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( i lost someone special to me too. i thought i'd never get over the pain. but i did.

how?

by recognizing it for what it is. weakness.

what is? love?

—

i thought you hated that plan. that i'd get myself killed.

i was being weak.

she's been at war with this idea for the longest time. flip flops on the issue, had decided back on earth that loving and caring for a person was the strongest motivator there was to succeed and survive — maybe the only reason to strive for peace when all odds were stacked against you and suffering seemed immenent. then backslid upon waking up on the ship, alienated from her old friends by distance, death, and entirely different worlds. surrounded by strangers, but painfully alone. had figured it be easier that way, to fight recklessly and with zero regard for her own life (lives, plural) since there was no one here she loved and thus no one here to miss her when she died. but... that hadn't worked out. somewhere along her path of determination, ready to die for all of them, clarke had amassed a small group of people maybe worth... not dying for. not dying because of. she didn't want to see mizuki cry again like that, didn't want to leave natsuno behind to clean up the mess, and wouldn't want venti to mourn or darcy to feel like she failed.

that'd been a difficult pill to swallow. a hard upheaval in reality to accept. her well meant intentions failing, leaving people open to be used against her. and crossing dangerously near the point of willingly giving up any chance of success if it meant sparing them. she didn't want — any of that. for anyone here stupid enough to slot their lives alongside hers and venture into platonic intimacies like love, and care, and respect, and friendship, and trust. because that never, ever worked out well.

venti may be the type to sit in the middle of a garden and watch flowers bloom and wither, but clarke's more in line with the type to accidentally drop a lit match in a pile of brush and burn the whole sanctuary down with herself inside it. she understands, but also recognizes the metaphorical ash coating her hands to be blood, and doesn't want to hurt people like that again. i ruin everything i touch, she'd told him. and then just now proceeded to list out every single person she expects to hurt. )

I didn't — ( mean to build a life with any worth here. but not even the truth curse can push past the way her throat closes around sentiment, that heavy weight of swallowed tears burning deep in her trachea.

there is a desperate internal struggle to reign back in the outpouring of emotion; to patch the spiderweb of cracks in her composure and get back to the baseline of the pragmatic warrior that smothered the teenaged girl in her soul. but it's distracted when that gradually familiarizing scent of flowers sweeps beneath her nose, and the weight of fabric falls around her shoulders. then completely undermined when venti moves in to give her a hug and just —

if clarke were to ever understand what it felt like when mizuki glitched in and out of reality, this would be it. it's like every nerve ending is on fire, there's warring wants: to shove him away and to fall into tactile comfort like she'd fallen into bedsheets before. she wants to silently wallow in her familiar misery, and she wants to argue with every point venti'd spelled out, and she wants to fight, and she wants to cry. and she also wants to hug him back, twist the fabric of his ridiculous tunic between her fingers like a drowning man claws at a life ring. but her hands just twitch at her sides. )

Just because I don't need a god doesn't mean I didn't want one.

( where's the line between a forced admittance and an actual, genuine moment here? they're the same height, in the end it takes only the slightest drop of her head to slot her chin onto his shoulders. )

I'm so — ( angry, mad, furious, sad, lonely. ) — scared, Venti. All the time.

[ it was a little sudden, it was unasked for but he could not help but embrace her. he's always been this easy with hugs and affection... he remembers thinking, early on, of her practically as some feral wild creature ready to fight at a moment's notice, and maybe if he might hug her out of nowhere she might snap his neck and he'd deserve it.

but that face, after he'd said her name, the unbidden truths that pour from both of them... he means everything of course and she must too. some of this honesty even he would try to be a little secretive about even when he's this bleeding heart and means every word, and apparently she would hide so much more.

baring truths like this is exactly the kind of confession of the painful inner self that is a connection to god. and he was a god who always welcomed and tried to guide the wretched, the lost, the oppressed, towards freedom. he hums almost hymnal as his hand goes to her hair in a gentle stroke, the gentle guide of her towards him. ] Mm, I know.

The truth is--me too. I've been uneasy, afraid, since perhaps the moment I was brought here as well. [ even after losing his godhood, the fact that a greater power than him could so easily capture him and trap him here in this realm... it unnerves him fundamentally even while he laughs and sings and drinks. ] See now, you surely aren't alone. All of us here are on the same boat, literally, it seems...

