HOWLS IN THE NIGHT.

Hi there !! My name is Mika and I have fallen hopelessly in love with Teyvat’s best wolf boy! This is a brand new roleplay blog for RAZOR from GENSHIN IMPACT --- semi-selective; crossover and OC friendly. If you’re interested in interacting with this feral boy, please give this post a like/reblog! thank you for reading ♥

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The look on his face fills her chest with a warmth that she has not felt in a long time. So long in fact that even for someone as educated as herself, she finds it hard to come up with the words to describe it.

But surely it cannot be something so complicated. It is probably just pride. Pride that once again, her intuition is correct in that he did like her gift. It wasn’t like she was worried that he wouldn’t… 

“ I am very happy that you like it, ” she says, unable to keep her face from splitting into yet another smile.

“ I saw it, and knew you would, ” when he expresses his dismay at not having a gift for her as well, she waves him off, “ Don’t worry about that, sweetie. You don’t need to give me anything. I am happy enough to be in your company! ”

She reaches into the basket and takes out some of the food she packed inside. “ I tried my hand at your lovely specialty, but alas, ” she unwraps the bundle to reveal some hash browns. One is shaped in a way that vaguely resembles a paw print, while the others are just the standard round shape. “ I do believe you are much better at it than me! ” she laughs, and holds them out to him. “ I didn’t want to ruin the others, so, you’re going to have to teach me your secret someday! ”

    So small. Fragile. As Razor holds the wolf against his chest, he imagines all the ways it could get broken or lost in the maw of the forest — it could fall out of his pocket and get crushed by a boar, or stolen by a ruthless river. His grip tightens by a fraction. No. He’d have to keep it safe forever, tucked away in a pocket, where he could feel it press against his ribs as he’d prowl and lay under the stars’ gaze.

   Even after a year, his purple teacher still knows what he’d like. His smile grows slightly at that little revelation — and… well, also because her laughter has always been infectious.

   The smell of potatoes and sweet, warm berry jam lure him in. With his trinket still safely grasped in one hand, he takes the paw-shaped hash brown and quietly marvels at it. He imagines her in a warm kitchen, mashing potatoes and meticulously shaping the pads together to form a wolf’s paw ( just for him ). It must have taken her so long… maybe even as long as Razor’s first try. “No. You did it good, looks like lupical’s hand. Too nice to eat.” He sets it down, careful not to let any piece crumble off of it, and picks up one of the round ones instead.

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She knows exactly what he means when he reaches out to her, but she decides to tease him anyway, she is in a good mood and has missed him.  “ Carry? Me? ” She giggles and takes his hand, “ My you are quite the gentleman, but I might be too heavy for you, take this instead, ” she hands him the basket allowing him to help her up the hill.

She always forgets to change into better shoes when she goes out.

“ How have you been lately, Razor? ” she tucks her dress under her as she sits down in the soft grass, “ Have you been able to practice what I’ve taught you? ”

It was strange, she rarely ventured out of the city. On the rare times that she did it was always on behalf of the Knights. Even taking Razor under her wing had been a request by the Knights of Favonius. What she did not expect was how whole heartedly she would put herself into that task. The only bad thing was that she missed him, and found herself collecting little bits and trinkets she would find around the city that he might like. 

“ I’ve also got a few trinkets for you! ” she motioned to the basket, “ Let me know what you think. ”

The one that she was the most excited for him to see was a little hand carved figure of a wolf that had been painted a delicate white. Perhaps not something that was very useful to him all the way out here, but knowing that still didn’t stop her from purchasing the darn thing.

       Razor sits down on the lush grass with his purple teacher, legs comfortably crossed. When she tells him that not only did she bring food but gifts, a thing called trinkets, his attention snaps back to the basket and the mysterious cargo within. When he inches closer and delves into it, he comes to see that the purple teacher had brought more than he expected -- much, much more. There is food, still warm and neatly wrapped in paper, and there is a thick book with an ornate painting on its front. There are smaller things, bright and delicate, like a woven bracelet that he promptly slips onto his wrist. 

      The most striking gift, however, comes not as jewellery but... but a wolf. A wolf like his lupical -- only this one is tiny and fragile, birthed from wood and stained an untouched white, with its minute snout carved upwards to the sky. It looks like it’s howling. It looks proud. 

       Struck with awe, Razor holds it in both hands and stares at it. Something swells in his chest, like his heart is growing too big for the birdcage of his ribs, and he holds it up against the sky. The white fur catches the sunlight, giving it a golden glint. “Small,” he breathes out, mystified on how humans could create such a tiny, intricate thing. So careful with their claws... He holds the wolf close to him, cradling it against his heart. It’ll be another one of his scarce treasures, tucked away somewhere safe. “Thank you. I like it. Very, very much.” 

