⠄— To Each Their Own Drink

The view from the gate was unfathomable.

People stretched across the stadium like a streak of Stars, waving their arms and banners and embroidered flags. Its presence dominated the arena entirely, choking out the heat of the afternoon with its own fiery fervor. From the track below, Robin felt impossibly Small—so Fragile and Tender, hollow like birdbone. As if she did not spend the last six months preparing for this race, as if she did not give up so much for this one Chance. Perhaps standing so close to the Sun—to This Sun—had melted her Wings.

She tried not to get overwhelmed. For as nervous as she was, hers was not the only Dream at stake on this turf. Within that sea of fans, that gathering of Wishers, Robin knew that Siobhan was watching—Waiting to meet her at the end of the track. All their time spent training could not go to waste—would not go to waste.

Robin took her position at the gate. The crowd roared with her name, but she could not hear the proper syllables. Instead it blended with the beat of her own Heart, echoing with its rhythm in a sort of Harmony. She took a deep breath and dug her shoes into the turf. Her ears twitched, and her tail flicked behind her.

"All runners ready. 3, 2, 1… Race, start!"

The gates swung open. Robin took off. The turf crumpled beneath her feet as she quickly fell into position. She inhaled the rushing gales and exhaled a Prayer—for Victory. She had promised as much to Siobhan.

"No. 3 Robin takes the lead! She breaks away from the rest of the pack and is currently cruising at first place. Though, No. 10 Origami Bird is not far behind. Then comes No. 14 Clockie Merchandise and No. 7 Halovian Wing. Can Robin maintain her advantage?"

Robin turned the corner. She ran at blistering speed, drunk on the openness of the turf. All Umamusume were born to run, but hers had been a shackled existence up until now. The Family never allowed her to race, much less compete. It broke her heart to leave Penacony, but this was her home, now. The track, the gate, the stage that the audience built for her. She was loath to let go of it—to let go of this Freedom.

Soon, though, she would discover the price to building such a home.

It all began quietly. Nothing more than a brief Sharpness by her ankle, one so easily brushed off. Then it grew with every passing step, each thump of foot against the ground. Pain, hollow and bone-deep, pulsed through her marrow. It was Undeniable—it was Inevitable. She fought against it, but felt everything around her Slow, as if time itself had given out—as if her body itself had given out. She could hear her breathing, how uneven it was.

"Oh… Oh? Robin's slowing down!"

The pain continued to run through her foot and pierce all the way up to her hip. Darkness danced at the corner of her vision, and the Sun that had seemed so blinding before had suddenly dimmed. She could hear people screaming her name, though the rhythm fell off-beat to her Heart's own. She had not realized it, but she had collapsed on the turf. Cheers turned to murmurs, murmurs turned into a horrible ringing in her head. The Sun—the Hot Sun—was all she could see. Had the finish line even been within sight? But she had promised…

"Siobhan…" She muttered weakly, then a bit louder, a bit more desperate, "Siobhan!"

Every dawn spent on the track, every aching muscle, every single time Siobhan had watched Robin push herself past exhaustion… It was all for this perfect, fierce start, and when the commentators themselves noted it, Siobhan’s heart hammered against her ribs—not from the nerves, no, but from certainty. Her confidence was a tangible thing. A bright, hot wire thrumming under her skin. She knew this track, knew this race, knew Robin would win because she had mapped every part of this course alongside her. She had begged, even, to borrow the track for a whole day for that purpose.

Today’s victory was theirs. She could feel it in her bones. In the shared energy thrumming along the invisible string that connected her to Robin on the track. She was flying. They were flying.

Until that very string snapped.

It was barely noticeable at first. A tiny misstep, perhaps, that only a few spectators and Siobhan noticed. A stumble where there should have only been a powerful step. Then a loss of rhythm. A misstep. Just a misstep. She’ll correct it.

But Robin doesn’t correct it, and in just a few seconds the once fluid strides became a jarring stumble. Then came the sight of Robin—her Robin, who was born to outrun the shackles that tried to rob her of her freedom—slowing down, faltering, her form collapsing in on itself as everyone else rushed past her.

