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."

He still looks skeptical, but willing to give it a try all the same.

He places the egg dish in front of Wei Ying, then an empty plate for the pastries, and sets the platter between them before repeating the process for himself.

"Do you like it?" he asks, with a nod to the mug Wei Ying is holding.

"I had a strawberry milkshake, not a chocolate one," says Wei Wuxian thoughtfully, "so..."

He takes an experimental sip of the chocolate.

Immediately, his eyebrows rise as he hums in obvious pleasure.

He makes an immediate mental note, and picks up his own mug to investigate.

After considering it for a moment, he cautiously stirs the topping into the drink below, then tries a sip.

It is very, very sweet, almost like eating tanghulu, but richer. He blinks.

"... maybe not for every day. But."

"But for special occasions, yes?" he concludes with another bright smile. "Like the end of your seclusion?"

He sips more of the hot chocolate, trying not to get any of the whipped cream on his nose, then moves on to investigate the pastries.

He takes another careful sip, savoring the flavor on his tongue.

It is the topping that is sweeter than he might otherwise choose, he realizes, and not the drink itself, which is rich and complex and intoxicating in a way that he approves of.

"... yes."

"Perfect," he declares as he shuttles a few of the little confections onto his plate. "I will remember that! It will be wonderful, Lan Zhan -- anything you like from any world you can imagine. And you could -- "

He almost stutters to a halt as he realizes what he's about to say. If he doesn't finish the sentence, though, Lan Zhan will only grow curious; and if he deflects the curiosity away, they will be back to the fidgeting awkwardness of the previous night.

"You could stay longer," he says -- more to the pastries than to Lan Zhan, despite his best efforts. "Not have to leave so early in the morning every time, if you wish."

He nearly fumbles the mug he is holding, and quickly sets it down.

"I -- "

A quick breath, as he feels his ears start to flush.

"I would like that. If you do not mind."

A beat of silence.

"Certainly you could sleep later, before breakfast. If I did not leave so early."

He laughs a little, studiously ignoring how his hand quivers when he picks up one of the pastries to take a bite. Maybe Lan Zhan won't notice? Maybe he'll just think it's because he slept poorly.

"That's what I thought," he says lightly once he's swallowed the food. As if that were the only reason: a selfish desire to sleep late. Not any other selfish desires. "Will you not be so bored waking so much earlier than me, though?"

"I will not," Lan Wangji tells him.

Accepting, as usual, of abandoning silence during meals when it is with Wei Ying, he examines the egg dish, then uses the utensil provided by Bar-guniang to take a bite.

"I will meditate, and prepare for the day."

"Good," he says. And then, with mock-generosity, "Though if I sleep past wu hour, you may feel free to shake me awake."

The fan-like pastry, it turns out, has a pleasant orange and spice flavor to it. The smaller diamond-shaped one almost shatters in his hand for how crispy it is; another pastry is so light that it feels like biting into sugar-spun air. He tries them all before investigating the thick, battered slices of bread, and the syrup that runs darker and sweeter than honey.

"Mn."

Breakfast, aside from the egg dish, is very sweet. He limits himself to the fan-shaped pastry and half a slice of the battered bread, without the syrup, and is content.

Even Wei Wuxian has to admit that is is quite sweet, more than he expected when he asked Lan Zhan for breakfast. He doesn't mind! But he does wonder how some of the flavors might be complemented with more spice to balance out the sugar; he will have to investigate, he decides, and see what Madam Bar recommends.

He polishes off his egg dish and returns to the hot chocolate. All is quiet, for a time, but the comfortable quiet that occasionally marks their meals between Wei Wuxian's one line of thought and the next. Not like last night.

Perhaps it will be okay.

(Naturally, as soon as he thinks this, the dragonflies wake up for the day.)

He finishes with the meal, and pours tea for them both - something of a palate cleanser, and something of pure pleasure in the morning routine.

"I liked the chocolate drink," he says, even as he curves his fingers around his teacup. "And the egg."

Concern is in his glance as he looks at Wei Ying, trying to assess if the other man is satisfied or not.

Oh, no. Has he worried Lan Zhan again? Should he be talking more?

"Good!" he chirps -- why does he keep saying that, why -- and quickly follows it with, "I liked them all. The little fan-shaped one especially. And the chocolate! Perhaps I should've gotten a chocolate milkshake that time with Lady Ingress instead of a strawberry one after all. And I wonder how some of them might taste with more heat -- yes, I know, Lan Zhan, you do not have to look at me like that."

Even as he shakes his head at that, wryly amused, the tension goes out of him.

All right. That's good! So he just has to keep talking, and hope he doesn't say anything else foolish.

(It's the second half that is the sticking point, really.)

"All I'm saying," he goes on, as cheerfully as he can, "is that Madam Bar was very good at honoring our request for something sweet, and we should test her skill further by adding other flavors to the sweetness. Otherwise it will all taste the same, and who wants that?"

...says Wei Wuxian to one of the most prominent members of Gusu Lan.

"We can ask her to add more spice."

A heartbeat's silence.

"To yours."

Both expression and tone are mild.

"I do not mind trying other flavors, though."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Then I will see what I can find that does not sear your mouth too terribly, Lan Zhan."

(...Gods help him, now he's thinking about Lan Zhan's mouth. Help.)

The corners of his mouth turn up in a very slight smile.

"Mn. I appreciate it."

If only his tea were in the same sort of big, hefty, ceramic mug the chocolate came in. That would make it so much easier to hide his face.

Talk. Talk so he doesn't get worried. But Lan Zhan's smile has leveled him and turned him mute again, and all he can do is smile stupidly in return, bend his head, and drink more of his tea.

Unaware of the thoughts racing around Wei Ying's mind, he takes another sip of his own tea and absently looks at the arrangement of items on the table.

"Did you like the incense?" he asks, after a moment. "Would you prefer a different scent?"

"Hm?" He looks up, jolted from thoughts. "Oh, no, it was fine. It was nice."

A beat, as his smile goes a bit rueful.

"It helped."

"I am glad. That it helped."

He will make sure that, as with a tea pot and kettle, incense and an incense burner remain available in the room at all times.

"I am fond of sandalwood. As a scent."

"It's nice," he repeats, and instantly fights the urge to put his head down on the table and never look Lan Zhan in the eye again. Why.

Trying to marshal his thoughts toward something more useful: "I don't know why I never thought to bring some up here before. To help with the nightmares. You were smart to think of it, Lan Zhan."

"Mn."

He has his own suspicions on why that might be. Several of them have to do with what he knows about what Wei Ying thinks is important, and what Wei Ying thinks he deserves.

"If I think of other things, I will tell you."

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