Work Text:
Zei twists the dial on the ornately decorated box before him, the shape of it alive with nothing but static and a whining hum. He frowns, trying another knob and knocking lightly on the top of it, the sound hollow and the hum whirring frantically for a moment before settling on a different frequency.
“The man is clearly dead,” Wan Shi Tong says plainly from where he roosts high upon one of the many enormous bookcases, not turning to look down at the lone human who still wanders its countless aisles filled with tomes. Zei looks up at the ancient, blinking his eyes into focus before he smiles softly to himself.
“Perhaps he is just asleep,” the man calls back, picking up the box and approaching the bookcase, looking up at the dark shape. He sees rustle of feathers in the inky blackness as Wan Shi Tong shifts, the movement of the white spots on the back of his head indicating a tilt of his great head. “Do you not want to know what he has to say?”
“It’s as I told you, Professor, he is dead,” comes the great spirit’s voice again, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Zei’s smile widens, and he shakes his head. He only calls him professor when he’s pretending he’s not interested, and is trying to distance himself.
“Why don’t you come and have a look for yourself?” Zei asks, lifting the box up. The spirit does not even pretend to glance in his direction, another rustle of feathers accompanied by a deep hum. “Maybe he just needs a little encouragement from a wise and powerful spirit!” Wan Shi Tong ignores him, opting to continue reading whatever tome he’s become absorbed in instead. Zei sighs, and tucking the box under his arm, he begins his ascent up one of the ever shifting staircases - the ones that Wan Shi Tong had made for him specifically - and approaches the spirit.
The bookcases that the knowledge spirit roosts on are always the larger ones, ones that are so wide that he can stretch out as much as he desires while still seeing the great expanse of his library. It is also means that they are wide enough for Zei to walk along comfortably, ignoring the steep precipice that awaits him on either side. He’s become used to the library, but he still finds himself walking on shaky feet and feeling just a bit woozy at times when he climbs those vast cases.
Wan Shi Tong sits near the end, his back to the human. He knows that he’s there of course - he always does. Regardless, Zei makes sure to step with enough sound so as to not startle him, but not so loud as to disturb his train of thought. “Come now - don’t you want to see? Jian went through so much trouble to bring this for you.” Wan Shi Tong huffs a sigh in response. Zei had long ago named all the fox spirits that live in service to the ancient, in spite of the spirit’s annoyance. Wan Shi Tong called Zei all manner of things, and so he thought it only fair that those with unknowable spirit names have ones that they share with him, the lone human in their midst.
Approaching the spirit, he places a hand on the great coat of feathers and smiles up at the face that is turned away from him. The ancient huffs again, and reluctantly lifts his wing enough for Zei to pass under it. He smiles warmly, and steps into Wan Shi Tong’s shadow. Before the spirit lays a book, its pages glowing lightly as they flip themselves, the great owl’s black eyes seemingly unmoving. “What are you reading?” Zei asks, taking a seat between the great taloned feet, resting the box in his lap.
“A gift from an old friend,” Wan Shi Tong says plainly, some kind of painful note in his tone. Zei looks up at him, that beaked face unreadable as ever. He frowns slightly before looking back at the book. He sits silently with him for a long time, simply watching and listening to the pages turn themselves, the low hum of the spirit’s great size buzzing around him. It was strange at first, but he’s grown used to it now. He’s had decades to, after all.
Zei sighs, and leans back into the soft feathers of Wan Shi Tong’s abdomen, looking up at him again. “Shall we try to wake the man then, Master?” The spirit lets out a low hum before glancing down at the human for all but a moment.
“Do what you like,” he says simply, and that is good enough for Zei. The static humming and whirring comes back to life as he fiddles with the knobs, patiently twisting and pushing and listening as the frequencies change. He thinks he hears what might be a voice for a brief moment before it is gone again. Sighing, he sets it to a frequency not dissimilar to Wan Shi Tong’s natural hum, and closes his eyes.
Large, clawed hands run over his braid and his shoulders, one coming to rest comfortably on his chest, holding him against the endless dark of the spirit’s feathers. “Perhaps... he just needs to rest for a while,” Wan Shi Tong says, something sheepish in his tone, something self conscious about the unacknowledged display of tenderness. Zei smiles, and nuzzles into the new hand’s thumb, wrapping his own hand around the index finger.
“Perhaps he does.”