#lantern replies

he would not trust morax. he would have heard about the god to their side and avoid him, for the god may have laid down his spear, but that is always at risk to change. i think he would be too caught in the idea of morax trudging his way to archonhood with the dusted remains of his enemies on his hands to think further than that, and not to mention the sheer age of morax, to boot. when he looks upon you, eyes alight in gold, you can feel the earth itself rumble and shift with what lays behind them. morax is… a distant figure, looking down. bard wouldn’t like that distance.

he would not trust ei, nor makoto. they are the concepts of thunder and lightning, electricity stored within a vessel—to peer too closely into the eyes of such is willing a chance to be struck yourself. i think he would… also have thoughts, about ei shadowing after makoto as her warrior. as her sword. and he would also not be fond of how ei trapped the citizens in swirling thunder, for the reason of keeping them suspended in true eternity regardless of their wishes—that sounds far too familiar to him.

he would not trust xbalanque, nor mauvika. to lift yourself into the throne of the god, while your flesh remains mortal, how audacious of a decision is that ? you cast yourself into the heavens, do you realize when the clouds will cast you back down ?

he would not trust rukkhadevata, nor nahida. though, i personally do think he might reluctantly be.. intrigued by rukkha, but in the same vein, i don’t think he would be all that fond of the akasha system nor how nahida can invade your dreams and change them, nor how she seems to be able to possess you—most especially, how they can sway your consciousness or even change them, because he treasures his mind most of all 😭 for what reason do you need to be in my head ?

he… would not trust egeria, nor furina. turning archonhood into showbiz would be egregious to him, and though she is a human simply cursed with immortality, i still don’t think he’d… honestly, i think he would share the thoughts of the spina de rosula. (also he would have something to say about converting all the trials into energy to kill focolars 😭). and i think he would be baffled by egeria’s sheer audacity, to turn sin into prophecy, to know you are dooming yourself and your people because you could not give it in yourself to let go.

uhhh. well. with the tsarista, hearing about the feats of the fatui and how she allows them to go do whatever they see fit for it would be enough justification for him to not like her 😭 never mind that she seems to be collecting everything in her arsenal to direct a fight towards the people who OVERWROTE this world—while i do think he would be.. intrigued, because he was an icarus the same, holy SHIT what are you doing !? the belyi tsar… from what we know, what with the snowland fae, seemed to be more concerned with aristocracy and nobility, and perfecting this world as he saw fit. i believe in the.. bloodsoaked ruins, flins’ weapon, it says that after killing his brother in an incident he turned away from humanity before having to think hard before letting them back into his court.

tl/dr: nameless bard does not KNOW these gods, thus he does not particularly care for their plights because what use would they even be—you are a god, you are above us, and you wield power that can decimate us in seconds. decarabian could have had the worst backstory, yet that did not stop him from slaughtering them. bard only likes barbatos because barbatos is venti and venti stood by his side for YEARS 😭 there’s a privilege in it. his wisp privileges.

also yeah he wouldn’t like neuvillette tbh. most importantly because neuvillette is hypocritical 😭 if he were to say that the god of hope had nefarious intentions, bard would look at the state of fontaine and say worry about your own people. why are there children on the streets. go. shoo. fix your shit! you know nothing of what it took to make these winds as gentle as they are !!!!

Because, flying has always come easy to them. It was simply something that they could do, no thoughts put into it, they wished to be over there? There they were! A whoosh and swirl, free and light, riding along the breezes with upturned eyes.

And now.

Now.

Their wings extend out, folding into their view, twigs and leaves dropping from several feathers. They send an exaggerated, miffed look to the offending appendage on the right.

Now they are flying like a fledgling!

Their expressions falls from its scowl, remembering how it is they got here—sitting on a forest’s floor, their body faintly aching, the trees above them still bearing crooked branches (and how they apologized profusely to the flora upon seeing those) due to their less than stellar landing (if … anyone could call flailing into the leaves of a thicket and slipping branch to branch towards the ground a “landing.”) They had miscalculated their wingspan, their speed, unable to pull up out of a dive in time.

Their body curls into itself, wings twitching absentmindedly. If only that was not the first they have done this.

Why? Why now? Why, when they can finally take others with them to the sky, to show them the clouds, the beautiful sights, the air that caresses your cheeks, is where they struggle to do what they have done hundreds, thousands, millions of times before? It is bad enough they are already having difficulties with their new human body, but their wings, too…? Must they be so involved with the adjustments….

Hmph. At least they can hover well.

The wind shifts behind them. They tense, their ears flicking, as they follow where it leads to.

“Venti??! Venti!!!”

Oh!

They trip over themselves in their scrambling to stand up, very very politely asking the winds to not include that tidbit when directing their dearest to their location. “Cecil!!! This way, this way!!”

Grass brushes against their feet. They would rather not move from this area, recalling warnings from both Lady Amos and Lady Gunnhildr, instead, leaning themself on one of the nearer trees, the bark scraping across the fabric of their clothing (a blouse and flared pants that Cecil had generously given them; they grimace at the thought of it getting ruined further, easing up slightly.)

Venti pats their hand on the tree. Mumbles another apology, that they promise to fix the damages they caused soon. The trees do not reply, but they feel as though the sway of the leaves are happier, after.

