[He thinks: cute. The most consideration he's seen, perhaps, since arriving, and its given with so much earnest that Good Stab feels something warm light up in his chest. ]
You're giving me too much information, [he says, after a beat. His smile has split wider. ] Now I'm going to cheat when I start telling you things I can smell.
[Which isn't entirely true; there will be context, he supposes, to what he smells. Names to things and places. From where Wei Wuxian is now, he thinks he can smell lingering ozone, can smell death or something close to it. He snaps out of it, at the last question. Sits with it for a moment, before he shrugs. ] Some strange thing overcomes me, and I've been told this will always happen now. Hunger, but more. I will endure it.
Oh? Have I? [ When he smiles, it is with the guile of a húli jīng.
Something red lives in the centers of his eyes, suggestive of tart, ripe apples or freshly-spilled blood; a hybrid of potential malice, and the active choice to remain mischievous instead. Tucking his hands into the heat pouring from the fire, he wiggles his fingers and lowers his gaze from Good Stab to the flames — the edges of his being softened and tucked away, rounded and soft as rabbit tails and untouched snow. The smile he shares is a delighted one, especially when the other says he's going to cheat. It's just too charming, too fun!
He laughs, again brightly and painfully true in nature: ] Honestly, I did that on purpose. Memories of the Lotus Pier are matters I prefer to come to mind when I'm ready for them them to, rather than when someone might stumble upon them. There are good and bad memories of my home, and I can't always control which ones I think of first.
[ The difference, between laughing with his clansmen over chasing frogs and carp in the rushes, and seeing their corpses at his feet while invaders called for the utter eradication of survivors.
Pitched and scolding ( with the chiding tone of someone used to speaking to small, stubborn children ), he turns from the fire and seeks out Good Stab's hand without fear or hesitance. A light tug at his fingertips, audacious, bold and fire-warm. ]
Endure it? Mister Good Stab, that's no good! Hunger cannot be treated like pain that must be endured. It's important to have a full belly. Tell me about what overcomes you. Maybe together we can find a way to make it easier on you.
[there's something he understands: not being able to control which of the memories of before come first. memories are fickle things, is the thing. he has to keep them close to the surface, because the more they're buried the quicker they disappear. his children's faces, for example. the way his first wife would laugh. the way his second would scold him.
he holds them close to the forefront now, uncontrolled, even as he focuses on Wei Wuxian, then on his own new misfortunes.
his tries to keep his smile light.] I became hungry, a bit like the first time I realised I was hungry after my first rebirth. I tried to fill it the way I did then, but everything tasted like - nothing. The absence of everything, I suppose. Everything tasted that way, except myself.
[under his sweater, his arm has since healed over. he lifts it anyway, tapping the bicep, where the meat is thicker under the wool. ] I almost chewed this one clean off.
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You're giving me too much information, [he says, after a beat. His smile has split wider. ] Now I'm going to cheat when I start telling you things I can smell.
[Which isn't entirely true; there will be context, he supposes, to what he smells. Names to things and places. From where Wei Wuxian is now, he thinks he can smell lingering ozone, can smell death or something close to it. He snaps out of it, at the last question. Sits with it for a moment, before he shrugs. ] Some strange thing overcomes me, and I've been told this will always happen now. Hunger, but more. I will endure it.
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Something red lives in the centers of his eyes, suggestive of tart, ripe apples or freshly-spilled blood; a hybrid of potential malice, and the active choice to remain mischievous instead. Tucking his hands into the heat pouring from the fire, he wiggles his fingers and lowers his gaze from Good Stab to the flames — the edges of his being softened and tucked away, rounded and soft as rabbit tails and untouched snow. The smile he shares is a delighted one, especially when the other says he's going to cheat. It's just too charming, too fun!
He laughs, again brightly and painfully true in nature: ] Honestly, I did that on purpose. Memories of the Lotus Pier are matters I prefer to come to mind when I'm ready for them them to, rather than when someone might stumble upon them. There are good and bad memories of my home, and I can't always control which ones I think of first.
[ The difference, between laughing with his clansmen over chasing frogs and carp in the rushes, and seeing their corpses at his feet while invaders called for the utter eradication of survivors.
Pitched and scolding ( with the chiding tone of someone used to speaking to small, stubborn children ), he turns from the fire and seeks out Good Stab's hand without fear or hesitance. A light tug at his fingertips, audacious, bold and fire-warm. ]
Endure it? Mister Good Stab, that's no good! Hunger cannot be treated like pain that must be endured. It's important to have a full belly. Tell me about what overcomes you. Maybe together we can find a way to make it easier on you.
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he holds them close to the forefront now, uncontrolled, even as he focuses on Wei Wuxian, then on his own new misfortunes.
his tries to keep his smile light.] I became hungry, a bit like the first time I realised I was hungry after my first rebirth. I tried to fill it the way I did then, but everything tasted like - nothing. The absence of everything, I suppose. Everything tasted that way, except myself.
[under his sweater, his arm has since healed over. he lifts it anyway, tapping the bicep, where the meat is thicker under the wool. ] I almost chewed this one clean off.