#hx......buddy.......u are. so fucked up

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. Moss on a rock here to loop her arm through her best friend's and start chattering away as if it's her ordained right to yap his ear off. She'll even take it upon herself to brush some dirt (more likely imagined than not) from his shoulder before taking her fan out to keep the humidity at bay with broad, languid sweeps.

with his plain lack of reaction, it might as well be nothing happening at all, nevermind his peace and quiet being shattered by one wind master latching herself onto his arm like a leech and immediately beginning to babble on about something or other some other god did. he isn't listening ( though, truthfully, he doesn't need to. it had been an incident he'd witnessed himself through the eyes of one of the clones he has disguised as a middle official to keep tabs on happenings outside of his own purview as earth master ), but her tone is free of the judgement most others would slip into their speech about it — she even has defense for the man in question, and for a moment, he xuan thinks of how corrupt heaven is for the one most likely to stand up against unfair treatment being one who doesn't belong there.

it's a thought he's had many times, now, so it's as easy to brush away as the dust he's uncertain was ever on his shoulder. he allows her touch, the gentle brush of her fingers against his dark robes, the press of her elbow against his as she lets herself be led wherever he's going, and he allows her chatter, the bright voice by his ear switching topics to suggestions for ways they can spend the time ahead of them together. they are inseparable, two bodies walking as one, and he allows this. the pleasant breeze from her fan is angled just right to make their hair flutter in tandem.

he will tear this moss off his body and drown it one day if he must. underneath his skin of stone is a deep, dark ocean of roiling, stormy waves, anyhow. it is suffocating, and cold, and suitable only for dead things like himself. it's no place that moss can grow, and that, he tells himself, is for the better.