(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]

Two nights now. Two mornings. No sign of Lan Zhan.

Last nght Wei Wuxian stayed in the common room, drinking pot after pot of tea to stay awake as long as he could, but sleep took him at chǒu hour and spat him out again, muffling a scream on his arm, a few shichen later. The poor woman on the next couch over almost jumped a meter in the air from fright. He made his apologies, reassured her he was fine, and went upstairs to keep any more of his nightmares from bothering the rest of the inn.

This doesn't feel like bad luck anymore, or Lan Zhan growing so disgusted with him that he decided it would be better to spend his evening in Cold Pond Cave. The certainty gnaws a cold pit in his stomach: something is wrong.

"Harrow," he says as he approaches. He made an effort to tidy up after his largely sleepless night, but there is no disguising the bags under his eyes, dark as a bruise. "Hello. Have you seen Lan Zhan lately?"

[herald_ingress]

Ingress breezes in through the door from Valdemar in a much better mood than the last time she arrived here. She sees Harrow and approaches her table.

"Hello, Harrow," she says. "Oh, yum, chips. I love chips."