acrookedpath | [pfsb]

[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.

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"Mn."

There is an absolute lack of surprise in both expression and demeanor as Wei Ying picks up the wine.

"I spoke with her earlier. Her - sect, I suppose; the Heralds - are more interesting than I first realized."

"Mm!" Hurriedly, he swallows his drink so he can rejoin the conversation. "Yes, Harrow told me a little of her world. The tianma, specifically. Lady Ingress and I mostly spoke of other things when I met her myself."

"The tianma, yes - we have spoken of that also."

He looks pleased about something as he adds,

"And musical cultivation. Her mentor practices magic through music, as well. She has suggested that I meet him."

He lowers the bottle back to the bartop. "Oh?"

What Wei Wuxian knows he should think: Lan Zhan is making friends! Good! This is good. He will have someone he can speak to about cultivation in a way I not always can.

What Wei Wuxian is thinking instead, as he notes the pleased look on Lan Zhan's face, is not words so much as a sudden spear of jealousy deep in his gut, sour and ugly. He swallows, doing everything he can to keep a pleasantly neutral expression.

"Does he visit the inn as well?"

"He has before. She has also offered to arrange a visit to their -- Collegium, it is called."

He murmurs a request to Bar-guniang for water and takes a sip before continuing,

"This Vanyel is not the only musical cultivator, she says, but evidently he is one of the most skilled in their magics. A Herald-Mage, she calls him."

"Interesting."

Is he going into qi deviation? He may be going into qi deviation. Wei Wuxian sternly reminds himself that qi deviation is likely impossible for someone dead, even if they are partially animated by the inn's magic, and empties three-quarters of the bottle into his mouth.

"Did she say how his cultivation varies from what we know?"

"Not in detail. I played Tranquility for her, and she suggested that Vanyel would be interested to learn of healing through music."

"Well." He musters up as carefree a smile as he can manage. "I hope you will tell me all about it when you visit! Perhaps you and he can learn from each other as Harrow and I have."

...Why did he say that. Why.

He polishes off the wine and, before Madam Bar can even reclaim the empty bottle, asks her, "A second one, please, Madam Bar?"

"Perhaps," he allows.

He had thought Wei Ying might be interested in visiting as well, and was about to suggest that one of them ask Ingress if it would be possible, but given how he has just dismissed the visit so freely it does not seem as though he is.

"I will tell you. Of course."

"Wonderful."

Yes. Wonderful. He pops open the second bottle.

"Mn."

It seems as though Wei Ying only has polite interest, if that, in the subject. He is a little surprised, given how skilled Wei Ying is with his dizi--

--and perhaps a little hurt, he admits inwardly, although he forces that down and away. Wei Ying does not need to be interested in the same matters of cultivation that interest Lan Wangji. He has chosen his own path, and Lan Wangji will not try to pull him back from it.

He takes another sip of his water, in silence, trying to think of something else to say. Usually it is Wei Ying who leaps from topic to topic in conversation, asking questions and chattering of news; he is not used to this.

Edited 2020-09-27 20:36 (UTC)

He doesn't actually want to suggest they move upstairs for the night. He has no idea how long remains until hài hour, and however uncomfortable he has made things down here, it will be far worse once the need for evening ablutions and sleep begin.

Unless he has drunk enough wine that it won't bother him. In which case it might also loosen his lips, but --

He takes a gulp from the new bottle, steels himself, and says, "Do you need to sleep soon?"

"About half a shichen," he says. "I should prepare soon."

He nods. "Then let us go upstairs."

As prodigious a drinker as he may be, Wei Wuxian is usually fairly good at pacing himself. Not tonight. As they wend their way up to the room, he chugs from the second bottle of wine like a parched man drinking from a river. The bottle is empty before they even reach his door.

Madam Bar, not being able to read minds, did nothing to change the arrangement of the beds. Damn it. She has so much magic, why could she not hear his thoughts, too? This all seems deeply unfair.

Carefully, he sets the empty bottle on the bookshelf and adds both his flute and the portfolio Harrow gave him. Far too late, he realizes he never told Lan Zhan about his second adventure to Canaan House. Perhaps it's for the best; considering how the first attempt went, it would only worry him unnecessarily.

It has been some time since he has seen Wei Ying drink so much, so quickly, and he frowns.

Something is wrong. He is growing more and more certain of it. But Wei Ying had clearly avoided his earlier attempt to inquire, so--

He watches as the mysterious new black book is placed by his flute, and says nothing.

He squares his shoulders -- already he is beginning to feel more loose-limbed from the wine -- and turns to face Lan Zhan with another easy smile.

"You will be sleeping sooner than I will," he says, gesturing to the door of the bathing chamber. "Go ahead."

He nods, and silently crosses the room, then vanishes inside the chamber.

The usual ablutions do not take too long, nor do the stretches. Washing his hair takes longer. He is still drying it with a towel when he comes back out.

