic, a mixture of Y2K hearts and smiley faces, one one uses letter beads to spell out the following: MORNING PERSON.]
What do you get a guy who already has so many math swords? Maybe something cool to help personalize his blades... Oh, like a keychain! [He chuckles, clearly amused by his own mental gymnastics.] Heh, sword-chain.
Later...
[This month's supply drop has arrived and with it, a little something special for Uchiha. He'll see a box wrapped in sleek silver paper, a dark green bow, and a small glittery gold tag with 'From Finn' printed on it. The wrapping job is too neat to be from Finn himself, clearly created by the ship's replicator based on his gift request.
Inside the box, Uchiha will find a collection of beaded keychains. Most are generic, a mixture of Y2K hearts and smiley faces, one one uses letter beads to spell out the following: MORNING PERSON.]
๏ผ these are hideous and goes 100 percent against his aesthetic and he will never use them for its intended purpose because his sword is highkey sacred to him, and, you know, it's been used to murder a few hundred people. kinda at odds with the holiday spirit.
however, if finn ever gains the dubious honour of entry to his quarters aboard the ximilia, he will find the keychains hanging on a little hook beside his bookcase.
it counts, okay? ๏ผ
however, if finn ever gains the dubious honour of entry to his quarters aboard the ximilia, he will find the keychains hanging on a little hook beside his bookcase.
it counts, okay? ๏ผ
[Apropos of nothing, there is a...presence at Itachi's door. There is no knock and if he knows Wei Wuxian's qi well enough, he may recognize something familiar in the presence, though it doesn't feel exactly the same.
If he opens the door, he will find a small paper cutout of a man standing there. It says nothing, evidently incapable of speech, but tilts its head and lifts an arm to wave at him.]
If he opens the door, he will find a small paper cutout of a man standing there. It says nothing, evidently incapable of speech, but tilts its head and lifts an arm to wave at him.]
๏ผ excuse the entire fuck outta him. the paper gets a look, and were it not for the faint traces of wei wuxian's qi clinging to it he might assume that the boy sai had arrived aboard the ximilia — because he has, of course, kept tabs on his brother's replacement on team seven, and is well aware of his abilities — but instead he simply raises an eyebrow.
to wei wuxian via the earpiece,
ยซ Which talisman is this?ยป ๏ผ
to wei wuxian via the earpiece,
ยซ Which talisman is this?ยป ๏ผ
ใ itachi proves the first stop simply by virtue of how early one has to wake up to beat him. (sleep may have been skipped entirely.)
when the door opens, a small package wrapped in festive paper hangs from the top of the frame. removing the paper reveals a framed photograph of itachi, gwen, and wei wuxian. wei wuxianโs arm extends out of the frame in order to take the picture. gwen is mid laugh at the other corner and itachi, unsmiling as ever, tolerates their antics in the middle.
another photo, this one sans frame, was carefully wrapped and placed behind the first. this one is obviously from her birthday party, and it features only gwen and itachi. she leans a little into his side, a plate with a(n almost finished) slice of cake on her lap.
written on the back in gwen's steady hand, ใ
when the door opens, a small package wrapped in festive paper hangs from the top of the frame. removing the paper reveals a framed photograph of itachi, gwen, and wei wuxian. wei wuxianโs arm extends out of the frame in order to take the picture. gwen is mid laugh at the other corner and itachi, unsmiling as ever, tolerates their antics in the middle.
another photo, this one sans frame, was carefully wrapped and placed behind the first. this one is obviously from her birthday party, and it features only gwen and itachi. she leans a little into his side, a plate with a(n almost finished) slice of cake on her lap.
written on the back in gwen's steady hand, ใ
- To my friend—
My life has been better for having you in it.
Thank you for the cake, putting up with me, and being so good to Venom.
Much love,
Gwen ♥
Delivered to Itachi's door without a note, is a neatly wrapped package.
The contents include:
The contents include:
- A travel tea tumbler.
- Various loose leaf teas.
- Shortbread cookies.
Hey, do you have time to meet me in the simulation room sometime today or tomorrow?
ใ a notification pops up as soon as the door shuts behind itachi: Come to the kitchen. Donโt make any noise. a second helpfully supplies, No danger., before the ninja assassin instincts take over.
seated at the table, gwen has her back to him. her face is visible only in profile. as soon as she catches movement out of her peripheral, she makes a little beckoning gesture with her head. her arms are folded before her, the dark sinuous shape of venom curled up against her fast asleep. why gwen called itachi is obvious as soon as he comes close enough to enter venom's telepathic range.
more than asleep, venom dreams: of a large spider and a little boy with black hair and eyes just like itachi's. the thread of the story involves tsuchigomo and sasuke climbing into the stars. when the little boy slips, the spider is there to catch him—and when the spider is scared to climb higher for fear of how the stars have changed, the boy patiently encourages it to reach for them.
