Hark! The Herald Angel Sings

Hear our prayers, O Lord. Let the Wind lead.

[choivenant]

choivenant - selective & formerly affiliated Dahlia, attended by Kanoesa (she/her), 21+

mobile links: dossier / mun 

details below the cut

this blog is selective. i will only write with mutuals, mostly former members of the group gnostic hymns. i am also currently only interested in new interactions with canon castmates (genshin rp)

all threads with non-canon castmates created during the group's duration will be continued until completion.

this blog was formerly affiliated with gnostic hymns. all developments that occurred within the group are considered part of this blog's canon.

content warnings: canon typical violence, alcohol

i am a very busy person, so it may take me months to respond to threads. if it's been over a year, please reach out- it's likely it's fallen through my housekeeping. for that matter, if i've taken too long and you've lost interest, please just tell me! no hard feelings

askbox/plotting: always open to new threads/plots. feel free to shoot an ask or message me on discord (if you have it)

shipping: for my comfort, i am singleship, and will only ship with muns i know well. dahlia is currently not in a relationship. i will not write nsfw.

please read my dossier for muse specific notes.

[choivenant]

WHAT ENTERS THE ROOM BEFORE YOU DO?

( Dahlia, )

THE HUMOR

You arrive sideways. A half-smile. A well-timed comment. An ease that curves the energy of the room just enough to make it livable. You don’t force attention, you invite it, lightly. Humor is how you test the ground. How you check for safety. How you step into spaces without startling yourself. People think it’s effortless. It’s not. It’s perceptive. Strategic. Kind. And when you drop the humor - when your voice steadies and the joke doesn’t come - people listen. Because they know now: this matters. Colours: Soft gold, muted coral, cigarette smoke grey Scene: Sitting at a crowded table, laughter blooming around you, eyes briefly serious when no one’s looking.

tagging: anyone who would like!

[choivenant]

BALLOON

It should have been a simple sequence of events. Retrieve the balloon that had entangled itself in one of Liyue Harbor’s many trees. Find whoever had lost it, or return it to the merchant.

Yet here he stood, Slime-shaped balloon in hand, stopped in his tracks by a youth in what appeared to be Mondstadt’s church garb. 

Xiao knew he must look ridiculous, but explaining himself would take too much effort.

“Take it,” Xiao stated instead, and thrust the balloon in the mortal’s direction.

It was an incredibly simple sequence of events. Some child's balloon had flown off to Barbatos knew where, and, naturally, as children were wont to be, she was greatly upset by the fact. And who to remedy this but the herald of Barbatos himself- otherwise known as the hapless passerby who happened to be closest to when she began wailing.

Let the wind lead, indeed, and so he does- something like a balloon would follow it all the more closer than a man, and while not unhurried, Dahlia was not rushing to his unknown destination.

Ah! And blessed he was, when a helpful encounter hands him the very balloon he is searching for.

"Oh, thank you!" Curiously, he looks to the one who hands it to him- Liyue was said to be the home of many ancient legends, and this one was certainly dressed the part. Perhaps it was part of the festive atmosphere. But, remembering the greeting parroted throughout the city, he continues, "Ahem. Have a happy Lantern Rite!"

[choivenant]

Crowd Dancing - Lantern Rite 2026

Dancing wasn’t Lynette’s thing. Usually.

She far preferred to conserve her energy rather than flailing about merrily, and that was her original plan.

Unfortunately though, just as she was leaving the festivities, she ran into a crowd of joyful dancers, the young, the old, anyone in between. But one person caught Lynette’s eye.

A certain Deacon from Mondstadt.

It’s then that she reflected on her primary objective here, yes, she was sent here with Lyney and Freminet, but enjoying themselves was only a secondary goal. Primary, was intel gathering since many important people from many nations would be here.

Dancing wasn’t Lynette’s thing. But she supposed she’d make an exception. She joined the crowd, covertly navigating towards the Deacon.

Dahlia liked dancing, there were just not enough occasions to just dance freely. Or at least, not to dance freely while in company, each member of the crowd a stranger and a friend at once, caught in the music.

He doesn't catch any of their names- they don't learn his. It's a simple step, greet, turn- and this holds true for anyone who comes his way.

There one moment, gone the next.

