[ true to his word, the trip doesn't take much longer. the gardens curl to an end; they pass between a pair of star magnolia trees, two shadows adrift in the dusk, and then they're through.
zhongli lives, apparently, at the end of an older block, where the balconies are flush with faded scrollwork and the stairs curve with the studied red gleam of retouched paint. his door opens to a perfectly ordinary set of sprawling, modern quarters: a parlour; a distant study bricked with silk-bound books; two doors standing half-open, inviting. it's the kind of layout that any merchant might rent for a week or two in the city. but in the parlour, there rests more than a few trinkets that childe might recognise from the last few seasons of rampant spending: lacquerware boxes on the mantel, a bamboo palm in a jade-rimmed pot, a glossy black cabinet with designs drawn in gold foil, filigree-winged cranes peering up through a cloud of greenery.
not that childe's getting much of an opportunity to admire the decor. the door clicks shut, and zhongli stops in the narrow foyer, half-turned, mouth curving with a thought that needs no translation. ]
You have my thanks for permitting me to take you so far out of your way.
[ one step, another. he closes the little distance without hurry, pressing childe back against the door. ]
Now - [ with the gentle, bright-eyed irony of a man indulging in a comfortable cliche. ] Where were we?
no subject
zhongli lives, apparently, at the end of an older block, where the balconies are flush with faded scrollwork and the stairs curve with the studied red gleam of retouched paint. his door opens to a perfectly ordinary set of sprawling, modern quarters: a parlour; a distant study bricked with silk-bound books; two doors standing half-open, inviting. it's the kind of layout that any merchant might rent for a week or two in the city. but in the parlour, there rests more than a few trinkets that childe might recognise from the last few seasons of rampant spending: lacquerware boxes on the mantel, a bamboo palm in a jade-rimmed pot, a glossy black cabinet with designs drawn in gold foil, filigree-winged cranes peering up through a cloud of greenery.
not that childe's getting much of an opportunity to admire the decor. the door clicks shut, and zhongli stops in the narrow foyer, half-turned, mouth curving with a thought that needs no translation. ]
You have my thanks for permitting me to take you so far out of your way.
[ one step, another. he closes the little distance without hurry, pressing childe back against the door. ]
Now - [ with the gentle, bright-eyed irony of a man indulging in a comfortable cliche. ] Where were we?