Venti (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
venti_late) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kaisou2023-05-27 11:29 pm
venti_late) wrote in kaisou2023-05-27 11:29 pm
Entry tags:
Text | UN: makeitaventi
WHO: Venti and all of y'all!
WHERE: Network
WHEN: Near the end of May
WHAT: There's a new grandpa in town, and he's marginally more well-adjusted than Zhongli! Marginally. This one at least knows how to manage his finances.
WARNINGS: This will be a little cursed most likely, and probably language!
So this is a weird, new app! Since I can't delete this thing, I'm gonna guess that it's not some weird community thing for Kaisou, right? Like a FB group for people to get strongarmed into--I mean join?
Guess it wouldn't hurt too much to intro myself since I'm new here. I'm Venti! I just moved here like. Today. Lovely place, the Spirit Vein up above really sets the mood!
Okay, so here's an icebreaker for you guys, just to have a little bit of fun!
Is cereal a soup? Alternatively, how do you say the word 'pecan?'
And a friendly reminder that bananas are berries, but strawberries aren't berries!
WHERE: Network
WHEN: Near the end of May
WHAT: There's a new grandpa in town, and he's marginally more well-adjusted than Zhongli! Marginally. This one at least knows how to manage his finances.
WARNINGS: This will be a little cursed most likely, and probably language!
So this is a weird, new app! Since I can't delete this thing, I'm gonna guess that it's not some weird community thing for Kaisou, right? Like a FB group for people to get strongarmed into--I mean join?
Guess it wouldn't hurt too much to intro myself since I'm new here. I'm Venti! I just moved here like. Today. Lovely place, the Spirit Vein up above really sets the mood!
Okay, so here's an icebreaker for you guys, just to have a little bit of fun!
Is cereal a soup? Alternatively, how do you say the word 'pecan?'
And a friendly reminder that bananas are berries, but strawberries aren't berries!
no subject
My patrons may not have had an ear for music, but they do have the good sense to know how to have a good time and leave their work at work. At least I can say I've had a good adventure in good company. Not to mention, at least I can say that I've given them a good time and happy memories to look back upon.
--> private;
And, okay, maybe he's a little irked that he thought his friend was dead for real after the wars of the past few centuries. Maybe Zhongli has been in a bad place (not Florida). Maybe he did something in his desperation to halt a tragedy that he doesn't want to admit to someone from his old life.
He is not another problem to be solved. He is not.
... He feels a little pang of irritation when he realizes this whole thing is public. He's not going to answer any questions about it. He switches it to private, though, as a bit of an olive branch.]
Well, whenever you are finished enjoying your box wine with your happy memories, you can find me at the Arcadia Apartments. My balcony happens to have a table and two chairs, and one of them has been vacant for too long.
[He attaches his address.]
private forever
He can understand Zhongli's anger, but that's no reason to say such things about other people when it's clearly about them. Though, at the same time, Venti wonders if there's a bit more going on, especially with what Xiao's told him so far.
That's quite the slap his friend has thrown. Fine, better that it's Venti taking the hit than anyone else at this point.
The olive branch is accepted as he privates this conversation on his end as well, though he's still reeling a little. Part of him, probably the wine talking quite frankly, wants to bite back and ask as pointedly as a needle if Zhongli even wants such an improper, tasteless bard in his oh so humble abode.
Venti doesn't, though. He types it out, certainly, but he deletes it as soon as he does. He swallows those bitter words and says something else.]
Perhaps.
[It sounds cold even to him. He sighs and relents a little more.]
I think we're overdue to catch up on what was missed, and I do owe you an explanation. Shall I ring the doorbell or are you expecting me to climb up to the balcony like a modern day Romeo?
no subject
In this life he was sometimes difficult to track down, and occasionally if he heard the wind tapping at his door he just buried himself deeper in whatever he was doing, but he had always been there when Venti needed it. As long as he was aware. And...
Wine isn't enough for this. He starts a pot of tea and grabs the pu-erh off the top shelf, and sees he's gotten a response.
