( He's not oblivious to people or reactions, outside of ways people might feel toward him which aren't the easily tracked frustration, jealousy, fear, or greed. A fading smile is another concern, but also a weighed truth: at no time when his mother's shidi was last alive did Wei Wuxian's name, or assigned title, carry any good meaning. With what his goals had been, with what Song Lan's goals had been, he's surprised at any sort of pleasantness to follow.
Yet he's... not sure what to make of this anyway. When in the last sixteen... less than sixteen years was this living part of the past from? How was he from any part of it in the first place?
Wei Wuxian breathes in, makes himself smile, and matches this hellishly strange landscape all the better for it, for all Xiao Xingchen cannot see it. )
If you're extending the invitation, I'll accept, ( he says, eyes dropping down to note what he should have earlier: bare feet. ) either way you should head back in, none of us have the reserves to deal with the weather.
( They were all reduced to muscle memory and mortal baselines here. There is a part of him that aches in realising, again, that Xiao Xingchen is a good person. His fate had been cruel, as had that of those tied with him, a series of missteps Wei Wuxian hadn't been blind to seeing Lan Zhan's eyes understanding too much of in watching Song Lan's back, after all the pieces fell down.
Casualties of another kind of interpersonal war. To a fan who had not really known Wei Wuxian, past the same single meeting, and he doesn't let himself think hard on that.
He steps forward, stops again. )
You really don't remember me.
( Or perhaps deciding it couldn't have been him, couldn't have been Cangse Sanren's son who did such things. Who's to say? He can only decide if he's willing to ask, and know that he's not terribly willing to do so at all. )
no subject
Yet he's... not sure what to make of this anyway. When in the last sixteen... less than sixteen years was this living part of the past from? How was he from any part of it in the first place?
Wei Wuxian breathes in, makes himself smile, and matches this hellishly strange landscape all the better for it, for all Xiao Xingchen cannot see it. )
If you're extending the invitation, I'll accept, ( he says, eyes dropping down to note what he should have earlier: bare feet. ) either way you should head back in, none of us have the reserves to deal with the weather.
( They were all reduced to muscle memory and mortal baselines here. There is a part of him that aches in realising, again, that Xiao Xingchen is a good person. His fate had been cruel, as had that of those tied with him, a series of missteps Wei Wuxian hadn't been blind to seeing Lan Zhan's eyes understanding too much of in watching Song Lan's back, after all the pieces fell down.
Casualties of another kind of interpersonal war. To a fan who had not really known Wei Wuxian, past the same single meeting, and he doesn't let himself think hard on that.
He steps forward, stops again. )
You really don't remember me.
( Or perhaps deciding it couldn't have been him, couldn't have been Cangse Sanren's son who did such things. Who's to say? He can only decide if he's willing to ask, and know that he's not terribly willing to do so at all. )