(no subject)

[we_bring_hell]

The Bar has not relented in her attempts to get Harrow to eat something with slightly more calories than air. After many false starts, she seems to have struck gold with potatoes, a vegetable Harrow has never had before.

Mashed was a success; soup went well, too. But chips--ahhh, chips. Hot, salty, taste like almost nothing at all. Harrow may never eat anything else again. After several false starts in the dipping sauce area she has made peace with a light sprinkling of vinegar. The only problem is they make her gloves and her papers greasy.

Therefore, find Harrowhark Nonagesimus at a table with her journal and a skeletal hand, drawing spirals and... God help us... eating chips with a fork. It could be worse. The hand could be feeding them to her.

Comments

[acrookedpath]

"Yes, that is the main principle behind my cultivation." He's near to beaming. "Stirring up resentful spirits and directing their energy through music. So -- yes, perhaps. I have wondered if it might be possible to use my own resentments as energy, if I am among the dead now, but if it does not truly matter if you are alive or dead..."

He grabs the pen and resumes his notes in a whirl of motion.

"Yes. I could start there, and if it goes well I could see about drawing from a larger thanergetic source like the Window, transforming and moving it away from me as quickly as you described. This might work. I think it might work!"

[we_bring_hell]

Harrow smiles--genuinely--with the joy of pushing back the frontiers of questionably applied necromancy and to see Wei Wuxian so excited. She wouldn't mention Lan Wangji with a blade at her throat.

"I am pleased for you. May we meet again with victories to share. My friend," she says, incredibly awkwardly but sincerely.

[acrookedpath]

Her words catch him and drag him back to himself; realizing he's on the verge of toppling into hours of rambling and theorizing, he laughs a little, self-deprecating.

"Yes." He forces himself to flip the portfolio closed. "I have stolen enough of your table and your time for now. Thank you, my friend. I wish you luck on your progress, and a pleasant rest of the day."

And with his customary bow, he takes his leave.

(Not too far. If it were any other night, he would retreat upstairs to continue his work, where Lan Zhan would probably find him three teapots and two wine bottles deep as he paced around the room. But until Lan Zhan is here --

Until he's here, a couch near the fireplace will suffice.)