Maybe chivalry isn't dead after all.]
I'll leave that up to you. I find these days that the patio door is used more frequently than the front door. It's unlocked in any case.
[No one with any sense is going to try to barge into the home of a dragon.]
Private Text > Action
Give me an hour or two to sober up so that I'm fit to drive, and so that I'm not embarrassing company to keep.
[There's been enough foolishness from both of them for one hour. Venti goes to eat something and drinks some water to help flush it out. Within an hour and a half, he feels much more clear-headed, though his heart still feels a little heavy. He looks through his packed wine box and fishes out a bottle. There's no real way to wrap it up or anything, considering he's literally in the midst of unpacking.
He drives over to the apartment complex, which is thankfully not too far in this city. The black-haired man takes the bottle of wine with him as he walks into the building. Venti really doesn't care to use the patio entrance this time. If all goes well, then maybe he can use that as his new normal entrance.
Venti arrives at Zhongli's door and knocks politely on it. For one of a discerning eye, the wine he's brought is a Barolo of some kind.]
no subject
Take your time. Neither of us are getting any older.
[Which is definitely not how that saying goes but it's true.
Zhongli gets up and answers the door wearing the coat made for him by Menogias in his past life. He's not sure what he's expecting. It's been far, far too long, decades upon decades upon decades. Several kings and queens. Empires have risen and fallen in the space of time since they last dined together. And yet, looking at Venti appearing the same as ever (well, save the clothes), Zhongli finds it difficult to think of anything besides gratitude.
Venti is alive and well, and though Zhongli's got all these other annoyances, in the end he's simply relieved to see his old friend is safe.]
Ah, Venti. It's been ages since I heard the wind at my door, and even longer since I cared to listen. ... Come in.
[He steps aside and gestures for Venti to step inside. It smells like strong tea in here, but there's a decanter and two wine glasses sitting on the bistro table outside, along with a fancy plate of apple slices recently chopped. It isn't dark yet, but the sun is slowly getting there, so he's added a tealight floating in a votive holder for lighting.]
no subject
Venti is currently wearing one of his favorite outfits. A lovely shirt that's a little too big on him, light blue jean short-shorts with leggings underneath, and black shoes that have a strap to buckle rather than laces to tie. Even his twin braids have a thin, pastel green ribbon tied into cute bows to cover up the hair ties. Tying it all together is a pale pink belt with a heart-shaped, rose gold buckle. There's no hat today, replaced instead with cute barrettes to keep his hair out of his eyes, but truthfully that's only because all of his hats are stored away in a box. It's quite clear that Venti has really gotten into modern fashion.
As he looks at Zhongli, though, it's very strange. The clothes look right, but also have a sense of being very... familiar. An image of the brunet flashes in his mind, but it's from a completely different place. A place that reminds him of China, yet it's very clearly not Chinese. He shakes off the image by smiling up at the taller man.]
Not my fault that the boulder is so stubborn!
[Venti walks in, looking around curiously to see if any of his friend's tastes have changed. It doesn't look like it, stuffy old man. The scent of tea is nostalgic, almost painfully so, but his eyes—different, now, though Venti hasn't noticed—do catch onto the table outside. His smile is a little softer, and he holds out the bottle of Baloro to Zhongli.]
A gift for our reunion. I picked it up in the '90s. While fine wine is perfectly acceptable to mark a long-awaited reunion, it should be one that ages into refinement as a testament to a good friend's patience.
[Clearly, he's put a lot of thought into this. Even if it hasn't gone exactly the way he hoped, it can still be salvaged.]
no subject
A storm can be tenacious in its own right. [He makes it sound like a compliment, but is it really?
It's clear that Zhongli has started over at some point recently, seeing as most of his personal effects haven't made it over the sea with him, but the scrolls that Xiao wrote with brush and ink a thousand years ago have remained in mint condition on his wall. Some things never change. A rock changes even less.
Zhongli hesitates for a moment, looking down at the gift held out to him.]
