#interaction: immovablewill

It was an odd misstep, for either of them to have made. Although Shenhe's steps did not often take her to these islands, where the waves lapped on the shore to the tune of a profound loneliness that she almost found peaceful, but in her brief experiences here she should not have needed accompaniment to deal with the wandering swordsmen.

General Kujou even less, capable and experienced as she was. This was her domain and her expertise, and yet there was a quality of helplessness as the tengu turned to face her, hand coming up to the curve of her cheek - was it helplessness? No, it was frustration.

She could not parse the finer details of the emotions, not quite, knowing only that there was a difference, but not entirely what it felt like from another - Shenhe knew that there was a moment where she lifted her hand to Sara's wrist, felt the pulse flutter swiftly and then slow, as if controlled by iron will, as if that breath that she took was a decision -

And then she felt herself falling, tumbling back along the abrupt jetty and into the surf as the swirl of Electro converged upon dark wings.

Sara begins, her voice soft as she kneels by the shores of Kannazuka. Carefully, almost reverently, she begins to carefully pluck the red flowers surrounding her.

"Poets refer to them as Lycoris," the general continued, cradling the crimson blooms in her hands. "It's said that the most vibrant of them only grow where valiant warriors have bled and fallen." With the last flower plucked, she rises to her feet, returning to the man's side, that she may offer the bouquet of Dendrobiums.

Normally, Sara would have been sparing, only gathering five at most while leaving the rest to thrive. Today, she gathers every bloom that had clustered together—as if fearing that leaving the rest behind would only sadden the flowers.

Twelve Dendrobiums. All for him.

"These days, we offer them to those we've lost."

He was no expert botanist – if anyone, he might have deferred to Mobius' knowledge on plantlife, but only for their benefits when broken down to their chemical components, and only if that benefit was pain. Even Mei, in a time when he had attempted to gift her with flowers, had seen little use for them, either in a chemical use or a poetic one.

Still, Kevin listened, watched as Sara's careful hands moved with deliberate, practiced motions to collect the vibrant blooms, their thin stems cradled in her hands as she stooped, again, and again, and again – a full bouquet of them, not merely a one or two, but a full dozen.

Still for a moment, watching, eyes fixed on her face as though searching for something that may never come, or may come if he just waited, just a moment longer, Kevin extended his hands to take the lycoris, their spindly blossoms dangling over his fingers, the drip of scarlet in that contrast against the black of his gloves.

They were not fragrant, a long time it had been since his nose had breathed in anything but the smoke of char, the iron tang of blood, but he dipped his head to brush the tip of his nose gently against one, before he straightened with a sigh, the corners of his lips lifting, only slightly, only for those who knew to look.

13. A kiss on the chest

The circumstances which had put them there were graceless, indelicate, the misstep of a twisted heel in the mossy undergrowth of the forest, the wheeling, gripping hands that had dragged their weight atop one another in a tumble to the ground, cushioned only by the instinctive wrap of his arms around her, even as his weight pressed forward and down.

There was nothing warm about him in the best of circumstances, not from the clinical way his eyes raked over her face - the curve of her cheekbone highlighted by the bright moon, the dip of her chin to hide the fluttering of her pulse in her throat - to the breath that escaped from his lips, that ghosted over the swathes of smooth, pale skin exposed to the night and prickling with gooseflesh at his proximity.

His fingers traveled lightly, gently, dragging against the small of her back and the dip of her waist beneath her hakama, and he adjusted his weight, careful of the tangle of their legs and the impossible hammer of her heart in his ears.

This close, he could almost count each of her eyelashes, thick and dark, fanned out and fluttering, and as he pushed himself upward his head dipped, the cracked skin of his lips a whisper of a touch in time with the motion of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest, the halt of movement around them before finally he rose to standing, extended his hand down for her to take.

“Argh! I said smile! Smile!” Exclaimed a poor, exasperated photographer, fingers angrily threading through his salt and pepper toned hair as he shuffled through the images he had taken in the past, well… near-hour, maybe.

Sara hadn’t expected her third Kamera Booth experience to unfold like this—being dragged in front of the man’s camera and shoved to stand next to another unfortunate victim of his. She had hoped for more freedom in how her photo would be taken, especially since that had been the case in all the other booths she had visited. Why was this one so particular about their approach?

A quiet sigh escaped her, shoulders slumping just a tad.

“This… Certainly makes for quite the reunion, does it not?” Still standing with her back straight and hands held behind her like a soldier at attention, Sara glanced at the man beside her before turning back to the camera. She watched as the photographer continued to grumble to himself, snapping another photo of them against the stunning backdrop of the Liyue port.

Another flash from the Kamera. Another cry of "Where’s the smile?!" and Sara couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.

“How have you been, Shadow?”

Kevin wasn't entirely sure what had prompted his inclusion, in the sea of excited festival-goers, many and more vibrant than he in their delight, but somehow it had gone that he had been snatched handily from the moving crowd and gestured to test out the Kamera Booth technology.

He mostly didn't know what to do with his hands. Kevin supposed that he had never been very good at taking photographs, except perhaps so long ago that he could not remember their circumstance, but instead stood straight-backed and with his arms behind his back.

The picture of the perfect soldier.

"Would it kill you to loosen up?!" A perfect soldier, it seemed, was not what the photographer had wanted to capture, as his partner in this endeavor mirrored him in posture and expression, leading the poor man nearly to tears.

Kevin did not answer Sara for a beat, and she might have been forgiven for thinking that he did not hear her, for he didn't turn to face her either - but there was the smallest flicker of his eyes downward, contemplative, before he murmured, "It would follow that it would be at another festival."

One a film festival, the other a cultural one, but his experience with the former had him seeking out what came after, the prickling tension of suspicion that he couldn't shake that they would once more be dragged into the dense political strife of someone else's home.

It did not entirely seem to be the case, but he waited, nonetheless.

After another few fruitless shots, the Kameraman sighed, pressed ihs fingertips to his eyes, and wagged a finger at them. "I will be back. I'm getting more film."

He made it sound like a threat.

But it was at the gentle huff beside him that Kevin finally turned, eyes raking over the angles and planes of General Kujou's face, now softened with amusement, and in turn the creases around his own eyes softened - just a moment between two people, nearly companionable, at rest.

"I've been...well." And he meant it, to his surprise. "I hope that you have been, also."