[ a second letter in as many days, and jiang cheng's headache crescendos to an epic level that has everyone giving him a wide berth as he makes his usual rounds walking through the training grounds. everyone, from the youngest boys only recently joined to those who are directly in charge beneath him, knows of his temper by now; any wrong move or word and it could send them flying out of the gate.
- I know you're not going to just give in -
he says nothing, but as he stands on top of the steps (stand, not sit) where so often his mother would be, supervising everyone and not a good word for anyone, he idly fingers zidian on his hand, brows drawn, casting shade over his entire expression.
easy for him to say, someone who stays up on that mountain of his, shut away with a bunch of corpses and those wen-dogs of his, still continuing to do whatever the hell he wants to do. easy for the great, the notorious yiling patriarch. as always, it falls on himself, it seems, to try and hold things together. complacency is not his strong suit; but at this point, with everything hanging in the balance, what else could he do to preserve the one thing left from his parents?
the messenger, having her share of the meals and rest at the inn, receives this to take back: ]
You can have your laughs and your fun once you're in your grave, provided nobody comes to dig you out and play ball with that empty skull of yours. [ is that too harsh? but no matter. he isn't inclined to softness after all, not lately, and certainly never with wuxian. ] We need to talk. I will follow this letter in two days' time. Make sure you don't have any of your cursed dogs near.
no subject
- I know you're not going to just give in -
he says nothing, but as he stands on top of the steps (stand, not sit) where so often his mother would be, supervising everyone and not a good word for anyone, he idly fingers zidian on his hand, brows drawn, casting shade over his entire expression.
easy for him to say, someone who stays up on that mountain of his, shut away with a bunch of corpses and those wen-dogs of his, still continuing to do whatever the hell he wants to do. easy for the great, the notorious yiling patriarch. as always, it falls on himself, it seems, to try and hold things together. complacency is not his strong suit; but at this point, with everything hanging in the balance, what else could he do to preserve the one thing left from his parents?
the messenger, having her share of the meals and rest at the inn, receives this to take back: ]