At the moment, he isn't the Deacon of the Church, a representative of Mondstadt regardless of what he chose to do, but simply another member of the crowd, and he knows it has been a while since he has felt this way.

Dahlia takes the hand of a young woman who had made her way over to him- if he knows that she had, or not, he does not say anything but a warm "hello", before pulling her along to the music.

[choivenant]

you went clubbing w god wdyd

[choivenant]

Ah~ what a productive day! Out of an abundance of caution, Dahlia had been avoiding the area outside the Cathedral, but there was never a completely still moment in the city. After various favors run, slimes dispatched again, and another lost cat (he's starting to believe that perhaps the cats are less lost than anyone would like to admit), the sun had begun to set. And that meant, of course, it was time for another favored pastime of the nosy youth!

Dahlia swings the door of the tavern open, finding his expression light up at the familiar sights and sounds. The regular patrons have already long since arrived and taken their seats, gathered into their ever fluid groups of friends for the night. Despite being relatively new to the scene, he knows he can take his pick and slip in easily- becoming part of the conversation as anyone else.

But… not everyone finds their solace in the lights and life of others, and so held true for a green-clad bard at his own table, surrounded by empty bottles, presumably of his own make. Curious, Dahlia slides in easily beside him, calling out to the bartender,

"Barkeep! Two ciders, if you would!" A hum, gauging the other's appearance. "I trust I am not interrupting something, good sir? I think cider is always best enjoyed in company."

@wind-blumes

[grannyitztli]

Like God, Like Deacon

Plotted thread with Dahlia

[grannyitztli]

Mondstadt, the city of freedom, and the people sure do embody this ideal. Walking through the streets, the citizens around remind Citlali of the people of the springs, talkative, outgoing, and annoyingly friendly.

Walking further up stairs, she takes a break in a little plaza. In her labored breath, she manages to squeak out, "They should rename this to the city of stairs." After some more heavy breathing, she continues, "Not... elderly... friendly...."

She looks up towards the archon statue, witnessing its splendor and excellent craftsman ship. A gentle air and kindness exudes from it and like a dissonent chord, a certain bard appears in her thoughts. If only certain citizens were like this statue, maybe I would have less of a headache. She pauses, thinking a little bit longer, Though, I will have to admit, he is quite a good bard. I wonder if he drinks...

Stairs. More. Stairs. But soon, the Sisyphus expy reaches the top, contrary to his myth, and to reward her, lies a grand cathedral. Citlali had her eye on this place for a while. One of the settings from her favorite light novels, "All-knowing Reader's Perspective", takes place in this exact cathedral, and in order to visualize the scene better, she decided to visit this place on her tour.

The large doors creak open, echoing in the hall along side the labored grunting of the granny, using her all to push open the heavy doors. After taking a moment to recompose herself, she walks softly through its pews, savoring the echo of each step. Once she was sure there were no witnesses, she raises her voice, shouting one of the lines from the light novel, "We are companions! Separated by life and death!"

@choivenant :D

[choivenant]

"We are companions, separated by life and death!"

A bold proclamation is made in the Cathedral's main hall, echoing loudly enough that Dahlia wonders if any of the sisters outside had heard. He had, at least, which was reason enough to step out of his office into the main hall, more curious than concerned.

In the hall, oddly enough, was only one singular woman. Perhaps said separation of life and death was more death than life, and he feels a twinge of pity.

But, similarly, he remembers this woman, from the strange place that Lord Barbatos had brought him to a while back. After being forced into the fighting ring- which he had not intended to do, from the start!- she had tossed him out unceremoniously, and he had landed amongst the sympathetic crowd.

Ah, well, the past was the past, and here she was either an incredibly confused pilgrim or tourist, which meant that he had to treat her with all the courtesy he could offer.

"Uh, miss? Are you doing alright out here?" A glance around the hall, just to make sure that her potential companion had not run away out of embarrassment or fear- but no dice!

"Is there anything... I can do to help?"

[choivenant]

rumors & truth

[reachforthetruth]

   Steady, hurried footsteps, one set after the other before Mondstat’s Church of Favonius are soon brought to a halt at the call of an unfamiliar voice. Bronya’s head turns to face the source: a priest. A friendly sort yet one who seemed to carry some form of authority – how much, though, was something that could not immediately be answered. She fully turns to face the younger man speaking to her, and offers a bow. 

