#and introducing

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Mariah Carey: Showtime.

Hamal is basically sober by the time they teleport back home. The fizzle of moonshine has died away, expediently cleansed from their blood. The sun has set, though this time of year it does that earlier and earlier. Lanterns are lit, illuminating the pathways in a pleasant amber glow. Looking at the compound, you wouldn’t think anything changed. People are still out and about, walking, talking, taking care of their personal business. Some note their arrival and bow as they pass. They barely notice them. Time to see what awaits them. They hesitate at the door to their hut. Whatever Narinder spent his day doing, this is typically the time of evening he arrives home. Hamal takes a breath. They’ll figure it out. Somehow. The hut is about the same as they left it. The desk is still a mess, though there aren’t as many sheets of parchment as when they left. There are more inkwells, though, and a stained quill that’s been abandoned. They find Narinder— lying on the bed, on top of the blankets, fast asleep. The way he’s sprawled out makes them think he didn’t intend to nap, but exhaustion catches up with everyone eventually. Well, at least he’s sleeping again.

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