This is... [Damn, they really did get into it, huh. He's terrible with money but he can tell a valuable wine when he sees it. He takes it carefully.] You must be doing well for yourself. I haven't seen this wine in sixty years, let alone had the privilege of drinking it.
... Thank you.
[He looks back up from the label to Venti's face. His eyes are more familiar to him now than they were before, owing to the memories of a past life that he's sure Venti has been unaware of this entire time. He feels unworthy of this wine. Once again, Zhongli has been keeping secrets. Once again, he has tried to keep those he's closest to from his work and the truth of the world, only to have these things follow him stubbornly into this city.]
I tend to prefer tea most days, but for you, I always seem to make an exception.
[He walks over to the patio door and slides it open.]
You should sit. There's much to discuss. [A pause.] Now that you're present within this city, things will begin to change for you very fast... faster than perhaps even I can explain.
no subject
A storm can be destructive and unpredictable, but the aftermath is what's most important.
[His eyes soften for a brief second as he sees the wall dedicated to a father's pride and affection for his son. Venti gives him a nod of acknowledgement about the gift.]
I had other selections similar to it, just in case I couldn't find you before they aged into vinegar. I'm doing well enough, though there's always ups and downs being in entertainment.
[He's had to learn how to navigate those lows, as well as not get so high that he causes suspicion. Having any kind of fanbase nowadays is tricky, but... he loves talking to so many people that it's always worth the risk. Helping them through their situations in his own, entertaining way is fulfilling to him, and it always has been.
Venti follows Zhongli to the patio.]
And I'm always grateful for your exceptions! Most of the time, anyway.
[The bard stares up at his friend's face for a long moment. He's looking for all of the changes that have past him by. Zhongli's always been a subtle one, and that's especially true for judging his emotional state. In the end, Venti nods and takes a seat at his usual spot, a habit he easily gets back into.]
Then, I suppose it's only right to ask who should talk first, huh? It sounds like what you need to say is a lot more complicated than mine. [He stares at Zhongli again for a long moment.] You didn't know.
[There's no accusation. It's only a statement of fact. Venti isn't about to blame Xiao for an honest mistake, either.]
no subject
[Maybe that's what this is. For now he listens attentively, which is something he's actually pretty good at doing, even if he can't handle money to save his goddamn life. And he does find Venti's exploits interesting even if he's annoyed for one reason or another.
But for now they're back to their usual. Argue a bit, fight a bit, be sad for a while, start it all over again. That's the status quo. It's not one that's likely to break when Venti starts to remember the life that was once his. Zhongli breathes through his nose and stares back. The most prominent thing that Venti will be able to get from him is that he's tired. It's not something terribly obvious to most people, but Venti has known him long enough... He has a lot to say and he has not said any of it and might never say it if Venti doesn't make him somehow.
Zhongli takes his seat across the small table and with him comes the wine.]
... No, I didn't. [He picks up the wine bottle with an intent to crack it open. Sure, Venti just spent a while sobering up, but... well, if Zhongli doesn't open it, Venti will most likely.]
Xiao and I have not had much contact the past few decades. If you awoke within the past century, that was a tumultuous time.
[He pours Venti's glass first, followed by his own. But he doesn't take a sip yet.]
Your eyes are different than when I last saw you. They're more like mine. Have you noticed?
no subject
For once, he doesn't immediately touch the wine. Definitely unusual for Venti, but it just goes to show how seriously he's taking this.]
...I see. I woke up near the end of the 1800s, but I couldn't find either of you and technology at that point jumped significantly in a hundred years. So, I thought maybe you went across the Atlantic.
[Hell, they probably even passed right by each other without realizing. However, Zhongli's comment about his eyes throws Venti off-guard. He blinks, confused.]
They've... changed? No, I haven't really looked at myself in a mirror today.
no subject
So he doesn't touch the wine, either. Maybe he should have gone for the tea instead. Oh well. He can always pour it back into the bottle for tomorrow. Which is kind of gauche but it's better than letting wine sit overnight.]