   “I apologize,” she states, rather than offering verbal greetings of any sort. Bronya had a reason to pace around outside of the Church of Favonius – she read that in older times, Churches acted as an institution of a therapeutic sort, alongside their pious practices. Of course, any sort of therapy was easily afforded back at home- that much wasn’t a concern. However…

   Her issues lay mostly within Mondstadt’s walls. So it would be easier to have that discussion with someone from there, rather than a therapist from home, who may look at her with a bit of insanity (especially if she divulged the extent of how vast the universe truly was).

   She stands upright from her bow. “To answer your question-” She halts, trying to find the proper words. Bronya understood her issue, of course, for she understood her own mind better than anyone else. But she didn’t want to delve right into it- after all, even if this priest likely would be doing his job by listening. It was still rude to launch into the crux of the issue without any sort of hesitation. “Would it be okay to talk inside of the Church? Outside feels… open. More open than necessary.” A few moments pass by, before she adds a correction. “Ah- there is no imminent danger or anything. I just have a personal matter, and I don’t know who else to talk to about it other than a priest.”

[choivenant]

So he was right! Not that it was particularly surprising- she practically had concerned traveler written all over her face, but Dahlia smiles, and nods, letting her reveal what she wished at her own pace.

"Oh, no need to apologize!" The deacon waves for her to stand, not unaccustomed but still not particularly fond of the level of formality he was being shown. After all, she looked about his age, if not older, and this was unnecessarily stuffy. "I only ask because I want to help."

Ah, jackpot! At her request, Dahlia clasps his hands behind his back, as he turns on his heel, back into the Cathedral. What a shame, though! It is such a nice day outside. But the comfort of the lost was far more important than his own preferences, and so he doesn't bring it up.

"Certainly! Follow me." He does not waste much time, pushing open the double doors of the Cathedral, and quickly speaking to Sister Victoria- ever diligent- about using a side room in lieu of the confessional, and that he'd be unavailable for some time.

It is, for all accounts and purposes, a fairly normal request on his part, and therefore not rejected. He waves over the silver-haired foreigner, opening the door with one hand.

"Is this a good spot? It's about as private as you can get." Shutting the door, he settles on one side of the simple table inside. "What is troubling you, o' visitor of the wind?"

[choivenant]

bugs when you

[wind-blumes]

Venti watched the ball soar over his head this time, but still far from the target. Well, he noted with amusement, at least the ball went towards the target this time. Swinging his feet idly, he watched as Dahlia hyped himself up for the final throw. Mm-hmm! That was the spirit.

Then he struggled to keep a straight face as he hears Dahlia’s voice carry to him as a prayer on the wind: O' Lord, may your winds lead me to a better tomorrow! Oh, Dahlia, ever so devout! Perhaps Lord Barbatos will take pity on you for your less-than-desirable throwing skill; after all, who would he be to deny you of this wonderful opportunity to partake in one of his sacred gifts!

So as Dahlia calls out to him, Venti gives him a knowing wink, and as the deacon takes aim and threw the next ball—closer to the target this time, but still nowhere near the center—the crisp autumn breeze blew through the streets of Mondstadt, stirring leaves and ruffling skirts and hair—and nudging the ball just so, causing it to land squarely in the center of the target.

The small target swiveled backwards with the creak of hinges, causing the little seat to swing down with it—and Venti to fall into the pool of water below.

[choivenant]

The deacon was not in possession of an Anemo vision, and thus had no mastery over the wind. But the people of Mondstadt knew well that he had an ear of their Archon, and the Archon his- else he would be a poor herald indeed- even if they didn't know how or why he had been so uniquely chosen.

So who could blame him if his prayers were answered with an opportune breeze? His faith unwavering that even now, his words would not go unnoticed by the wind (especially since said Archon was only a few feet away). At the god's go-ahead, a cheeky wink, the deacon tosses the final throw.

Even if its trajectory was off, which it was, it is guided to its proper destination by a gust of wind. Dahlia lets out a cheer as the mechanism activates, swiftly and mercilessly dunking Venti into the water. He would be fine- in fact, the two of them could very easily dry him off with their combined (ahem) visions.