gwen, studying venom's sleeping form fascinated, raises her eyes to itachi. her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. ใ
seated at the table, gwen has her back to him. her face is visible only in profile. as soon as she catches movement out of her peripheral, she makes a little beckoning gesture with her head. her arms are folded before her, the dark sinuous shape of venom curled up against her fast asleep. why gwen called itachi is obvious as soon as he comes close enough to enter venom's telepathic range.
more than asleep, venom dreams: of a large spider and a little boy with black hair and eyes just like itachi's. the thread of the story involves tsuchigomo and sasuke climbing into the stars. when the little boy slips, the spider is there to catch him—and when the spider is scared to climb higher for fear of how the stars have changed, the boy patiently encourages it to reach for them.
gwen, studying venom's sleeping form fascinated, raises her eyes to itachi. her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. ใ
Edited 2023-01-07 22:49 (UTC)
๏ผ gwen's instinct is correct — the first text spurs him to action, the second ameliorates it somewhat. still, he pads out to the kitchen like a shadow, lean lines and the worn black of his clothes to take in the sight of her. his eyes narrow faintly — the ghost of failing vision he hasn't quite trained himself out of in the months since his surgery — and she beckons him in.
he steps around the table, and catches sight of the little dragon. like smoke against the night sky, the telepathic projection sinking in against his skin like the chill of dark water. his mind resists, but it is only instinct, before it falls away.
his breath catches in his throat. he freezes as assuredly as if caught in some unbreakable genjutsu by some power much higher than his own, one foot halfly lifted for a step that does not seem to be forthcoming. his focus is narrowed to the point of a knife, the rest of the world too far beyond they three small sparks to pay any mind at all. gwen has seen more of his emotions than most, but even she has never seen him look quite so cracked-open and vulnerable as in that moment.
but it does not last. a handspan of heartbeats, and then his heel settles on the wood, and his expression is shuttered. it is only the softness to the eyes that speaks to anything else at all.
He's taken an interesting form, I see. ๏ผ
he steps around the table, and catches sight of the little dragon. like smoke against the night sky, the telepathic projection sinking in against his skin like the chill of dark water. his mind resists, but it is only instinct, before it falls away.
his breath catches in his throat. he freezes as assuredly as if caught in some unbreakable genjutsu by some power much higher than his own, one foot halfly lifted for a step that does not seem to be forthcoming. his focus is narrowed to the point of a knife, the rest of the world too far beyond they three small sparks to pay any mind at all. gwen has seen more of his emotions than most, but even she has never seen him look quite so cracked-open and vulnerable as in that moment.
but it does not last. a handspan of heartbeats, and then his heel settles on the wood, and his expression is shuttered. it is only the softness to the eyes that speaks to anything else at all.
He's taken an interesting form, I see. ๏ผ
[Between Wei Wuxian's keen awareness and Itachi's Itachi-ness, the bandit attack doesn't catch them even remotely off guard. Instead, they make quick work of the group that had apparently seen them as easy targets, and Wei Wuxian doesn't even bother using any of his spells. He hasn't used them much at all really, though not for any lack of desire. It's simple instinct the way he reaches for his bow, or in some cases the sword he'd picked up at the forge—a sturdy enough blade, if nothing special.
He watches as the last two men stagger away into the forest, listening to the sounds of the men scampering away through the underbrush as he moves to retrieve one of his arrows from a nearby tree. The forest just north of Brumshire isn't an especially large one, but it's close enough to the Adamantine Tunnels that he's sure it's likely a popular location for bandits to lay in wait, hoping to steal whatever profits parties returning from the mine were able to dig up.
Unfortunately for this particular set of bandits, they'd greatly misjudged their targets. He snorts lightly under his breath and slips the arrow back into his quiver.]
Should we follow them?
He watches as the last two men stagger away into the forest, listening to the sounds of the men scampering away through the underbrush as he moves to retrieve one of his arrows from a nearby tree. The forest just north of Brumshire isn't an especially large one, but it's close enough to the Adamantine Tunnels that he's sure it's likely a popular location for bandits to lay in wait, hoping to steal whatever profits parties returning from the mine were able to dig up.
Unfortunately for this particular set of bandits, they'd greatly misjudged their targets. He snorts lightly under his breath and slips the arrow back into his quiver.]
Should we follow them?
