[Zhongli isn't expecting a story but he understands what's happening. It's easier to distance oneself if they just become a character in the story, rather than approach it from the point of view of someone who lived it. He's used the tactic several times since coming here.
The wind spirit in this is easily recognizable as Venti, but the link drawn between his appearance and this mysterious friend is... new. He's never heard of this bard, not even once. The significance of the bard's influence on Venti can't be overstated-- his love of the lyre, the songs he sings about freedom, his very appearance. Perhaps it was the bard's sacrifice that made the wisp into the god of freedom in the first place.
It's entirely different from Zhongli's own experiences, and yet he also knows the pain of loss, of unfulfilled promises and broken dreams.]
Venti...
[He uses this name instead of Barbatos, because it feels like the other one is terribly inappropriate right now. Sitting across the table isn't enough. He moves the tray a bit so that he can reach across the table and place his hand on top of Venti's.]
It's obvious to me, even as a listener, that you assumed that form as a way of keeping his memory alive. You cannot blame yourself for that, nor can you blame yourself for how you were reborn. That was out of your control.
[He remembers how weird and disconnected he felt when he remembered being a dragon. Some part of Zhongli still feels a bit unsettled with it all, even though he has plenty more memories of flying around than of being a human. But it's not the same as what Venti's going through...]
If you have lost sight of who 'you' are, then allow me to remind you. I will regale you with tales of the bravest bard I have ever known: a person who would stand up to a storm if it inconvenienced him enough, with a soul that burns bright and a voice that has ever rung true.
You are Venti, no matter what you look like. You are you by virtue of the things that you have done to get here. Things that no one else could ever hope to accomplish. A person is more than their deeds as well. The way your eyes light up when you hear a bit of music on the wind, the precise firmness of your hand in mine, the way you bite your bottom lip when you're thinking—no one else can replicate those things perfectly.
And if it still bothers you that your appearance once belonged to another... Tell me, does a sunrise seem less beautiful the second time you see it? It does not. Not for me.
[He's not talking about the sunrise anymore. Fuck it.]
no subject
The wind spirit in this is easily recognizable as Venti, but the link drawn between his appearance and this mysterious friend is... new. He's never heard of this bard, not even once. The significance of the bard's influence on Venti can't be overstated-- his love of the lyre, the songs he sings about freedom, his very appearance. Perhaps it was the bard's sacrifice that made the wisp into the god of freedom in the first place.
It's entirely different from Zhongli's own experiences, and yet he also knows the pain of loss, of unfulfilled promises and broken dreams.]
Venti...
[He uses this name instead of Barbatos, because it feels like the other one is terribly inappropriate right now. Sitting across the table isn't enough. He moves the tray a bit so that he can reach across the table and place his hand on top of Venti's.]
It's obvious to me, even as a listener, that you assumed that form as a way of keeping his memory alive. You cannot blame yourself for that, nor can you blame yourself for how you were reborn. That was out of your control.
[He remembers how weird and disconnected he felt when he remembered being a dragon. Some part of Zhongli still feels a bit unsettled with it all, even though he has plenty more memories of flying around than of being a human. But it's not the same as what Venti's going through...]
If you have lost sight of who 'you' are, then allow me to remind you. I will regale you with tales of the bravest bard I have ever known: a person who would stand up to a storm if it inconvenienced him enough, with a soul that burns bright and a voice that has ever rung true.
You are Venti, no matter what you look like. You are you by virtue of the things that you have done to get here. Things that no one else could ever hope to accomplish. A person is more than their deeds as well. The way your eyes light up when you hear a bit of music on the wind, the precise firmness of your hand in mine, the way you bite your bottom lip when you're thinking—no one else can replicate those things perfectly.
And if it still bothers you that your appearance once belonged to another... Tell me, does a sunrise seem less beautiful the second time you see it? It does not. Not for me.
[He's not talking about the sunrise anymore. Fuck it.]