#windsettled

@windsettled​ said: Casually leans against the counter- "Are you taken-"

Act stupid. 

“... Taken where?”

Okay, not that stupid!

@windsettled​ said:

Don't mind him as he proceeds to fix a little Scaramouche's attire- "You better take care of yourself okay- I'm going to be waiting for you, don't make me worry"

He’s uncharacteristically silent as he allows Venti to straighten out his rather pristine attire. Scaramouche is uncertain of what it was that prompted him to find Venti after all was said and done in Inazuma. He’s yet to come clean with the bard and tell him that he has the gnosis in his possession but he has a feeling that he probably already knows. Having had his own gnosis taken from him, the ex-harbinger can assume that it’s something he can sense given its familiar energy. Did he come look for him to say goodbye... he wonders? And if so why? Why should he hassle himself with such a small little detail, why does he care? Deeming it a worthy enough task to do before he allows the lands to eat him whole once more. I’m leaving, was all he said and when he asked and gave him that all too familiar look of wondering if he could tag along with him, Scaramouche simply shook his head in response. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting or what there was to count on, but this? This wasn’t even in his radar. Scaramouche watches silently how Venti’s smile comes to light and then adjusts his medallion over his chest. His words seemingly leaving him without words to spare, slightly taken by surprise by them.

“What...?” He asks, almost doubting his own hearing. Wait for him, he said? He can’t possibly mean that, something in him rejects the mere idea of someone waiting for him, there’s never been such a thing as far as he’s lived. Yet still, Scaramouche stares at the smiling bard who often dresses in green, and nowhere in what he sees can he find a hint of deception or empty words. They fill a void that’s quiet, but becomes loud when he’s by his side, he’s discovered. Wait for me? He thinks to himself, not paying any mind to the weight that’s trying to push him down. How odd that within himself he clings to that simple, tender, and sincere statement. 

Scaramouche lowers his gaze, watching Venti’s hand and how he pats his chest to let him know that he’s done fixing him up, whatever that might mean for Venti. For a slight moment things stay the same, for a change it seems that everything around him does not seem to change and it only does when he moves. Reaching into his attire, Scaramouche brings out his bachi, the faithful partner of his shamisen and stares at it, contemplating what to do almost. Tapping it on the palm of his other hand he looks back at Venti and holds it out to the bard. “Here.” He says firmly, his tone layered over with a silent request. “Hold on to this for me.” In that request there’s a promise he does not speak into actual words. “Don’t let anything happen to it.” 

Wait for me until I come back...

@windsettled​ said: "Truth hurts, but I don't regret having met you" / and also have this-

“Oh?” He inquires with arms crossed over his chest. What a cheesy damn thing to say, especially right now out of any other time.

“I can tell by how adamant you are in standing in my way.” He responds with a tinge of sarcasm and another element that Scaramouche isn’t keen on diving into right now. For some reason the sight before him stings. Why? What stings? He hasn’t been able to pinpoint just what that is quite yet, so he’s merely dismissing it as an annoyance, at least for the time being. Yet another perfect opportunity snatched away from him and this time at the hands of the bard who seems keen on defending the traveler with fang and claw. He’s even gone as far as to withdraw his bow and arrow, which hardly does anything to Scaramouche who’s determined on carrying out his ploy. “I’m sure you were aware this day would come, yes?” He questions rhetorically, not really in the mood to hear anything this damn green-cladded bard has to say right now. He holds his right hand out to his side, calling forth his catalyst that manifests itself, floating by its master’s side, starting to leech off of Scaramouche’s seemingly endless supply of elemental energy of his own. The perks of not being human, he is limitless, divine and wretchedly holy. He has little to say, his intention isn’t to draw out something that was only bound to happen.

“... So you choose the traveler then?” He hears himself ask, and that’s it isn’t it. This sting of an all too familiar feeling from many, many years ago at the hands of another who was also divinely blooded. Tossed and casted aside with his strings still attached until they were severed by the hand who fed him. Left on the side to live a long life on his own. How ridiculous, for him to have the time to linger upon such things, ponder on these… feelings. It’s upsetting, it angers him. Like in many chapters of his life he’s yet again standing on his own for the sake of one who got chosen over him. He laughs at his own idiocy… to think he’s come to stoop this low, lowering his defenses. How embarrassing, it only makes the rage he’s already feeling boil with newfound ferocity. 

What was it about this stupid bard that made him think this time around that things might have been diff-

“Very well, you’ve made your choice.” He smiles, his smile forged out of plastic. “I’m sure Signora will appreciate me bringing your head to her on a silver platter, Barbatos.” He spits out that distasteful and cursed archon name.

