#kyryii

@kyryii: WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. "Begone." :/ WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN. WHACKS HIM WITH THE LANTERN.

@kyryii ──── .✦. ──── Flins tilts his head curiously, pale eyes staring at the delusion on Tartaglia's waist. How curious. The snowland fae rarely uses his electro moon wheel, but this situation calls for it. A gloved finger taps the harbinger's delusion and The Lightkeeper sends a spark, zapping them both with a charged connection. "Huh," is all Flins says with their hair sticking up.

             he had been chatting about everything and nothing at once, counting the stars in the sky and waves crashing quietly on the shore while the heat of alcohol lingered on his tongue and made his every word sound funny. It is easy to give in to the quietness under the moonlight when unwelcome shadows avoid lurking around the Lightkeeper's Lighthouse, even easier to dive into the comfort of conversation when the only corruption prevailing is his.

Childe's tale of something lived across the continent pauses under the intensity of Flins' stare, its ending postponed in favor of following the Ratnik in his interest.

If he expects a question, it doesn't come in a way that allows for an answer. Instead, the Eleventh's body tenses with electric currents coursing along every part of him; his back, taut from habit and discipline, arches feebly in an attempt to dispel the surge of lunar energy, and his delusion reacts with short sparks.

The energy drifts quickly with a faint crackle, but its effects are still felt on his scalp and tingling on his extremities. And as it seems, it isn't unique to him.

The dance of silver in the moonlight is too tempting to ignore. Their claws shoot out again before they can stop themself, pausing halfway extended, golden claws glinting sharp beneath the moonlight. Golden eyes blink, startled, and then they withdraw, shrinking into themself as they step back.

They had maintained this unspoken truce with the graveyard keeper for a while now. This lonely isle had been a good place to hide, once their monstrous features had torn through their skin and refused to fade, though they had avoided the one living occupant as much as they could. Better to keep their distance, than risk hurting him when that incandescent fury boiled to the surface.

But just as insistent and consuming as the hunger and rage is the draw to pretty things. They can't help the way they chirp with excitement when they find a beautiful stone, or they dig up an old metal chain or ring from the dirt. Their paths bring them close one night, the moonlight shines off silver — and Phainon cannot stop the way their attention had snapped on the metal, their tail vibrating in excitement behind them.

The thing had a mind of its own sometimes, and now it curls around their own leg, a self - soothing gesture they had come to find comfort in since their monstrous nature broke through.

@kyryii: A little girl bumps into Flins on the streets of Nasha Town and when he looks down, he sees the impact from her excited running knocked the Favonius Knight back on her tush. The lightkeeper kneels down and he offers a gloved hand, helping Klee back on her feet. "We must not hurry through these busy and crowded streets, sweet girl." ( for Klee uwu )

   Nothing in the world could ever bother the best explorer and adventurer in the world, once the proud Klee the Mighty steps in a new region! There's so many people around the small, rusty city as he looks for someone in particular that she knows will be here, but her feet carries her faster than her mind applies to, perhaps, exercise some caution-

   THUD!

   To her credit, even when she's knocked back, the Spark Knight simply blinks in surprise and looks up at the hand being offered to her- her eyes widen in surprise, and before she can take the offer to get up, the little girl takes a scrap of paper from a letter... reads it carefully, frowning... and then appoints determined eyes on the man she just bumped into.

   '' I found you! '' She grasps on the help with both hands, hopping up so fast she almost floats back to her feet. There's immediate trust being put into him, the wonder and awe in her eyes sparkling like shooting stars.

   '' Varka told me that, if I ever got lost around the city, Klee would have to just meet uncle Flimsy to help her out! '' She thrusts the piece of paper, a brief description written by a familiar calligraphy, in his hands, adjusting her large backpack and grinning up at him.

@kyryii: ( smol ) Lightkeeper yoinks The Sinner down, not for a kiss, no, but to brush his lips against the shell of Rerir's ear, to feel him shiver from the sensation. "Hmm ..." Flins hums. "How shall I consume you, Sinner? With my flames? Or is this more ... suitable?"

   The fact that it works should fill the Sinner with awe that some semblance of human reflexes can still be found in this husk, torpid. In irritating fact, everything about the damn fae seem to ellicit a vast chain of reactions, with and within. 

   It's time to see if he can draw one out, too.

   Using the pull's momentum, he revers in the goosebumps now littering his skin before he's on Flins in an instant, claws tightening on the small of his back to prevent a possible, hasty escape as he lowers the bandages from human lips, draw his tongue to swipe a taste where his pulse point should be, leaving behind a small line of saliva that breaks when he licks his lips. It's Sinner's turn to inch closer to ears hidden behind a lock of hair, almost playful in what he does, trying to shake off the addictive sensation in his mouth.

   The shadows made by glassy flames color them both with a blue hue, the same hue that reflected on their limbs as they were dancing under the moonlight. What a thrill, the Avenger has to admit, to waltz with someone who smiles soft and bares sharp fangs as his next move. It's intriguing, and his torpid mind needs the stimulus.

   It's just a minute pressure at the fae's throat, a warning as much as a caress to pale skin. 

   '' You stand still and take it, when you could very well step away, '' he points out, voice rumbling with something distant: appreciation. Thrill. '' I know very well you won't submit, blue-hued trickster. ''

   Where's the fun in submitting? Rerir doesn't want one that submits to him; this one is lively, resists. It's much fun to study him and his reaction, the soft silk that hides sharp gleam of a dagger. He kisses with fangs pressing to skin, keeps his clammy skin alight with goosebumps. In truth, the fae keeps his mind bright and lively in a torpid body that barely keeps up with him- and it's a reason of why Sinner keeps coming back. He keeps coming back in the blue sin they're stepping in together; they should be enemies. But lines have blurred together, and this dance is... new.

   There he is. The chilly air strikes his bare, sensitive skin as a slap, makes the grasp around the other's throat tighten of a millimeter purely out of reflex. Chapped lips have parted in surprise, before grimacing in what Rerir could never admit- fluster. Disgruntled fluster, even as he has no deformities to hide, no hints of teeth peeking from holes in the flesh. His face stayed mostly untouched- he considers it luck, really.

             the cold is gentler in the water as heat is redistributed so pleasantly as to almost make it a world of its own, touched most tenderly by the climate. From across the bank where Tartaglia steers himself at the edge, Flins' presence is noted beyond the sound of his voice rising in simple request — warmth reaches distinctly from where the Ratnik stands, something Tartaglia doesn't remember noticing but that now becomes glaring against the stark contrast of his cooled skin. For the span of a single pause to consider, the Harbinger simply stares up, and then his silence is undone. First by a sigh broken in the wake of a light chuckle, then by a response.

❛ Alright. Anything goes? ❜ He pushes lightly against the shore, drifting slowly backwards and further into the waters. His hair is combed up and back where the strands can't block his view. ❛ I'll see what I can find, don't leave yet. ❜

His smile stretches into a confident grin. His time in Liyue had required a modest study in gemstones, but he doesn't dare labeling himself an expert. Merely an enthusiast by convenience, it might pay off now.

Moonlight fractures around him as he cuts beneath the surface to stalk the contents lying near the lakebed. There, he drags his hands along the bottom, sorting through scraps and sediment until the pebbles come in colors other than gray.

❛ Are these good? ❜ Tartaglia shakes his head, a deep breath cutting his voice as rises above the water again.

Many stones of varying sizes are laid at the edge. Some are colored but dull; fewer of them, shiny. On top of them, he also drops two coins.