#aesthetecomplex

Dear Mikhail,

Today was our last day at the Luofu, so we’re preparing to head off again. I met so many people, saw so many amazing sights and got to try so many delicious foods… I wonder, was this how you felt too as you journeyed across the stars? The feeling of excitement, of your heart thumping in your chest as you can’t wait to see what happens next.. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this feeling. It’s like my dreams are finally coming true, I get to see the world for myself. And it’s so much more vast, exciting and beautiful than I ever could’ve imagined! I’m happy, so very happy. It’s like the stars are shining brighter, every sight and every smell is so much more vivid. I never thought I could be this happy.

….I’ll admit though, the fact that I’m so happy also scares me a little. I’m scared I’ll lose it, this feeling, these people, this happiness.. It’s everything I ever dreamt of. I understand now why you loved to trailblaze so much. I miss everyone on Penacony, of course. Clockie and Sleepie, Miss Mirror and all our friends back home. But I don’t think I ever want to go back to the way it used to be. Back to only dreaming..

Dreaming…

(The following paragraph is notably messier, with tear stains on the page.)

I realized something, a few days ago. I was never supposed to see this, right? This happiness was never meant for me. I was never supposed to be a person… just a runaway dream, meant to fulfill a purpose. After that, like all dreams I was to come to an end. I was reminded of this because when I was washing dishes earlier, I accidentally nicked my finger. That doesn’t sound too weird, does it? But…

It wasn’t red.

I want to exist. I want to experience so much more, I want to see so many more places, I want to meet so many more people. But I’m scared. I’m.. not human, right? So what if.. what if the happiness I feel now will just cease to exist. If my wish runs out. If I lose my dreams..

"In a literal sense... hunters and travelers of old certainly utilized the North Star for directional sense. My time in the wilds has enabled me to become quite proficient in that regard." "But I suppose it could be a metaphor as well. Those who shine brightest in our hearts will continue to direct us onward. May we strive to protect that light- as I'm sure you already do, Monsieur Kaveh."

There's several comrades that she has in mind for her statement, and the mere thought of them promotes a warmth that blooms from her chest. If it were not for those that took the time to support her and get to learn her, it's likely that Clorinde would have never made it this far. Petronilla, who first extended her hand to a dirty, ratty child with no name or purpose. Born to struggle in the dirt, and abandoned as if she never mattered in the first place- only for her worth to be seen in another who she owed her life to. If she were to see the Duelist now, would she be proud? Would she find it to be a blessing that she made her decision to take Clorinde into her life so many years ago?

Navia, the closest friend she's ever had. The fateful picnic decades ago that saw her tugged along by the hand, peals of childish laughter causing her heart to hammer in her chest for a reason other than fear. While Petronilla taught her the blade and the art of war, the Caspars taught her love; while her parents never stopped to acknowledge her, Callas Caspar always treated her as his own daughter. Clorinde remembers the first moment that he hugged her, and the way her eyes burned with tears unshed-- the first time in her life that she ever felt as if she had a father.

Furina, who initially began as her liege, and quickly developed into something far more treasured. Though she no longer serves as her Archon, the woman is embedded deeply into her heart as a friend who has done everything in her power to save Fontaine... and as a result, Clorinde's own life. She'd go to war for Furina, as she has before, and this time- it wouldn't be out of duty, but out of familial love.

Wriothesley, the man whose cold facade had been chipped away at over the years they had collaborated together. While the two of them only functioned as colleagues and a strange sort of 'coworkers' for a long period of time, the hours spent with him over a cup of tea quickly made her come to realize that the two of them shared more in common than she initially believed. Nowadays, her trips to the Fortress are just as much for work as they are for companionship-- though he's never said as much, it's a hunch that the Duke wishes for her to try every tea in his collection at least once. And Clorinde will, committing every flavor to memory as it changes from one visit to the next.

Neuvillette, who still functions as her boss and always will. Underneath her duty and calling lies a trust that could never be tarnished, as the Iudex's service is unchanging and unwavering in his impartiality. Though Clorinde is his blade, she is also a comrade who would go to any lengths to ensure both his safety... and his comfort. If she can help, she will-- and the Duelist sincerely hopes that he understands the sentiment from her. Neither of them speak many words to each other, but they understand one another. And sometimes, that's all that matters. Chiori, whose sharp tongue and scathing remarks constantly keep Clorinde in line. The seamstress knows the Duelist well enough to provide her with excellent quality uniforms that fit her so perfectly; in design and functionality. Not only are Chiori's skills unrivaled, but so is her unbridled honesty-- if Clorinde ever chooses to divulge her struggles, she knows wholeheartedly that she'll receive an answer that many others may be afraid to say out loud. Where many fear her simply for her title of Champion Duelist... Chiori is one who would seek to challenge it, treating her as if she was simply another customer of her boutique.