"Congratulations, good sirs!" The coordinator claps politely, clearly having expected the two to go for another round. "Here are your vouchers for a month of free drinks! The exact terms are written on the paper- so be sure to read it thoroughly."

Dahlia takes the prize, scanning the terms briefly (one drink per day, and no pricier than a cider) as he waits for the bard to climb out of the tub. "As promised, my friend, the prize is yours!"

[reachforthetruth]

can i borrow those treasure hoarders for a sec?

commission: elation | 'fools! bumbling, greedy fools!' | bronya zaychik / dahlia

[reachforthetruth]

   Mondstadt’s winds flowed freely beneath the radiance of the afternoon sun, though unfortunately there was difficulty in enjoying that radiant embrace. Bronya ran through the City of Freedom, clearly looking for something with clear alertness. 

   More specifically, she was on the hunt for Treasure Hoarders who had managed to escape from the Chasm, and make their way to Mond’s walls with their absconded riches. The hunt to even find them to begin with was a hassle – a wild goose chase, ultimately resulting in those damned Hoarders utilizing the paranoia wrought by the surrounding rumors to catapult their escape. The fact that Bronya found herself willing to chase them all the way to Mondstadt was more than impressive, and all the more proof of the Treasure Hoarder’s annoying tenacity, given that they had escaped across (somewhat nonexistent) national borders. “Fuck,” Bronya cursed to herself, hoping no one else had heard her utterance of such uncouth language. She scanned the area, trying to find where the Treasure Hoarders could’ve gone, and when she couldn’t pick up on any tracks an audible sigh escaped her lips. 

   Somehow, they managed to cover their tracks well enough to escape Bronya’s ire. She simply would not let that slide. 

   She began to quietly ask around town, asking idle citizens if anyone had come into the city recently – of course, with how busy Mondstadt tended to be (especially for its size), no one seemed to immediately notice “People come and go all the time!” seemed to be an unfortunately common sentiment. Slowly, though, Bronya rose throughout the city – and with each level, she continued to garner no meaningful answer, until a passerby mentioned a few guys wanting to ‘seek absolution’ recently. ‘The Church of Favonius!’ And, within moments, Bronya found herself at the church’s doors, though as she was gearing to head in – a familiar face seemed to enter her vision. “Deacon-!” 

   With a pep in her step, Bronya approached the Deacon, Dahlia, and bowed (like she probably had plenty of times already to other denizens of Mondstadt), taking a moment to ignore the nature of their initial counter that lingered in the air. “Deacon,” her voice was calm as she repeated his title, though there was a considerable breathlessness to the tone, “a few Treasure Hoarders from Liyue are somewhere in the Church of Favonius. Could you help me find them and arrest them?”

@choivenant

[choivenant]

"…That would be best, for now. And has Sister Rosaria returned yet?" A pause, thoughtful, in a hushed conversation between Mondstadt's clergy- kept to the back corners, away from the pews of faithful still unaware of what was transpiring within their church. When the expected response is given, Dahlia frowns. "I-"

“Deacon-!”

A voice calls out through the quiet.

It was not exactly a rule that one had to be hushed within the halls of the Cathedral, but out of respect, many were. The arching stone and tiled floor did little to dampen sound, after all, and anything louder than a whisper would begin to echo throughout the building with little issue.

And, when one was familiar enough with the silence, noise becomes all the more louder. The aforementioned Deacon jumps, the Sisters he conversed with quickly dispersing, their conversation finished... for now.

Given her entrance, it doesn't take long for him to process and recognize the young woman. "Ah, Bronya. It's good to see you again!"

Curious glances from once praying, now disturbed faithful bid him to put a hand on her back, slowly but surely pushing her away from their attention. "Mm, let's talk more about this somewhere more private, shall we? How about my office?"

Not taking no for an answer, he guides her there, insistent. Only once he shuts the door does he deign to circle around to face her.

"Treasure Hoarders, you say? Why don't you fill me in on the details?"

[choivenant]

bugs when you

[wind-blumes]

Dahlia was trained in the art of Favonius Bladework, which did not place as much emphasis on having a good aim as, say, archery. Venti did not expect him to perfectly hit the target on the first try. That being said, he was not expecting to watch the ball streak right past his face, rather than above him where the target was.  

…A commendable first try?

