Wei Wuxian (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrookedpath) wrote2020-09-02 08:36 am
acrookedpath) wrote2020-09-02 08:36 am
[pfsb]
The latest idea that struck Wei Wuxian mid-lunch: if he combined one of the theoretical energy talismans with a paper doll, would that allow him to search the grounds for resentful energy without having to blanket the whole inn with talismans?
It seems like a sound idea! It won't replace the planned night hunt with Lan Zhan -- nor would he want it to -- but if he succeeds, it will be a fun experiment.
First, though: combining a paper doll with a simpler talisman. Which brings us to Wei Wuxian at a table underneath the Observation Window, not an inch left uncovered by his notes, scribbling onto a tiny cutout with a ballpoint pen Bar gave him. (What an invention!) He completes the last character with a flourish and waves his hand over the doll; it springs to its "feet," and, grinning, he directs it toward the empty cup perched precariously on a corner of the table.
It seems like a sound idea! It won't replace the planned night hunt with Lan Zhan -- nor would he want it to -- but if he succeeds, it will be a fun experiment.
First, though: combining a paper doll with a simpler talisman. Which brings us to Wei Wuxian at a table underneath the Observation Window, not an inch left uncovered by his notes, scribbling onto a tiny cutout with a ballpoint pen Bar gave him. (What an invention!) He completes the last character with a flourish and waves his hand over the doll; it springs to its "feet," and, grinning, he directs it toward the empty cup perched precariously on a corner of the table.
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Anthy Himemaya.
“It never failed to amaze me how odd things could get here, but being here has been worth all the very strange moments.”
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Down by his ankles, the waitrat returns with a squeak: one tea service coming right up! Wei Wuxian murmurs his thanks and lifts the tray onto the table.
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Wei Wuxian's eyes have gone round. For someone who could technically still be called a teenager -- and always will be, now that he is dead -- fifteen years is very close to an actual, literal lifetime.
"Well!" He laughs. "I know who I will speak to now, if I ever have a question about the inn. In fact -- do you know anything about the different energies of this place? Spiritual, resentful, whatever allows the dead to continue living?"
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He swirls the scotch around in his glass as he reflects. So much of Milliways is unexplainable. He doesn’t even know if the Landlord actually exists or if that was a fiction those bound to Bar kept to discourage questions.
“I know, as I’m sure you do by now, that this a neutral place where all manners of energies and magic can coexist.”
Sometimes even peacefully! Sometimes!
“I know people come here in different states, and they sometimes leave differently than they came. There are rules for the dead and the bound that are followed but there always seem to be exceptions. In my birth world, spirits are a part of the magical world; in my home, I think even those of us living and breathing could be counted as ghosts.”
His brow furrows. “It’s a terrible answer, but it all really depends. I’ve never pried into the secrets here because honestly it hurts one’s head to think about them, and once I found refuge here, I didn’t want to take a chance on being expelled. I was on quite thin ice there for the first little bit, after all.”
And then he was too busy with the Underside and his family and with whatever crises occurred here or in friends’ worlds.
Had he remained the Tom Marvolo Riddle he thought had found himself in this strange place one day in 1954, no doubt he would have burrowed and searched and found the secrets.
But he did not stay that man.
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By the end, he has gone a little pale as well.
"They will expel people?" he asks. "I thought this was a place anyone could stay, if they found it."
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“The bartender at the time, the one who cast the spell that made Bar sentient, is from my birth world. He despised me for some very valid reasons. I would have become - had I not been incarnated here - the most reviled dark lord of the Wizarding world. I hadn’t done the things he hated me for yet, but... well. I’d done enough already.”
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"Ah, Tom-gongzi," he says -- it feels too awkward to simply call him Tom any longer -- "I am in awe of how many I meet from other worlds who have walked similar paths to my own. So many unexpected things, and this I may have expected the least! Now I am even more glad to know they didn't expel you."
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It never works to try to hide your past, especially from yourself.
"In fact there was a time a close circle of similar friends considered carrying business cards to announce our former evil ways so we wouldn't have to go through the whole explanation each time."
