2024 Birthday drabble | gifts received from @huntersoath, @iustitians, @fanfaire, @dellarosula
(Wriothesley character story spoilers)
Wriothesley could count the number of birthdays he’d celebrated on one hand. The very concept of them had become, by now, the stuff of fantasy, consigned to the place in his memories occupied by fables spoken by ordinary animals and humans that could fly all on their own. In other words, something for innocent-minded children with the kinds of well-adjusted families that only existed in fiction. He had been that, once.
For a long while, it had been hard for him to reconcile the happiness and love he knew conceptually to be a part of celebrating one’s birthday with what he had witnessed to be little different than throwing a party for a lamb set for slaughter the very next day. Three of his siblings had disappeared before he realized the truth, but he had eyes, and he had ears, so he denied himself the excuse of age. He should have known, even as young as he was.
Cake tasted like dirt from that day onward. His own birthdays passed in hazes of fury and grief. It had been someone’s birthday when he laid on the floor of his parents’ manor, drenched in their blood, choking on his own. That had been the last one, he’d made sure of it. And it was, for a while.
The Fortress of Meropide had hammered him down into an insignificant number in the years that followed, but he’d come to enjoy the anonymity. The fools who celebrated their birthdays down here might as well have put a sign up asking to be robbed, or beaten up, or both. Wriothesley had taken advantage of his fair share of fools. It was either that, or risk going hungry in the dog-eat-dog world under the sea. It was their own faults, he reasoned, and pretended like it wasn’t the resentment that festered just skin-deep during those first few years. Even so, the Head Nurse always had something for him on the same day every year, usually little more valuable than a piece of buttered toast, so that Wriothesley didn’t catch on until he’d been conditioned to expect it.
One year, as he sat on a cot in the empty infirmary while Sigewinne, humming a little song, poured peppermint tea into a nondescript cup, he realized just how talented the Fortress’ Head Nurse was.
Birthdays became easier to stomach after that, although he was still a prisoner of no importance until the day he scared the previous administrator from his post. Rumors followed the fearsome Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, among which was a distaste for birthdays, and yet he’d find his office collecting little trinkets, wrapped boxes, desserts, and a dozen or so hand-drawn stickers every year from then on.
There is far more clutter this year, even if “clutter” might be too harsh a word for the gifts and letters carefully delivered to his desk. The Duke has tried to clear space to work, to no avail, so he stands over the spread with a look that can be described as none other than fond exasperation. Little blue, pink, and yellow stickers speckle the tall back of his chair, and a shark sits on his shoulder. He’s left them all for the occasion, because he knows it’s futile to remove them today. More will soon take their place.
Where to start, he thinks, and his eyes land on a neat, no-nonsense signature he recognizes at once. Clorinde knows his preferences well by now, for how often they trade bets over life’s trivialities. The box and the thoughtful letter accompanying it showcase the champion duelist’s pragmatism, but it’s the new gloves that capture Wriothesley’s attention. He lifts one from the box to try, and it fits perfectly. She’d always had a good eye, but it seemed she knew him even better than he thought. With a soft laugh, he carefully returns the glove to its pair. A duel would be in order if he wanted to break them in, so he makes a note to invite her to the Pankration ring next time he sees her.
Alongside this box is a smaller one in beautiful wrapping, topped with a letter signed unmistakably by the Iudex’s precise hand, with the Iudex’s characteristic apologies. Wriothesley reads through it with an amused smile and then with the shake of his head, sets it aside to open the gift he knows deserves no such humble preamble. The tea within is wholly new to his collection, which lacks much of anything from Natlan, and when he opens the lid, out rolls the scent of bonfires and warm spices. It’s no legal codex, certainly, but it's at least something more practical.
Wriothesley thinks he might prepare himself a cup now and contemplate the rest of his cleaning project, but the massive iron doors down below suddenly rumble open.
”Another delivery for you, Your Grace,” calls the courier. “From Lady Furina.”
”Bring it up,” he directs, studying his desk like one might a puzzle. Where to fit a new box…
But it’s not a box that arrives at the top of the stairs. Instead, tray after tray of cakes, cookies, macarons, and other finger treats file into his office, which the Duke stands by to watch helplessly. Only when his tea table has been covered in a spread fit for a small party does the courier finally leave. What has he done to earn such extravagance from the former Archon herself? he wonders, and, still bewildered, approaches one of towering gift baskets to inspect what else she might have sent. There, he finds the gilded tickets for a show at the Opera Epiclese nestled in the filling, as if it were the real gift hidden under layers and layers of the most ornate paper one could find.
Another knock at the door. Wriothesley quickly slips the tickets into his breast pocket and goes to the top of the stairs to send back whatever else might be on its way up.