Edited 2023-01-21 00:02 (UTC)
๏ผ fighting — even blindly like this, the heat of chakra no longer simmering under his skin like a carefully tended fire — is no challenge to him. he and wei wuxian are well-practiced enough in each other's company that it is almost a dance. fun, he might have said, if he had ever considered harming others to be a worthwhile pastime.
it reminds him a little of how he used to feel with shisui at his side. no need for communication or correction, simple act and response. it's over before it really begins, and both of them stand unscathed in the aftermath.
wei wuxian retrieves his arrow and the motion startles one last man laying in wait up out of the dense underbrush. he has a knife in hand, already levered towards wei wuxian, and itachi — in lieu of any of the myriad jutsu at his fingertips when he has access to chakra — instead hits the man with a vivid bolt of lightning that arcs in a violet chatter of energy.
the man drops like a rock. not dead, but later consciousness will bring the patina of old regret. itachi has his back turned to wei wuxian as he hefts the man up under the arms, moving him against a tree. he'll tie him there — a kinder fate than what would have awaited him if they'd met in his own world, to be certain. ๏ผ
No. Let them run. Perhaps they'll spread the word that there are people not to be trifled with in these woods now. We may spare our comrades some grief later on.
it reminds him a little of how he used to feel with shisui at his side. no need for communication or correction, simple act and response. it's over before it really begins, and both of them stand unscathed in the aftermath.
wei wuxian retrieves his arrow and the motion startles one last man laying in wait up out of the dense underbrush. he has a knife in hand, already levered towards wei wuxian, and itachi — in lieu of any of the myriad jutsu at his fingertips when he has access to chakra — instead hits the man with a vivid bolt of lightning that arcs in a violet chatter of energy.
the man drops like a rock. not dead, but later consciousness will bring the patina of old regret. itachi has his back turned to wei wuxian as he hefts the man up under the arms, moving him against a tree. he'll tie him there — a kinder fate than what would have awaited him if they'd met in his own world, to be certain. ๏ผ
No. Let them run. Perhaps they'll spread the word that there are people not to be trifled with in these woods now. We may spare our comrades some grief later on.
What in Heaven's name is going on?!
( he's presently on horseback, the wind whistling past the earpiece. )
Is this some kinda Green Orber hazing ritual, or are you actually bleedin' like a stuck pig?
( he's presently on horseback, the wind whistling past the earpiece. )
Is this some kinda Green Orber hazing ritual, or are you actually bleedin' like a stuck pig?
[ rand had come to the stables looking for a mount to take him closer to the forests. it's not impossible to go on foot, of course, but it'd be easier and faster going, and why forgo something that would make the journey easier? he's paid some gold in exchange for the use of a horse, has come inside looking for a particular dark-coated mare that had come highly recommended, and finds, instead... ]
Itachi?
Itachi?
๏ผ he is sitting in the corner of the stable where the tack is kept, having slipped in past the notice of the stablehands one and sundry. tellingly, perhaps, he has not even contrived a pretense for being here to offer if caught out. perhaps he can simply rely on the truth — that severe inebriation had made it seem like a good idea at the time.
he's tucked away in the corner of the small room, where everything has the rich, earthy musk of sweat-damp animals and soiled straw, the air is thick with hay particulate that catches the light as it drifts. he's sitting on several sacks of grain that have been comfortably arranged, leaning back against the wall. his hair is down, and damp — it's certainly the most unbuttoned rand has ever had cause to see him. but besides that discrepancy — and but for the presence of several empty bottles of liquor neatly lined up a shelf an arm's length away — he looks nearly normal.
rand says his name questioningly, and itachi focuses on him with a blink that's perhaps a shade too deliberate. ๏ผ
Rand. ๏ผ his voice is clear, for all that. ๏ผ Do you require assistance with something?
he's tucked away in the corner of the small room, where everything has the rich, earthy musk of sweat-damp animals and soiled straw, the air is thick with hay particulate that catches the light as it drifts. he's sitting on several sacks of grain that have been comfortably arranged, leaning back against the wall. his hair is down, and damp — it's certainly the most unbuttoned rand has ever had cause to see him. but besides that discrepancy — and but for the presence of several empty bottles of liquor neatly lined up a shelf an arm's length away — he looks nearly normal.
rand says his name questioningly, and itachi focuses on him with a blink that's perhaps a shade too deliberate. ๏ผ
Rand. ๏ผ his voice is clear, for all that. ๏ผ Do you require assistance with something?
[ It would be all too convenient for Yennefer, upon their return to the station, to simply remain in her quarters โ but it is the sight of the bed that now lays bare beside her own, when it once held reminders of exactly who inhabited this space with her, that finally drives her from the room entirely, plucking up the blade that has been in her possession since its unexpected retrieval on Alydhion.
All the changes to her form have vanished โ the defined points of her ears chief among them โ but her appearance is slightly less put-together than its norm, wisps of hair heedlessly escaping from the long braid she's put it in as she takes the well-trodden path from her room to the one belonging to the person who owns this sword.
