#dualisume

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝. As the sovereign that presides over life itself, over the waters that bear with it creation and destruction both he has always understood this. Water is the beginning and so too much all return to its source. Even he himself must meet his end at some point and such a prospect comes to him with no fear or trepidation. It simply is. His predecessors have met their ends as well. He remembers little of it. Not their births, not their deaths. He hardly recalls his own beginning, but there will be no querulous trembling with the tolling of his own end.

Knowing all this. Knowing the natural order of this world that not even he himself can truly alter…

Why does such a question bring a storm that rips away all defenses. Strips him to his very raw and bleeding core. Caught in the blistering winds that lash at his very being, he remains still as stone. Eroded through and through yet the refusal to move is as much his feeble attempt to gain some semblance of control of his own emotions. The threads of his heart rips apart and he clings desperately to them, tangling it all into his a mass within himself, pulling his heartstrings back within.

For over five centuries he’s lived through this world and dwelled amongst these frail and fragile creatures. He has learned of them. Loathed and loved them all. He has watched them grow and watched them wither away. Returned once more from whence they came. Countless numbers of lives and names, each one etched upon the walls of his heart. Vautrin. Carole. Eventually will there be more to join their number.

And some day far too soon, will she be amongst them as well. One day will he have to carve Furina within himself as well.

𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 , 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 . it had been some time since clorinde had the opportunity to speak with lady furina . while her duties in assisting both neuvillette and wriothesley with various tasks weren't entirely time consuming , it left little room for any semblance of a social life . the champion duelist offers her a pointed look , an edge of softness for the archon herself . there were few people whom clorinde trusted but lady furina was one of them ; with her there was an inherent softness that surfaced , a vulnerability not known by the public unless otherwise addressed .

@dualisume &&. said... " joyeux anniversaire à toi!! " An excited greeting from the ex archon was heard as she approached the other with a gift in hand. Furina had a huge grin on her face as she handed the small gift wrapped present to the hand of the wanderer. Inside it was a small black cat charm that furina thinks looked like ren , it was pawing a small fontainian seahorse, that resembles Surintendante Chevalmarin . " I got it made back in fontaine from a very good maker named ' freminet ' but i do hope you like it!"

he  clearly  isn't  expecting  to  be  presented  with  a  gift,  if  the  ❝  huh  —  ?  ❞   that  quietly spills  from  the  wanderer's  lips  serves  as  any  indication.  he  reaches  out  to  accept  the  package  with  actions  driven  by  REFLEX  more  than  conscious  will  —  blinking  to  awareness  only  when  it's  suddenly  cradled  so  carefully  in  his  hands.  there's  a  pause,  almost  comical  in  nature.  lavender  gaze  flicking  back  and  forth  between  furina  and  the  gift, gears churning within his skull.  he  thinks  that  she  didn't  need  to.  he  thinks  that  his  birthday  is  hardly  an  occasion  worth  celebrating.  he  thinks  a  dozen  other  EQUALLY  DREARY  thoughts  —  yet  is  surprised  to  find  himself  smiling  fondly in  spite  of  them  all.  whether  it's  deserved  or  not  has  little  impact  on  reality,  and  there  is  a  fragile  feeling  budding  in  his  hollow  chest  that  it  takes  ren  a  moment  to  recognize  as  GENUINE  APPRECIATION.

he  opens  it  slowly,  as  if  worried  hands  accustomed  to  VIOLENCE  might  act  on  what  is  so  familiar  to  them  and  destroy  the  precious  gift  within.  his  eyes  seem  to  light  up  when  it's  finally  revealed  to  him.  a  tiny  charm.  the  resemblance,  the  symbolism  —  that  alone  is  enough  to  endear  him  to  the  cat  and  seahorse  pair,  yet  the  revelation  that  furina  endeavored  to  have  it  CUSTOM  MADE  is  easily  enough  to  cement  his  favor.

❝  i  do like  it.  ❞  the  wanderer  says,  then  looks  up  —  still  sporting  that  odd  little  smile  that  stubbornly  refuses  to  leave  him.  he's  always  felt  as  though  his  capacity  to  weave  words  in  a  meaningful  way  is  insubstantial.  that  his  tongue  is  ironically  too  blunt,  too  direct  to  actually COMMUNICATE  sentiments  properly.  (  simply  stating  something  does  not  inspire  the  empathy  necessary  to  give  it  weight.  )  no  better  is  that  particular  WEAKNESS  made  apparent  than  here  —  where  all  he  can  do  is  so  clumsily  repeat,  ❝  i  like  it  a  lot,  actually.  ❞  and  hope  that  the  tone  of  his  voice  alone  is  enough  to  properly  convey  his  SINCERITY.  