”Just leave it down—“ Eyebrows raise with surprised pleasure at the sight of a familiar, albeit entirely unexpected face.
“Now, to what do I owe a personal visit from Madame President?” he asks cheekily, following her to his desk to clear a space for the box she carries. It’s the result of the bet he’d technically lost, as it turns out, which Navia sets in front of him like a mafia boss presenting a suitcase full of mora.
”Let’s see what you’ve got here…” Leaning down for a better look, Wriothesley picks through the selection carefully, inspecting each tin as if searching gemstones for flaws. Lifting one in the middle from its bed of velvet, he spies the little note hidden beneath. If Clorinde is straight and to the point, Navia is anything but. With a soft huff, Wriothesley sets it back down.
"To be honest, I can’t remember if I’d tried any of these during my trip to Liyue last year. I guess the only thing to do is to have a taste test.” He shrugs his shoulders like it’s a matter of course, then flashes Navia a smirk. “Care to join me? I have a whole spread of desserts I need to figure out what to do with, too.”
So he sets his kettle to boil, because he expects that she won't say no. And after years and years of his birthday passing without any fanfare, Wriothesley thinks that, for once, it wouldn't be so bad celebrating it. Especially with someone else.
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There is little reason for a Champion Duelist to leave the confines of the Court, yet she finds herself sent on an assignment into the depths of Nod-Krai. Much to her chagrin, there's a severe lack of intel on her part: the lay of the land, a general understanding of the wildlife, temperament of the locals-- and all of it culminates to create a sense of ... unease for one normally so painstakingly prepared. Regardless, an opportunity to explore and learn is appreciated.
"Ah, pardon me, Monsieur." A taller gentleman that seems to stand out from the rest; whether it's from his unique garb or the way he seems vigilant more than most, she's not entirely sure. A reasonable first stop, though her wrist remains loosely resting on the pommel of her rapier at her hip. One can never be too careful. "I apologize for the interruption. I am..."
"... A traveler." It's easier to maneuver when under the guise of a simple desire to wander versus a proper station of a foreign nation. "This is my first time setting foot into Nod-Krai. I admit I am a bit lost, and overwhelmed, for that matter." The smile that comes looks more like a grimace than anything else, but the attempt was made.
"Might I get some suggestions from you of places to visit?"
Random Asks | always accepting
A traveler sparks interest in Flins' eyes. He turns on his heel to meet her in full, a hand over his heart for the honor of being selected from among a whole swath of locals to be her guide.
"Nasha Town has that effect on newcomers. It is the beating heart of Nod Krai, and the first and often only place tourists come to visit. These crowds are a permanent feature, I'm afraid."
All around them, backpackers, seafarers, and other wanderers cross the central square in droves. In the middle of the day, this tends to be the norm for just about any city, but here, they remain unchanged from sunup to sundown, and even all through the night. Ordinarily, Flins did not venture this far into town, preferring the secluded quiet of his lighthouse, or the bucolic somnolence of the wilds beyond, but there were deals to be found during the day, and this traveler had found him on one of his semi-regular supply runs. A happy coincidence for both parties, as one could find no better guide than a fae, and the fae in question enjoyed few things more than guiding humans to objects of desire.
He bows to seal their agreement.
"Please call me Flins. A humble Lightkeeper, at your service." There is no need to offer her his full name - the term of address with which she'd called out to him revealed her to be no kinsmen from the northlands, merely another wanderer from beyond the southern sea.
When he raises his head again, his eyes sweep upwards from rapier to uniform to the hunting hat she wears, and he considers the kind of person to choose such attire, what they might like, the kinds of sights that would stir their heart. However, it takes him but a moment to decide.
"If I might make an assumption, this journey is a rare treat for someone of your occupation. However, this town's boisterous, ill-controlled chaos does not entice you as it does others to sink into a night of endless revelry." His smile invites her to disagree, but he carries on like he knows she won't. "There is a place more suitable for the diligent warriors and warriors-at-heart, but it is something of a trek from here. I happen to be on my way there next, and would be happy to have you in my company should this sound more to your taste."
The click of the seamstress' tongue, already on her knees before the hunter. A tooth holds the corner of her lip, ruining the skin that she would normally have been tender with. Emergency repairs are common, between Clorinde and the House of Hearth's reckless agents. It is hidden well, but Chiori is tired. The candle burned at both ends, only growing hotter with the sudden addition to the workload.
"It's fine." Such fatigue need not appear on her features for the other to gather. It's in movement, more sluggish and likely to make a mistake. Even such reassurance sounds strained. It was not her work that was ruined, not this time at least. A bloodied shirt is snipped away, revealing more of the wound.