Clarke, perhaps you thought yourself and your world forsaken by God. Whether they abandoned you in your reality or their vision is cruel, you're here now and if you wish--

Place your faith unto me. [ and again there's the glow of his eyes, distant as clouds, the light of it touches the tips of his braids abreeze in the wind. his gaze to her as intent as the fathomless sky. ] We know each others' names. My stormeye is at your call. I could show you prayer to me, our hymns for freedom.

If you so want to believe, I'll give you something to believe in. The sky, my wings, so long as the wind blows.

[ of course it's a great idea to believe in the flightiest of gods, the weakest of them back in his own world. as reliable as a spring or summer rainstorm. the reliability of unreliability of weather and sky. she might prefer the steadfast of rock, foundation and stability, or the swift power and sharp cut of lightning of which few of anything could withstand in the world.

the caprice of a god who can actually barely be tied to a single person, and it's damning of him how he wants to comfort her again like he had, until she could vent stress and frustration on his fingers or tongue. and he wants, just as much if not more than her--her faith. ]

( fingers smoothing over the back of her head, petting her hair like a parent would when a child was sick. that tactile sort of comfort that makes it easy to follow where venti guides; to drop her face further, pressing mouth and nose into his shirt and taking in the scent of air and flowers — still as heady and intoxicating as it'd been before — when she sniffs mightily against the pressure of tears and snot. just for a second. confessions already have her feeling small and weak in this moment, so she peels just far enough away to be able to meet his gaze, searching deep eyes for any any sign of insincerity.

any flaw in this idea. any trapdoor in this invitation. any indication of terms and conditions. any slip of a micro expression, any blood-red flag on the playing field, anything, and hint of impending betrayal laced in warm words and pretty promises.. )

...I don't know if I really wanted religion, or if I was just hoping belief would make you strong enough to contain the Captain. To kill him. ( another bout of raw honesty she'd rather have kept to herself, but at the same time was that ever much of a secret? he's not that much of an idiot, and she is that much of a coldhearted pragmatist. but cursed or otherwise, clarke can't admit to thoughts she hasn't even fully come around to asking herself yet — why can't it be both? ) But I'd try it. There's nothing I could lose in believing in you, is there? I want to.

But I don't think I'm allowed to be around you. ( societal rules, that tight hand of guilt fisted around her lungs and constricting every time she looks at — ) I don't want to upset Mizuki.

Edited 2022-07-08 02:40 (UTC)

[ ... ] I don't, either. [ this much is the truest he could agree with. and then a sad little fact, ] But you're right. I've already hurt him so much, I wonder sometimes if I could even stop or if I'm simply too bad for him--

[ there are awful or self-pitying or pathetic truths that might as well be lining up in the back of his mind or on his tongue right now. he doesn't think himself fit for love at all. he feels happiest, or most comfortable anyway, with temporary little flings. something as committal as 'love' makes him so nervous he wants to fly instantly and it's only after making mizuki so fucking miserable that he's finally trying to stop. mistakes after mistakes after mistakes... and craving faith from clarke might well be the most selfish thing he could want for himself. ]

Clarke, I won't be strong enough to kill the Captain. [ well, he's 99.9999% sure of this anyway. look at him, he's a silly green bard twink... he draws back from the embrace at least, takes more light steps back because she's right, he does have to put distance between them more. if there's a primal god's instinct to be close to a follower, he'd fallen to it. ] I hope that I'll be strong enough to overpower him if he's smoke. But, well...

You know, I've never asked people to pray to me. Mondstadt practically built religion from the ground up, with no input from me when I so rarely appeared. Even if you have no experience with it... even you should know, power is not something so easily received just by wishing for it. There are lots of different reasons why people believed in me. Some to pray for good weather for travel or farming or their livelihood. Some to respect Mondstadt's history, how I helped fight and win our freedom. A lot of people just live life without believing in me much at all and that's fine with me. And some people I think...

Some just wanted to believe there was someone out there who would listen to them, even if I never responded. [ whether he even existed or not--and those prayers are almost less for him than they would be for the followers themselves. ] There are a lot of different reasons why people believe. You could think over what yours might be... I'd be fine with whichever, or if you change your mind in believing in me at all.

[ that's the freedom and independence he values, maybe even more than faith. ]

( it hadn't been a long hug, but paired with such blatant emotional honesty had felt like an hour. venti withdraws and takes a step back in retreat, and clarke breathes in a different kind of relief, as if a little distance would allow her to relatch the lock on her deeply compartmentalized fear instinct; as if she'd be able to patch the cracks in her exterior front, instead of just helplessly digging them deeper. and then of course, that guilt she'd danced around. it feels better, more appropriate when venti's not touching her — kind and comforting and steeped in a sincere sort of care.

