my and lxc in the lyingverse
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Meng Yao is sleep-deprived enough from his new baby that when the cry wakes him up he's halfway through the first verse of Northeastern Cradle Song before he goes from "why can't I find his bottle?" to "because I am standing on a street corner and not in my house."

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"...are we... on a street?"

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"Apparently?" He rocks Meng Xuanyu. 

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THIS IS NOT HIS CRIB!!!! IT IS SOME DARK COLD PLACE THAT IS NOT HIS CRIB AND HE IS MAD ABOUT IT.

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"Shhhh, I know, buddy, I know." Rock rock rock. 

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"...we have got to get him some formula."

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There are cars going by, and street signs in English that say 68TH ST and SUNSET AVE and DOUG'S SOUP SHOP (subtitle: The health department allowed us to remain open under certain conditions we are trying to comply with!) and MICK'S: OUR PRODUCTS ARE SLIGHTLY MORE EXPENSIVE THAN WALMART BUT WE'RE CLOSE ENOUGH FOR YOU TO READ THIS SIGN.

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This is a weird street.

That sounds like a problem for Future Meng Yao who doesn't have a sobbing baby in his arms. 

"Mick's?"

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"Sounds good."

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"I miss sleep."

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MENG XUANYU MISSES HIS CRIB.

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Mick's sells formula for what are indeed slightly worse prices than Walmart. Do they have money?

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They have money because Meng Yao is sleeping in his slacks and buttondown because pajamas are for people who aren't working sixty-hour weeks with a newborn. 

(He is cutting back at work. He's SO cutting back. He hasn't even run to fill his father's seat yet, so there.)

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They should get a sling, too. And diapers and wipes. 

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Mick's will sell them all those things. The machine declines their credit card but - with a little squinting at some of the newer bills - the clerk will take their cash. "Welcome to Mick's, so far you're above-average customers but only because the lousy ones are incredibly bad, did you find everything?"

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Late-night clerks are always weird. "Thank you, we have where we need. Apologies, do you know what street we're on? We got a little bit turned around."

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"Sunset Avenue," yawns the clerk.

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Is that in DC?

"...apologies, what city?"

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"Kansas City. Missouri."

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What.

"Thank you," he says and finishes paying.

To Lan Xichen: "...Why are we in Missouri?"

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"Kidnapping?"

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"Not funny." 

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Meng Xuanyu will graciously accept this tribute of formula as a small reparation for being SUDDENLY DEPRIVED OF HIS CRIB.

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"Seriously, let's call an Uber, go to a hotel, and then worry about it."

He pulls out his phone to try to do this.

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No signal.

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"Now what."

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