She isn't only maintaining her grasp on the blade itself; her other hand is wrapped around the neck of a bottle, its contents sloshing around somewhat as she comes to a stop in front of his door. ]
If you're actually in there, it's Yennefer. [ A pause, and then: ] And I'm not about to traipse through the entire station looking for you if you're not.
All the changes to her form have vanished โ the defined points of her ears chief among them โ but her appearance is slightly less put-together than its norm, wisps of hair heedlessly escaping from the long braid she's put it in as she takes the well-trodden path from her room to the one belonging to the person who owns this sword.
She isn't only maintaining her grasp on the blade itself; her other hand is wrapped around the neck of a bottle, its contents sloshing around somewhat as she comes to a stop in front of his door. ]
If you're actually in there, it's Yennefer. [ A pause, and then: ] And I'm not about to traipse through the entire station looking for you if you're not.
๏ผ he has turned away all visitors, the first few days of their return. he has spent too much of his life ill not to detest being fussed at or over, and it is his natural tendency to spend any period of convalescence isolated, that old awareness of how weaknesses may be exploited lingering in every stiff motion. the only allowance he has made is that he has accepted a suite of medicines from mccoy, and he has not... refused the lotus seed soup left at his door.
yennefer announces himself, and there is a faint downward twitch of irritation at one corner of his mouth that her voice was the first he knew of her being there — he may be on the mend, but clearly he is not half so sharp as he prefers. ๏ผ
One moment.
๏ผ his voice is a deep rasp. this is perhaps the first thing he has said aloud since his self-imposed exile.
he rises from the futon neatly laid out on the floor, pressing a hand over his left flank. by the time he undoes the wires strung across the door, his face is carefully neutral again, a mask over the pain.
the sword tells a story.
(he'd thought it lost in alydhion. seeing it again makes something within him ache.)
the bottle tells another. he doubts she was intending to carry the naked blade of his sword through the station, set it across the arms of the opposite chair in the common room and tell it stories. nor does he think she would take it to practice or use — there are practice swords aplenty to that, and the fact that she's turned up on his doorstep clearly communicates she recognizes its owner. but as to the liquor...
yennefer has never struck him as a social drinker anyway — not one for bars or taverns unless it is intended to loosen someone's tongue. which means she is here with the bottle and the blade and a purpose.
wordless, he steps back.
his room is unerringly neat. there is a faint smell of sandalwood — incense smoldered to ash in a small dish. the futon and its blankets spread on the floor is really the only sign of occupation — otherwise, everything seems so perfectly sterile, devoid of all the hallmarks of personality save the small library above his desk. the space tells its own story: someone used to filing the serial numbers off his own existence, refusing to leave a mark on the world as he passes through it. too contented, perhaps, with being a ghost.
he appears to be normal, if someone gaunt — ravaged by the effects of recovery on the body. and the pain of his movement has abated to the point where easy grace is once again within his reach. the only concession to how poorly he's still feeling is that the futon is pushed to the side rather than bundled up and put away, as he steps past it to his small desk and takes two cups down from a shelf. ๏ผ
yennefer announces himself, and there is a faint downward twitch of irritation at one corner of his mouth that her voice was the first he knew of her being there — he may be on the mend, but clearly he is not half so sharp as he prefers. ๏ผ
One moment.
๏ผ his voice is a deep rasp. this is perhaps the first thing he has said aloud since his self-imposed exile.
he rises from the futon neatly laid out on the floor, pressing a hand over his left flank. by the time he undoes the wires strung across the door, his face is carefully neutral again, a mask over the pain.
the sword tells a story.
(he'd thought it lost in alydhion. seeing it again makes something within him ache.)
the bottle tells another. he doubts she was intending to carry the naked blade of his sword through the station, set it across the arms of the opposite chair in the common room and tell it stories. nor does he think she would take it to practice or use — there are practice swords aplenty to that, and the fact that she's turned up on his doorstep clearly communicates she recognizes its owner. but as to the liquor...
yennefer has never struck him as a social drinker anyway — not one for bars or taverns unless it is intended to loosen someone's tongue. which means she is here with the bottle and the blade and a purpose.
wordless, he steps back.
his room is unerringly neat. there is a faint smell of sandalwood — incense smoldered to ash in a small dish. the futon and its blankets spread on the floor is really the only sign of occupation — otherwise, everything seems so perfectly sterile, devoid of all the hallmarks of personality save the small library above his desk. the space tells its own story: someone used to filing the serial numbers off his own existence, refusing to leave a mark on the world as he passes through it. too contented, perhaps, with being a ghost.
he appears to be normal, if someone gaunt — ravaged by the effects of recovery on the body. and the pain of his movement has abated to the point where easy grace is once again within his reach. the only concession to how poorly he's still feeling is that the futon is pushed to the side rather than bundled up and put away, as he steps past it to his small desk and takes two cups down from a shelf. ๏ผ
Page 4 of 5