Lan Sizhui's beatific smile is met with theatrical betrayal poorly disguising delight, and Wei Wuxian makes a note to snitch to Hanguang-jun later, who always seems disproportionately content at being the target of these tales. Was it so wrong of him to maybe slightly exaggerate how much he'd rather learn via praxis than sit around a dusty library? Has he really done anything to deserve this? The worst part being, no one but Lan Zhan would ever believe him that this implacably guileless infant is capable of such needle precision...needling, and he won't weigh in on it, most likely, unless it's to Wei Wuxian's detriment and suffering.
"Much better than it could be!" He says this with the kind of morbid glee usually reserved for ancients expounding on the progression of their complaints at the slightest indication of interest. But this is only superficial clownery; he is in actuality only a little less focused on their task, if only mentally at this stage. The cognitive flavor of magic hasn't truly caught his attention to the same degree death magic has, being either too invasive to apply outside himself, or simply of limited use. Possibly he's been too hasty in this unconscious assessment, and definitely he would benefit from the tutelage, but this project still strikes him as much the same. What's he going to do with this, exactly? Besides use it as a springboard for something entirely different, probably. But that's fine.
"I still don't see why this couldn't have been a sachet, though," he says, gesturing at the materials he has done little so far but fiddle with, with something like suspicion. This is not, notably, a continuation of any conversation, with Sizhui or anyone else, including himself. "Or maybe an incense. Won't help overcrowding much if ten people burn their rooms down tonight."
no subject
"Much better than it could be!" He says this with the kind of morbid glee usually reserved for ancients expounding on the progression of their complaints at the slightest indication of interest. But this is only superficial clownery; he is in actuality only a little less focused on their task, if only mentally at this stage. The cognitive flavor of magic hasn't truly caught his attention to the same degree death magic has, being either too invasive to apply outside himself, or simply of limited use. Possibly he's been too hasty in this unconscious assessment, and definitely he would benefit from the tutelage, but this project still strikes him as much the same. What's he going to do with this, exactly? Besides use it as a springboard for something entirely different, probably. But that's fine.
"I still don't see why this couldn't have been a sachet, though," he says, gesturing at the materials he has done little so far but fiddle with, with something like suspicion. This is not, notably, a continuation of any conversation, with Sizhui or anyone else, including himself. "Or maybe an incense. Won't help overcrowding much if ten people burn their rooms down tonight."