Their ears flick. Wind skirts around the wood, surging around them, and frantically pulling. They latch their hands into the grooves of the bark and hold, their head snapping to stare at the spaces in between each tree. Pounding footsteps begin to echo, getting closer, closer, til Cecil bursts out from the trees across from them.

He locks eyes with them, and exhales sharply. “There you are,” he says, sounding short of breath, the winds cooing at his approaching. “That was quite a falll—umpf!!”

Venti collides into him, arms wrapping round his waist, and nearly toppling him to the ground. They nuzzle into his chest, content chirruping leaving them. Cecil returns the gesture immediately, his hands going down to cradle their head—his embrace is so nice and so comfy, they cannot resist nuzzling once more (and missing the concerned gaze he gives to their wings, who, as well, are enveloping him.)

“It was awful,” they whine. “That was awful.”

He runs his fingers through their hair. “It had certainly looked tough, and your yell….”

His frown deepens. Venti blinks up at him and the silence, only for him to lower his head into their hair, planting kisses across there, even moving their bangs up to put some on their bare forehead. He then straightens. “You seemed to be doing very good up there, though—” they sharply purse their lips, “—come now, no need for that look! You were! You had gotten the turns wonderfully, it was almost like a dance.”

Oh, they do hope their braids are not a brilliant teal (though, their wings fluttering behind them may as well be just as prominent an indicator.) They shove their head back to where it was, causing Cecil to giggle. They … did have fun, they had been grappling with the sudden turning in air for a bit now, so when they had done multiple in a row, after countless just there and not at all attempts, they felt ecstatic.

Venti jolts at a hand stroking the base of their wings. Holds them extremely, extremely stock-still as the motions continue.

“Perhaps,” Cecil mumbles, “we should freshen up, before anything. Are you hurt at all?”

“Nothing broke?”

“Reassuring,” is the flat reply. “but ..?”

They shuffle. Hum. Do not look to see what Cecil’s expression is, when they tell him this. “It is—a dull throb, of pain. Ehehe, trees are not good for breaking a fall!!”

His hand stiffens, the nails of his fingers pressing firmer into the small feathers, and retreats the instance he realizes what it is he is doing. Venti wonders if they can get away with arching their wings into his palm, silently asking him to do it again. They refrain from doing so, but it is not done without heavy regret.

“If that is all…” And he withdraws fully, stepping back an inch or two. He seems bemused by their distraught pout, giving them his left hand to interlace with their right. He nudges them to an exit out of this forest, leading them to the clearing they had been situated at for the flight sessions before any of this happened. They are pushed—gently—to sit beside the river, as Cecil goes to fetch the bag he had left behind in his rush to get to them. They watch the bustling water, entranced, their wings slowly drooping.

That bag is set by them, when Cecil plops down. It tilts dangerously, the flap of it barely keeping the contents inside. Teal wind twirls and grips at the bottom of it, dragging it backwards, towards them. They turn their attention to Cecil.

He has a bottle of—something? They cannot see what label is printed on it. It is being poured onto a rag, Cecil rubbing it between his fingers. Places it by his knees when he is finished, and moves himself to face their back, out of Venti’s view.

They make a confused sound, wings puffing slightly.

“Your wings—there was blood. This will help, promise. I made absolute sure that it does—in case, ah, anything like this happened.” He waits for their approval to reach forward, the coldness of whatever it is startling them briefly, then turning to a soothing sensation that has them melting. “I can … wash them after, if you want?”

Venti.

Venti’s shoulders bow, their hands being brought up to cover their mouth, both their braids and face glowing a pretty teal. How they wish they could spin around to bestow him with a fierce hug, their chest fuzzy and splitting in a pleasant, loving, wholly delighted emotion. It spreads throughout them, their wings and limbs quivering in scarce containment of this glee.

They breathe in, out. “Yes, you may wash them.”

And so he works, careful in his cleaning. Whispering quiet, “I know, dear, I am sorry, it will be okay,” when it has Venti sucking in air through gritted teeth, massaging at the area by the wounds as a further apology. Parting the feathers tenderly, each one—yes, each, the rascal starting from the secondary feathers to the primaries, up to the coverts and tertiaries, picking through the twigs, leaves, dirt that had been caked in while there—given the same tender attention, so, so, so gentle that whatever aches do act up hardly clock for them. He goes even farther, a round two of preening, combing the feathers into their respective places, lowly voicing his cheers.

It would have to be… say, eight and a half hours, til Cecil pulls his hands from their wings, and announces that it was done.

To which Venti twists and launches themself at him.

Cecil laughs as they both collapse into a heap onto the grass, unsurprised by the tightness of their hug. His legs crowd them, grazing their sides, hugging them back with just as much passion, hands clenching—lightly—against their blouse.

“Love you, too,” he murmurs, a kiss being placed to the top of their head, accompanied with a snuggle. “We do need to wash, though, you rememberrr? It will do wonders!”

Venti grunts and squeezes him. They will not be moving from this spot, no, no! They will be staying here transferring their affection for this silly, silly bard via their embracing of him, thank you kindly! Cecil’s shoulders begin to shake, and they feel the rumbles of his chest, their smile widening, listening to his amusement at their shenanigans. Their wings flutter merrily, jerking to join their arms in holding him.