( wei wuxian has no idea what the trashcans are for. he has in fact had to learn this at his house, between the one under the sink and the larger bin out to the side of the house. this whole mystical system of waste transportation feels novel in a sense, but also like it's a massive cultural cue and context he's missing out on, like many others here.
he's had a similar idea, concerned about poisons and other things he isn't equipped to find out before the fact, absolutely normal as he is now. when he picks up his bowl, it's with a wink to the woman speaking to his left and a promise that he'll be back, after topping off—there's mention of cheese, and he has no real idea what she's talking about, but he smiles like he does, and she waves him off, turning back to her conversation with the partner sitting to her left. what exactly is parmesan? irrelevant, he supposes.
he's contemplating offloading into a potted plant or figuring out if he can casually achieve the restroom and come back looking freshfaced and optimistic, which seems to be the preferred facade around town, when he catches a sound of something falling and a man next to another bin. more trash? he nonchalantly walks over, peering in and fumbling his own bowl, letting it join the rest of what's inside with a downplayed gasp: )
No! Not the... biscuit!
( he'd forgotten already what the soup was called. it hadn't smelled like anything he cared to try even if he'd been so inclined, for all the red had held promise (spicy? perhaps? he can dream). asked more conversationally if the man hasn't already hopped right back into the luncheon, as wei wuxian glances up again: )
bisque and breadsticks
he's had a similar idea, concerned about poisons and other things he isn't equipped to find out before the fact, absolutely normal as he is now. when he picks up his bowl, it's with a wink to the woman speaking to his left and a promise that he'll be back, after topping off—there's mention of cheese, and he has no real idea what she's talking about, but he smiles like he does, and she waves him off, turning back to her conversation with the partner sitting to her left. what exactly is parmesan? irrelevant, he supposes.
he's contemplating offloading into a potted plant or figuring out if he can casually achieve the restroom and come back looking freshfaced and optimistic, which seems to be the preferred facade around town, when he catches a sound of something falling and a man next to another bin. more trash? he nonchalantly walks over, peering in and fumbling his own bowl, letting it join the rest of what's inside with a downplayed gasp: )
No! Not the... biscuit!
( he'd forgotten already what the soup was called. it hadn't smelled like anything he cared to try even if he'd been so inclined, for all the red had held promise (spicy? perhaps? he can dream). asked more conversationally if the man hasn't already hopped right back into the luncheon, as wei wuxian glances up again: )
This is a garbage, isn't it?