“Dahlia,” he sniffled, “if I did anything that upset you, you can just tell me, you know.”

Venti knew it wasn’t on purpose, but even if it was, it wouldn’t be particularly hard to just divert the ball away, or dodge - as he had gained a plethora of experience dodging hard, vaguely spherical objects lobbed in his direction. Or he could not dodge and see how Dahlia reacts - but on second thought, that might make the deacon feel rather guilty, so maybe he wouldn’t do that.

“ - That was a joke, ehe. Don’t worry about it.” Venti leaned over and cupped his chin in his hands. “You can do it, Dahlia! A month’s worth of free drinks is banking on you!”

[choivenant]

"Not to worry, my friend! I'll be sure to win you those drinks yet!" Dahlia claims- an unfounded assurance, though that didn't quite matter in the moment. After all, if he fails to get the target at the end, he knows where they'd come from, anyway.

That being his wallet, of course.

Perhaps driven by this reminder, the second throw is better than the first- at least this one could be reasonably said to be heading in the target's direction. Still, it goes wide, depriving both him and the willing victim of their prize.

"Ah-! So close!"

Close was a relative term. Still, the deacon studies his last remaining chance before he would technically have to pay for more attempts. He clasps his hands together and mutters a quick prayer.

"O' Lord, may your winds lead me to a better tomorrow." Then, louder, to the bard above the tub, "Alright! Last try!"

[aarnivalkie]

The Weight of Darkness

Flins & Dahlia - Eerie Atmosphere | ☔Taking a long walk with an umbrella, struggling with a low, low mood

[aarnivalkie]

To stop time, one need only step out into the diffuse grey mist of an autumn drizzle. 

The City of Freedom had faded under the rain like an old black and white photograph, its details worn soft and hazy, the puddle-slicked streets empty under strings of wet, browning harvest wreaths. The lamps were empty in such a way that you couldn’t tell if they’d burned out naturally under the first grey notes of dawn, or had yet to be lit for the encroaching dusk. They wouldn’t do much good anyway, here in this pocket of time where neither light nor dark reigned, and so they relinquished themselves to mere background fixtures in a monochromatic scene that contained nothing but. As if they knew that they had stopped existing in the minds of many of the city’s people.

The taverns, of course, were lively, bright, and full. Any reason to be inside was an excuse to drink, so the dreary streets inconvenienced few of these wine-loving folk. Nevertheless, time maintained its stasis even here, in drafty windows drawn shut with heavy curtains and candles that burned in perpetuity. In conversation that seemed to circle the same topics, the same jokes, the same stock phrases no matter who spoke them, as if the who never quite mattered so much as the act of conversing itself. 

Lingering at a table alone, like the last vestige of shadow clinging to a corner the candlelight couldn’t quite reach, was a traveler from the North who watched these scenes play again and again over a drink he nursed half-heartedly. Were he to step out into the light, dressed nearly head to toe in black, he’d no doubt draw attention, but for now no one seemed to notice he was there, and for now, that was how he liked it. What energy it took to maintain an appropriate and amiable demeanor for social contact could be spent instead on observation of these beautifully flawed humans - each one like a gemstone, cut in a myriad of ways, bearing scars of pasts untold.

From some other shadowed corner rose a middle aged woman, her greying brown hair drawn up into a loose bun at her neck, stray hairs she hadn’t bothered to smooth back into place hanging wild around her face. With her head bowed, she weaved wordlessly between pairs of guests caught up in animated gossip and around tables scattered with the leftovers of lively get-togethers, garnering no attention, drawing no curious eyes, not even a single goodbye as she picked up her umbrella from beside the door and quietly departed.

She drifted through the empty streets like the last person in the world, expecting no one to stop her, no one to even see her. She sloshed through muddy puddles. She let the fine rain collect in her hair, her umbrella left useless on her arm. The city gate allowed her passage. The pigeons along the bridge were not there to call her back to reality. The guards that ordinarily patrolled the hills played cards and shared drinks with their colleagues in some cozy tavern or another. Even the monsters that camped in the cliffs were absent on this dreary autumn day. If she did not exist in this world, then the world did not exist to her vacant, distant eyes either. Nothing had noticed her presence. Nor her absence.

