Ping finds herself distracted.
Guizhong monologues about something—humans, technology, the infrastructure of Guili Plains—frankly, Ping is prone to ignoring most of it, particularly when there's food on the table courtesy of Marchosius's clever paws. She and Guizhong get along swimmingly when they aren't at each other's throats, but—
Tonight she finds herself distracted by the soft lines of Guizhong's mouth and the subtle curve of her grin, a wicked thing from which wicked words tumble, laced with a haughtiness.
"Streetward Rambler?"
She prefers to be called Ping now that she's used to the casual natures of the mortals they surround themselves with but Guizhong remains formal specifically to annoy the utter shit out of her. Two can play that game, of course.
"Yes, Mistress of Dust?"
Guizhong's expression cracks slightly at that, her eyes creasing with vexation. "You seemed distracted. Nothing to note on the topic?"
"Nothing that you haven't already heard from me," replies Ping smoothly.
Guizhong huffs, as expected, her mouth falling into a tart frown. "It would do you good to widen your stance."
"My stances are perfectly fine, thank you."
"Mentally and physically." Guizhong grins again. "Why, the other day, I saw you sparring—"
"You were watching me spar?" Ping returns the acrid expression. "You must've been bored."
"I thought I could learn a thing or two."
"From my brilliant form?"
"More like what not to do."
Guizhong's mouth—it's curled into that sardonic smile once more and Ping's heart skips a beat, setting her off-kilter. What in the Abyss?
"Is there something on my face?" asks Guizhong then.
"No. You look decent, as you usually do." The quip comes unbidden. Ping cannot stop the words which would be fine if it was her usual drivel, but it isn't. She's gone and somewhat compliment her.
Guizhong's eyebrows soar into her hairline. The rest of the table halts as well, surprised by what Ping has just said. Alatus's mouth hangs open, stupefied. Morax doesn't meet Ping's face, but a smile behind his palm, covering it with a well-timed sip of tea.
"That is to say…" For once, Ping's words fail her. A too-long second passes. The dinner table is awkward, particularly with Morax holding back what looks like laughter. "I only meant that you aren't unhandsome if I were to squint."
There. Better.
Morax coughs into his fist. Guizhong's tongue darts out to trace her chapped lips—and, oh, Ping is staring again. They look soft, wetted by her tongue, cute as they purse slightly when Guizhong's expression morphs into something more typically seen.
"You certainly have a way with words, Streetward Rambler."
Call me Ping.
She is not sure that she likes the warmth that spreads through her or the way that she cannot look away from Guizhong's mouth. Ping likes to kiss but she has never thought about kissing her or has wondered just what those lips might feel like upon her own.
Whopperflower pollen. Or maybe it's the strange part of the year when things can be blamed upon non-mortal instincts. Something in the tea, perhaps. Not Marchosius—he'd never waste food, even for a tease, but Menogias…
Realistically, Ping knows that she can only blame herself. For all their tit-for-tat, she and Guizhong are closer than most, and their ease of poking fun at each other comes from the fact they are more alike than either would care to admit.
Guizhong watches her back as she eats but says nothing. The rest of the table is silent too, save for the sounds of chopsticks against porcelain and sips of tea.
Eventually, it is Morax that breaks the silence. "It is good to see you two getting along."
"We always get along—"
"It's not as though I hate her—"
Guizhong and Ping both fall silent so they don't trip over each other's words. Ping glares at Morax who just salutes her with his cup, silent implication passing between them as plain as day. Oh, she hates him. Not really, but Morax has an uncanny ability to see the things others ignore. Thankfully, he doesn't poke more fun and leaves them be.
Ping dodges Guizhong's face by turning to her food and playing with it. She pushes around her rice and counts the grains. She watches the leaves in her tea sink to the bottom, collecting in a clump. Anything to not look.
Which, of course, she does again, unable to tear her gaze away for too long.
When she and Guizhong's faces meet again, Guizhong taps at her mouth and smiles. Her gaze tips downward to Ping's lips where it lingers. Another skip of the heart. A flip-flopping sensation in Ping's gut.
Oh, she knows. She must. She's certainly not stupid.
Instead of embarrassment, Ping sniffs, she one-ups the whole thing, licking her lips indulgently before eating a bit of carrot. Slowly, her tongue curling around the piece before she swallows. A soft exhalation at the delicious taste before her tongue darts out to catch the broth that's dripped from the corner of her mouth.
Guizhong's face is suddenly pink. Alatus looks horrified. Morax excuses himself with a small apology, making his presence scarce before his eyes are burned.
Ping smirks. It takes only one to cause discord but two to tango, and if it's a dance that Guizhong wants, then it's a dance she'll get.