( she can't blame the people of mondstadt; she's right there with them, only convinced of venti's godhood because it serves her purpose — and who would lie about being a failed deity while also offering to serve themselves up as a brand new toy to a god-collecting sadist? it ultimately won't ever matter what venti looks like. nor how much he drinks. nor how much he runs away.
if he's there when she needs him to be, almost all other shortcomings can be forgiven.
it's on the tip of clarke's tongue to ask if they could try bottling his airy form — to ask what it would take, how long it would last, what they'd need to accomplish it, if it'd be enough to trap something so powerful instead of killing it outright... but then there's a suck of air within the room. like a breeze originating from the wall behind her, pulling her undivided attention — and any loose strands of hair into an erratic dance — towards venti and his magics.
it'll never get old. seeing something that so expressly didn't exist in her world. much like flying with his glider attached to her shoulders, this experience is other-worldly enough that it almost doesn't feel real — power pulsating just a few feet from her, and most notably not meant to cause any harm. yet. maybe. a void is a void, and like humans have questioned black holes for centuries, clarke has to wonder what's at the center of it.
but instead of asking what happens to something passing through that windy void, clarke just... finds a stray pen on the coffee table in front of her. and throws it at the warped spot of air hovering above venti's palm. )
no subject
if he's there when she needs him to be, almost all other shortcomings can be forgiven.
it's on the tip of clarke's tongue to ask if they could try bottling his airy form — to ask what it would take, how long it would last, what they'd need to accomplish it, if it'd be enough to trap something so powerful instead of killing it outright... but then there's a suck of air within the room. like a breeze originating from the wall behind her, pulling her undivided attention — and any loose strands of hair into an erratic dance — towards venti and his magics.
it'll never get old. seeing something that so expressly didn't exist in her world. much like flying with his glider attached to her shoulders, this experience is other-worldly enough that it almost doesn't feel real — power pulsating just a few feet from her, and most notably not meant to cause any harm. yet. maybe. a void is a void, and like humans have questioned black holes for centuries, clarke has to wonder what's at the center of it.
but instead of asking what happens to something passing through that windy void, clarke just... finds a stray pen on the coffee table in front of her. and throws it at the warped spot of air hovering above venti's palm. )