Nothing but one. The traveler from the North had departed shortly after her, and now stood under the shelter of a scraggly tree as the woman stared wistfully out at the sea from the edge of the cliff.

And there was yet a second. They’d arrived suddenly like the breeze that rustled the dying leaves, so that what they would witness here at the top of this lonely hill was a despondent woman with her face raised to the heavens, and a ghastly shadow looming not far behind.

@choivenant

[choivenant]

The streets of the city were still, light rain bidding the people to take shelter in the warmth of her buildings- to bide time away, unconcerned with the weather outside. Lulled by the lullaby of water running down the side of buildings, the breeze that chased the city streets continues its journey, unaccompanied by its faithful followers.

One could hear the voice of the songbird joined with many others in the lights of the taverns- a center of attention wherever he went. Perhaps it was ordained that reflective eyes would turn their gaze briefly to the dreary weather outside, and catch the sight of a listless soul, wandering away- or perhaps it was mere luck.

And just as the wind could not be tied down by any, neither could he, his audience having no choice but to bid him farewell as he slips out onto the streets, then out, beyond, following the glance of a shadow. In the end, he finds it- the figure of the woman, her back to the city, haunted- and a man, ghostly white, framed in the shadows of the trees, eyes fixed upon her.

If the moment were to be preserved in a painting, he knew he would be out of place, a splash of color in a world of gray- something moving, something intruding. But hesitation was not a look he wore well, so he crosses that invisible line separating them from him, red cutting through the rain to be the first to reach out to her this particular night.

"Hey!"

[choivenant]

[ COMPANY ]  -  a small workshop's been established inside the settlement where, with a bit of helping hand and a shabbily written guide, you can repair and personalize small, out of commission automaton beetles.  if you’re successful, these little companions will scuttle alongside their saviour, accompanying you throughout the festival!

earlier, when you had first passed by the workshop and stopped to listen to the volunteer struggling to explain what to do to a group of confused tourists, teenagers, and startlingly young children, you were almost tempted to give it a try.  but involving yourself seemed selfish, or improper, or asinine, so you did your best to simply watch. usually, it's easy. however, between the fumbling attempts at explanations from the volunteer and the raucous laughter of the teenagers at their almost-cutely pathetic constructions, the itch to try your own hand at this only grows stronger.  soon enough, you had made the choice to forgo the shabby guide, to tune out the volunteer's stammered chatter, and like everything else that fascinates you in this world, this was a matter of finding a solution to the problem.  it's almost fun, tinkering with the things, adding and removing components for efficiency's sake.  then you remember yourself  —  and decide it's best if you undo the repairs, dismantle it, and let its parts be repurposed by someone else.

by now, the teenagers have long wandered off.  the volunteer mumbles something about how they've used up almost all of the materials.  but at least, thankfully, now, the workshop is mostly empty  —  aside from you, the volunteer waiting for the last few minutes of their shift to pass, and  …  someone else just now approaching, or is he simply passing by  —  or has he been here a little while?  you don't recall, and you don't bother to.

even so, a strange kind of feeling seizes you.  is it wistfulness?  jealousy?  a vicarious ache?  whatever it is, you allow it to wash over you.  “excuse me,"  you call out to the stranger, and gesture to the automaton in front of you.  still partially intact, moments away from the final touch of your butchering hand.  “would you like to repair this automaton beetle with me?”  and sheepishly, the volunteer somberly adds,  “it's the last one … ” 

“Oh, are you talking to me?” Dahlia does not waste time in pivoting his original course to slide up to the mysterious woman- peering curiously at the mechanical creature in her hands. It was almost finished, he thinks, or at least it looks to be, though he had no experience to point to whether he was correct or not.

Either way, he had respect for the one who had managed to perfectly set all the little gears and parts to create the majority of the little automaton. Her hands, stained a little in the oil and dust that seeped into every corner of this workshop, tells him that it is not unlikely that she was said creator- though, of course, without asking he wouldn't know for certain.

If she was skilled enough to make this, why call him over? Was is this a marketing attempt? But the volunteer had quietly added that it was the last one remaining, clearly indicating success.

No answers to be found from merely wondering, and Dahlia isn’t one to turn down a new experience, so he smiles and nods, “Sure! I can give it a shot. I’m afraid I’m not very familiar with these tools, though, so how about you give me a rundown first?”

