( Fire burns out behind them as Lan Zhan rides the airs through to the cave's entrance; Wei Wuxian breathes shallow against the taste of copper in his mouth, the heaviness in his lungs, watching behind and below them. The skittering of nothing, before they emerge into the cavern where the men dwell, and they too have skittered, tucked into cracks and nooks and crannies barely big enough to hold them.
This is not new to them.
He drags his eyes forward, to the blinding light before they too fly out and meet the ground with the reverence it demands, and their bodies caving before it. Caught, held, and thrown all in part, he rises with his hands dusting off his robes and smiles guilelessly at the nun courting them on demand of the abbess, dark eyes swallowing light even as they give the illusion of sparkling. )
The meadows are so lovely! The whole mountain, really, miss, it settles a longing in my soul.
( Her eyes, squinting and discerning, likewise glint as she turns away, hands folded to her middle, precise and proper. Not one of the felinoid sisters. Yet.
She's sure, and she says as much, if only they'd follow. Contemplation crossing her features before she schools them back to studied neutrality, not exactly calm.
He considers, too, smile easy, gaze dense. When he tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeves, two fingers catching at the fabric, he makes as if to pout at his husband, murmuring words: )
I love you. Those who lead here aren't innocent.
( A smile, again, as the nun glances back at them, and he leans in, beseeching: )
Will you feed me at the midday meal?
( He's been carried out already today, and it doesn't harm him to create the sort of daft and self-involved mask which allows people to believe, between the two of them, Lan Zhan the superior in sensibility. A lack of obvious affectation does wonders for perceptions, just as an overabundance can do the same.
The trails they follow back start off fresh, then rejoin with the one they walked the evening before. Only one feather, lingering on pine needles, pinned through the centre.
Activity levels have gone towards stillness in the monastery as they return, but not eerily so - distant the sounds of shuffling and clacking and the scent of cooking food gives indication to the current preoccupations. Only one hint suggests otherwise: two of the enrobed women without visible faces, near leaping out of the way when they walk down a narrower alley. The nun leading them stills, momentarily hesitating, before she continues on, towards the large hall with the rising rooftop. Not the main area for worship, but a side chamber, connected directly to the kitchens.
Inside, the scents of soup: vegetables, too, baked or thrown into a pan with or without butter. Platters being brought out by younger nuns, likely still appreticing to their holy craft, and simple fair, but plentiful, and hot, and..
... unseasoned but for the soup, which is the telltale red of some interfering tomato or chili.
They're lead to one long bench, closer to where the abbess already sits waiting. She eyes them both, unsmiling, but says nothing while the food is laid out, and then the rest of the nuns take their places, including the final stragglers from the kitchens themselves. )
no subject
( Fire burns out behind them as Lan Zhan rides the airs through to the cave's entrance; Wei Wuxian breathes shallow against the taste of copper in his mouth, the heaviness in his lungs, watching behind and below them. The skittering of nothing, before they emerge into the cavern where the men dwell, and they too have skittered, tucked into cracks and nooks and crannies barely big enough to hold them.
This is not new to them.
He drags his eyes forward, to the blinding light before they too fly out and meet the ground with the reverence it demands, and their bodies caving before it. Caught, held, and thrown all in part, he rises with his hands dusting off his robes and smiles guilelessly at the nun courting them on demand of the abbess, dark eyes swallowing light even as they give the illusion of sparkling. )
The meadows are so lovely! The whole mountain, really, miss, it settles a longing in my soul.
( Her eyes, squinting and discerning, likewise glint as she turns away, hands folded to her middle, precise and proper. Not one of the felinoid sisters. Yet.
She's sure, and she says as much, if only they'd follow. Contemplation crossing her features before she schools them back to studied neutrality, not exactly calm.
He considers, too, smile easy, gaze dense. When he tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeves, two fingers catching at the fabric, he makes as if to pout at his husband, murmuring words: )
I love you. Those who lead here aren't innocent.
( A smile, again, as the nun glances back at them, and he leans in, beseeching: )
Will you feed me at the midday meal?
( He's been carried out already today, and it doesn't harm him to create the sort of daft and self-involved mask which allows people to believe, between the two of them, Lan Zhan the superior in sensibility. A lack of obvious affectation does wonders for perceptions, just as an overabundance can do the same.
The trails they follow back start off fresh, then rejoin with the one they walked the evening before. Only one feather, lingering on pine needles, pinned through the centre.
Activity levels have gone towards stillness in the monastery as they return, but not eerily so - distant the sounds of shuffling and clacking and the scent of cooking food gives indication to the current preoccupations. Only one hint suggests otherwise: two of the enrobed women without visible faces, near leaping out of the way when they walk down a narrower alley. The nun leading them stills, momentarily hesitating, before she continues on, towards the large hall with the rising rooftop. Not the main area for worship, but a side chamber, connected directly to the kitchens.
Inside, the scents of soup: vegetables, too, baked or thrown into a pan with or without butter. Platters being brought out by younger nuns, likely still appreticing to their holy craft, and simple fair, but plentiful, and hot, and..
... unseasoned but for the soup, which is the telltale red of some interfering tomato or chili.
They're lead to one long bench, closer to where the abbess already sits waiting. She eyes them both, unsmiling, but says nothing while the food is laid out, and then the rest of the nuns take their places, including the final stragglers from the kitchens themselves. )