A/N:
Please ignore the following chapter's very obviously personally-acquired grievances about the restaurant industry, I have no excuse. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own neither Kung Fu Panda nor any of the characters associated. This work is written for entertainment purposes only and I do not financially profit from it in any way.
The lunch rush at Mr. Ping's noodle shop will be featured in culinary history books. The hordes of customers arrive in famished mobs, ravenous and foaming at the mouth, clawing at the cobblestone streets in search of a legendary meal. It is said that hundreds of yuan in the form of coins are propelled into the air at the mere scent of a bowl of soup, sail in an arc through the sky, and rain down upon the Valley of Peace. The jingling of coins against stone can be heard from cities away.
Po has always had an affinity for the fantastical and whimsical—sometimes to the chagrin of his adoptive father—and his love for epic tales often seeps into his day-to-day life. Perhaps the droves of eager customers are not as bloodthirsty as he might think, and perhaps the yuan with which his father is paid do not soar over the countryside in grand arches. Perhaps the clattering of the coins is not as boisterous as one assumes.
Regardless of whatever may be of its reality, Po finds that the aftermath of the shop's busiest afternoons typically consists of him and Mr. Ping engaging in sparse conversation as they prepare for the dinner rush. The panda rather enjoys the quality time this activity provides and has been making more of an effort as of late to be present at some point after the lunchtime hurry.
He tries especially hard on days like these. Li is in town—he hasn't left since arriving for last month's celebration at the Jade Palace—and staying at the noodle shop, and the older panda's presence never fails to bring about entertaining happenings. Po will never tell the goose so, but knowing that his feathered father finally has some company is comforting beyond words.
Today, Po arrives at the shop shortly after the lunch rush ends and feels a wave of familial solace wash over him as he crosses the threshold into its warm, sparsely-populated courtyard (only three or four customers remain after the rush). Mr. Ping can be heard squawking about something from the alleyway, and Li, even amid his battle with a particularly difficult stain on a table, periodically dignifies Mr. Ping's laments with witty comebacks.
"Oh, son!" Li exclaims as Po approaches where the former is knelt on the ground. The older panda stands, scooping the other into a crushing embrace.
"Hey, Dad," Po says, returning Li's hug with equal enthusiasm and strength (his ability to do so is largely thanks to his panda training, no doubt).
"It's utterly ridiculous, Li," Mr. Ping's voice complains from the alleyway, progressively growing louder as he reenters the shop, "it's a weekend, of course, there won't be any tables available to walk-ins! There's been a brilliant invention in the restaurant industry, perhaps you've heard of it—it's called a reservation!"
The goose promptly halts at the sight of his son, and he joyously greets Po with a hug—and an off-handed comment about how he can nearly reach his wings around his son nowadays, and how said son should be eating more—of his own.
"You're late," the goose bluntly remarks, once the pleasantries are out of the way. He raises an eyebrow at Po, the action riddled with suspicion.
"I didn't even tell you I was coming," Po retorts, already reaching for a stack of dirty bowls.
A goose customer departs from the shop, striding efficiently past Po with an embellished golden scroll tucked under her wing. The glint of its sheen catches his eye briefly, but she is gone as quickly as he'd seen her.
"A father knows," Mr. Ping argues, though his tone holds little bite, "and a father appreciates being informed as to why his son only bothers to show his face after breakfast. You're lucky I saved you some congee."
"Ease up, Ping, the kid was probably out saving the world," Li interjects.
"That's generous," says Po, "and way more fun-sounding than what I've been up to. I've been organizing scrolls salvaged from Kai's attack on the palace all day. One would think we'd have gotten through all of them by now."
"I only saw the scroll room once, but it was massive," Li recounts, "there must have been hundreds of them."
"There were," Po confirms, "and hundreds were destroyed, and somehow, there are still hundreds left!"
Li frowns in sympathy as his son weaves between tables collecting dishes and menus, as the latter's mind is clearly elsewhere. The older panda casts a concerned glance at Mr. Ping, to which the goose very quickly concedes. The gander only grumbles at his leniency, silently lamenting his soft-hearted nature.
