Ya know me, i want a lil glipse at the wings!moshang doc :}
I’ll give you a nonSQH POV snippet as a treat, bestie <3
-WIP SNIPPET-
“I wonder what happened to put him in such a bad mood.”
Mobei Zhun watches as his father glances at a corner of the hall before meeting his eyes once more and pointedly raising an eyebrow.
He follows the path that the king’s gaze had taken across the bounty hall, over the heads of its many guests and staff that dally and celebrate raucously around the feasting tables— only to find his uncle at the end of it, arms crossed over his broad, ostentatiously bare chest and practically glowering at the wall as he ignores any attempt at conversation from the court officials around him.
Instead of looking away as his father had, Mobei Zhun continues to stare. In fact, he funnels as much of his negative thoughts and emotions into his stare, until his uncle feels his gaze and glances up to meet it.
Immediately, his uncle’s glower becomes several levels more icy and severe. It does nothing to change Mobei Zhun’s mind on the fact that the expression can actually be described as a pout.
His uncle hates the babyface he’d been cursed with, instead of his brother the king’s squarer jawline. Which Mobei Zhun had inherited. And not his uncle.
His father whistles lowly — barely a soft sound from between slightly pursed lips, as to not cause any alarm to the hall’s guests.
“Really, what did you do?” Father asks him.
Mobei Zhun scoffs. He did nothing.
His uncle, on the other hand, had overstepped.
Mobei Zhun wraps a hand around his wrist, palm covering the unassuming braided bracelet. The small, delicate, downy-soft crane feather tucked into the weave tickles right above his pulse point, and he feels himself calm, overcoming the rage that fills him even now whenever he remembers how his uncle had tried to take it.
“He said it was just a joke.” He sneers, words barely a murmur. “He is not funny.”
His father eyes him, now, an unreadable expression on his face.
Mobei Zhun has always been terrible at reading anyone, much less his own father. He’d given up on trying long ago, but —
“No,” his father agrees, eyes darting down to his son’s clasped hands before returning to watching his brother stand all the way across the hall, silent and angry and alone of family.
“He isn’t, is he.”
