[LATE]
What am I doing hereโฆ
The refined atmosphere, the music, the lighting, they were all unfamiliar to Citlali. She thought maybe it was time for a change of pace, but seeing everyone mingle and socialize with ease, one could easily tell that she was out of her depth. The only thing keeping her here was she wanted an excuse to wear her new dress. It was a pink cocktail dress, detailed with a layer ofย lace with vague flower imagery over a base silk dress. She deliberated for a while at the shops of Belobog and managed to secretly purchase it without any of her companions noticing.
I need a drinkโฆ all of these voices are pounding my head.
Finding her way to the bar, she grabs a glass of Belobog wine, wandering over to a quiet edge of the scene. There, she finds a lone lady, pondering one of the artifacts set on display.ย
She must be shy like me. Well, I might as well talk to her so she is not alone. Thatโs not awkward rightโฆ?
Slowly wandering up beside the lady, she halts for a moment, frozen. Her heart beats a little louder and she gazes upwards towards the towering figure.
Wow. I didnโt realize this from across the room but she really has a commanding presence huh. It would be even more awkward to back down now. If she is here she must love history herself.
Citlaliโs eyes fall back onto the display, inspecting the physical manifestation of memory. The jagged edges, the scratch marks, the blemishes, the emotions, all left by those who have come before.
โMesumes are quite interesting. Even more so than understanding the truth of our past and understanding what we can do in the future, we can see the emotions left behind by those before us. Even if paint fades, even if lives wither, it is quite fascinating how humans have suchย a strong desire for proving that they were here. That they existed.โ
Her head turns upwards, addressing the museum as a whole, โI also wonder if people house these museums in hopes that people in the future would do the same for them.โ Turning once more, facing the refined lady beside her, her voice quiets, dripped logging and covered in curiosity, โWhat do you think?โ
she pinches the stem of a crystal glass of red wine between two dark fingers, swirling gently, absentmindedly as marked eyes gaze over text scrawled into steel in a language she can barely comprehend. here and there seems to be some fragments that feel recognizable, but for the most part... nothing. even the parts that feel like they make sense as recognizable thoughts or words are nonsensical gibberish, or may as well be as much... when she finally gazes down to the placard at the bottom of the artifact's display, arlecchino catches a flash of pale pink out of the corner of one eye coming closer.
then, when that flash of pale pink speaks, she turns to find a petite woman who looks to be dressed in a manner befitting teyvat, not the city they find themselves in. she looks over the woman more closely. the house had been just recently able to make inroads in natlan, after it had been isolated for so long --- she's speaking about museums still, isn't she --- but with the visits from natlanese travelers to fontaine more recently, it was somewhat reasonable to determine that she was at least from the nation in general, even if arlecchino could not pinpoint the woman's precise culture.
a slow sip of her wine comes as she's asked a question: arlecchino tilts her head. "what a curious query: it may be true for art. but on the contrary... I would imagine that many people do not expect their ordinary belongings would end up in a museum, preserved for centuries to come. judging by the placard below that attempts to translate the words etched into metal, this artifact in particular we're looking at seems to be a list of complaints about the owner's wife. an unexpectedly mundane memorialized series of thoughts..."
the translation on the placard is almost comical, actually. bertha decided to purchase three barrels of fish yesterday from the market. we won't be able to eat it all fresh, and she hates salted fish. what a waste!... bertha asked me to stop working long hours at the mine, she says she misses me. but I need to make an income to feed her fresh fish habit!... arlecchino smiles, steps back so that the woman can read the translation for herself. "poor bertha, her fish fixation is forever preserved in her descendant's museum... what would you be embarrassed to have future generations find, miss?"