(she misses it the second it's gone, but — ) )

Not alone, maybe. ( not that she could do much against smoke, and maybe even the boon of belief wouldn't be enough of a buff to allow him to deal a killing blow. but none of them are truly alone in this fight, right? alliance could be made — are already cemented, or in the making — and the extent of clarke griffin's optimism is that maybe, somehow, if forces joined in the heat of the moment, they'd be able to overwhelm by sheer force of will... and if they fail, they don't fail alone. the sentiment is unchanged regardless of the outcome.

venti moves on however, gives a lists of reasons his people prayed to him, and most of it just evokes small, dismissive shakes of her head. praying for a harvest has no worth here, the weather is beyond their control, travel is at the whim of the captain. this isn't mondstadt, and his loose agreement to the cause of overthrowing their captor here had yet to be fulfilled. not believing in him isn't an option anymore, she'd been blanketed in his wings and made that choice in a heartbeat. but that other one, the idea of never being alone, no matter how distant...

that snags at another deep, unearthed want — no, need; selfish, inherently human, desperate need — that she fights against almost every single day. truth can't be forced when internal truth hasn't even been realized yet, can it? apparently not, because clarke just lets out a breath she's held for too long in a sharp exhale. a sigh. )

I'll think on it, then. ( but in the meantime — ) Can I still hear one of your hymnals?

[ he'd stumbled into godhood without even quite wanting it, he'd accepted it almost entirely when there was no other candidate and when he'd wanted with the desperation of mourning to forge a new image to the country that his friend died for. godhood was a heavy mantle of responsibility. he'd nearly abandoned it completely, he'd flown away so soon after taking it. but even still he does feel that weight of responsibility still, as a deity fond of humans. and when enough people pray, like his people did during catastrophe, he would appear to save them.

there are wishes for gods as well and that's what his might be. if he knew how to save them and her, here in this realm...

he landed into godhood but he chose to be a musician. and therefore how much easier it is to answer a request for a song--he taps a hand to his chest, the wind wraps around him and her both as he sings in a more ancient language, one that would be even archaic and untranslated by all but the most studious in deep history in his own country. while the melody familiar to all, the lyrics were in the tongue of lost time and sacred winds. ]

When flowers bloom, when leaves sway
That is me who sings the songs of freedom, of the winds
When lost winds blow walls of storms astray
That is my voice singing the wishes of time to unbind
Listen, to one day free yourself

[ she's right, that he shouldn't be around her. by now he's forgotten entirely her offer to remove whatever picture there was, when this... isn't quite absolution to a god, but almost a spark of purpose again, if he could give direction to a follower however vague. this a choiral song often repeated in his church with varying mantras in prayer, the one he recites is a more ancient verse from centuries past. he offers it to her now--the wish he had that humanity could free themselves, that he would be there as a seed of hope, a tailwind that would turn the tide. ]

( the gory reminder of his decapitation is also long forgotten in her mind, effectively shrouded in her own intense misery and the appropriate embarrassment for having admitted it with her face pressed into venti's shoulder. there are bigger thoughts at play now, like choosing why she'd seek out religion in the first place and what she hopes to gain from it. but later, long after they've parted, she'll reread that text conversation and kick herself for not following through on that solemn oath. not a god and follower dynamic, just a human to "human" moment and the deep desire to spare venti the grief of looking at that image over and over again when he didn't have to, when it did nothing but hurt him.

but in the moment — that swirl of wind is just as fully distracting as always. then in the same beat, venti begins to sing in answer to her request.

they're beautiful words, no matter the disconnect between languages. she doesn't know what he's truly singing about, yet listens intently as if she might be able to parse out meanings in a different language she's unfamiliar with. mostly clarke just watches venti's face as he projects the aria in an enclosed space, and when the intoxicating strains of song fade, she has questions.

she always has questions, doesn't she. )

It's beautiful but... what does it mean?

[ well, she does always have questions. but it's kind of admirable... and in a way it still kind of baffles him how intently she'd interrogated him way back when with mizuki. there are times humanity seizes knowledge from the gods, or eat fruit, or steal fire, or any number of divine quests. and then there are times the gods would bestow epiphanies and commandments and prophecies, and his creed was always-- ]

It's a song of faith, mutual faith between my followers and myself. All gods have different values and mine is...