"It sounds like quite the undertaking," Mr. Ping remarks. The goose pretends to busy himself with the tabletop blot with which Li had previously been struggling. "And so is this stain—Li, get the cleaning supplies, it's in the back."
Upon the older panda's acceptance of the task and subsequent departure, Mr. Ping grins at his deceptive skills. He wasn't born yesterday, though, and he knows better than to skip to the interrogation bit.
"Would you have any idea as to what else has been quite the undertaking?" the goose inquires, smoothly.
"Taking your father under my wing—literally, sometimes!" Mr. Ping exclaims, his attention promptly diverting from his supposed distraction. "He seems to enjoy excessive conversation. I haven't known the sound of silence since he took up residence in your old room!"
"I think he's just happy to be living with someone again," Po says, "I think he was lonely."
"Well, he certainly shares your work ethic—or lack thereof," the goose laments, only with a little conviction, "and the man can't cook to save his life. I've taken pity on him for now, but he'll have to make himself useful eventually."
"You haven't kicked him out," Po points out, hardly containing his amusement, "and don't think I haven't seen the little 'dad looks' you guys give each other. I've become an expert in parental linguistics."
"I haven't kicked him out because the customers like him," Mr. Ping grumbles as he stacks more dirty plates.
"You like him!" Po retorts good-naturedly, "I don't blame you, he's a likable guy—charismatic, funny, suave, even—the apple didn't fall far from the tree, huh?"
"He's got an offensive affinity for beets, so I suppose not," Mr. Ping concurs, though I might have to disagree with the 'suave' bit, son. I've seen you flirt."
"Wha—Excuse me?" the panda stammers.
The goose only laughs as he retreats into the sweet-smelling sanctuary of the kitchen, an impressive collection of dirty dishes stacked comically about his person. Po follows him at a self-preserving distance, a measure that Mr. Ping finds equally endearing and tragic.
"You're excused," the goose calls. His voice is muffled by the walls of the shop as he asks, "Will you be joining us for dinner?"
Po enters the shop and deposits the dirty dishes in their designated 'to-be-washed' bin, then settles against the kitchen counter.
"Nah, sorry, Dad. You're stuck with the other Dad tonight," Po says, "I've got a lot of scroll organizing yet to do."
Mr. Ping clicks his tongue and shakes his head, jesting, "Po, there is more to life than work. Spend time with your poor, lonely fathers before we're too frail to eat on our own!"
When his son only dignifies his joke with a half-hearted laugh, the goose sighs. He sets aside the dirty dishes he had been holding and approaches the preoccupied panda, his wings folded across his stomach.
"Son," the goose says softly, "I've been your father for a long time, and I can tell when something is bothering you."
The panda—perhaps as a result of not succeeding in keeping things from his father in the past, or perhaps as a sign of maturity and development, neither is sure—only nods in compliance with the goose's words.
"I've been thinking about the future," Po admits, "my future, specifically."
"I see," Mr. Ping muses. He asks, "How is your future faring at the moment?"
After a moment of consideration and thumb-twiddling, Po says, "It's unclear, I'd say."
"Is that bad?" Mr. Ping inquires, in such a way that makes him sound casual and pleasantly indifferent to the daunting vagueness of the subject.
"Maybe not," says the panda, "I'm just at a bit of a crossroads, I guess."
"Oh, well, I know all about those," the goose replies, "tell me about it. Your old dad might know a thing or two, son."
Li, flaunting his inability to read the room, waddles into the kitchen with a plethora of cleaning supplies gathered in his arms. He is largely oblivious to the conversation that is being had in his presence.
"I've been thinking about getting married," Po says.
At this, Li promptly drops half of the items in his clutches and halts completely. In disbelief, he looks between his fidgeting son and a flabbergasted Mr. Ping—and when the goose casts a begging glance his way, he pretends not to notice.
"To whom?" Mr. Ping asks with hesitancy.