@dualisume &&. said... " have you ever seen snow? around this time of year fontaine always is covered with thick snow -- oh and merry Christmas!"

a  quiet  hum  greets  the  question  —  followed  by  a  nod  that  sees  the  tassels  of  his  kasa  clicking  softly  from  the  movement.  ❝  i  have.  ❞  the  wanderer  says.  more  than  he  truly  CARES  TO,  perhaps.  snezhnaya  is  a  frigid,  unpleasant  memory  that  sits  in  the  back  of  his  skull.  ren  may  sport  a  higher  resistance  to  extreme  temperatures  than  mortals  do  —  yet  that  doesn't  necessarily  mean  he  finds  enduring  them  PLEASANT.  ❝  although,  i've  never  been  around  to  see  how  winter  in  fontaine  measures  up.  ❞

tipping  his  head  back,  bright  eyes  search  the  sky  —  as  if  hunting  for  something  only  he  can  see.  ❝  there's  a  mountain  over  in  mondstadt  where  it  snows  year  round.  ❞   the  wanderer  says,  his  voice  dipping  into  a  gentler  tone.  (  befitting  of  a  storyteller,  weaving  tales  around  a  crackling  campfire.  )  he  can  picture  it  so  clearly,  as  if  his  memory  is  a  pool  of  crystalline  water.  a  mountain  that  looms  —  tall,  tall  enough  that  it  appears  to  scrape  at  the  heavens themselves.  snow  coats  every  peak  and  valley  like  layers  of  thick  icing  sugar  coating  a  fine  dessert.  bones  jut  out  from  the  ground  like  towering  trees.  at  a  distance,  there  is  a  sort  of  BEAUTY  to  it  —  in  the  same  way  witnessing  any  of  the  grandiose  sights  this  world  has  to  offer  is  able  to  invoke  feelings  of  awe.  yet  up  close,  it  couldn't  possibly  be  more  different.  ❝  it's  a  somber  place.  ❞   ren  continues  aloud.  ❝  everything  is  quiet ...  everything  is  still.  it  feels  like  a  massive  grave.  ❞  perhaps  because  it  is  —  at  least  in  this  day  and  age.  even  so,  ❝  somehow, i  can't  bring  myself  to  dislike  it.  ❞

he  isn't  sure  if  somewhere  so  dreary  would  be  to  furina's  liking,  yet  ren  enjoys  any  opportunity  he  gets  to  lose  himself  in  dragonspine.  it's  one  of  his  favorite  places  in  all  of  teyvat  —  if  only  for  the  CLARITY  it  affords  him  and  his  muddled  thoughts.

in  any  case,  the  mention  of  a  certain  holiday  is  enough  to  direct  the  wanderer's  attention  elsewhere.  he  largely  regards  such  celebrations  and  festivals  as  a  strictly  mortal  affair  —  having  lived  through  so  many  of  them  himself,  they gradually  begin  to  lose  their  LUSTER  after  the  first  century  or  two.  (  blending  together  into  an  indecipherable  mess  of  generic  bacchanalia.  )  however,  ren  is  not  so  ignorant  as  to  assume  his  opinion  is  universal.  furina  in  particular  seems  to  have  maintained  a  sense  of  WHIMSY  he  lost  a  very  long  time  ago. he can't quite understand it, but he respects her tenacity nonetheless.  ❝  ...  merry  christmas.  ❞  the  words  feel  clumsy  in  his  mouth,  as  if  he's  unaccustomed  to  speaking  them.  a  hand  suddenly  raises  to  his  chest  —  there's  a  brief  flicker  of  purple  light,  and  then  the  wanderer  is  holding  out  a  package  for  her  to  take.  it's  small,  wrapped  neatly  in  a  plain  brown  paper  and  tied  with  string.  plain,  almost  spartan  decor  that  feels  very  ren.  

within  sits  a  tiny  wooden  box.  its  surface  sports  a  delicately  carved  pattern  —  elegantly  swirling  figures  that  could  easily  be  interpreted  as  the  wind  or  waves.  on  one  side  there  is  a  key,  not  unlike  the  sort  oft  sported  by  children's  toys.  when  wound,  the  MUSIC  BOX  begins  to  emit  a  calming  tune.  ❝  it's  probably  just  a  glorified  paperweight.  ❞   ren  says.  even  so,  he  pointedly  avoids  making  eye  contact  —  as  if  some  small  part  of  him  fears  a  NEGATIVE  reaction.  ❝  ... but  maybe  you'll  be  able  to  find  some  USE  for  it.  who  knows.  ❞

WAH-