I visited America twice in the twentieth century, but only briefly. Once in the twenties, and again in the seventies. Otherwise I spent most of my time in China during its transformation unless I was needed elsewhere.
[That sure is a way to phrase things.]
... This is what I meant. [He grabs the knife that he'd used to cut the apples before Venti's arrival, and turns the flat of the blade toward him to make an effective if not hasty mirror. Clear as day, Venti's eyes are no longer a normal green, but something bright and clear that resembles blue at the darkest edges.]
This place is so spiritually active that it's unavoidable. Even if I were to hide away and refuse all contact, you would eventually come to realize the truth of it all... the weighty legacy we inherited the moment we opened our eyes on this earth.
[He sets the knife down.]
... Barbatos, [he murmurs. It's a name that belonged to another man in another time, and yet he's waited ages to use it once again.] That was what your people called you.
no subject
Must've missed each other in the 20s, then. I was in the orchestra for ballets and operas at the time, going between harp, flute, and cello. Sometimes violin if there was a disaster. But, after that, I was... maybe in South America? And then I came back up here in the 80s and just kinda stayed.
[Venti has kept up playing every instrument he can get his hands on. His favorite by far remains the harp.
He nibbles on an apple slice, and does look briefly delighted by the taste of it. However, his attention is still focused on Zhongli and their conversation. Venti blinks in confusion when his friend uses the knife's blade as a makeshift mirror, and then leans forward a little more as he notices his eyes. They've changed to something both unfamiliar and familiar.
The black-haired man sits back, looking subtly unsettled. It's a rare feeling for him, and even rarer for him to show it even a little. He almost asks what Zhongli's talking about, but he waits patiently instead. His friend is leading up to it, he can feel it.
Barbatos. It's a damn good thing he hasn't had anything to drink yet, and that he's sitting. Venti has to close his eyes for a moment as a lot of... well, memories are unlocked in his mind. Fleeting images and names, mostly. Nothing incredibly substantial or coherent, but some of the parallels he's experienced in his past that line up to Barbatos' past... There are two such memories that Venti shuts his heart to. Yet, it's not quick enough for an expression pain and grief to flicker across his face for perhaps a half second, if not a full second.
He takes a moment to breathe and let the furious storm of memories settle. It's so much, but he understands the gist of who Barbatos was. God of wind and freedom, the Anemo Archon, Mondstadt's protector when necessary. Venti sighs and opens his eyes again. He stares at Zhongli again, searching. There are lots of questions that clamber for attention, but there's only one he wants to ask right this second.]
...Why didn't you say anything?
[Maybe there's a little anger in his voice, but mostly he's just... sad that Zhongli's had to bear the weight of an Archon's memories all on his own.
Wait—]
Hang on, even before that, how long have you known?
no subject
[Zhongli has the look of a man with regrets. Not that he regrets telling Venti the truth, but more that... he has shouldered much of this alone, and he knows he's going to get screamed at for it, and he knows it's deserved, and that he should have told the truth earlier. And yet he still won't complain. He knows the question that Venti is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. That doesn't make the topic hurt any less.
He waits patiently, ever the silent witness, as Venti closes his eyes and remembers. When the bard comes back to the present, Zhongli's expression is... unreadable. Thinking too much? Oh, definitely. But for someone who's known him this long, the resignation is just as obvious.
He takes an eternity to answer, which is as damning as anything.]
... It came in bits and pieces. After we first met, I had a dream that was more like a memory. You visited me while I was working in a huge rush of wind, so urgent that I thought something terrible must have happened. But instead of asking for my help with some martial problem you simply invited me for a drink.
From then on I remembered more and more about you and our relationship, but I kept my peace. The wind has no reason to listen to the mountain, after all.
You ask how long I've known. Do you mean your truth, or mine? I knew who I was the moment my powers came to me. It was a true awakening in that sense. I felt the earth move as if it were a part of me, and I realized I couldn't live as a human anymore. I never really was.