"I don't know," Po replies, "I don't mean I'm planning on doing it anytime soon, I've just been thinking about it. And kids. I'm also thinking about kids—whether or not I want them, you know."
He crosses his arms across his chest in a weak attempt to appear nonchalant as if his current train of thought isn't all-consuming, overwhelming, and utterly exhausting. Po purses his lips and looks between his undeterred fathers as they process his words.
"You've been doing quite a lot of thinking, then, son," Li says, his brow taut with a mixture of concern, sympathy, and care.
"Yeah," Po acknowledges, not without a hint of solemnity, "I guess I have."
A familiar goose's undignified honking followed by an equally ungraceful thump abruptly pierces the intimate atmosphere of the kitchen, startling Po, Li, and Mr. Ping from where they are settled in its tranquility.
The three men quickly depart from the confines of the shop to investigate the messenger's state, Po largely intrigued rather than worried, as Zeng begins to catch his breath.
"Master Po! Dragon Warrior!" the goose pants.
"Zeng, hey," Po greets, but falters when he takes note of the messenger's urgent expression.
"It's Master Shifu," Zeng says, with just enough conviction to catch Po's attention, "he wants to see you."
Zeng is kind enough to accompany Po on his painstaking ascent to the Jade Palace but grows hesitant as he and the Dragon Warrior reach the grand doors that lead into the Hall of Heroes. The goose mutters something about Shifu being in a mood, whatever that might mean, and promptly flies off without another word.
Po, largely confident and no longer harboring a debilitating fear of the red panda's disapproval, does not hesitate.
When he enters without a second thought, he is greeted by a pacing Shifu. The red panda does so across the freshly waxed floors of the palace, similar in nature to that of a caged animal, and this particular idiosyncrasy does not go unnoticed by his approaching student.
"Shifu?" Po calls, in the way one does when they prod a sleeping bear with a sharp stick.
The noontime sun's rays catch the blue in Shifu's eyes as he glances up, and the sheen of the light glares in contrast to the older master's otherwise shaded surroundings. It's an ominous sight, Po idly thinks, and he half-expects Shifu to start muttering occult summonings in ecclesiastical Latin and crawling up one of the columns in the Hall of Heroes.
"Have you seen this?" Shifu inquires, raising an unfurled scroll.
The rice paper's ivory expanse is adorned with a fair bit of writing, and Po squints from his estranged position. When he predictably struggles to read it given his distance, the red panda sighs and dons the look he does when he's about to dole out a proper diatribe. Po sees it coming almost immediately—and would have, regardless of the reach between himself and Shifu—and opts to refrain from speaking.
He resolves to do so until he notices the familiar golden etchings on the scroll itself, and Shifu, being as observant as he is, quickly detects the subtle recognition dawning on Po's face.
"You have?" the red panda prompts, eyebrows raised.
Po nods, saying, "I thought I saw a messenger in the village today. I didn't get a chance to talk to her, but—well, the scroll sticks out, doesn't it?"
Shifu eyes the gold-flaked designs on the scroll's caps, almost as if he had only bothered to do so now. If Po didn't know any better, he might say that Shifu's expression appears vaguely amused.
"It does, indeed," the red panda says, shockingly placid.
Po shifts uncomfortably, torn between giving in to his curious nature and exercising restraint (the latter of which he hasn't yet mastered). While Shifu may seem less prone to spontaneous combustion now, he could change his mind rather quickly, and Po would rather avoid such an occurrence.
However, before the panda can act, Shifu returns the scroll to its rolled-up position and stalks forward, holding it out to Po as he passes. The larger of the two half-expects to open it and somehow find it blank, considering the other's less-than-pleased reaction.
"It's a message from the masters of the Topaz Palace," Shifu reports, "they have requested that we travel to Jiangsu to assist them in an ongoing criminal investigation."
"Woah!" Po marvels as he hastily unfurls the scroll, taking in the uniform lettering and formal structure of the writing. He turns it sideways, wondering aloud, "I know the name—wait, have we worked with them before?"