Sedene, the Melusines... Accepting of others in an unconditional love that brings a smile to her face during every interaction. It's no wonder that the Iudex is quite taken with them, though Clorinde suspects that the story runs much deeper than that. Their loyalty to the Court of Fontaine is something she can appreciate, and the jovial spirit they exude any time a greeting is extended to her-- frankly, it's one of the favorite parts of her days. Lyney, Lynette, Freminet. It doesn't seem right to address them all individually considering their attachment to each other, but each of them holds their own soul and heart in a stark contrast to their differing personalities. Where Lyney is a star that shines brightest, Lynette is the shadow cast by his light-- and it's fitting for someone such as her, striving to support and promote her brother in a way that no one else ever could. Clorinde can relate, to a degree, when her sun that she orbits takes the spotlight in a way that she deserves. Freminet, though quiet and reserved far more than the other two, has a kind soul that deserves to be cherished and celebrated. Perhaps one day, once the boy has become more receptive to social interaction, others will come to realize the treasure that he is to the world.

the last place kaveh ever imagines himself is standing on this platform, next to aventurine of all people, surrounded by smoke machines hissing ominously in the background, with half a dozen cameras trained on them. it’s all absurd, but then again, this is exactly the kind of thing he tends to find himself entangled in, somehow.

all that talk last time about how they look alike—honestly, the very notion is beyond him. even now, standing beside him, squinting through the garish blaze of stage lights and the frenetic bustle of crew members moving about, kaveh finds it almost laughable that anyone could make such a comparison.

...but perhaps it's just the thing to get him out of this situation.

he exhales a sharp breath, folding his arms across his chest with the practiced air of someone entirely above this sort of farce.

"well?" he asks, casting an expectant glance at the other. "they only need one person for the shot, and let’s be honest—you’re the gambling man between us. your chances are better than mine."

the architect’s tone carries the unmistakable suggestion that if anyone is going to take the plunge, it will most assuredly not be him.

NOW. . . HOW EXACTLY HAD HE ENDED UP HERE? the so-called aventurine of strategems finds itself atop smoke and mirrors, at the apex of a long drop down to padded mats barely obscured beyond cylindrical machines belching out their special effects just out of sight of the cameras. all half-dozen of them, trained up at them like expectant eyes through the fog. now this must be a little of what it feels like to be a professional athlete, maybe. he folds his arms across his chest, taking a moment to savor the view.

and beside him is an unlikely partner in crime ; he doesn't need to look to suspect the mouth screwed up in that doubtful frown, the eyes peering dubiously over the ledge, the ruffled feathers of a distaste by association.

there'd been a drink or two involved in both of them being here, he's pretty sure.

"well?"

"hm?" nonchalance casts its attention over to the other, and there's the exact face he thought he'd see.

only one person for the shot ; one of them more a gambler than the other. a chuckle indulges the remark, almost cheerful——it's not that mister kaveh's wrong on either account. but he's missing a third, very important fact to go along. "true, my friend. then, by all accounts, only one of us should be up here to begin with. and yet, i don't think i've had so many glasses that i've started seeing doubles of myself."

and as to the question of whether they did look alike enough to be mistaken, he'd leave out for the jury to tell. blond hair, fair features——sure, if you went by half-measures and a glance, you could say there's enough evidence to work with. for his part, he finds the comparison more humorous than anything else, the better half of that owing to mister kaveh's reaction every time it came up.

"no need to worry ; i'm more than happy to jump," he reassures before the other can protest more and steps up to the precarious edge. a scuff of his boot tests the plasticity, lips pulling into a smile when the steel doesn't wobble. he turns around easily then, eager and at peace all at once as both arms open at his sides, letting the rising smoke billow up through the slits in his tailcoat, teal and gold emerald flapping loosely like flight feathers. "but you're sure you don't want to join me? sometimes it's only by casting reason aside that we can truly enjoy the moment."

but he huffs softly, as if capitulating. not everyone shared that spirit, after all, and he couldn't blame them.

so without any further fanfare, he simply tips backwards——and vanishes, plummeting, into the smokescreen. and that should be all there is.

but after a beat comes a crystal clear ding, and something flat and circular flies up at kaveh still standing at the edge, sailing into the palm of his hand to catch.

a poker chip—?

Character Dev Questions | still accepting

This answer, unlike the last ones, is mostly headcanon. By and large, I think Wriothesley prefers mental stimulation over physical, contrary to how he may appear (I think back to all the impressions that came out around the time that his designs were leaked, most of which tended to lean more on Big Tough Guy Who Lets His Fists Do The Talking which, while different from canon, is still valuable in conveying how he might come across at a glance, and what kind of assumptions a stranger might make about him). I pull this idea from the fact that he has multiple lines about picnicking in the sun, or lying in the grass, and that his favorite time of day seems to be when he can have his afternoon tea. All of this portrays a character who enjoys physical leisure.

it's may day! send 💐 to give my muse a flower basket!

      ‎‎ ❝ ohoho, trying to sneak your way onto paimon's good side, are you? ❞      ‎‎ though unlikely to be kaveh's true intentions, the way the little fae's round, cherubic face splits into a cheery smile suggests it's working nonetheless. with her face cradled in the warmth of her palms, constellations whirl in the air as she admires the flower basket, all azure and lush and delicate petals in full bloom. as expected of sumeru's most passionate aesthete! if the sabzeruz festival ever hosted a flower arrangement competition, paimon would award every blue ribbon in her possession.