In the meantime, Wei Wuxian readies himself as much as possible so he can dash straight into the bathing chamber as soon as Lan Zhan exits. Off come his outer robes; down comes his hair. He winds the ribbon around his hand and tucks it atop the portfolio before setting to work finger-combing his hair.

Maybe he could move the beds apart while Lan Zhan is bathing? No, that would be too obvious.

...No, he absolutely does not need to think about Lan Zhan bathing, either.

Thumping down onto his bed, he grabs the pillow, smothers his face with it, and groans as loud and dramatic as he dares just to exorcise some of the frustration. This is absurd. It's absurd! How old is he, how much did he see in his short life, and yet he can't compose himself enough to keep it together around one of his oldest friends? It may not even mean anything! What if it's only a desperate infatuation because of -- everything? What if his mind is playing tricks on him?

If he says anything to Lan Zhan and it is just his mind playing tricks on him, he will never forgive himself.

(And that is not even getting into this person Ingress wants him to meet, this cultivator who is the best and brightest of his kind just like Lan Zhan, this Vanyel -- )

With another, quieter groan, Wei Wuxian forces himself to take the pillow off his face and neaten the bed a bit before Lan Zhan can see him. Just in the nick of time, too, as Lan Zhan reappears in moments with a towel half-wrapped around his hair.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He stands, coaxes his knees into being a little less wobbly, and gives Lan Zhan a quick smile before breezing into the washroom.

He hangs his things up on the small hooks and puts the outer layers of his robes over the headboard as usual first, then sets to wringing the last of the water from his hair.

That done, the towel goes over the privacy screen to dry before he seats himself on the side of the bed, takes his comb, and begins to work it through the remaining tangles.

It is a painstakingly slow process tonight, and he reminds himself to either return to washing his hair in the waters of the cold spring, or to request camellia oil from Bar-guniang.

The wine hits in earnest midway through his shower. The world tilts a few degrees; Wei Wuxian presses a quick hand to the wall to steady himself, breathes out a sigh of relief, breathes in the humid air billowing around him. He shoves a fistful of wet hair out of his eyes and watches the slight blur to the water swirling down the drain.

He can do this. How he will do this for more than one night, he has no idea, but at least tonight he will keep himself together. Best if he continues not to talk too much, though. He'll blame it on exhaustion again. A handy excuse, that.

Carefully, he finishes combing out the worst of the tangles in his hair, then shuts off the water and gingerly steps out of the tub. After toweling off and wringing out his hair, he slips back into his inner robes and opens the washroom door.

...And promptly can't do anything but stare, face blossoming into fire again, at the sight of Lan Zhan.

(He stands corrected: the wine was a terrible idea and he should just go throw himself into the lake right now to save them both the trouble.)

He hears the door to the bathing chamber open over the quiet hiss he lets out as he pulls the comb ruthlessly through a particularly bad tangle -- and then realizes, after a moment, that Wei Ying has stopped, for some reason, and is standing in the doorway staring at him.

Hands still twisted in his own hair, Lan Wangji looks up at him in confused concern.

"Wei Ying?"

Yes, he thinks. Lan Zhan was right: he will never run out of talisman ideas, because every one from here on out will just involve devising quicker and quicker ways to sink into the floor and vanish forever.

He swallows, hard, and shakes his head -- cautiously, in case the inebriation decides to give him another swift shove. "It's nothing," he mumbles. "Tired. That's all."

The gulf between the washroom and the bed seems to stretch into infinity. With the same care, he puts one foot in front of the other to cross it.

Wei Ying is moving with exaggerated care, and while Lan Wangji knows that the other man's capacity for alcohol is far, far greater than his own, he suspects that even Wei Ying's tolerance may have been strained by how rapidly he consumed the wine.

Swiftly, he sets his comb aside and moves to Wei Ying's side, putting an arm around his shoulders to help steady him.

"Come. Lie down. Rest."

He jolts in surprise, nearly stumbles, and only catches himself by virtue of Lan Zhan's arm around his shoulders. His heart slams up into his throat.

That stupid array. Stupid. Why did he think it was a good idea? If nothing else, he should have just tested it on himself instead of Lan Zhan -- never mind that his own energies would read far differently, and he would need to test it on someone besides himself eventually, but -- it was still stupid. Look where it got him. Messing up a perfectly good afterlife.

Mute, breathing a little too quick, his heart hammering so hard he's certain Lan Zhan can feel it, he lets himself be guided to the bed.

He does not, does not, let himself dwell on the feeling of Wei Ying at his side, the warm weight of his body against him, secure and protected in the circle of his arm, no matter how much he wants to.

He is assisting a friend. That is all this is, all it can be.

Carefully, he helps Wei Ying to sit down on the bed.

"Rest," he says again. "Sleep. You will feel better in the morning."

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