A raw, wordless sound was torn from her throat as though in response to her partner’s call, already harshly shoving past bodies, politeness burned away by a panic so absolute it was blinding. She vaulted across the barriers, ignored the calls of the umpires telling her to stay afar, her own legs now moving with a desperate, frantic purpose of their own.

Then she was there, crashing to her knees on the turf the moment she reached her. The silence all across the stadium wasn’t imagined, no, but a true, unmistakable weight at the pit of everyone’s stomach, a held breath ten thousand people strong, pressing down on them. The only sounds were the distant, frantic commentary from a speaker and Robin’s own ragged, pained gasps.

“I’m here. Robin, look at me. I’m right here.” She leaned in close, blocking out the sun, the crowd, everything. “Don’t look at the finish line. Don’t look at anything else. Just look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

She could see the mixture of terror and desperation in Robin’s eyes then. Could feel the defeat that was threatening to swallow her whole. She could hear it, in that quiet whisper of her name, and Siobhan immediately found it difficult to speak, her breath caught in her throat, constricted by the frightening thought of what this all might all mean.

A shattered dream. A promise forever unfulfilled.

“Listen to me,” Siobhan took Robin’s hand in her own. “You were magnificent. You soared. So don’t you worry about anything else but yourself for now, got it?” Reluctantly, she glanced down at the injured leg, her jaw tightening before she forced her gaze back to Robin’s, willing a strength into her expression she didn’t quite entirely feel. A small smile. Broken, afraid, hopeful. As her trainer, as her friend, Siobhan knew she had to stay strong. To appear strong.

The medics moved in with a stretcher and Siobhan, unwilling to part despite their presence, laced her fingers tightly with Robin’s instead.

“I’m coming with her.” Her words were not a request but a firm declaration. Flat and absolute, leaving room for no argument. She kept her eyes locked on Robin’s, voice softening to a whisper meant only for her. “Just keep holding on. I’ve got you.”

Dainsleif didn’t have much of a plan, if he were being honest. Knock out a guard or two and disappear to another nation entirely before they ever noticed that he was gone perhaps. He would never need to come back to Fontaine again - or at the very least not to the city where he could get caught for reckless actions like breaking out of prison - and he would simply continue on his endless mission as he always did after spots of trouble. Time wasted sitting here was time that he could spend hunting down the next Abyss Herald or other remnants of the Abyss Order that he so tirelessly sought day after day.

A plan didn’t matter so much as getting out of here as soon as possible did.

“Getting out is the easy part,” He says with a chuckle, standing and walking over to the bars that held them in this place, “It’s not getting caught again that’s harder. Fontaine is the nation of Justice, and with that comes a complex legal system. I’d rather not find myself back here and on trial any time soon.”

Now for the bars…

He may have been long past his prime, five hundred years to be exact, but his body remained in its peak condition from his time as the Captain of the Royal Guard. He didn’t have the sword that he came with the apt title of “Twilight Sword” anymore, but his body frozen in eternal youth still remembered the skills that had been drilled into him all the way back at the Academy.

It takes only a swift kick and the lock cracks sickeningly open. Dainsleif turns back to the woman, gesturing for her to follow him.

Well…

She did notice how the man had this air of lethality about him. At least, the same sort of hidden strength she’d often sense from the few patrons who’d find their way to Dreamjolt Hostelry; they all tend to be the same, these “adventurer” lots, etched in the way they carried themselves, the way their back straightens, the way they speak or move.

Still, seeing strength in action was a whole ‘nother thing altogether. That lock wasn’t just some flimsy thing anyone could just break. She was sure of this. She’d tried to fiddle with it the very moment the guards turned their backs on them, after all.

A slow, impressed whistled escaped her lips. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, yeah?” She laughed, stretching her arms above her head as she sat up from her bench and made for the now opened cell. “Though I suppose I should be thanking my lucky stars you’re on mine right now.”