      ‎‎ ❝ WAIT WAIT WAIT ⸻ KAVEH, PERFECT TIMING! ❞      ‎‎ joy blossoms into excitement as the little fae realizes the opportunity presented to her. mindful enough to set the basket down first, paimon rolls back into a pocket of stars and reappears to the side, eagerly searching through the traveler's bag. she's a little less mindful about dumping the traveler's belongings on the ground, but eventually she discovers what she's looking for and proudly displays a hardcover book.

      ‎‎ ❝ get this: after al-haitham sent paimon those books, she's been reading up a storm ever since! not only the advanced reading materials but inazuman light novels and fontanian detective novels too. her new favorite's this about a private investigator who⸻ ❞      ‎‎ hands fly to her mouth, starlight eyes widening.       ‎‎ ❝ eek, that's the trouble with all good books: everything's amazing, so it's hard to reveal anything without spoilers. hmm, you should definitely read for it yourself and go in as blind as possible, okay? ❞

the past is complicated, and relationships even more so. a stranger turns into a best friend, and a best friend to…well. whatever this is now. in an odd way, it reminds kaveh of the thesis he once ripped up and pieced back together all those years ago — still comprehensible, though far removed from its original state. 

but even in the face of never-ending arguments and bickering, there is an indisputable truth to contend with: alhaitham has done for him what others have not. and though kaveh is loathe to admit it, he finds that the most unshakeable part of his life is a friend that will never change — for better or for worst. 

he waits for alhaitham to step out before sneaking into the other's bedroom. it’s there that kaveh places a bottle of wine on the nightstand, along with a book titled, “In Other Words — A Unique Collection of “Untranslatable,” Culturally-Bound Words Across Teyvat.” 

A note is stuck to its cover: 

“I skimmed through this and thought you'd find it interesting. ”

With a P.S at the bottom:

“In the spirit of the New Year, drink to whatever it is that makes you happy in your own time. Just make sure you wash your glass after. I've already done the dishes.”

Signed with a flourish,  - Kaveh 

Oh.

I shouldn't be so surprised, considering how sentimental the man is, but finding that Kaveh has obtained gifts for me still takes me off-balance a bit. Perhaps I have only my history with him to blame for my lack of expectation, in which case he has succeeded at springing this gift on me. And how thoughtful it is, as befitting the man: a copy of In Other Words, which despite the resources at my disposable I had had yet to get my hands on the most recent version; and a rather delectable-looking vintage that based on its appearance will do well for welcoming the beginning of the new year. Despite the words on the note, he must've spent some time finding and procuring these items, and for a moment I wonder how much he spent on them. If he hadn't saved up beforehand... well, it makes me curious, and hopeful that he was able to get a good commission preceding their acquisition. And that, of course, he didn't spend all of said commission on these gifts.

I like to think that after so long I have become well-versed in the particular language that is Kaveh, and for all that we (more often than not) rile each other up after our fall-out, we still have at least a shadow of the friendship we once shared. This present wishing me a cordial New Year's is evidence of that on his end. After everything, he still cares in some way, shape, or form. It's... kind of nice, these little moments in which I realize all over again that our brotherhood, though tattered and torn to shreds, was not irreparably burned to ashes.

And now I don't feel as nervous or silly about the new foreign toolset I snuck in his nightstand. If he hadn't gifted me anything, he would've most likely felt embarrassment at having nothing with which to reciprocate as well as believed he'd incurred a debt and attempted to pay it back and, well, that's one headache I definitely don't need. Apparently our timing lined up well in the end, and how funny is that? (I don't think I'll be able to keep a straight face however if that Fontainian curve ruler makes its way into his hair with the rest of his architectural accountrements. No doubt it works well for him, and it still gets me every time that it does so well. It's very Kaveh, now that I think about it.)

I chuckle as I take both presents and hunt down a clean goblet before pouring myself a glass and sitting down to crack open the book. Now I want to see his reaction to the toolset if only for the look on his face.

She traces the design of his thoughts line by line, avidly following at Kaveh's artistic vision. It is a satisfactory answer. There was no right or wrong one, of course, but the assessment leaves little room for argument considering the purpose it served for the past hundreds of years.

"I see" is all she says at first, sounding more contemplative than pleased.

Indeed Lesser Lord Kusanali had been confined to the sanctuary for some time. Only after being freed by the Traveler could she identify her truest feelings on all that had transpired. Umbrage as anger, sadness as an offshoot of loneliness. Perfectly reasonable emotions to experience given the situation.

"That would definitely make this place more lively."

Nahida tries to visualize it. Silent, she allows her imagination to take flight. In dreams, she has glided through skies the color of the earliest Padisarah flowers and swam alongside birds. Children seldom dream of the mundane, of comfortable homes and the simple lives many adults yearn to return to as they grow older.

She smiles finally, picturing the Sanctuary of Surasthana as a setting akin to the Grand Bazaar. Fantasizing about ordinairy people making merry and dancing in the house of a god.