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inbox @ comesailaway
( shiptalk | direct messages | group messages | action )
( shiptalk | direct messages | group messages | action )
( shiptalk | direct messages | group messages | action )
( shiptalk | direct messages | group messages | action )
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[ 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. ]
no subject
(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?
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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. ]
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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?
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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. ]
no subject
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.
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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. ]
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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. )