"Long ago—far before your time here," Shifu replies. He pauses as if this is his first time pondering this aspect and halts. He turns to Po and asks, "You said you have heard of the Topaz Palace? From whom?"
"Well, we used to get a lot of travelers in the noodle shop, and merchants from the north usually had a lot to say about Jiangsu," Po recounts, "and a handful of traders had stories about the masters—nothing wild enough to really remember, though."
"I see," Shifu muses.
"You don't seem enthused."
"To be completely transparent, I am quite the opposite."
"Why?" Po inquires. He brightens, adding, "You don't even have to go! I took over your job as teacher and I'm the Dragon Warrior. I'm fully qualified. Seriously, what else would they need?"
"Me," Shifu replies, "as I am referred to by name multiple times. Have you read the message in its entirety?"
"Define 'read,'" Po retorts.
Upon looking over the scroll once more, the panda notes the frequent citing of Shifu's name, which is once or twice accompanied by that of the Furious Five and Dragon Warrior. The panda's brows draw together at this, and he purses his lips in contemplation.
"What are you thinking, panda?" Shifu asks.
"Nothing, it's just—well, it's kind of weird that they're asking for all of us, isn't it?" Po inquires. "It must be serious if they really need seven masters in addition to the ones that already live there."
"When fellow warriors ask us for help, we neither question nor deny them," the red panda declares, "and while I am hesitant, I'm well aware of Master Han's motivations. He would not call upon us—upon me—if he had any other choice."
"Okay, I trust you," Po says, his tone returning to its easy-going nature. There's an inquisitive tilt to his voice as he asks, "Do you know him personally? Master Han, I mean."
Shifu ponders his response for a second too long before ultimately deciding to say, "Not at all."
Despite the glaring hesitance on the older master's part, Po opts to leave the topic be. He knows this will be a conversation that he and Shifu will revisit in the near future, and truth be told, he isn't entirely sure that the red panda won't punish him for forcing the subject too adamantly. Old habits die hard, he knows.
"Well, I suppose we have several days' travel ahead of us," Shifu says resolutely, "inform the Furious Five when you can. We will depart tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?" Tigress asks.
Po nods in confirmation, though the action goes largely unnoticed by the rest of his friends, who are deeply entrenched in the scroll's contents. They are currently conducting a kitchen tabletop dramatic reading, frequently interspersed with giggles and jokes.
"'We humbly request your presence at our temple, as we are in dire need of assistance,'" Monkey reads aloud. He cackles, saying, "Oh, you just know how much he hated having to write that."
Po wants to inquire about whether Monkey is referring to Master Han or Master Fulin, the latter of which carries with his name an air of mystique, as Po has heard nothing of him from his companions as of yet. The only reason he's even aware of the guy's existence is thanks to a rushed signature at the bottom of the rice paper. The panda off-handedly wonders if the Furious Five know anything at all of those who sent the message.
"'To have the masters of the Jade Palace fighting alongside us would bring to us great peace of mind, and we would be honored to call you our allies in both battle and spirit,'" Mantis continues, hardly containing his amusement.
"Oh, that's rich," Crane laments in a brief drinking intermission, "especially coming from Fulin."
Ah, there it is.
Dinnertime at the Jade Palace brings with it—daily and without fail—a day's worth of information and happenings that Po and the Furious Five take turns recounting to one another as the night goes on. Their discussions could typically be considered boring by anyone else, but the masters of the palace know mundanity to be a blessing.
As it were, tonight's conversation has been overtaken by the news of a decidedly not mundane summoning from the Topaz Palace. Upon reading over the message, the Furious Five (sans Tigress) promptly engage in a quick-witted spiel of back and forths regarding the senders. Po opts to listen as he cooks, as there isn't much he can offer gossip-wise.
"Ah, Master Fulin," Mantis drawls, a wry smile playing on his lips, "it's been a minute since we've heard from the likes of him, hasn't it?"
"Oh, yeah," Monkey confirms, "it has to have been fifteen years, at least."
"It's been closer to twenty, actually," Tigress corrects—the first full sentence she's said since Po had come into the kitchen with the yellow scroll in hand.
