quote_gentle_unquote | * [semi-closed post]

Susan is still struggling, but she's established a little routine, specific to Dark: every morning, she goes to her favorite room - the one with all the rugs - and retrieves several bottles of alcohol. These, she ferries down to the cafe and arranges them on a corner table, where she sits for the next hour or so, passing bottles to anyone who needs a full one, and measures from the bottles to anyone who would prefer just a drink or two. By now, she's got a sense of the regulars, their preferences (though she cannot always accommodate these - it really is the queerest assortment of libations), and how much they require, but she always brings an extra bottle or two just in case.

Today, she's tireder than normal, and moving slowly. Her tea was running low, and so she's rationing it. She's even on the verge of capitulating and getting a cup of coffee to tide herself over.

[Primarily intended for Dionysus and Lan Wangji, but if anyone wants to play out the awkwardness of the daily alcohol retrieval I'm all in!]

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"I believe there might still be some in the cabinet," Susan says. "It's running awfully low but there ought to be enough."

Lan Wangji strides over to the cabinet in question and opens it. He frowns at what he sees inside, which is, indeed, inarguably tea, but which is not in the form factor to which he is accustomed. He picks up a tin, opens it, and narrows his eyes down at the teabags within. "It resembles Detective Chief Inspector Nightingale's tea." His voice is so utterly neutral that the sheer neutrality of it may give away his feelings about that tea-drinking experience.

"It's popular in Britain. I'm afraid I've not seen green tea outside of Shen Yuan's supply, and that was ages ago."

Lan Wangji would rather drink nothing but plain water for the remainder of his life than stoop to asking Shen Yuan, of all people, for tea. "Do you also come from Britain?"

"I did. London, specifically. Same as Thomas, though I believe he arrived from a point several decades in my future."

Lan Wangji picks up a teabag between two fingers and eyes it skeptically. "Some things do not improve with time."

"You needn't drink it if it's not to your taste," says Susan, who rather likes it and is worried about supply.

"That would be wasteful." This is intended as assurance that Lan Wangji has no plans of consuming anything he does not like during this time of scarcity. Demonstratively, he returns the teabag to its tin and shuts it.

"What does yours look like?"

"The leaves are compressed into a cake." He has a little left, but not much. It is not strictly a necessity, but so many of his routines are half in tatters this month that it would be a comfort.

"Is it packaged in anything?"

With some genuine confusion, Lan Wangji turns back to face her properly. "Such as?"

"Are the cakes wrapped in paper or cloth, for example? I'm trying to build a mental image so I know if I've seen them."

"I believe the mansion supplies them because I expected it to when I arrived. They typically appear in my tea caddy." Obviously, this is not currently the case.

"So I shall assume the answer is 'no?'"

"No," Lan Wangji agrees. "When I purchased such things at home, the merchant would fill the tea caddy I carried with me."

Susan tilts her head. "And what does a tea caddy look like?"

He is a little surprised at the extent of her apparent interest, but not displeased. "I can show you, if you can wait."

"I can wait." She's got at least thirty minutes more of just sitting here waiting for men to get their drinks.

Lan Wangji nods to her, then, and turns to go. There are small things for which to be grateful; the mansion has not taken away gifts already given. Upstairs, he tidies the bed Wei Ying has left in disarray, opens the curtains to let some weak light into the room, and assembles the components of his usual tea service.

When he returns to the café, he is balancing a bamboo tray in one hand. It bears a dark blue ceramic tea caddy, a white porcelain teapot patterned with blue clouds, and two matching teacups.

"Oh, that's lovely," Susan breathes, looking at the service. She sighs, though, as she gazes at the caddy. It doesn't ring any bells.

This doesn't surprise Lan Wangji, and so he accepts it without comment. He sets the tray at the corner of her table and opens the caddy. A small amount of tea does remain. He glances at Susan. "Would you like some?"

Susan glances at it. It looks heavenly. "Yes," she says, honestly. "But we're low enough right now. Perhaps I ought to stick to my sachets and you to your caddy until the stores have replenished."

Susan has a point, and Lan Wangji can appreciate the need for frugality and practicality at a time like this. He returns the lid to the tea caddy, just a hint of a troubled expression crossing his face. "After this month has passed," he says, "I can serve you tea."

"And I shall take it gladly," says Susan.

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