Define the distance

She skidded to a stop in front of the Scribe's office door. Fontaine hadn't had anything, and everyone was prepping for Lantern Rite over in Liyue. Natlan's more ancient scrolls were hard as hell to read. Mondstadt didn't have squat either probably due to Lisa classifying them all as "restricted" and keeping them out of the hands of ordinary citizens. So her next bet was Sumeru. Specifically Alhaitham, because of what he specialized in.

She had practically ran there from Nod-Krai as soon as the meeting had been dismissed. So she was quite winded. She placed her hands on her knees for a moment and wheezed, trying to catch her breath. When she felt like her heart was going to to burst from her chest and her lungs were functioning like normal again, she knocked on it, hard.

“…You   look   terrible.”   Not   cruelly   said.   Merely   observational.

His   eyes   trail   briefly   over   the   rise   and   fall   of   her   shoulders,   the   lingering   strain   in   her   breathing,   the   dust   gathered   along   her   boots   from   what   was   evidently   not   a   short   journey.   “There's water in the pitcher.” 

Without   waiting   for   permission,   he   steps   aside   from   the   doorway   enough   to   allow   her   entry   into   the   office.   The   familiar   scent   of   parchment   and   cedar   lingers   in   the   room,   stacks   of   texts   occupying   nearly   every   available   surface   save   for   the   desk   itself,   which   remains   unnervingly   organized.

as they hit an upward rise over the steep hills she finally relents just enough for the bike to take a hard earned rest, gradually slowing to much more casual cruise as she smirks over her shoulder at him.

His   eyes   narrow   faintly   at   the   grin   thrown   over   her   shoulder,   equal   parts   accusation   and   reluctant   amusement.   “You   know,”   he   starts,   voice   roughened   by   the   wind,   “most   people   ease   someone   into   near-death   experiences   before   inviting   them   on   scenic   photo   trips.”

Still,   there’s   no   real   bite   behind   it.   If   anything,   the   corner   of   his   mouth   betrays   him   first,   twitching   upward   despite   himself.   The   hand   at   her   waist   shifts   again   as   the   bike   cruises   steadily   onward,   thumb   brushing   once.   Absentminded,   grounding,   before   he   finally   pulls   his   hand   back   enough   to   rest   against   the   seat   behind   him   instead.

“Awesome   pictures,   huh?”   he   repeats,   gaze   drifting   toward   the   approaching   tree   line.   “Depends.   Are   these   the   kind   of   memories   where   we   laugh   about   them   later…”   A   pause.   “…or   the   kind   where   I   end   up   stranded   in   the   woods   because   your   idea   of   ‘fun’   involves   cliffs,   explosions,   or   things   trying   to   eat   us?”

The way Rover looks at him 🥺 He is such a cutie

"Oh I am well adjusted to another me." he told his Mirror with glee. Amarathan purple eyes glittered happily. Another him met more games to play, and more ways to annoy Kaiba out of amusement.

There’s   a   subtle   shift   in   posture,   shoulders   straightening   just   slightly,   the   air   around   him   tightening   with   that   familiar,   commanding   presence.   The   one   that   once   bent   entire   courts   into   stillness.   Yet   here,   it   does   not   demand.   It   acknowledges.   A   counterpart.   An   equal.   ❝Tell   me,   Merenre…❞ His   voice   lowers,   quieter   now,   but   edged   with   something   far   more   dangerous   than   authority.

❝Do   your   victories   still   come   from   the   heart   of   the   cards…   or   have   you   begun   to   rely   on   the   predictability   of   those   who   stand   against   you?❞   A   pause.   Just   enough   for   the   question   to   settle.   Then,   a   faint   smirk.   ❝After   all…   if   there   are   more   of   us…❞   His   hand   lifts   slightly,   as   if   gesturing   to   the   unseen   fractures   of   the   multiverse   around   them.   ❝…then   the   games   themselves   must   evolve.❞   There   it   is.

     What comes out as barely a word, he yelps at the rough treatment under the guise of aid. Not the first time an olive branch has been extended to him in this manner  &&  he suspects that this will not be the last time, especially not with how often he comes in  &&  out of frame, taking his place on stage with quiet steps but a proud voice announcing his role has found its place to meander through the story.

     He struggles to find his footing, nearly falling into her thanks to inertia's flow.     ❝   &&  you've got way too much energy after what's just happened !   ❞     A quick retort but no bite, mindless  &&  wasting air.

     But as quickly as his brows had made a show of creasing together rather nastily, they eased with the welcoming of an easy smile. The look upon his face almost screams ignorance, as if their lives could not have been cut short by nature's own wrath. Even if his own pulse quickened for a split second, Sampo had not been worried about their circumstance. Feigned.     ❝  Thanks for... Saving my life ~  I knew I could count on the mighty Trailblazer for some quick thinking !   ❞

     Making this some sort of hell for her out in the open is not the intended effect, but he knows that the more he flaps his lips, the more likely she would find some way to silence him. Sparse, he tries to convince himself that he can manage his own artistic tongue. A split muscle that flicks over his bottom lip as if testing how dry they are. He pulls away, dusting off his front.     ❝  Soooo, now what ?  Can we use your bat to shovel away ?   ❞

There’s   no   heat   to   it.   Just   fact.   She   watches   him   steady   himself,   watches   the   way   he   slips   back   into   that   easy   grin   like   nothing   ever   touches   him,   files   it   away,   quiet   and   sharp   behind   her   gaze.   Then   she   turns,   driving   the   heel   of   her   boot   into   the   packed   snow,   testing   it   for   stability   after   the   sudden   disaster.    ❝   You’re   welcome,   I   wouldn't   just   let   you   get   hurt   like   that.   ❞   She   adds   flatly,   a   beat   late.   Already   working   out   their   evacuation. 