Lisa is humming to herself a tune of old days - one that Barbra liked to sing whenever the wind whispered through the opened windows of the cathedral - when she hears the bushes rustle. Despite the area, she continues to pick berries and place them in the basket hooked over her arm. This is Wolvendom, but she is not afraid.

A gentle gust blows through, indicative of the true nature of the lands, as a pair of feet land nearby. She lifts her free hand up to secure her hat, least it fly away to Celestia.

With a smile already on her lips she turns to face who stands beside her, “ Why hello there, Razor! ” She greets with a wide smile, “ In fact I am! I noticed that today is the anniversary of when we first met,” Instinctively she reaches over and plucks some twigs from his hair, “ It’s also been awhile since I’ve seen you, and I thought it was only fair I visit you in your home as you’ve done with mine. ” She gestures to the basket on her arm, “ I’ve brought some snacks, and a new book for you.”

       “Anniversary...” As his surprise visitor picks some debris from his hair ( just like before, he distantly remembered ), Razor blinks at her. Anniversary means... it means that a year had passed. Yes. That was one of the first things his purple teacher had taught him: time could be chopped into pieces, like a limb of timber, into weeks and days and mere seconds, and a year is a stretch of time that humans used to collect their days in. Has it been that long already? 

      He inches closer and peers into the basket. While the city is not ( nor ever will be ) his home, the food from its bustling stalls had been a treat that he, with a dash of guilt, wished for on the rare nights that he’d tire of raw boar. As he looks, sniffs, a warmth blooms in his chest. “Smells...” Salty. Fried. There is a cloying waft of jam too -- a different treat. “Good.” 

nonverbal memes.

       Two squirrels. Three. They weasel through the lofty grass with an impish energy, pouncing on their tails, rolling some loose apples with their dainty paws. There isn’t as much meat on their bones as there is on boar and the other wolves wouldn’t chase such slippery prey, but food is food. Razor is laying on his stomach, peering through brambles and keeping as still as a stone, and watches the forest critters play. Some time pass. He prowls; they move; he prowls again. 

      A voice pierces through the air and everyone freezes. The squirrels twitch and jerk up, noses upturned. Razor’s hackles rise; his breath hitches in his throat. His claws dig into the earth under him. The squirrels stay frozen, tense, their tufty tails upright, stiff with nerves. 

nonverbal memes.

    There is a scent that wafts through the thickets of the forest. It is a distinctive one, one that cuts through the pine --- the sweetness of a white flower ( cecilias, a girl once told him ); the staleness of old books; a dash of electricity thrumming in the air, crackling, barely grazing his senses. The smell -the thin, delicate tendril of power- comes to Razor like a breeze. 

   When he follows it and weaves through the grand, towering trees, the more it tickles his memory. It should be new. It should be. Yet... it’s familiar, even if it’s muddled with the spices that clings onto any human that ventures out of the city. Razor prowls after it --- and isn’t it a surprise, a wonderful surprise, to see a familiar vision of purple and white again. “Purple teacher,” he breathes out, voice laced with awe. How strange it is to see her like this, out in the grassy, bramble-brimming wild, away from the clutter of city-dwellers and books. 

nonverbal memes.

       When the Traveler had asked to braid his hair, Razor didn’t understand what that meant. It only took a few reassurances that no, his hair wouldn’t be sliced off with a swift swipe of a blade, that he eventually inched closer and sat on a lush rug of grass, with his mysterious friend behind him. At first, his hackles rose at the reflex of ‘someone behind his back sneaking behind him turn around look’---- but this is Aether. Friend, like the Knights. With that firmly in mind, Razor sits as still as an oak, with his eyes fixed forward and hair in the Traveler’s hands. 

      The challenge was untangling the wolfhooks from the thick locks. He rolls one between his fingers as Aether combs, feeling each patient stroke run down his long locks. Then he feels his hair being parted, then held, then moved around. As unfamiliar as this feels, this is... nice. It is a ticklish, soothing sensation that he could sink into, as if the the careful fingers in his hair are lulling him, drawing him to the brink of sleep. 

      Is this how his lupical felt when he would pet their manes? 

nonverbal memes.

There was a pain in his side, on the right cage of his ribs -- a twisting kind, one that seared with every drag of air he sucked in. It burst into existence today, when he and his pack had chased down a lone boar and cornered it against the steep face of a cliff. When it realised it was trapped, helpless in a crescent of restless wolves, it leapt into a bucking, squealing frenzy and barrelled into his body with the raw strength of a gale, tusk-first.