[pfsb]

[acrookedpath]

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.

Comments

[acrookedpath]

"Ninth?"

He leans forward, the creases of his forehead deepening.

"Are you well? I'm sorry, I will speak to Lan Zhan when I see him next -- "

[we_bring_hell]

She closes her eyes. "By no means."

She realizes that could be read as I am by no means well, and corrects herself.

"You do not need to say anything to him. I was caught off guard. I imagine I would be able to tell if he was casting spells on me."

She opens her lightless eyes again. The Body is gone. "All is well, Wei Wuxian."

[acrookedpath]

"...All right."

He sounds uncertain, still, and not all of the furrows have smoothed from his brow as he offers the Ninth a small smile.

"I apologize for catching you off guard, then. As I said -- I assumed wrongly. I would be happy to continue discussing music with you, but I will understand if you'd rather not."

[we_bring_hell]

"By no means," she says again. "I have mostly confined myself to a single disc of recorded music, but I have tried a few. I was captivated by a ballad about a shipwreck, in fact, but most of the rest on that disc held little interest to me."

[acrookedpath]

He chuckles. "Well, I cannot promise as thrilling or despairing a song as that! But..."

Did he bring his flute downstairs with him? He must have. Wei Wuxian pats his belt, makes a face when he discovers it's not there, sifts through a few piles to the right -- "Aha! There we are."

He grabs the bamboo flute from where it was two centimeters away from rolling off the table. Fluttering his fingers over the holes, he considers what to play. (The problem, he thinks ruefully, is that he spent so many years honing his ability to summon resentful energy that nearly all the music he knows revolves around that singular talent. Which is extremely unhelpful when playing for someone like the Ninth.)

Finally, decision made, he raises the flute to his mouth.

The tune is clear, bright; a little wistful. It doesn't have the same depth or purity as Lan Zhan's guqin, but it sings sweetly all the same.

[we_bring_hell]

She sits and listens, head cocked a little like a bird's, and absorbs the music. There is something about the appreciation of music that is like learning a skill, or building a muscle, to use a metaphor that would please Gideon.

[acrookedpath]

There are old songs he remembers others singing, or playing, as they learned their instruments. Stories of cultivators past. Lullabies hummed to children. He shifts seamlessly from one tune to the next, embellishing the simpler melodies with flourishes and trills, eyes drifting closed as he lets himself fall into the music.

(There is another melody he could bring in, but despite how freely he played it in his earliest days at the inn, he finds himself fiercely guarding the song Lan Zhan hummed for him in the cave so many years ago. He doesn't want to examine that impulse too closely.)

It's -- nice. To simply play, as he put it. To follow the tune without expectation of more, for a time.

So he plays.

[we_bring_hell]

She closes her eyes again, and smiles behind the veil. She feels an ice cold hand slip into hers, but the hallucination does not alarm her. She makes a soft sound of appreciation.

[acrookedpath]

Eventually -- he isn't quite sure how long -- his mouth grows too dry for him to continue.

With a quiet exhalation, he lowers the flute back to his lap, watching the Ninth.

[we_bring_hell]

She looks at peace; her gloved hand curled over itself. "Beautiful, Wei Wuxian."

[acrookedpath]

It's been a while since Wei Wuxian's presence has brought anyone peace.

(A memory strikes, too fast for him to dodge: A-Yuan curled in his lap, drowsing, as he hummed to him, the child utterly sure of his place in the world. Of the knowledge Wei Wuxian would keep him safe.)

His smile trembles before he can catch himself; he dips his head into a bow. "Thank you, Ninth," he says, softly. "It was my pleasure."

[we_bring_hell]

Behind her veil, Harrow's face goes through a series of changes that are invisible to the naked eye.

Eventually she says in that same toneless opaque voice: "I do not know any instruments, but I can sing. Well enough for the choirs of Drearburh, at least."

[acrookedpath]

"Will you sing for me?"

He traces the pad of his thumb over the characters carved into the top of his flute.

"If you wish?"

[we_bring_hell]

She nods, quick and curt.

Other than the melancholy hymns of Drearburh, there is only one song she knows well enough to perform at this point. She takes a deep breath and sing, in a clear, melodic church choir voice nothing like the nasal burr of the original singer and very little like her usual low speaking voice:

"There's bound to be a ghost in the back of your closet
No matter, where you live
There's bound to be a few things maybe several things
You're going to find it difficult, to forgive

She swallows.

"There's going to come a day when you feel better
You'll rise up free and easy on that day
And float from branch to branch
Lighter than the air

But when that day is coming,
who can say?"

She smiles grimly behind her veil, and repeats:

"Who can say?"