Chiori knew not why they came to her instead of a medical practitioner. Still, alcohol cleansed the wound, over-the-counter medicine numbed the pain a tad, needle prickling against the woman's stomach each time it pierced, dragging surgical threads through the nearly sutured flesh.
"I don't know if it'll scar, but..." Index and thumb tug her pinkie, then ring, then middle, then index, removing gloves far too nice to be covered in blood. A grunt as eyes find crimson stains, already dreading the wash that would come the next day. The same motion is done for her other hand, just dropping it on the floor for the time being. A deep breath.
Cheek meets thigh, gazing up to the Fontanian for a brief moment. Then, back to what brought her in. It is flesh, practically glowing. Wordless, scarlet eyes just stare, draped over the others lap. Lips find the soft flesh of the navel, only here because she was too tired to drag herself back to bed.
"We really need to stop meeting like this..." eyes shut. "Or bring a coffee next time..."
"...Today was fun! Thank you for inviting me over! I'm looking forward to the next one already."
Ever since the blonde was initially introduced to the concept of role playing games, she had become completely addicted. It was so much fun to get into character and follow as the story gradually unfolds. While her everyday life was definitely not lacking in thrill and excitement, it was still a different kind of 'challenge' for her to partake in.
"Unfortunately, I need to get going now. I promised Charlotte that I would meet up with her to tell her all about my adventures in Natlan. Apparently she wants to write an article about it for the Steambird and well...You know how persistent she can be when she has her sights set on something."
Stepping forward, she placed a quick peck on the taller female's cheek.
27. A kiss in greeting // readmore for no reason as always
"Clorinde-!"
She is a comet, hurriedly unfurling fingers from her Papa's sleeve so that she might hurtle towards her with arms outstretched and a smile to rival the sun. Papa is certainly smiling, too.
Because she is still too small to be quite so aware of all that might not be forever. She is still only a girl, the world is still only kind.
It is without preamble that Navia takes the other girl's hands in her own. She is full to bursting with excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Clorinde is quiet, but she talks enough for the both of them, and she does not think the other much minds.
"Papa says he will bring me with him to the city more now that I'm old enough," comes her babble without missing a beat, words practically tumbling from her lips. "He says you can come too, sometimes. That you can be my bodyguard while he's working."
At this, Navia giggles. Her voice turns hushed and she leans inward just so, as though with only the most classified of secrets.
"He told me not to tell Silver or Melus, though. They might get jealous."
And then, the moment's quiet too much for her to bear, she springs forward to kiss either of the other girl's cheeks.
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[TOUR GUIDE]
As odd as it is to be paired with strangers in a foreign land, it's even more strange to be stuck in a group with none other than the Fatui's renowned Knave. They've had their fair share of stiff collaborations in the past, and it wasn't exactly an experience that she particularly... enjoyed? They'd been on neutral terms, and simply remained that way.
Naturally, the duty of the Court and the intentions of the Fatui Harbingers had a tendency to remain at odds, and while Arlecchino had given her no reason to be in opposition... her guard remained stiff and raised out of sheer habit. Clorinde is always cordial in her greetings, as required of professionalism of her post, and she removes her hat to bow her head slightly.
"Madame Arlecchino. It seems we've been grouped together once again," She speaks in an even tone that accompanies her dealings within the Court. "I've always had a penchant for Fontaine's history, I believed I may hold the same interest in Liyue's. After all, we learn from the past to avoid similar mistakes in the future. Would you agree?"
The Duelist dares not make an assumption of the Knave's beliefs, knowing full well that she manages to be unreadable and unpredictable. Yet if Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet hold such high respect for their "Father"... there is surely a reason for it. One doesn't become so feared and revered by simply existing.
"I look forward to the sightseeing. Perhaps you can tell me a bit of Snezhnayan history, as well?"
hands stay folded close in front of her as she walks, though marked eyes shift seeing the familiar fontainean woman approaching her; then, they narrow significantly at the greeting, almost suggesting that idle chitchat on a local tour that was supposed to end at the jade chamber was not exactly welcome. still, polite greeting is flatly returned with some courtesy. "... champion duelist. you pose an interesting question," one she wasn't terribly keen on answering, and she leaves it... almost pointedly at that. to get into philosophical discussions of historicism and its pitfalls right now... "history may be taught for that very reason, but one must not assume lessons learned from the past will make our future decisions infallible. being able to admit your path of choice may be wrong, regardless of past outcomes, is key to any proper decision."
then, a sigh; she tries to listen to the tour guide for a beat as they walk along the harbor streets. "... I'm actually not from snezhnaya, so my knowledge of the history is not as keen as you'd probably like... perhaps just a tad more informed than you, at best. find my colleague --- the one who wanted to duel you --- if you'd like a better guide in that respect."
