@wansui
This war has been absolute hell for Conall.
He is in pain–a lot of pain, and it’s a wonder that he can still walk, really. That he can still support himself. He suspects, however, that that won’t be the case soon. Still, when there’s a knock on the door, he straightens himself up the best that he can, leaning against his desk to make it easier for himself. It takes a lot of energy these days to even stand.
“Yao?” He blinks, a shaky smile appearing on his face, but he doesn’t walk over. “I–didn’t expect to see you today. It’s..how are you?” He coughs, winces a bit. Everything hurts. “Um..sit, please. Is there anything I can get you?”
" Well enough, I think. Better than you can say. "
He feels a little guilty now, for not believing the hospital aides who informed him that the mighty British Empire had been confined to his own room. It feels like an insult to look upon him now; as if they were tricking him into believing that this frail little boy was in any way the same man who had so effectively stripped him of almost all of his dignity.
Yao has rebuilt himself piece by piece, painstakingly gathering the shattered pieces of himself and forcing them back into what used to be China. He still depends on opium too heavily for his liking, but if the scent follows him, it is at least not as present as the gas which used to cloud the youthful features he bears. Today the elder stands in uniform, having visited Arthur not hours before, looking tired and far more resigned.
" What? No, I should be offering that to you. "
