@98huii
the old lady at the shrine down the road told him this would be a good idea. he’s not so sure it is, but she’d bought the salt and everything (the chunky kind—the type that only makes sense in the context of an avalanche or a city-wide haunting) and he’s much too kind to turn a granny who has good intentions down, even if he does think she might be a little off of her rocker.
now that he’s here, it’s a matter of performing the act.
and truth be told, sanho doesn’t want to. he’s pretty sure that the aftermath of the act is going to fall squarely on his shoulders (namely, he isn’t even positive hanhui knows where the vacuum is in this place—and sanho does, and he really hates vacuuming). but at the same time, what the fuck else am i supposed to do with this.
maybe hanhui would appreciate it. he seems a little on the jittery side, like he might be swept away by tales of yore if they were just freaky enough. then again, sanho’s never been great at reading people—before and after he forgot who most of them were.
“well,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. it’s an awkward hour and hanhui’s nowhere to be seen. sanho takes the opportunity and upends an an entire rucksack of salt (the chunky kind—the type that wouldn’t make sense in soup unless you were looking to do some damage to some internal organ, he’s sure) over the very spot that, just weeks ago, he discovered a dead body keeled over on.
...
nothing happens.
of course nothing happens.
sanho clamps his eyes shut. feigns meditation. “mmm,” he hums. “not feeling any change in the energies.” there’s a soft thud thud thud (and a skid to a stop) of footsteps behind him that he’s assuming is his boss. “hui, is that you? you feel anything different about the vibes of this place?”