"Alright, that should be the last thing I need..." she hums, rolling the sewing tape measure over her knuckle. Two pins shift between pursed lips, eyes scanning back and forth as she looked the huntress over. Once the edge meets her thumb, she slips the measuring tool off her hand, placing it to the side. Reaching for a clipboard, she looks over the measurements taken. Lingering on one in particular. A glance back to Clorinde, then a nod. Whatever that measurement was, it's erased, and a new number is put down.
"I'll have that suit to you when I can. The season's picking up a bit quicker than I thought. It should only be a week or so..." she muses. Another glance to Clorinde. A regular when it came to repairing clothing already owned. Each duel or hunt only led to new scars or torn threads. Though it hurt to watch her work shred under the cut of a blade, it was nice company. Someone she could enjoy working on.
Passing folded clothes back to their owner, she watches the Champion Duelist dress again, thoughtful. Already she can feel the ideas of where to take this new piece for her friend.
As she walks to the door, she pauses, hand pressing to the handle. "Pay me when you can, and if you have any specific needs or wants, let me know... hmm?" A pause as the other calls for her attention. Gazing up, she would find a sprig of mistletoe, looming just over the both of them.
"Ah, that was the traveler's work..." she mumbles, thinking back to such an ambush. Her face darkens, before a sign of resignation. A woman of class that's given out far too many kisses this holiday season. She'd be sure to remember this for next year. "Fine, lean down." Though she's playing into it, there's a clear irritation, not directly pointed at Clorinde.
A gentle peck, pressed right to the taller one's lips. A deep sigh and a glance to the side. The door finally opens, and Chiori doesn't seem to meet Clorinde's gaze. "Have a good night, Clorinde." She wouldn't let on to the embarrassment she truly felt.
It's a simple addition to the Iudex's desk.
A small box, adorned with a delicate blue ribborn tied into a perfect bow, rests perfectly in the middle, along with a small card that sits next to it. It's clear that whoever has left it made sure to make its presentation flawless, and the striking colors used to decorate the outside of the box are certainly very similar to a certain 'dragon's' color scheme....
Inside is only a small trinket. It's a pair of wooden figurines, clearly sculpted with the utmost care-- one of them is clearly meant to embody a Melusine, though there don't seem to be any features that determine which one it is. Perhaps it's meant to be that way, and used as a general recognition of the Fontainian citizens as a whole. The other, however, is an otter that's fashioned after the ones that frequent the waters off the coast.
This one is painted, and a few tweaks have been made to the design to imitate several of Neuvillette's features incorporated into the colors and additions. Including a little tiny cravat, painted with the same intricate detail like the one he wears on the daily.
Clorinde's flawless handwriting addresses him on the envelope, simply dedicated to him with a "Monsieur Neuvillette" on the front.
Monsieur,
I've recently found time for old hobbies I once abandoned. While I tend to lean towards more practical gifts, I can't imagine anything that you would have use of-- instead, I wanted to put my efforts into something that can accompany you in your office if you so choose.
Learning Fontainian history through both Petronilla and my teachings throughout the years, I've always found the tale of the Melusines to be fascinating. Some of our dearest allies faced such hardships in the past... And I consider it a huge honor to work with the man who aided in changing so many things for the better.
Happy birthday, sir. May this token represent not only your unique bond with the Melusines, but also your undying loyalty to the people of Fontaine. I do not believe that any of us say it enough-- but thank you. For everything.
My blade will ever be at your beck and call. You need only ask.
- Clorinde
The small box marches into his office in the escort of joyful Melusines, joining a few others on the desk to wait its turn. It is not long before another pair of mitt-shaped hands reaches for it to place it on Neuvillette's lap, as though suggesting it should jump the queue and be opened sooner rather than later. He relents, doing just that, trusting in her intuition.
The content of it is soon revealed to the cheering and clapping of several little hands, and he smiles as he raises the figurines to his eye level to examine them better. The detail on them is remarkable, though somehow, knowing the creator, it does not surprise him that much - even though he was not aware of this particular hobby of hers, he naturally knows Clorinde to be a woman of great care and precision.
One of his daughters reads the letter out loud, and the applause and cheer that had just quieted down erupt anew. Neuvillette himself says nothing at first, though his expression is warm and fond as he hears it out; only after a little while, he shifts his posture as he hands the Melusine figurine to them for their own examination.
"Well. What's her name, what do you think?"
A small pause. "Adhene!" One of the Melusines exclaims, much to the joy of the others, and he nods with a brief chuckle. "Adhene it is," he nods, before gesturing for his daughters to put both the Melusine and the otter figurines on one of his shelves.