Adjusting his hat he holds his arms out, the electro and lightning around him roaring curses that Scaramouche forced down his own throat for countless years. “Time to die, everyone!” He grins.

@windsettled​ said: "....That's it ! I have decided that I will write a song about you" he exclaimed with pride as he showed him his trusted lyre; "For the prize of precisely zero mora, I'll carry your name with the wind. How does that sound?"

It is a peculiar thought to Scaramouche. He looks at the bard before him with a glint of indifference. What precisely does a song mean to someone who used to exhaust his hands willingly to write about others and those around him yet not a single tune in his honor? A song about him? That is truly a peculiar thought, a concept that has presented itself in that working brain of his. But, to etertain it? Heavens no. The art, because it is an art, of songwriting is an act where one passes the sharpest end of a knife down the center of one’s chest all the way down to the belly and, with their own hands, at the newly made opening, they open their chest and display their breathing lungs, the blood pumping through their system, and their beating heart to those who allow the song to reach their ears. As if to say: I am here, this is how my mind works, embrace it.

To be vulnerable and show some part of yourself to a self-damned haven. Or at least to him... that’s how he’s seen it for years.

His eyes fall upon the lyre the bard calls forth out of seemingly nowhere, summoned out of thin air, like the wind rested it on the palm of his hands—what a nice little trick. The traces of elemental energy are slim, but the Skirmisher can detect it. Aside from the bard’s bold declaration the crackling and snapping of wood under fire is heard through this silent night. “Oh?” He finally perks up. A song about him? Which... him, precisely. Scaramouche is not his real name after all, but if it’s a song about him then he’ll allow such a courtesy. 

The bard can sing about Scaramouche, but he can not sing about-

“... I’m all ears, bard.” Let the wind carry the damned name he’s picked up.

@windsettled​

-on his wisp form, he sits on top of aether's head 😌✨-

Oh! Who could that be on top of his head? 

Of course, there was only one answer to that question! Perhaps it was one that could be reached even without looking, the traveler somehow recognizing the familiar winds that seemed to come with the presence of the other. Perhaps maybe Venti was simply enjoying a moment of peace? If he was the one that the other had chosen to share this moment of relaxation, then he was more than honored. 

“Heya!” Carefully, he brought a hand up to give the little wisp a tiny little bop on the head. 

@windsettled​

He takes a seat next to him and remains in silence for a couple of seconds until he finally speaks; "What do you think about your name?"

Mondstadt had a variety of places to sit down and get a drink along with good food - while the food at Good Hunter was hard to turn down, nothing really compared to the information that the traveler could also get at the Angel’s Share. Thus was the reason why he was seated at one of the benches, ears trying to listen in on the various troubles that spilled from liquor loosened lips when a familiar bard came into vision. The smile he offered the other is met with a silence, one that Aether doesn’t necessarily mind considering that it’s coming from Venti. Although jovial often and sometimes unreliable, the words that came from the other carried deeper meaning sometimes as well. 

At least when they weren’t words asking him to cover a dish or a drink or two. Decidedly, today would not be one of those days though, the traveler’s head tilting slightly in question when Venti’s is out in the open. 

“My name?” Aether repeated, thoughtfully. He knew what his name meant - quintessence, the material that inhabited the universe beyond the terrestrial sphere; the personification of the bright upper sky. A name selected to be the opposite of Lumine’s, a name meant to be one of two. He knew how it felt introducing himself for the first time, watching that name tumble around the other person’s head until it lodged somewhere in their memory. This wasn’t a question that could say that he ever really thought about and it took him a moment to come up with an answer. 

“I guess... I like it.” He paused, settling his chin on a palm. “Mm, I can’t say that I’ve ever really shared my name with someone else, so you could say that it’s unique. But maybe... it’s more like, I haven’t know another name. Sure I’ve been called nicknames and gone with different names for the sake of jobs or something else before, but I can’t say that I’ve ever thought of my name as being anything else than Aether.” People here liked to call him the traveler, outlander and he didn’t really mind it. Titles were a different type of name, but he knew who he was at the end of the day. 

@windsettled​​ / "Worms are just forbidden spaghetti"

There was always somewhat a 50/50 chance on things that came from Venti’s mouth - one might receive the wise words of the spirit who had seen many things come to pass in the last couple of centuries, or might receive words meant to cause some kind of clear confusion. Today appeared to be the latter, Aether about halfway through one of those chicken mushroom skewers when the bard had popped up and delivered such... clear wisdom with a toothy grin. 

Once, twice, thrice, he chewed contemplatively before gulping down the rest of his mouthful.