[His gloved fingers settle on the base of the wineglass, but he doesn't bother trying to drink anything yet. It's more to just keep him from staring at his hands in his lap.]
You were unburdened by the memories of a long and bitter war. If you felt powerlessness, it was only in the context of someone who knows their own limits... not a fallen god who no longer had the strength. What right did I have to take that away from you?
[He closes his eyes.]
Perhaps one day you would call my name as you once had. Perhaps you would not. It wasn't my place to force you. As a witness to the history of Teyvat and this earth, I am resolved to carry these memories until the end of time. That is the duty of those who remember.
no subject
[Venti sighs softly. He'd find it hilarious if not for....
Well. If not for the regret on his friend's face. The resignation. The exhaustion. He's known his friend long enough in both lives to read him like a book.
The silence that settles between them is certainly damning, but Venti waits and listens when the brunet finally speaks. As Zhongli recounts their first meeting, his mind fills in that particular memory. Swooping in on white-and-green wings and tossing Morax a bottle of wine. "Hey, Morax! Try this and tell me what you think!"
Zhongli keeps going, keeps explaining, but what rankles Venti is how he believes that the wind has no reason to listen to the mountain. Yet, it's not anger that drives him by the end of it. Oh, he's certainly angry. That emotion is there and present and is white-hot to the point where his own limbs feel almost cold.
Venti is deathly quiet for a long time. He just closes his eyes, focusing on his breath and Zhongli's as well. He feels the wind against him out on the balcony, and lets that be what grounds him. Slowly, the anger settles down into sadness. It won't leave for a while still, not until Venti's said his piece, but it's not consuming him so fully.]
Perhaps you're right that not telling me meant that I didn't have my perceptions colored. Maybe it might've made me question a lot of our interactions and even our friendship at the time, but I'm not that same person anymore. I'm not who I was a thousand years ago, and I'm not who Barbatos was a lifetime ago.
In my core, yes, certainly. My heart and his are as one in that sense. Freedom for our people, no matter the personal cost. No matter how much it weakens me or saddens me, it's important to have that freedom.
[He opens his eyes at this point and a familiar, rebellious fire is in his eyes. Something both Barbatos and Venti will always share. It's in this anger and hurt that his ancient Welsh accent comes back out.]
But what right do you have to assume that I wouldn't listen to what you had to say? Did you really, truly goddamn think that I cared about and trusted you so little that I would brush off all of this and not tried to help?
[Venti doesn't scream or shout. He cares too much about his voice's health for it, and even then he knows that it doesn't help. However, there are definitely rare, genuine tears gathering in his eyes. The bard slams his hands on the table to push himself up and he walks right over to Zhongli, anger radiating from his short body.
And he hugs Zhongli. Tightly.]
Stupid, stubborn old blockhead, did you ever even think about who you are? And what you want to do?
no subject
Of course Venti doesn't understand that. How could he? Human or not, at his core he's a creature of the wind. Mercurial moods, changing direction at a whim, light and forever free. Venti was born from the sky, and Zhongli has always been loathe to let his feet leave the earth. He sees those tears threatening, though, and he feels something in his stomach twist. Perhaps Venti can't understand, but he's always had a gift for empathy. If Zhongli is beyond the point of feeling, then Venti will suffer it all for him. That's just the kind of person he is.
The kind of person he's always been...
There was a time in another world where they found themselves on the same battlefield. As alike as fire and water, they could have found themselves bitter enemies. But they... weren't. The wind spirit always made an effort. And he makes an effort now, with a gesture that Zhongli doesn't expect at all.
He freezes up at the hug. He's braced himself for a punch maybe, or a slap, or wine thrown in his face (unlikely given the company), but... a hug? A hug? Still, he doesn't push Venti away. He just... lets him cling, and after a moment he carefully wraps his arms around the bard as if he's afraid that Venti might break.]
What I... want to do...?
[Yeah that's a no.]
... It doesn't matter what I want. I must see my contract through.