At   his   suggestion,   her   eyes   flick   to   him   again,   before   she   huffs   something   that   almost   resembles   a   laugh.   ❝   What,   you   think   I   carry   this   around   for   landscaping?   ❞   Still,   she   reaches   back,   grip   tightening   as   she   pulls   her   bat   free   in   one   smooth   motion.   The   metal   gleams   dully   in   the   muted   light,   already   dusted   with   frost.   She   slams   it   down   into   the   snowbank   once…hard.

Crack.

luuk does not look up at first, but rather his lips twitch with the smallest of smiles as the afternoon breeze drifts gently between them & rustles the papers still within his grasp. ah, company he's been expecting. he places the papers on his desk before rising from his chair to step closer.

A   hum   lingers   in   his   throat,   thoughtful,   appraising.   Eyes   tracing   Luuk   in   a   way   that   feels   far   less   accidental   than   he   might   pretend.   ❝Mm…   a   whole   hour?❞   he   echoes,   voice   softening   as   the   exaggeration   fades   into   something   warmer,   threaded   with   that   same   teasing   edge.   ❝Careful,   doctor.   That   sounds   dangerously   close   to   a   commitment.❞

He   pushes   himself   fully   upright   now,   the   languid   slouch   giving   way   to   an   easy,   grounded   presence.   One   hand   finds   the   edge   of   the   doorframe   beside   Luuk’s   shoulder.   Not   quite   caging   him   in,   but   close   enough   to   blur   the   line   between   coincidence   and   intent.

❝And   dessert?❞   Rover   tilts   his   head,   faint   smile   tugging   at   his   lips,   eyes   narrowing   just   slightly   as   if   weighing   the   offer.   ❝You’re   either   very   confident   in   your   treatment…   or   very   aware   I   won’t   say   no.❞

as they hit an upward rise over the steep hills she finally relents just enough for the bike to take a hard earned rest, gradually slowing to much more casual cruise as she smirks over her shoulder at him.

❝      Memories,   huh…❞   he   echoes,   voice   quieter   now,   less   strained   by   wind   and   velocity,   though   the   faint   edge   of   that   earlier   adrenaline   still   lingers   beneath   it.   His   gaze   lifts   past   her   shoulder   as   the   tree   line   begins   to   creep   into   view,   the   blur   of   color   sharpening   into   something   tangible   again.   For   a   moment,   he   just   watches.   Takes   it   in   like   it   might   vanish   if   he   blinks   too   long.   Then,   a   small   snort   of   amusement.

❝      You   say   that   like   I   had   a   choice   in   making   them   the   second   I   got   on   this   death   machine.❞   There’s   a   beat.   His   hand   shifts,   subtle,   but   intentional,   as   his   grip   eases   just   enough   to   be   less   about   survival,   more…   grounded. 

mondstadt was a bit far where his personal preferences for traveling in regards to diplomatic relations were concerned. then again, since stepping down from his supposed "stuffy upper position" as acting grand sage, his financial freedom thankfully hadn't followed in his wake. he could afford to trade sand in his boots & the same old akademiya politics to enjoy a new region with quieter aspects in its life. the land of wind & freedom certainly does not disappoint.

crowned in the hum of restless windmills that turned from dawn to dusk as the most impressively articulate statue of the anemo archon he'd ever seen stands guard at the center & heart of its city. guards dot the city gates & people wander the square unfettered by responsibility & worry. all in the name of the anemo archon, huh? ... maybe he should recalculate his own views on good hood. anyway, once he's checked in & confirmed his stay at the goth grand hotel, he's heading for the nearest tavern. three meals a day were essential & by the time the sun has gone halfway down, he should have eaten dinner by now.

the old creaking door smells as if history & wine have embedded into this place, portraits adorning the wooden stretch of walls & a colorful, if not well-aged display of assorted bottles set in full display behind the man at the counter he assumes is the bartender. not too many people here & an upper floor that provides privacy. nice, he'll take it. studious gaze roams over the fine print of the menu briefly, a decision clearly made.

Still,   coin   is   coin,   and   Mondstadt,   for   all   its   freedom,   never   turns   away   a   paying   guest.   ❝   …haven’t   heard   that   pairing   in   a   while.   ❞   His   voice   is   low,   roughened   slightly   like   oak   soaked   in   too   many   casks.   The   glass   is   set   down   with   a   soft   thunk   before   he   turns,   already   reaching   for   bottles   without   needing   to   look.   Practiced   form   born   from   muscle   memory.   The   quiet   clink   of   glass   and   the   pour   of   liquid   fill   the   space   between   words.

❝   I   know   a   great   many   people from   here   and   there.   Vacation,   I   take   it?   ❞   A   glance   back,   brief,   but   sharp.   measuring,   in   the   way   bartenders   do.   Not   prying.   Just…   noting.

The   first   drink   comes   together   with   a   careful   balance,   something   citrus-kissed   and   dusk-toned.   The   second   follows   slower,   deeper   in   color,   richer   poured   like   a   story   meant   to   linger.   He   slides   them   across   the   counter,   the   wood   catching   softly   beneath   their   weight.