She made her way to his side, light on her feet despite the absurdity of the situation. No. Rather, the thrill of it all had her blood singing. Things are definitely going to get chaotic in a few, far better than just waiting for some stuffy Fontaine judge to scold her over some paperwork she hadn’t a single clue existed, if the way they stalked along the halls was any indicator.

Footsteps echoed. Not theirs, but another’s. Few others, in fact. Quick. Heavy. Fast approaching.

Hurriedly, Siobhan hugged the nearest wall. A careful, if not clumsy, attempt at hiding in the shadows much like in the few noir films she’d appeared before. She wasn’t much of a fighter, and her experience when it came to jailbreaks and sneaking around, while not entirely zero, still likely paled in comparison to her companion’s... Still, with a shaky breath in, she quietly listened. There should be two guards. Maybe three, their voices muffled but growing clearer by the second.

A glance at her impromptu partner. A silent question in her raised brow.

It’s been an eventful few months, she thinks to herself, and the thought is true. In the last few months alone, so much has happened, with little time to unpack or think of it all. The moment the skies of Teyvat have found themselves open to the greater universe, Yelan’s life as she knew it changed. Not incredibly, rather to the point where more stakes have opened themselves up to her. It was exhilarating, for a thrillseeker, but tiring when you fail to stop and give yourself a true break. 

A true break was the reason for her presence at a bar today. She flagged down the bartender, a smile curling on her lips. The bartender was pretty, and she seemed rather down to earth as well. Someone down to earth to talk to would be helpful, especially with how foggy her brain has felt recently. 

“Hey,” Yelan called out, gently, patiently- a consumer waiting to make a request for a product. “It’s my first time here,” a light chuckle escaped her lips following the words, “what would you recommend I try?” 

Yelan wasn’t someone who frequented bars for the sake of drinking, the drunken feeling wasn’t something she found enjoyment in. She liked to be cognizant and focused, able to understand her surroundings- though she did partake in the rare drink with a meal, and even sometimes found herself downing a shot or two if it led to more information. However, today was different, she wanted to indulge in that drunken feeling for a rare moment, allow herself the luxury of vulnerability in an unfamiliar place (even if she’d been to Penacony frequently in recent). 

“And of course,” she followed, “may I know who I’m talking to? I’m Yelan.” 

“First time, is it?” Her voice, as usual, was warm. Laced with the faintest trace of an accent. Something earthy, something grounded, friendly yet mature all the same, like the rich undertones of a well-aged whiskey. She set the towel down and gave her hands a thorough wash, before leaning slightly against the counter for a closer look at her dearest patron, lips quirking into an easy smile. “Well, Yelan, you’re in luck. The land of dream’s got a drink for every kinda mood. And judgin’ by the look of you…” Her gaze flickered over Yelan’s frame, the way her fingers absently tapped her bar, the quiet sigh that had preceded her request… Yeah, this one ought to be easy.

“Why don’t we start you with something smooth, hm? Something that doesn’t fight you on the way down.” Turning around to the display of bottles, she reached for one with a light icy liquid. “This one’s called Ice Palace. Sweet, cool, refreshing. It’ll wrap you up before you even realize it’s hit you.”

And in a large wine glass, she pours in ice, mixes in two liquors, stirs it, and finishes with the two tones of the icy drink and one other, each and every movement well-practiced and effortless. Like she’d done this a thousand times for a thousand different souls seeking solace in a glass. And today, without a doubt, Yelan shall be among those numbers. “Name’s Siobhan.” She finally answered, sliding the drink toward Yelan. “Bartender, listener, occasional dispenser of questionable advice.”

Some claim to have stumbled upon it by accident, drawn by the flickering neon light and the relaxing tunes. Others insist it found them, convinced further once they’ve taken the first sip of their drink, as though the bar had appeared to them in response to their unspoken longing and the weight of secrets that had become too heavy to carry on their own.

Behind the counter, Siobhan moves with the easy grace of someone who has never known hurry. She slides a glass of sunset-like drink across the counter towards one of the earlier patrons, serving it to them without needing to hear their request. A wink here, a quick chat there, and concluding it with a chuckle, she returns to her usual spot afterward.

