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ravenI, ah, wrote a fic, for the first time in... possibly years.
fic:: not your eyes and what you say
by Raven
700w, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan. “You could just relax,” Zhao Yunlan says. “You don’t have to be doing something all the time.”
Allegedly, it’s a case – one of the Dixingren, with the power of sending great waves through water and overturning small boats – but it turns out there remains actual human crime in Haixing, and also actual natural disasters. This turns out to be a combination of the two – some wronged husband fiddling with ropes and lifejackets so his wife tumbled into deep water at the first sign of bad weather – so Zhao Yunlan has turned it over to the local authorities and been left by the water’s edge in the late evening, with Shen Wei: academic, civilian consultant, ageless ghost king and Black-Cloaked Envoy, fidgeting.
Almost fidgeting. In Shen Wei it manifests as only a slightly-disturbed stillness. Zhao Yunlan is reminded of Zhu Hong and her brethren just before they strike.
“We don’t have to go back until tomorrow,” Zhao Yunlan tries. “We can’t go back until tomorrow. The roads aren’t passable in the dark.”
Shen Wei merely stares at him. His index fingers tap together, almost imperceptibly.
“You could just relax and enjoy the scenery,” Zhao Yunlan says. “You don’t have to be doing something all the time.”
He knows before it’s even out of his mouth that it’s not going to help. Shen Wei, in his own opinion, does need to be doing something all the time. If Zhao Yunlan hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t believe the man ever sleeps; and in seeing it for himself, has seen that it’s disturbed sleep. Sheets in swept-up knots, the shadow of timeless dreams.
“I have some papers to grade,” Shen Wei says finally. “I did not bring them with me.”
By which he means, he didn’t bring the physical printouts, and as such he can’t. This is Shen Wei they’re talking about, which means that downloading them from his email or some such gross artefact of modernity is out of the question.
Suddenly, Zhao Yunlan realises that Shen Wei is about to ask him to assist in getting hold of the papers, using whatever newfangled devices he may have at his disposal such as his laptop or phone. He is going to ask Zhao Yunlan this thing while standing next to a silvery lake glittering with late-evening purples, with sun-warmed rocks they could sit on and watch the sun go down. He considers taking his phone out of his pocket and throwing it into the lake, or finding someone from Dixing whose power is to chill the fuck out.
On the other hand, it would probably be the only power Shen Wei hasn’t been able to absorb in all his thousands of years being alive. It would probably make his head explode. They would finding scraps of black cloth in the divisional rafters for days.
“I’m hungry,” Zhao Yunlan says, which may account for why his interior monologue is starting to sound hysterical, and then he remembers how Shen Wei’s brain works. Other people’s fears of being tipped over the edge of a boat into deep water, and hunger, is what displaces thirty-five undergraduates’ sorry attempts at scholarship.
“Oh,” Shen Wei says. “Then we should eat.”
Aren’t you hungry, Zhao Yunlan wants to ask; not just for food, but after ten thousand years, to be a human being and not the damned moral arc of the universe. “I think noodles,” he says, cheerfully. “And maybe we can come back here and eat them. Next to the scenery.”
“Next to the scenery,” Shen Wei agrees, with a readiness that suggests – something. Self-awareness, perhaps. His gaze rests on Zhao Yunlan, and then flickers away. “I would like that.”
“Good,” Zhao Yunlan says, and leads Shen Wei away chattering about noodles and chilli sauce as irritating a manner as possible, and considers the deep, deep water, in which great currents ebb and flow.
end.
fic:: not your eyes and what you say
by Raven
700w, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan. “You could just relax,” Zhao Yunlan says. “You don’t have to be doing something all the time.”
Allegedly, it’s a case – one of the Dixingren, with the power of sending great waves through water and overturning small boats – but it turns out there remains actual human crime in Haixing, and also actual natural disasters. This turns out to be a combination of the two – some wronged husband fiddling with ropes and lifejackets so his wife tumbled into deep water at the first sign of bad weather – so Zhao Yunlan has turned it over to the local authorities and been left by the water’s edge in the late evening, with Shen Wei: academic, civilian consultant, ageless ghost king and Black-Cloaked Envoy, fidgeting.
Almost fidgeting. In Shen Wei it manifests as only a slightly-disturbed stillness. Zhao Yunlan is reminded of Zhu Hong and her brethren just before they strike.
“We don’t have to go back until tomorrow,” Zhao Yunlan tries. “We can’t go back until tomorrow. The roads aren’t passable in the dark.”
Shen Wei merely stares at him. His index fingers tap together, almost imperceptibly.
“You could just relax and enjoy the scenery,” Zhao Yunlan says. “You don’t have to be doing something all the time.”
He knows before it’s even out of his mouth that it’s not going to help. Shen Wei, in his own opinion, does need to be doing something all the time. If Zhao Yunlan hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t believe the man ever sleeps; and in seeing it for himself, has seen that it’s disturbed sleep. Sheets in swept-up knots, the shadow of timeless dreams.
“I have some papers to grade,” Shen Wei says finally. “I did not bring them with me.”
By which he means, he didn’t bring the physical printouts, and as such he can’t. This is Shen Wei they’re talking about, which means that downloading them from his email or some such gross artefact of modernity is out of the question.
Suddenly, Zhao Yunlan realises that Shen Wei is about to ask him to assist in getting hold of the papers, using whatever newfangled devices he may have at his disposal such as his laptop or phone. He is going to ask Zhao Yunlan this thing while standing next to a silvery lake glittering with late-evening purples, with sun-warmed rocks they could sit on and watch the sun go down. He considers taking his phone out of his pocket and throwing it into the lake, or finding someone from Dixing whose power is to chill the fuck out.
On the other hand, it would probably be the only power Shen Wei hasn’t been able to absorb in all his thousands of years being alive. It would probably make his head explode. They would finding scraps of black cloth in the divisional rafters for days.
“I’m hungry,” Zhao Yunlan says, which may account for why his interior monologue is starting to sound hysterical, and then he remembers how Shen Wei’s brain works. Other people’s fears of being tipped over the edge of a boat into deep water, and hunger, is what displaces thirty-five undergraduates’ sorry attempts at scholarship.
“Oh,” Shen Wei says. “Then we should eat.”
Aren’t you hungry, Zhao Yunlan wants to ask; not just for food, but after ten thousand years, to be a human being and not the damned moral arc of the universe. “I think noodles,” he says, cheerfully. “And maybe we can come back here and eat them. Next to the scenery.”
“Next to the scenery,” Shen Wei agrees, with a readiness that suggests – something. Self-awareness, perhaps. His gaze rests on Zhao Yunlan, and then flickers away. “I would like that.”
“Good,” Zhao Yunlan says, and leads Shen Wei away chattering about noodles and chilli sauce as irritating a manner as possible, and considers the deep, deep water, in which great currents ebb and flow.
end.
no subject
on 2019-04-27 05:54 pm (UTC)>>On the other hand, it would probably be the only power Shen Wei hasn’t been able to absorb in all his thousands of years being alive
no subject
on 2019-04-27 08:20 pm (UTC)