What I treasure most in the world is freedom. Long ago I fought alongside people to free from the tyranny of the storms, and when I turned god I would blow the neverending winter away to bring flowers and spring. But the struggle was a mutual one with my countrymen. So my wish that I carry with the winds of time, even if I leave the country for so long, is that my people could set each other free with my blessing. That's the hope and prayer that I sing, in that hymn.

I could teach it to you, and songs of prayer, and belief. [ oh, how he wants. he'd fallen from godhood. he'd been spirited away from his homeland. the wishes and voices and faith from his church and people have disappeared, like he has appeared in a windless land--or, this one where the winds are foreign to him.

his hand alights to the top of her head, but only briefly, featherlight. like he had back when he'd found himself in her room, and then-- ]

... But perhaps not in person. [ no, he really shouldn't be around her. ]

( ah right, that particular hiccup.

not that clarke's forgotten, she'd been the one to recently interject the idea of a need for space. but in this moment, coming down of the scent of foreign flowers and uncut oxygen whipping around them both in pleasant gusts of wind, well. that's like a bitterly cold splash of water to the face when she'd just been musing over the warm meanings of his song. )

...right.

( i think i originally wrote they took the elevator but this conversation is long af and better suited for a staircase so that's where we are now. magically. and clarke's now glancing towards the descending steps towards the next level specific door. they should... probably part ways. she even opens her mouth to offer some immediate excuse — she's got to go talk to another friend, or suddenly remembered needing to pick something up from somewhere. it would have been a lie artfully crafted too, not that it matters because what comes out of her mouth is — )

I resent that it's like this now. But it's for the best, for most of the people involved. Right?

( none the wiser of what exactly she'd just said, but at least confident in the closing argument vibe being projected, clarke gives a low effort nod. an i understand, because physical motion isn't impeded by the curse. then slides sideways to walk around him and grab hold of the railing and trot down a step. )

You know where to find — ( brain go truth brrr, tongue go waaaah ) — and how to avoid me.

Edited 2022-07-12 05:25 (UTC)

For the best, probably... [ when 'the people involved' are a slightly yan sea jelly, teenage warlord and serially-flighty ex-god then yes, what can you expect but a shitshow? he'd been selfish in wanting her... faith. wanting rather more now. selfish, in the way of the wind drawn to people and can't exactly be bound.

gods of other worlds could possibly take what they want from people carelessly as higher powers apart from humanity. he'd always admired people enough to try to live as one for so long but playing by human rules could still be so tricky... he's the type to naturally, easily be fond of and affectionate to others. jinx, mizuki, clarke in the new light brought upon with faith. his laugh is a bit strained, there's a pang to him as well when, ] Mm, well as I said, I already know I'm not fit to be with anyone in a real way. [ mizuki apparently wants to play relationships on hard mode, or even lunatic mode, in two different and opposite routes. ] I don't want to say I'm sorry for being with you, I liked it. [ and then, a somewhat rueful smile as he averts his eyes, he didn't even satisfy himself but even so, ] I'm glad if I could satisfy your frustration even a little, for a night.

And I'm glad if you don't resent me... too much.

[ it'd already been difficult enough having his friendship break with jinx, his relationship suffering with mizuki. the difficulty of being so fond of mortals and when they too might be attached to him back it could only cause problems. ]

I'll talk to you another time, Clarke. [ just, likely, not in person. the wind runs through her hair once more as he gives a little wave; the next she looks away he'd be gone. ]

( all for the best, really.

that he's gone before she can let slip anything so incriminating as i liked it too. like that wasn't prevalent in her stutter-stop forced truths centered around earlier i want statements.

that he's gone before she can rail on a tangent of healthy relationship dynamics, climb up on her psychological soapbox despite having never been in one. rage against this messy polycule on the basis that there can't be true harmony once there's been murder. that fighting against one's true nature and attempting to stuff yourself into a box never did anyone any measure of kindness. it's not even about chipping away at their relationship until she gets a firmer handhold on both mizuki and venti, it's that this amalgamation of guilt and feeling cut off from what she'd hoped to pursue as a power source has been corrupted by personal drama is putting a serious cramp in her plans.

that he's gone before she can turn around and say i'm still so fucking frustrated. and thus clarke's only left muttering that particular confession to a relatively empty stairwell.

then, even quieter: )

Bye, Venti.

( like that's the end of it. of this, all of it. at least in the moment, she means it to be. )

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