( He hums something of assent, given that's going to be the practical reality: they'll figure out getting anyone out of whatever they find, if they find what's expected. If anyone's left, and his assumptions these days lean toward expect everything, particularly if it's the worst.
Wei Wuxian has nothing to arm him. Frankly speaking, after dealing with the dolls, he'd need something blunt enough for trauma, but had nothing on hand. So here it goes: )
And this is considered a good schooling environment.
( These closed off rooms which are dark, due to timing, but also has so little of natural flow or anything appealing or conducive to less than a wish to be free, in his eyes. He peers into one window leading into an empty, shadowed classroom, then mock shudders, moving away from it. )
Makes me nostalgic for Gusu Lan.
( Which had felt like a different kind of hemming in, but was at least a beautiful one, compared. Nothing like Yunmeng and where he learned the bulk of what he knows; or Yiling, where he learned the darkest of what he knows.
Sounds echo strangely, but their progress is a matter of feet light with a lifetime of learning how to move quietly, for this or that reason. Once it might have been play for them both. A long time ago, for at least one of them, that changed.
When they find stairs down, he pauses, listens and motions for Huiasang to pause so he, too, can listen. Wwi Wuxian doesn't have any amazing senses right now, doesn't know if or when he ever will again, but he's still trained to listen, and he hears... nothing. No echoes, not from immediately nearby.
Then again, the trip down into an even darker hall with a heavier scent of dust and the impressions of footprints that go before them: ah. )
Looks like we're on some kind of more correct path. Ah, Huaisang, remember Dafan Mountain? Our first time, way back all those years ago.
( Some of this is lightly sarcastic from him, not aimed at Huaisang, but aimed at the idea of the time since then. He won't say he recalls much, because he does, indeed, recall more than he wants to, but it's the gap in time passed, processed, lived fully that lies between them, and he can't help but poke at it every so often, when it's more on his mind here than it was in the quagmire of events back home. Life on the road had started settling it into his bones; trapped again, solving mysteries, he's simply applying himself. )
no subject
Wei Wuxian has nothing to arm him. Frankly speaking, after dealing with the dolls, he'd need something blunt enough for trauma, but had nothing on hand. So here it goes: )
And this is considered a good schooling environment.
( These closed off rooms which are dark, due to timing, but also has so little of natural flow or anything appealing or conducive to less than a wish to be free, in his eyes. He peers into one window leading into an empty, shadowed classroom, then mock shudders, moving away from it. )
Makes me nostalgic for Gusu Lan.
( Which had felt like a different kind of hemming in, but was at least a beautiful one, compared. Nothing like Yunmeng and where he learned the bulk of what he knows; or Yiling, where he learned the darkest of what he knows.
Sounds echo strangely, but their progress is a matter of feet light with a lifetime of learning how to move quietly, for this or that reason. Once it might have been play for them both. A long time ago, for at least one of them, that changed.
When they find stairs down, he pauses, listens and motions for Huiasang to pause so he, too, can listen. Wwi Wuxian doesn't have any amazing senses right now, doesn't know if or when he ever will again, but he's still trained to listen, and he hears... nothing. No echoes, not from immediately nearby.
Then again, the trip down into an even darker hall with a heavier scent of dust and the impressions of footprints that go before them: ah. )
Looks like we're on some kind of more correct path. Ah, Huaisang, remember Dafan Mountain? Our first time, way back all those years ago.
( Some of this is lightly sarcastic from him, not aimed at Huaisang, but aimed at the idea of the time since then. He won't say he recalls much, because he does, indeed, recall more than he wants to, but it's the gap in time passed, processed, lived fully that lies between them, and he can't help but poke at it every so often, when it's more on his mind here than it was in the quagmire of events back home. Life on the road had started settling it into his bones; trapped again, solving mysteries, he's simply applying himself. )