*Is* this how it happens?

[for_tradition]

There's a woman in the Bar proper. She's commandeered a medium-ish sized table and covered it with things: books, pieces of parchment, notes. There's a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea. She has one pair of glasses tucked on her shining brown hair, and she's wearing another, and she's humming to herself.

She is also, as a certain cavalier might say, mega-dead... but she doesn't seem at all perturbed by it.

Comments

[hinotfuckingdead]

The man approaching her table should probably quiver in shame and turn around and leave, but he doesn't, because he's the worst man in the universe and doesn't feel things like shame.

He is medium height, medium build, brown skin, dark hair, eyes of blackest night. He wears an Cohort uniform without signifiers, and a iridescent robe, and a crown of laurel and baby's fingers.

There was a picture of him in Abigail Pent's childhood bedroom and he looked exactly like this.

"Lady of the Fifth House," he says, placing his hands on a chair at the table. "I was deeply grieved to hear of your passing."

[acrookedpath]

As it turns out, Abigail has not cornered the market on being a mega-dead spirit adept prone to scattering things all over a table!

Granted, Wei Wuxian has left most of his things upstairs today: the portfolio Harrow gave him has proved incredibly useful in consolidating his work. There is still the problem of organizing it after, of course, but: baby steps. As he passes Abigail's table on his way to fetch another bottle of wine, his steps slow, avid curiosity lighting his eyes.

"What is all this?"

[riddleofthebelow]

All of the things draw Tom over like a magpie to shiny. He's pleased to note the pot of tea - this new person is civilized, as well as studious.

"Hullo," he says. He's just noticed the parchment, and for a moment, he freezes in concern, lest this new patron be from his old world. "I hope I'm not interrupting."