[choivenant]

[HUNT]

It had been a while since Entropy had been awarded the opportunity for a little competition without the safety of the whole world and a bunch of aliens’ best friend weighing down on her shoulders. A treasure hunt sounded like just the thing to get some stress off her shoulders. Plus, in a museum? It really seemed like great fun, so Entropy took a good look at the flyer offered to her by someone at the door and began seeking out a partner.

It didn’t take long—she really just spoke to the next person she saw that got near the person handing out the flyers, a strawberry blonde with a headpiece that looked to Entropy almost like cat ears. She waved them over. “Excuse me. Would you be my partner for the treasure hunt? If it’s helpful, I can reach through walls, I suppose…” She demonstrated by passing her arm through the wall of the museum, wincing as it came out unstable and glitching. She shook it out and it returned to normal. “At any rate, I think we can win, so it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” 

Before Dahlia can even say anything, he is given an offer as well as a demonstration of ability- something that he couldn't say he was exactly unfamiliar with.

“Ooh. That looked painful,” He hums, amused. There didn't seem to be any permanent damage, so he saves the fuss, but at the same time, he wasn't exactly sure why he would be worth going to such lengths to partner up with. “You don’t need to do all that- unless it’s normal for people here to pass through walls?”

The statement trails off into a question, lilting, as he considers the implication of such a statement. “Either way, I’d be happy to be your partner! The treasure hunt is for things hidden around the museum, isn’t it? I can already guess a few places they’d place things.”

He smiles, catlike, and holds his hand out to shake. “I’m Dahlia. What’s your name?”

[choivenant]

[ GUARD ] - Someone's got to keep the fire going, even when everyone else is asleep, and based on the shifting schedule: it's the two of you. It's nice to have some company that isn't just the flickering flame, but it's still hard to stay awake for hours into the cold night… and, what's that you spy moving in the distance?

⋆˙⟡ ——————— ⟡˙⋆

does the wind blow towards the end, or does it simply blow to wander about? . . . such questions should always be asked, Fischl believes. There are many things that can and should be questioned. Alas, many mortals hadn't the thought to indulge those kinds of thoughts. It was like they were bugs, trapped in a jar, and now no longer able to jump higher than what the jar permitted them.

A pity, really. She supposes that the reason behind such a storm should have been found by now if they were willing to jump. Resources are, unfortunately, scarce, so for this moment she understands why these . . . shifts must take place.

“ oh diakon of freedom's boon, ” the princess hums to her assigned mortal for the watch, he was someone she recognized. barely. she hadn't the time for the teyvatian affairs. mondstadt's deacon was someone she had respect for, though. what was his name? dahlia? “ prithee - indulge your prinzessin. how doth thou fare through this calamity of nature? this such appalling turmoil affects the native life greatly and would seem dastardly detrimental to those unborn to the air of these foreign lands. ”

it is, of course, a princess' duty to care for the people. she had asked many today about their wellbeing. she remembers all their responses. some of which, although she cannot remember their names, had some amusing things to regale despite this disaster.

“ Mein Fräulein is asking if you are doing alright. ” Oz says after her, in the not-so rare occasion that the raven of night is perched upon Fischl's shoulder instead of flapping nearby. . . “ she worries that this storm is . . . scary to fellow visitors of beloblog. ”

Ah, Fischl of the Adventurer's Guild! Dahlia was certainly well aware of her and her eccentricities- though he hadn't expected to see her here. But… out of the two of them, he supposes that it's more odd that he was here than she- he, after all, had a station that he couldn't easily leave unoccupied back in their home city.

"Hello, Fischl, Oz." He greets both in turn, smiling warmly. A certain level of formality must be attended to, if she took the care to check on him. "Thanks for your concern."

A draft plays with the ends of the blaze, and he watches, contemplative, before he picks up a rod nearby- a makeshift poker, pushing about the waning coals, coaxing it back to a blaze. "It's a bit like Dragonspine here, don't you think?"

Dangerous, cold, and smelling of adventure, he means, but of course, the snow helps that comparison.

"I've visited a few times, so I'm not exactly unprepared! But you must be far more familiar with dangerous environments, no?"

A hum, a glint of the eye. "Perhaps, in lieu of cider, we could pass the night away with stories."