[softly] I am sorry. For... all of this. Meeting an old friend should be a happy occasion, yet all I've managed to do is confuse and upset you.
[Venti deserves better.]
no subject
You... stubborn old lizard, it does matter! That contract can't be your whole life, do you hear me?!
[He hugs him tighter. It can't. Venti refuses to let that be true, and he'll fucking fight his own friend if that's what it takes. This isn't something that he deserves to be bound by.]
I am happy to see you again, blockhead! I'm just... why? Why with the Black Order, of all the organizations that formed?
[Because he's connected the dots. Venti knows, thanks to Elliot, and Zhongli has told him about seeing a contract through. The only thing that can ever bind this man is with a contract. And now he knows that even more personally than before.]
Damn it, Morax, why...?
no subject
Still, the tears do a lot to soften his sharp edges, if only for the moment. He holds Venti patiently and lets him cry, scream, rant, swear... whatever he needs to do. Zhongli may have once been a god of war, but nowadays he simply weathers the storms that time brings.
Why the Black Order? Why indeed. That's a long story. He's not sure he wants to tell it again, but Venti uses a name that Zhongli hasn't even told him—and it's enough to make him suck in a breath.
Hearing it is... bittersweet. It reminds him of times lost to history, of friends turned to enemies, and old enemies turned to friends... He thought he'd be happier upon hearing it from Venti, from Barbatos, but within the context of everything going on, it's just another burden he has to bear.
He... doesn't want to be here anymore. He's sure the wine will taste like ashes in his mouth.]
A thousand years of service was worth knowing that Azhdaha would be safe. Theirs was the only solution.
[He breathes in through his nose, and finally lets it out.]
I... couldn't bring myself to bury him a second time. [His voice feels so small.] I couldn't fail him again.
no subject
He listens to what's said, and he takes a few deep, steadying breaths. When he pulls back just enough to look at Zhongli's face, it's easy to see that he's just... sad. Understanding. Venti wouldn't have sold his freedom, but he understands not wanting to bury someone you love a second time.
Yet, it's because of that that Venti needs to ask a question.]
I'm gonna ask you a question, and it's gonna hurt, but I'm asking because I need to know if you've thought about it. Signing away your freedom like that....
[His voice is gentle, for the first time since he's been here, yet it hitches for a moment there. Venti closes his eyes, turning his head to clear his throat and taking a second to collect himself. Then, his eyes open and he looks at Zhongli's face.]
What would Azhdaha say now, if he could see you?
[God knows, that's a question he asks himself almost every day about his late best friend.]
no subject
Venti's tone is... surprisingly gentle, though. Funny enough that only makes what he's saying seem worse.]
... You don't have to mince your words with me. It doesn't suit you, and we've known each other for too long.
[He says this like they weren't just fighting two hours ago in front of God and everyone. This is just how they are, though. It's comforting and familiar, like his favorite coat.]
Ah.
[Venti was right; that one stings. His amber eyes shift to the side, and then he closes them.]
Venti... Azhdaha as we knew him no longer exists. Even if I were to end my contract by the terms I negotiated, we could never go back to the way things were.
[He doesn't see a point in thinking about things like that.]
In our other lives, he assumed I would end him when he began to erode. As if it were that simple... In other words, I think he wouldn't approve of keeping him alive. Is that the answer you were seeking?
[His words seem sharp on paper, but he's just... tired... of arguing about something he can't change.]
The arrangement I made suited all of us. Azhdaha kept his life, if not his memories. The Black Order gained my strength. And as for myself... well, you may call my motivations selfish if you like. Sooner or later, the Black Order would have come for us-- for Azhdaha. There's no other option when our immortal kin descend into madness and become dangerous.
If you had also...
[He stops. Maybe they shouldn't go down that road.]
... Your ignorance of the truth protected you. That's all I can say.
no subject
But he's not. He's not listening. Zhongli has given up.
Venti waits until the end, and he's quiet for another long moment. Then, he nods as if to himself and puts both hands on either side of Zhongli's face, staring him dead in his amber eyes. Forcing him to face Venti.]