She grabs another glass from somewhere behind the counter, sets a coaster on the bar for the glass to sit on, and then adds ice and liquor inside. Finally, she slides it towards the only patron who’d opted to sit at the counter tonight. Newly arrived, without a story shared, for now.

For them, she offers a good old-fashioned to start with. On the rocks, with a slice of orange for garnish.

“On the house,” she confidently says, before quickly adding with a breath of a laugh, “just promise you’ll tell me what you think about it in exchange.”

She listens to the chime of a bell, glances at the door as it swings open, and gives the new visitor a slight nod. They’re a familiar face—or maybe not. Perhaps someone she’d met before, or someone she’d only heard of from stories told by other visitors.

Either way, she properly greets them once they’re seated at the bar as well.

“Not always that I get two visitors at once,” she muses, nodding towards the rest of her odd guests. In a way, she was grateful for the newcomer. They made for a great excuse to start a conversation, after all. Shake some nerves a little, for what is a bar for if not that? “You lot know each other by any chance?”

Of all the reasons to get arrested-

Dainsleif didn’t even own a glider; how the hell would he have even used one when he jumped down from that roof? He can’t use one with a license, let alone one with a license that he does not have - promptly thrown away after his forced glider exam in Mondstadt - with a glider that he also does not have.

This was fine. It wasn’t the first time Dainsleif had found himself in a jail cell over the centuries, and it probably wouldn’t be the last either. Of course, that didn’t make him feel any less ashamed about it at the moment. A long, long time ago, he never would have been in this position. But those days where he had been an honorable captain of Khaenri’ah’s royal guard were long past.

And he understood now, that too most people, he was nothing more than a suspicious figure haunting the background of daily life.

He can’t blame the average citizen of the Seven for being wary, even if he doesn’t like their gaze upon. He can’t blame Fontaine’s police for arresting him on the spot as soon as they heard a commotion, even if he would rather be anywhere but here.

He isn’t the only one in this holding cell either, because of course he isn’t. There’s someone else. A woman. A woman who looks like an outlander at that. No wonder she’d found herself in this place, if she were here for the same reason as he. An outlander, of course, wouldn’t have a gliding license, wouldn’t know to have one.

He crosses the small room, sitting down on the cramped benches beside her. He starts with as soft a smile as he can manage and a polite nod, “Hello. You wouldn’t happen to be looking to get out of this place; would you?”

A long sigh escapes his lips, “I don’t exactly have the time to waste sitting around here all day for trial, and I’m sure you have things that you must eventually get back to wherever you come from. Care to work together then?”

Siobhan had imagined leisurely strolls through Fontaine’s pretty streets, maybe indulging in a few too many pastries, perhaps even daring a deep dive in its waters—she’d heard some few could still breathe underneath, and hey, maybe she's one of the lucky few but no. Instead, she’d gotten caught up in the thrill of the moment, saw a group of locals leap off the tall waterfalls with wing-like gliders on their back, laughing as they rode the gusts down to the waters below and who could blame her for wanting a taste of it herself?

Besides, how hard could it be?

Turns out, very.

Between the unfamiliar mechanics of the glider, the sudden updrafts, and her own lack of experience and license (which she hadn’t yet known was required to maneuver one of these things), it was a miracle she hadn’t ended up as a smear on the rocks. Instead, she’d landed right in the middle of a circle of Fontaine’s ever-efficient Gardes, borrowed glider confiscated, and tossed into this dingy holding cell.

And now, here she was, rubbing her sore shoulder and contemplating the sheer absurdity of it all when a stranger—tall, blond, and looking like he’d been dragged through several centuries of bad luck—sat down beside her with an offer.

One that sounded very much like the beginnings of a jailbreak and that, she thought, sounded more like the adventure she was hoping for.

“Well, I did come here hoping for a fun and exciting vacation, and sitting in here certainly isn’t any of that. So, alright, count me in.” Siobhan exhaled a laugh, cerulean eyes already gleaming with mischief as she leaned in slightly, shoulder nearly bumping against his.