"That's not long enough," Mantis mutters into his teacup, and the circumference of it practically dwarfs him. Tigress scoffs.
"Tigress is right, I remember meeting Masters Otter and Civet after a flood ravaged a fisherman's village along their coast," Crane recounts.
"Fulin was there, too," Mantis offers, absently, "but he wasn't too keen on socializing. He was too busy watching himself in any reflective surface he could find."
"Walking through the city was awful," Monkey says, "you never realize how many mirrors there are until you're with a guy who has to see himself in all of them."
Po's grunts of effort start to ripple through the air as he (with some difficulty) shuffles the just-finished pot of soup across the kitchen, and Tigress eyes him warily, even rising from her seat in preparation for the imminent disaster that will surely come from the situation.
"You guys went to Jiangsu?" Po asks as he looks between the primate and the bug.
Viper hums in confirmation and wafts at the steam rising from her cup of tea. Tigress is only half-listening to the conversation as she hovers around the distracted Po and his dangerously nonchalant movements.
"Yes, but only Tigress and Crane stayed behind after our initial two weeks," the snake explains, "we didn't want to leave the valley in only Master Oogway's care any longer than necessary."
"Shifu let you guys stay?" Po asks (simultaneously contemplating the notion that Shifu had been geographically close to the Topaz Palace and its masters at some point) as he looks between Tigress and Crane.
"Well, he was very eager to return to the valley," Viper says, "especially considering his fallout with Master Han. Even so, he could acknowledge that the villagers still needed help."
Po practically quakes in excitement at the new information. Despite the intriguing subject matter, however, he can't help but feel slightly offended that Shifu had blatantly lied to him regarding Master Han. He'll have to broach the topic sometime in the future.
"Yeah, there's a long story there, I'm sure," Mantis muses, "I'd bet it was over a lover."
"No way!" Po exclaims, nearly dropping the pot of soup in his excitement.
Tigress, nearby thanks to her newfound skills as a psychic, instinctively grabs the handles as Po's grip on them falters. A small cup's worth of soup spills over the edge, splatting onto the wooden floor into a steaming heap of otherwise delectable soup. Mantis groans at the loss.
Tigress, exasperated at the conversation, says in Mantis's general direction, "I can assure you that their argument was over nothing of the sort."
"Can you?" Mantis inquires.
"Yes," the tiger declares. She helps Po hoist the soup pot onto the kitchen counter, recounting with slight hesitancy, "To my knowledge, Master Shifu was unhappy with Master Han's handling of a difficult situation. I do not know anything more and it is not my place to know, nor is it yours."
"That means nothing to me," the bug bluntly tells her.
Tigress says nothing at that, instead opting to reclaim her seat at the table. Po chooses to set aside his concern for later, as he is rather fascinated with tonight's discourse. To hear that Shifu was potentially involved in petty drama is simply too entertaining to ignore.
"Do you think Master Han is still as pleasant as he was last time we were there?" Monkey asks idly, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "I've missed him so."
"Oh, please, don't remind me," Crane groans, to which Monkey giggles.
"Is he that bad?" Po inquires as he approaches the table, all the while cradling six bowls of steaming soup in his arms.
"He's self-righteous," Mantis elaborates, "and over-dramatic."
"He is a very talented master, I believe Master Shifu was inspired in many ways by him," Viper offers optimistically, "perhaps a conflict occurred because they're so alike."
"Really?" asks Po.
"Well, it's believed that two people who are very similar tend to dislike one another," the snake explains, "one may see something in the other person that they don't like about themself."
"What do you think Shifu would've seen in Master Han?" Po asks, bewitched by the notion of which Viper speaks.
"Oh, sweetie, it could have been anything," Viper replies, "it could have been a lot of things."
"Yeah, and ruptures like that don't happen as a result of one disagreement," Crane adds, "it was probably a long time coming."
The other warriors, sans Po, nod in agreement as the final soups are passed out. Everyone briefly quiets to settle into their seats, but there's the telling air of discussion-fueled anticipation that keeps the atmosphere exciting.
