riddleofthebelow

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The next time Tom enters the bar, he turns round to the portal painting first thing. When he steps away, the rabbits playing poker look much more like proper rabbits instead of rabbit-shaped former canines. He steps back, regarding it, and nods his head. Much better.

Then he takes his stack of research with him to a table and orders a scotch. While Wei Wuxian indeed broke the ward on the mysterious scroll, and Tom was able to translate it, it still makes no sense. He has old maps of London Above to scour for clues today, because the existence of scroll is still bothering him. He doesn't think it's malevolent, but he's even more convinced that there is no logical reason to have found it in the Underside.

Not that the Underside is very logical. You know what he means.

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Tom pauses in his casting. He'd wondered if Wei Wuxian might try his magic here. The hag is certainly resentful and has plenty of energy, after all.

She stops screeching and drops the laundry bat, her bloodshot eyes fixing on Wei Wuxian. She sways a little where she stands.

He takes a step back, keeping an eye on the hag as the Rat Speakers hiss whispers all around them and mutters, "Can you control her, then? Make her come with us? That will be much easier on her, if so."

He dips his head into a nod, without ceasing the music, and closes his eyes, concentrating.

Thin black ribbons of smoke drift up from the water. They skim the pond's surface like serpents, pulled from the hag by the call of Wei Wuxian's music. It is a simple trick, to lure a demon away: take some of their resentful energy, and they will follow to reclaim it as a fish follows a baited hook. Combined with Rest, she should come along without a fuss.

The smoke eels through the crowd. The onlookers part, murmuring incredulously, as it rises to wrap around Wei Wuxian's flute, joining more wisps of smoke floating from the instrument.

Dazed, the hag steps from the water.

It’s the tangible evidence of magical power that makes Tom want to stun everyone involved into stillness so he can examine these black wisps more closely.

That would be neither wise nor helpful. Back on task, Mr. Riddle.

Instead he points his wand at the hag’s laundry, gathering it and her laundry bat in a floating bundle beside her.

“Over here, please,” he says in a low voice. It’s a bit of a trick to maneuver two other beings, one of whom is actively channeling magic, to a cliff wall where he can open a door. It’s even trickier to bring them both through said door at the same time.

Thankfully two of three in the group are very good at tricks.

The first place he thinks might work for the hag is much different from the previous bucolic setting. It’s a littered concrete culvert, but the water is clean and strong and flowing. A group of lean-to shelters covered in scavenged planks and disused billboards make up an encampment down the bank. Punk music - that sounds not unlike the hag screeching at times - blares from the site, and people with spiky hair and lots and lots of safety pins holding their clothes together mill about.

Tom says, “We’re here. If you would release our companion?”

Quickly, he brings the melody to a close, the smoke drifting away as he lowers his flute. Some of it swims back to the hag as if carried on an invisible current. The rest simply dissipates into nothing.

The music -- if it can be called that -- well, he knows it's not another haunting or a pack of demons, at least, no matter how much it sounds like it. He resists the urge to clap his hands over his ears, settling for a wince instead as he tucks the flute away.

"Yes," he says dryly, and wiggles one finger around in his ear, "I think she'll find this very pleasant."

Tom snorts back a chuckle and waves the bundle of laundry to the hag, whose eyes have refocused. She looks around at her new surroundings, sniffs once, and then starts arranging the clothes for further drying on a crumbling concrete bulwark beside the water. When she begins her screeching wails, the punk enclave emerges, and, pleased with their new neighbor, urges her on.

The leader of the group, a young woman with a spiked collar, bald head, and pierced, well, everything, approaches Tom to exchange pleasantries. She gives Wei Wuxian a slow appraising look up and down, and then she winks at him with a wicked grin.

“And I think we’d best be off,” Tom inserts quickly, clapping Wei Wuxian on the shoulder. “Do excuse us, Lana X, and thank you all for your understanding. The House of Arch will remember this kindness.”

Ah, he remembers when female cultivators used to look at him like that -- though never so shamelessly, and never with so much jewelry draped and drilled into them. (Or so little hair, which is a bit... alarming.) Still! It's quite nostalgic. He offers a cheery grin and a wave before Tom's hand lands heavy on his shoulder to escort them away.

"It seems they will have no complaints about their new resident," he says once they're several paces away from the gathering. "A liberation after all. Well chosen, Tom-gongzi!"

“Thank you for helping,” he says, leading them to the closest wall. “That was most kind of you. I hated having to remove her.”

One more step and they’re back in Tom’s study, where he can, finally, speak freely.

“I assure you that would not have been my preference. The Rat Speakers are entitled and intolerable, and I much prefer the hag to their company. But as I said, politics.”

He sighs. “The Openers of the House of Arch open ways and open hearts, and had anyone told me fifteen years ago I’d be a diplomat, I’d have laughed myself sick.”

"It did seem as if the conflict was primarily the Rat Speakers' making," agrees Wei Wuxian, wryly. "So much space, so many other sources of water, and yet they needed that pond badly enough that they risked turning a simple bad omen into a fully resentful spirit? She had made it plain it was hers, I thought!"

He rolls his eyes.

"Oh well. Cultivation is often a negotiation as well. I was happy to help, Tom-gongzi, and I was very glad for the adventure."

Galatea flutters over from her perch and lands gently on Wei Wuxian's shoulder. Tom shakes his head in amusement, because clearly, the younger man has been accepted here.

"If something like that were to come up again, would you be available to assist me? Your resentful energy is evidently a part of the Underside, and it would be nice to have magical back up, if the need should arise."

He beams, delighted by Galatea's return. Owls do not exactly have chins to scratch beneath, so he settles for scratching her chest instead, murmuring a fond hello.

"If you are in need of help, I will always be willing to provide it," he says, just as delighted by the offer. "It can be difficult to work at the inn -- there is not as much resentful energy as I would normally find. I have missed it."

"Then I should like to extend the offer to key you to the House of Arch painting so you can come and go here as you like. I do ask that guests don't go into London Below alone, which is why there are no exit painting, but you could use the common rooms all you wished."

And visit Tom's study when he's home and read all the books and talk all the magic!

"Really?" Clearly surprised -- and just as clearly pleased -- Wei Wuxian laughs. "Then I will gladly accept the offer. Especially as I now only have to face down a few rabbits to visit your home!"

An entire new space -- an entire new world -- to explore! Wait until he tells Lan Zhan.

"I don't think Galatea would forgive me if I didn't," he says with a grin.

He pours them both a scotch - they've certainly earned it - and they settle in for the important business of sharing ideas and examining all manner of books and scrolls and parchments.

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