They muzzled you, told you to kill whoever they wanted, and you let them. They took your heart, told you they didn't need it anymore, and you let them. They clipped your wings, took your freedom, and you let them.
[He shakes his head, but his eyes, watery as they are, are still trained on the other man's eyes.]
But I see now that you're hearing me, just not listening to me. The wind has been trying to get the mountain to listen, but instead the mountain just pretends that the winds don't exist. Perhaps the mountain has forgotten what the sky looks like. Or perhaps the mountain has never wanted the new winds and only longed for the old, because it's comfortable.
[It hurts to say all of this, especially knowing that Zhongli just... might not listen to him still. Another tear falls and Venti has to take a deep breath.]
What I'm asking is what would he say if he saw you right now? The Azhdaha you knew in this life. Would he have told you to sell away your freedom? Would he have told you to suffer in silence, taking every indignity that the Order throws on top of you alone?
[More frustrated, angry, hurt tears are falling at his point and he doesn't care. He can't care because he needs Zhongli to at least think.]
Stop using my ignorance as a shield to hide behind! Whether I remembered or not, none of that stopped me from caring about you! You're my best and oldest friend, and I bet that we were the same in that other life, too. Why won't you let me help you?
[Again, throughout all of this, Venti doesn't scream or shout. His voice gets a bit choked up with emotion at points, but... it hurts to see Zhongli like this. It hurts and infuriates him that someone took advantage of his friend to make this contract.]
no subject
But then Venti goes on about the wind. There's nothing cute or cheeky about this metaphor. There's... the beginning of some realization in his odd amber eyes, eyebrows rising slightly. That emphasized word, comfortable, slides in as easily as a knife between the ribs. The tears are even worse. He raises one hand to wipe an errant tear with his glove, thumbing at Venti's cheek unconsciously.]
... That isn't right. [He's protesting the metaphor. Not the other stuff. All of that about the Black Order? He won't deny it.] The mountain in your story-- it only ever wished for the wind to return to its side. Whatever form it took, the mountain was simply grateful for its presence.
[But oh, he's listening. Because the moment Venti says the Azhdaha in this life, he's transported right back to the most halcyon of autumn days. He recalls the softness of Azhdaha's skin as he took Zhongli's hand, contradicting the firmness of his grip, and said:
I understand you fear for the boy. Let me help you, Zhongli. Consider his point of view for a moment. How can he think of life as something precious if he only ever sees your suffering? Will he not believe he is a burden?
He blinks that memory away. Venti's teary eyes fill his gaze, filled with anguish and grief in a way that Zhongli hasn't seen in this life. Not even once. But... he remembers... far enough back, there was something... wasn't there?
Does Venti think he is a burden because all he's seen is Zhongli's suffering...?
Why won't you let me help you? Venti's question echoes in his empty brain a little, framed by falling ginkgo leaves and the taste of ancient tea left in his mouth. Zhongli searches the face in front of him for something, as if he might find the answer to those demanded questions in his eyes. But he finds nothing.
He's so tired.
Without much preamble, he simply leans forward and rests his forehead against Venti's chest, the rest of him limp. After a moment his arms wrap around the bard's middle. He's said nothing out loud, but his body language says he's given up, like a half-dead animal approaching a strange human for help.]
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Was their entire friendship dependent on the fact that Venti was the reincarnation of Barbatos?
It's a question he bites back against asking. Partially from fear, but mostly because he doesn't want to address his own pain with that right now. It's already a lot just trying to unpack some of Zhongli's, and he's putting his friend over himself.
Despite his small frame compared to his friend, Venti's able to keep himself surprisingly steady as he holds up Zhongli's weight. With his arms around the brunet's head and shoulders, he sniffs softly and pets his hair. Stars above, this man knows how to break his heart in a million different ways.