[choivenant]

[SNOWBALL]

“Look out-!” 

Intentionally, Yelan gave a warning before opting to pelt an unfamiliar, shorter man with a snowball (though, the quick glimpse she caught of his clothes indicated that he was a priest from the Church of Favonius? If so, hopefully the ghost of Morax’s past would protect her from any wrath of pelting Barbatos’ devout). Expert as she was in archery, the Agent wasn’t entirely certain how well that would translate into a snowball fight. That wouldn’t stop her from trying though, now would it? 

Regardless of her target hitting, Yelan was already packing her hands full with another snowball, laughing all the way as she had. Once finished, she tossed the now properly packed ball of snow in her hand, a ‘heh heh heh’ escaping her lips as she had. “Let’s have a snowball fight, little priest. I wanna see who can win between Mondstadt and Liyue~!”

“Huh-?” A snowball narrowly misses the Deacon as he hops to the side, turning his head quickly to learn of the source. "Hey!"

The culprit in question is someone he doesn't recognize, dressed in fine clothes matching that of Liyue's style, though Dahlia didn't need to guess at it, given her next few words.

"Now, that isn't very fair, is it?" He smiles, ducking down to avoid a second projectile and to form one of his own, tossing it hapharzardly, "How could I, a simple man of the cloth, represent the entirety of Mondstadt?"

As he speaks, sing-song as it were, a hydro sigil forms under the woman's feet- keen eyes have already noted her vision, hung at her waist, so this is fair game. Just as she gave him very little warning, he does the same.

"Oh, but watch out-" The sigil activates, flinging her (and much of the neighboring snowfall) into the air. "We're people of the wind!"

[choivenant]

[SNOWBALL]

“That was quite the storm, wasn’t it?” Venti said, surveying the piles upon piles of snow around them. The coat of snow on the ground was so thick that even he was having trouble walking through it. “Belobog is no stranger to snowstorms like these, but apparently, this one was extra bad.” He turned to Dahlia with a dramatic sigh. “Maybe a peaceful vacation was too much to ask for.”

And yet, subtly, as the two of them had been wading through the snow, Venti had been rolling a small clump of snow next to him - innocently hiding it when Dahlia turned to him, and continuing as he turned away. Slowly, but surely, he built it up - and at last, it was the perfect snowball!

“But that’s alright!” he continued, with a grin. “We can make the most out of this situation! For instance - ”

He launched the snowball at Dahlia.

Now, Dahlia was certainly perceptive, but there was an added excitement as he struggled through the built up snow- despite the chill, his spirits had not been damped. In fact, as diamond eyes scan the now-defunct heating devices, they seemed only brighter, reflecting the light of the stars above; that meant, of course, that he had not looked much behind him, and therefore had not seen the growing mischief.

“What would be the fun in a perfectly peaceful vacation? A little trouble adds a little spice, don’t you think?” He says, unaware of what was about to happen. “And-”

Something cold hits the back of his head. “Hey!”

Powdery snow slips off of dusted pink hair, and it isn’t difficult to guess at what had happened. Dahlia doesn’t have a perfect snowball ready, but he does have hands, and so he plunges it into the snow, pats it together in one gesture, and throws in retaliation.

Barbatos may remember his poor aim, but human determination will do the rest.

“Get back here!”

[choivenant]

[STEW]

It was hard to read this lady's expression through the thick scarf that covered most of her face, but seeing the way the corners of her eyes wrinkled, and the way the snow's reflection glowed within those springtime hues, one could reasonably assume that her smile was as warm as the bowl of stew that she held out for Dahlia to take.

"I hope this can warm you up," her voice was muffled, but Melodic—it carried itself with the soothing sway of a song, "I added some carrots to it!"

Even through the mask of a thick scarf, Dahlia’s mind naturally returns to another, who should be safely situated back in the warmth of Mondstadt. Even her innocent remark regarding the added vegetable brings to mind careful hands carving them into the shape of stars, of all things.

“Thanks!” He takes the bowl gratefully, almost sighing at the warmth that began to settle within his fingers. “Get yourself a bowl, too- I know you’ve been standing for a while!”

Unlike the one before him, he does not weave song into his voice in speech, but still there is a hint of lilting melody toward the end, pleased at the reminder of home.