"Don't worry, Po," Crane says as he stirs his soup, "Master Han won't be difficult just to be difficult. It's Fulin you have to worry about."
"Why?" Po inquires.
Monkey makes a noise and waves a hand about, the action painting his split agreement. The simian says, "Fulin is a piece of work, but otherwise there's not much wrong with him."
"Yeah, aside from being a pain," Mantis adds, "and not even in any particular…tissue. He's just a general pain—everywhere. Ubiquitously."
"Yeah?" Po says, undoubtedly intrigued.
"Fulin is a fool," Tigress interjects, "he compensates for his faults via low-effort charisma and general egotism, and refuses to recognize his shortcomings for what they are."
A pause ensues before Crane says, "Yeah, that sums it up."
"And he just gets away with it?" Po inquires incredulously.
"Yes, well, he's the golden child of Jiangsu," Viper tells him. She adds, far more eloquently, "But, for what it's worth, he's an impressive warrior with a decent sense of compassion."
"Well, what else do you need?" the panda asks, earning a wry chorus of chuckles from his friends.
"He knows what's right," the snake says.
The group pauses to consider this, some appearing more open to the concept than others.
Before the snake can be spoken over, she swiftly pivots the subject matter, saying, "I'm excited to see Jiangsu again, it was always a very beautiful city."
"It's as dangerous as it is scenic," Crane says, "I read that the crime rates are at an all-time high right now—especially considering the influx of piracy in the past year."
"Isn't the Isle of Treachery off the coast of Jiangsu?" Mantis wonders aloud.
Po almost rolls his eyes at the mention of the place. The Isle of Treachery is an archipelago consisting of pirate-ridden islands, and it's notorious for its perilous waters and ocean-going criminals. While Po admittedly doesn't know what he would title such an establishment, he maintains the sentiment that the name is melodramatic—and he rather dislikes the virtues of the maritime criminals in question.
"It's about twenty miles out, but yeah," Monkey confirms, "that's what makes Jiangsu a pirate hotbed."
"The poor civilians," Viper says woefully, "they're all so kind and hospitable, and yet they live in constant fear. It's horrible."
The others nod solemnly at the snake's words as if mourning the lack of balance in the world. When living in the Valley of Peace, it's rather easy to forget that such a haven is a rare and beautiful thing, and Jiangsu unfortunately does not exhibit the same luxuries as the home of the Jade Palace.
"Well, that's why they called us, right?" Po offers, "We can help."
He retrieves the open scroll from where it has been sprawled on the kitchen table, rolling the rice paper neatly back into itself, just as it had been when it was tucked under the messenger's arm.
He nods, resolving, "We will help."
After dinner and drinks, the members of the Furious Five retreat one by one to the cozy confines of their chambers, yawning as they languidly make their way to their awaiting cots. By the time Po is done cleaning the dishes, even the self-proclaimed night owls of the group have gone to bed.
Quiet nights like these are the ones that Po looks forward to the most. While he enjoys time with Tigress regardless of the setting, he finds that it's usually the quieter evenings that consist of meaningful talks, stolen glances, and casual touching—once they waged a thumb war with no discernible end, and the battle had eventually tapered off into idle hand-holding that Po totally doesn't still think about sometimes.
Tigress, despite being visibly exhausted, is lingering in the kitchen. She has long since disregarded her golden hanfu and is opting to lounge in her sleepshirt, a moss green vest woven of silk and cotton. She is currently rummaging through a set of cabinets for one of Po's many new towel sets.
"Fulin is a bit much, so I hear?" the panda inquires, in such a way that offers room for an answer but doesn't expect one.
"Fulin is a clown," Tigress declares as she retrieves two towels, to which Po snorts. She says, "He is. I wouldn't say it if it were untrue."
"No, no, I know you wouldn't," he replies, "I'm just surprised, you're usually very—Shifu said it once—unequivocally professional."
"I see."
