"Shh." Venti suddenly appeared before Childe, grinning that mischievous grin of his, a finger to his lips to signal Childe to keep quiet. He grabs him by the arm, and into the wind they both disappear. It is only the feeling of rushing wind and free falling for a moment before they materialize somewhere that should be familiar to Childe- the Fortress. Specifically, the fighting ring.
"Happy Birthday~ Just call my name when you want to leave, m'kay?"
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย the suddenness of it all pushes him a step back, caution flared to its maximum until the Bard's figure is properly recognized. This is a trickster god, he knows as much, and precisely because of that he knows it will be dire to predict what is running through that mind of his.
So he accepts it. Well, at least in the narrow interval he's given to react to Venti's whims.
Not a word is said until the environment is completely changed to something as familiar as it's ironic. The humidity is unmistakable, just like the sound of anything against metal โ boots, water droplets, tools being hammered, so on and so forth.
The Fortress of Meropide is hardly a place he will forget. Now he is back... for his birthday.
Past the initial adjustment to the quick switch, Tartaglia gathers enough of himself to be amused (and even charmed) by the choice. The ring is empty, yet he doubts that his presence will go unnoticed for much longer unless he actively works for it. Alas, that would waste Venti's thoughtful gesture.
โ You really planned for everything, I'm impressed. โ Tartaglia's laugh is low and breathy in the precise way he's learned to keep it in order to avoid echoing through the empty chambers. His tone is equally kept at a whisper's volume, and he tilts in Venti's direction to keep it even more reserved, an unserious brand of humor wrapping around his next words. โ Are you not staying to be the first? โ