He takes a few deep, steadying breaths as he tries to stop the flow of his own tears. After a moment, Venti starts to hum softly. An ancient lullaby that he hasn't given voice to since his parents died. It feels appropriate right now, when Zhongli is at the end of his rope and seeking help, seeking comfort, if only at the basest level.
Who is the wind to deny the tired mountain a chance to finally rest?
So, instead, he hums his lullaby, and then he begins to quietly sing the words to it. A language he hasn't spoken since leaving Wales, yet still he remembers the meaning of the words and how to say them. For Zhongli, he sings because he has truly and fully believed that music has the power to heal the soul since picking up his very first instrument.]
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At the moment it'd be a miracle if Zhongli is able to say anything. In the absence of some deep-seated fury, and when he's faced with an onslaught of emotion that he can't begin to process and doesn't know where to start, he simply won't try. His eyes remain dry, but that's not a surprise. Who can squeeze tears from a stone?
The darkness behind his eyelids is soon broken by Venti humming a song. It's... it has to be an old one, because Zhongli's never heard it before. Is this from Venti's childhood? He doesn't want to ask. He feels like... if he acknowledges it, if he accepts what's happening, it'll shatter the dream. After all, he's never been allowed to have any sense of paradise for very long.
The curious thing about Venti's music is that it has always had the power to move hearts, but the healing magic—that is extraordinary. Zhongli's not wounded in the traditional sense but he can feel the gentleness of the wind wrapping around him anyway, tousling his hair, tugging playfully at the lapels of his coat.
No one's asking him to do anything at this moment. There is a bigger war to be waged, battles to be strategized and fought, philosophies to be debated... but he's so tired.
At the end of the day, he's not a mountain but a lone stone standing tall in a field determined to cast some shade... and he doesn't realize there are trees behind him. What he's doing isn't necessary. But he's stood here for thousands of years, and he thinks he needs to be here a thousand more.
Then some windy imp flies by and pushes him into the mud. He's trying to decide if he wants to bother getting up after all of that.
He's forgotten how to ask for help. If it isn't in the defense of his people or his loved ones, he can't fathom such a request. Up until this point he's fought for himself as necessary, and he thought he had the strength. It's only in this moment that he begins to realize that perhaps he can't even be trusted with that.
But what is the alternative? Freedom? Freedom is a terrifying concept full of unknowns, utterly unimaginable by a man who plots his path with constants. Zhongli has always distinguished himself by his relationship with other things. Absent of that other thing, he has a hard time defining his own edges.
Eventually his grip on Venti loosens but he stays where he is. He feels very small in Venti's hold, not at all like the figure whose memories he inherited. Instead Zhongli was brought low by a mere gust of wind. How laughable...
It's only after the lullaby has faded that he finally manages to collect himself. He sits up slightly, but when he speaks, he keeps his voice low. This is only for Venti to hear.]
... In a time before history, a time before memory for most, there was a dragon who soared through the skies of his home. He danced among the clouds and played with the wind until all the troubles of the world demanded their attention, and then he descended to the ground below.
At some point between that world and this one, he lost the ability to fly. It wasn't that his wings were clipped; he simply never had them in the first place.
[He's speaking in metaphor, except for the part where he is very much a dragon who can't fucking fly. (Just a smaller one.)]
How does one dream of a freedom they've never truly known?
[He takes one of Venti's hands in both of his.]
How many times must I prevail upon you to teach me?
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A gust doesn't have to push. It can fill one's wings and let them soar, if they let it.
As his song fades on the breeze, he's silent and still. Venti lets his friend go to let him sit up. He listens as Zhongli speaks. The bard lets his hand be taken, eyes on the brunet's face. In answer, he places a gentle hand on one of Zhongli's. His voice is equally low, but gentle.]
I'll teach you as many times as you need me to. Not because of who we were, but because of who we are. I'll teach you to fly, what it means to be free, but it's never been a gentle or easy journey.
[His green eyes try to meet amber again.]
What do you want to do? Not Morax or Rex Lapis or the Zhongli of the past. You, here, in this moment. It's okay if it's simple or short-term, like sleeping or eating.
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