He leans back a little, regarding Wei Wuxian with genuine concern. "How are you, then, really, Wei Wuxian?"
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"I'm fine, Tom-gongzi," he says. "Is that all Lan Zhan told you of me? The wicked tricks?"
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He's keeping back the knowledge that Lan Wangji also mentioned Wei Wuxian was amongst the patrons who are dead. Either Wei Wuxian will mention that himself, or he won't, and either way, that is not a topic that Tom has any need to intrude upon.
"Plus we tend to be able to tell. Like draws to like, and all."
Although Tom would be hard pressed to identify Wei Wuxian as a typical user of dark magic. Some wear the darkness like a shroud, having been mired within it so long there is no other alternative. Not this man. Or so it seems to Tom.
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He finally lifts his gaze from his cup, genuine curiosity winning out over the cloud of throughts swirling through his mind. He had thought it coincidence, or chance -- and it can't merely be due to his work, because why would Lan Zhan have found his way here as well -- but...
"Because of the wicked tricks?"
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Wei Wuxian drinks his tea, as if to further chase the bitterness away, and does not reply for a moment.
(He remembers Nightless City like the lash of a whip, bright explosions of pain in between darkness. Bodies over the gates; Wei Wuxian choking on his own wild, despairing laughter; smoke, and blood, and Yanli in Jiang Cheng's arms. The cliff. Lan Zhan's hand in his.
Falling.
A second chance, a better life -- )
"I do not have that chance," he says at last, toneless.
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Enough for what, though? Enough to survive until you're at peace and ready to move on? He thinks of the dead who have come and lived a life here and then gone on to whatever was next. It didn't seem to be a waste of time for them, in the end.
It doesn't seem fair, but what in life is?
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"I was called the Yiling Patriarch," he finally says, distant. "Vicious. Fearsome. Vile. I asked if it would not be better to use resentful energy, rather than suppress or destroy it, and I learned my wicked tricks so I could protect others from destruction and death."
Wei Wuxian has always been an easy crier; hard as he tries, he cannot stop his eyes from burning.
"I walked a crooked path and I paid for it with my life. And I could not even protect -- " He bites down on nothing, forcing the rest of the words back. "It does not matter, Tom-gongzi. I am dead, I am here, I do not get a second chance. Only a little extra time."
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His frown deepens. "May I ask you more about what happened?"
Because, uh, when it comes to protecting others he loves from destruction and death, Tom will do anything necessary without hesitation. He doesn't practice the Dark Arts, but he acknowledges that the darkness is, and will always be, a part of him. Suppressing it does nothing but make it harder to resist.
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He says it without apology, but with no malice or anger, either. Just a simple, plain assertion. No.
"It is only a month past, for me. I do not want to talk about it."
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And he does. He really and truly does. His scotch is gone and he remembers the many, many visits to Milliways when a glass or two of the whiskey made a huge difference when things were at their grimmest.
"Do you drink spirits? Bar provides me a brilliantly aged scotch; if you'd like, I'll order us a round."
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"Yes," he says. "Yes, I drink. Please. If you are offering, I would be very grateful for a glass."
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"Here you are."
He settles in again, not ready to leave unless Wei Wuxian requests it. But he will steer the topic of conversation into - hopefully - less troublesome waters.
"When you said my name before, you added something to it at the end. Is that an honorific? Do you prefer others to use it for you, as well?"
People in London Below can get pretty testy if you don't address them in the specific way they prefer. And by testy, he means stabby.
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He likes it, he decides, and takes another, bigger sip.
"Gongzi?" he asks. "Ah, it means -- " He tries to think of how to explain it, falls short, and gives up. "It is a sign of respect. You do not have to use it -- I am happy to be Wei Wuxian."
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"Very well, we have that sorted, then."
Please note that Tom is absolutely fine with signs of respect.
"Do you want to know anything else about Milliways? Or my time here?"
He does wish to warn Wei Wuxian of what can happen when people from one's world encounter you here. He's been petrified on sight one too many times by eager young witches and wizards. But that can come later.
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