Tigress blinks and her brow furrows in comprehension, and Po can almost watch in real-time as a flurry of thoughts and memories dart about her mind. He enjoys how expressive she can be—how expressive she is if one knows her well enough, and he surely does—when she's thinking.
"I mean, you are," Po adds, gently, "not that that's a bad thing."
"No, but versatility is a virtue," Tigress tells him as she hands him one of the towels. After a moment, she says, "I can be unprofessional."
Po side-eyes her and smirks, opting to stay silent. He dries the dishes as Tigress stares pristine daggers into the side of the panda's head.
"Yeah?" he says, once the longevity of the silence is enough.
"Yes," she replies, almost—albeit good-natured—mockingly, her smile dropping into something subtler. She only allows for mere loaded seconds to pass before she relents, "Well, you're unequivocally unprofessional, so I suppose someone has to balance you out."
"I definitely prefer leaving all that professional-like stuff to you," Po says, "it doesn't leave a lot of room for the fun bits, you know?"
"Such as?" Tigress asks.
"Such as our conversation at dinner tonight," he replies readily. "What's the deal with Master Han? It seems like he and Shifu have some kind of history."
"As I said, it is not our place to know," Tigress says, "and I suggest that you adopt the same mindset."
Po leans forward, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Tigress does not withdraw, despite looking somewhat bemused by her friend's antics. An onlooker might assume the two were in the midst of an intensive staring contest, in which one participant is struggling far more than the other.
"Fine," Po says, though his tone suggests otherwise.
"I'm being fully serious, panda."
"Of course, you are."
"Po."
"Tigress," the panda retorts, a challenging glint in his eye.
"I'm just confirming that we're on the same page," Tigress says.
"Of course we are, we're always on the same page," Po assures her, though his tone is laced with something akin to deception, "I'm me, you're you, we're—we're we, you know? We're us. Us is always on the same page."
Tigress narrows her eyes at the panda's creative choice of word arrangement but doesn't comment on it. She leans slightly forward, and not at all to inconspicuously add a hint of intimidation (or anything else, because such a thing would be utterly deplorable) to her demeanor.
"We're probably on the same paragraph, in fact—maybe the same sentence, who knows? The same word!" Po continues, "I might even dare say we're on the same letter."
Tigress only raises her eyebrows, to which Po defiantly crosses his arms. She scoffs and returns to her task of drying dishes.
"I take it you've packed your things," she tells him, "you won't have much time come morning. Master Shifu will likely want us on the road before sunrise."
"I think this will be a good experience," Po says, to which Tigress only nods—more so in acknowledgment than agreement. "We haven't gotten to work with other masters in a while, and I've never been part of an investigation. Do you think I'll get to have one of those cool detective hats?"
"Perhaps if you ask nicely," Tigress humors him, though it's half-hearted.
"Maybe I will," says Po.
Po regards her with a look that seems to have reserved itself for her over time, the one in which his eyes are open and imploring, and his mouth is bent into a subtle, mindless smile because there is no other option.
"You're excited," Tigress notes, after a moment.
"Well, I am about to meet the infamous Master Fulin," Po says, his tone laced with a hint of wryness, "I can't wait."
At that, Tigress can only nod along and do her best to ignore the dread taking root in her chest—and Po, enveloped in his suspense, will be none the wiser as he anticipates his upcoming confrontation with the fantastically notorious golden child of Jiangsu.
A/N:
Oh, boy, it's been way longer than three weeks, hasn't it? I tried to maintain a semi-consistent upload schedule, but things got a bit crazy for a while, and this chapter became incredibly difficult to complete. I'm a perfectionist in everything I set out to accomplish, as well, so it's no surprise that I have to reread my works over and over before I can even consider posting them.
Please do not hesitate to leave a review/comment if you have any thoughts that you'd like to share. I love to see readers' opinions regarding my work and I'm fully open to criticism.
Chapter 5 will be fun if it keeps going in the direction it is, and I couldn't be more excited to share it with you all once it's finished (I also have a separate request in the works). Thank you all for reading this latest addition to the story, I hope you enjoyed it!
Until next time!