Her voice rises for the conclusion, not quite the warcry of the original, but full of the promise and purring menace of someone who grew up in an eschatological shadow. For seventeen years she has prayed that the rock will never be rolled away, but for five years she hasn't meant it. Not at all.

"Our mother has been absent
Ever since we founded Rome

But there's going to be a party when the wolf comes home."

[acrookedpath]

It's startling to hear a voice so clear, coming from the Ninth, and the music itself --

Automatically, he trains his ear toward the unfamiliar style and rhythm, even as his mind slams to a halt against the words she sings. The ache of loss is never far away, but it hurts, now, sharp as a sword wound. Such a plain-spoken sentiment. Such a foreign idea, so far from Wei Wuxian's grasp.

His mouth is no longer dry, but an abrupt tightness has risen in his throat to replace it. He swallows, several times, to force it away.

The melody's simple enough to commit to memory on the first pass: he lifts the flute again without thinking, and, quietly, begin to echo the song back to her.

[we_bring_hell]

She wasn't going to sing the second verse, which has some technological references, but when he begins playing she goes on.

"We're going to commandeer the local airwaves
And tell the neighbors what's been going on
And they will shake their heads
And wag their bony fingers--"

There's a fond smile in her voice; this line makes her think of the elderly congregation of the Ninth.

"--in all the wrong directions
and in the morning we'll be gone.

I'm--"

She gulps a breath and steels herself for this part which, well, goes hard.

"--going to get myself in fighting trim
Scope out every angle of unfair advantage
And I'm going to bribe the officials
And I'm gonna kill at the judges.

It's gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage.

Ohhhhh

Our mother has been absent
Ever since we
Founded Rome
But there's gonna
be a party

when the wolf comes home."

She's tried to keep her voice down, awkward about performing in a public space, but this part demands to be snarled.

[acrookedpath]

Within a few lines of the next verse, Wei Wuxian shifts from melody to harmony, filling in the gaps with a music of his own devising. It doesn't match the original any more than the Ninth's voice does, but it doesn't need to. It can be its own beast, reshaped from raw material into something new.

(And focusing on the counterpoint means he doesn't have to pay close attention to the lyrics that threaten to run him through a second time. All he has to worry about is the tune.)

He plays a few more bars after the verse ends. When no more of the song seems forthcoming, he winds down to a close, beams, and laughs a little as he takes the flute away.

"It seems I have more music to explore as well!" he says. "Ninth, that was stunning."

[we_bring_hell]

"I believe the musicians call themselves the Mountain Goats," she says. Goats are as mythical as the unicorn to her.

"It is the song of that disc I have listened to the most. My shipwreck ballad has some very difficult unfamiliar words," she says, half-apologetic.

The song speaks to her deeply, of course. There is indeed a ghost at the back of Harrowhark's closet no matter where she lives.

[acrookedpath]

"There will be time later for shipwreck ballads," he assures her, scribbling another note to himself on what's becoming the designated Things I Have Learned From the Ninth paper. "I will start with this."

[we_bring_hell]

She exhales, settling from the uncharacteristic performance.

"I know you were looking for sites of resentful energy around here. Have you found any yet?"

It probably seems to come out of nowhere; the logical chain exists, but only in Harrow's mind.

[acrookedpath]

Wei Wuxian can't quite follow her train of thought, but he's willing to roll with it.

"No," he says, disgruntled. He tucks his flute back into his belt lest he misplace it again. "Only the smallest wisps, sometimes. It is not nearly enough to work with."

[we_bring_hell]

She nods thoughtfully. "I had hoped to find a tomb."

"If I am going to stay here much longer, I will need to go back for my makeup, or consecrate some more. I am the Reverend Daughter... but I am a long way from the Locked Tomb."

[acrookedpath]

"Ah! I had wondered why -- " He gestures to his own face to indicate the Ninth's veil. "No matter. Lan Zhan and I will see if the lack of resentful energy is due to a suppression field once he returns tonight. If it is, it should eventually taper off the further we go from the inn -- so we mean to explore the forest and see if I can find anything out there. If we do, I would be happy to tell you."

[we_bring_hell]

"Yes, I met someone - Kevin - he was very curious about the forest," she says.

"I would feel better if I was somewhere I could invoke the spirits. Perhaps I should just go back for the box I brought from Drearburh."

She just doesn't want to risk seeing Griddle before she's ready to confess.

[acrookedpath]

"Is there a reason you can't?" he asks, frowning slightly. "I know I cannot see the front door, and I have heard of that happening sometimes even if..."

He trails off, struck by a realization: in all of this, he has never actually told the Ninth he is dead. His mouth twists further, more rueful now.

"Even if you are alive," he goes on. "But it sounded as if you are staying by choice, when you spoke of spending more time here."