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[thefirstemperor]

[Absolute silence. Fou-Lu does not know what an inbox is.]

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[thefirstemperor]

Like the cocoa, he takes this sort of mortal production in the spirit it's offered more than for its own sake. He sits just as stiffly here, as if he's made of ice and stone himself. He can, in fact, relax, in the right company and with a bit of prompting, but it's simply not an impulse with him. He has to be gentled into it. "My thanks."

[worthallthis]

B puts on some quieter jazz, and finds himself a seat on the armchair with his own cocoa. "Don't mention it. It's what friends do." Maybe Fou-Lu doesn't necessarily consider him a friend, but he does. And that's good enough for him.