( The silent coachmen and long ride were boring, the wolves a problem easily remedied by the bladed fan he never truly keeps concealed - though he would have preferred not to be stained by the viscera, thank you very much. There is blood along his jaw, and down, smearing the teal collar of his robes, the white edge of his fan dripping in the dark, and yet the fight has not left him bereft of anything. Wen Kexing arrives at the gate with his fellow travellers in high spirits, lifting his gaze to the gardens beyond, an impressed whistle floating tunelessly through the wind. His good humour only lift further when one of the skulls spits a blade at his feet and offers him compliments, his grin widening to show all his teeth, playing at demure to the nearest bystander. )

I like this place better already.

( Still, they ask him for a secret as payment for his entering, and Wen Kexing, having been busy tucking the blade away and cleaning his fan off on a nearby leaf, makes another short noise, this one more unimpressed. )

Or maybe not. What kind of secret do they want, do you think?

( Those who know Wen Kexing - or the Wen Kexing that he chooses to show the world at large - might be a little surprised if they find him out in the gardens. He's knelt in the snow, carefully packing a large round ball into shape, hands a little red from the cold. Once that is done, he lifts it on top of another large round ball, holding it in place for a moment to make sure the whole structure doesn't topple. Satisfied, he dusts off his hands. This is the second snowman he's made, a little smaller than the one beside it, and he casts down at his side to pluck up a flower he'd found, tucking the stem into the head of the figure where the 'hair' might have been, leaning back to admire his handywork. )

Ah, Ah-Xiang, it's probably for the best you aren't here.

( But still, he misses his silly girl. A sigh drifts, and then Wen Kexing lifts his head to the sound of approaching footsteps. )

How long do you think it will take them to melt, do you think?

( The pudding goes down wrong, or no, it goes down right but the sheer amount of alcohol in it makes him cough anyway, thumping a fist against his chest in order to clear it from the fumes. Wen Kexing is sitting on a stool, having commandeered a bottle of something presumably for cooking but is instead being drunk, sampling whatever the magical kitchen provides, a curious childlike glee at the opportunity. )

Well, if that one was poisoned you wouldn't know with the sheer volume of liquor.

( Back in goes his spoon, self-preservation apparently long gone, and if he's just talking to the kitchen itself then that's his own business. )

I prefer the other one, the one with the red fruits, but I suppose this one is nice enough too. ( Spoon firmly lodged in his mouth, Wen Kexing makes a pleased noise that could border on obscene. ) Okay, better the second time around. Less jarring.

( Sweets and booze, the house can be as evil as it likes as long as he has this. )

qingya