Wei Wuxian (
acrookedpath) wrote2020-09-23 05:05 pm
[pfsb]
The good news: the energy-revealing array works!
The bad news --
It's not bad news, he insists to himself. It just... is. It's a complication, a hole in the road, a little snare tripping him up. That's all. It doesn't have to be more. It might not even be in the first place, yes? He is dead, Lan Zhan is alive, of course seeing just how very alive would stir something in him. That's all it is.
Right?
Never mind that he's fairly certain if he placed the same array on Harrow, or Tom-gongzi, or Ingress, he would not have been struck the same way. That -- it's ridiculous, this is all ridiculous, and that's why he's out here by the lake, standing on a flat rock with another array of talismans fluttering in his hand.
The key is not just luring resentful energy from the forest, despite the suppression around the inn. It is how swiftly he can do it. During his coffee-fueled spree of work last night, he drew up some new lures that ought to work faster than a traditional set. Now he scatters them in a wide circle around his feet, gestures sharply, and sends a bolt of red energy into the yellow paper slips.
Silently, in his head, he begins to count. One... two... three...
At the count of thirteen, something boils at the forest's edge, dark and oily.
Wei Wuxian smiles and lifts his flute to meet it.
The bad news --
It's not bad news, he insists to himself. It just... is. It's a complication, a hole in the road, a little snare tripping him up. That's all. It doesn't have to be more. It might not even be in the first place, yes? He is dead, Lan Zhan is alive, of course seeing just how very alive would stir something in him. That's all it is.
Right?
Never mind that he's fairly certain if he placed the same array on Harrow, or Tom-gongzi, or Ingress, he would not have been struck the same way. That -- it's ridiculous, this is all ridiculous, and that's why he's out here by the lake, standing on a flat rock with another array of talismans fluttering in his hand.
The key is not just luring resentful energy from the forest, despite the suppression around the inn. It is how swiftly he can do it. During his coffee-fueled spree of work last night, he drew up some new lures that ought to work faster than a traditional set. Now he scatters them in a wide circle around his feet, gestures sharply, and sends a bolt of red energy into the yellow paper slips.
Silently, in his head, he begins to count. One... two... three...
At the count of thirteen, something boils at the forest's edge, dark and oily.
Wei Wuxian smiles and lifts his flute to meet it.

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He looks up, still beaming.
"Thank you, Harrow. I will make good use of it."
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Wei Wuxian tucks the spent paper doll into one of the portfolio pockets. Closing the slim book and tucking its spine against his palm alongside the flute, he finally rises to his feet.
"It is much easier for me to work with the proper tools at hand."
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And he does. Very much.
"Then it is enough."
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Wei Wuxian makes a tiny, pained, nervous noise, at complete odds with the composure and surety he displayed while commanding the resentful energy. "Yes," he says faintly. "I suppose. I will hope I do not make too much of a fool of myself."
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Because even if Lan Zhan cares for him as intensely as a cavalier cares for their adept -- what if it is only the loyalty of friendship? What if Wei Wuxian confesses his affections and everything turns cold from the shock?
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"I simply wished to know your plans."
She hesitates, and then--in an extremely awkward fashion--puts a hand on his shoulder. Through her glove and his robes she can feel his warmth and it is... unnerving. "May courage find us both soon. My friend."
And embarrassed, she flees.
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May courage find us both soon, he agrees, silently, and looks down at the portfolio in his hands. It is just the right size that he can easily tuck it into the front of his robes -- another thoughtful touch from Harrow and Madam Bar, he thinks -- and so he does, pressing his hand over the spot a moment to make certain it's secure.
If Lan Zhan will be here soon, perhaps he ought to head inside. But the idea of sitting at a table, fidgeting as he waits, thinking too much? No. It will only make things worse.
He returns to the flat rock on the lake shore, and within moments, the sound of a flute drifts over the grounds once more.