to throw in my two cents, i had been live reacting to the stream in a gc with some friends who also like EPIC because one had been at work during the release and
my dear friend @sereneabyyss began a new fic that i am delighted to say i have been involved in, if only for html and rubber duck purposes, because someone needed to figure out how to use comic sans for evil and i was bored
go give darling Sere the love and appreciation they deserve in the feral SY fic that is Rise at Noon, and Cause a Little Ruckus in which science and porn world logic are mortal enemies and a sickly person tries to work things out more than the actual author of said porn world
Was it even any surprise that he would be devoutly faithful to the religion he was raised amidst?
A peaceful evening in Angel's Share
Read on Ao3
Written for a class assignment for the prompt Tension/Yearning
“Head on home for the night, Charles. I’ll take over from here.”
The general atmosphere of the tavern was jovial and light as jaunty saloon-song and conversation filled the air. Charles, the current bartender, sent a grateful nod to the fiery red-headed owner of the establishment. With a practiced twist of his wrist, he finished wiping down the glass he held and returned it to the shelves under the counter, using the rag he still held in his other hand to do a quick final once-over of the counterspace.
As one body passed another to and from the space behind the counter, gloved hands tied long red hair in a high ponytail with adept ease. A general cheer of welcome rumbled around the room for a moment as the denizens noticed the master of the house take his place. The tavern owner offered a nod of his own to his current patrons as he glanced about the interior, taking stock of the events of the evening.
Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to occur within the den of drunkards; the regulars were off at their usual tables, one adventurer stood in a dramatic pose as he regaled a wowed audience with obviously exaggerated tales, a pair of lovers sat tucked away in a corner in a whispered world of their own, and the bartender took mental note of those who may approach soon to be topped off or those sooner to be cut off for the night.
From the makeshift stage space across the bar by the door, the bard of the night sent a cheerful wave and a wink. He was a familiar presence, if not the usual one. The common bardic emeralds complemented his slight figure, cape fluttering with his movement like wings and braided hair swaying. String-calloused hands plucked along a well-loved lyre, beginning a song anew.
Averting his gaze to his next approaching customer, he absently wondered. For all that the tavern bore the name of angels, just how would people react if they knew how truly blessed it was? Maybe unorthodox in practice, but in its own way this was part of how he showed his faith. Was it even any surprise that here, in the nation of wind, wine, and song, the linchpin of the wine industry would be devoutly faithful to the religion he was raised amidst?
Even knowing what he does.
Eyes aglow with the clearest sky met burnished sunset, glinting in glee and untold mischief of past and present. A fluttering smile as lofty and bright as wings of crystalized wind rested upon cloud-soft skin drenched in all the hues of adoration.
It was one thing to be faithful, to run his own holy grounds in the form of a bar – whether the patrons realized that’s what it was or not – but it was another to know his efforts were acknowledged. To know that the very name reverently whispered within an entire nation’s prayers knew his own in turn and not only accepted his offering but favored it.
Divine mercy was the strumming of a lyre and salvation a smile.
It still felt almost disjointing, sometimes, knowing that a god walked in their midst. Knowing that their nation’s patron deity was chaotic at the best of times. As free spirited as the wind he was born from and just as whimsical.
Knowing that he, just as any, could get lost in a bottle of nostalgia and liquor, mourning those of ages long past as he sings their stories for the future.
For all that their god may be known as the weakest of the Seven, it could be argued that he works the hardest in his own way. Public figures though some of them may be, there sure had been no news of other gods going out of their way to ease a threat their people faced in hundreds of years. No news of it recently either, to be fair, but one simply cannot ignore what was experienced firsthand when fighting alongside the very figure they utter in reverent prayer. Phantom roars of wind and reptilian alike ring through his ears as he sends a thought to the whereabouts and wellbeing to the freed guardian dragon.
A voice brought the bartender out of his reverie as the bardic god slipped straight from his thoughts and onto a stool before the counter, fondness coating his every word. Noticing the minute jolt of attention from the ever-composed nobleman, he closed his eyes, threw his head back, and laughed, all wild bells and reckless abandon with all the honey richness of dandelions. The matter isn’t even all that funny or a scenario to laugh so hard at, but the atmosphere was already joyous as the night ran long and liquor poured a-plenty. Even through the gentle mockery, crimson eyes glowed with affection for the deity.
The bard placed an order for a glass of the finest wine, only to be shot down by the bartender with a question of his own regarding funds. There’s a pout and playful insistence to put the glass on his tab – not that the tavern allows open tabs – and dramatically rolled eyes. It’s a familiar scene, a familiar routine between the two. Ultimately, a flourishing gesture comes fast and coin, hard earned over the night of song, is pulled from a hat. In turn, practiced hands pass a long-poured glass of wine and the exaggerated pout morphs into an almost impish grin, firelight casting a halo upon raven-blue hair.
He doesn’t know anymore. Doesn’t understand exactly how he lasted so long without this. Memories flash once more of so many years ago, with late nights in fervent prayer, and of warm winds ever there to guide him home when he needed it most. Here, watching his joyous god pillow his chin on his hand, arm propped up by the countertop, he knows he would never go back to those days without.
Emerald-azure orbs met his own carmine once more, sunny-bright still with laughter.
And here, in this holy land of windborne spirits, was peace.
i never thought that leveling faster than i can keep up with would be a problem and a complaint i’d have, and yet.
seriously, holy Heck Honkai.
i genuinely don’t understand it? the experience requisite for leveling doesn’t feel like it’s changing at all and, combined with bp giving obscene amounts of exp on a daily basis, i’d generally level a minimum of once a day.
i have played the game for... about 47 days, if the new player bonus is to go off. i’m captain level 76.
“you’ve been working hard, captain!” Theresa chirps from where she’s chilling in the dorms
yeah, well i hate to break it to you but captain’s been doing the bare minimum to try and slow leveling as to not out-level the sensei system before i could get all the rewards and it still didn’t work.
now, this may be the Genshin player who’s been AR 57 for... 1-2 months minimum talking, but really, this is kind of obscene.
i do feel i should mention that i have been enjoying the game on its own. while the combat system is pretty key-smashy and more intense battles can leave my arm feeling like jelly, i have been enjoying the story and characters.
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