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DUKEMEROPIDE | Wriothesley | Selective & Independent | est. 11.2023

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GUIDELINES (updated 5/27/26):

ooc. Doing some housekeeping to update this blog. No longer friends-only but highly selective. Here are some important updates to my rules (all can be found in my pinned post):

INTERACTIONS: Currently very selective about who I write with. I write mostly with friends, but if I happen to follow you, that means I'm interested in writing with you. You may follow this blog first, but give me a week or so to follow back. If I haven't followed you back in over a week, then you can assume I'm not interested. Take that as you will.

DEALBREAKERS: Making too many OOC or personal life posts. Bringing drama to my door. Being only interested in writing ships or smut. Ignoring asks I send to you. Writing replies that mostly rehash my own reply without doing much to drive the scene/plot yourself.

REPLY SPEED & LENGTH: I try to get replies out within a month, but it depends on my muse. I'm faster around updates where Wriothesley shows up in an event or story quest. Length will vary, but I rarely write less than a couple of paragraphs. I value creating longterm, connected stories with my partners, not one-off meme-based interactions.

UNFOLLOWING: If I decide that I'm no longer interested in writing with you, whether that be for the content you post, your writing style, or your characterization, I will soft block to break mutuals. You're welcome to follow again, but understand that if I have unfollowed you, I will likely not follow you back.

And for fun, I've updated Wriothesley's age from 27 to 32.

#out of character #// coming back to life after being smad hahaha

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 ?

( wriothesley, )

PATRON SAINT OF BONES

patron saint of frameworks. of structures. of solidity. patron saint of things that break. patron saint of things that are left behind. the bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest has gone? what do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? who holds the bones?

tagged by: @gggno (thank you as always!) tagging: anyone who sees this!

#out of character #headcanons #dash games #// this quiz was interesting because a lot of the questions truly were just gut answers hahaha #// I think this is fitting for wriothesley who views himself as a guardian and a martyr #// he sacrifices himself to safeguard order and justice for others #// but there's no one who offers him support that he doesn't turn away #// sigewinne is the closest thing but he still holds her at arm's length #// without the fortress though he has no real identity

gggno

up high.

gggno

a rose is only prickly when you're close. not everyone understands rosaria's turn of phrase, and even less gets her words enough to enjoy them. but it's okay, not everyone has to — words were what saved her from forever dwelling in her unthinkable past, and she would sooner give up the world than she gave up her words.

watching wriothesley climb up the ledge is more entertaining than she expected, perhaps furthered by his muscles and sense of style. her silent appreciation is interrupted by passing intrusive thoughts — how much damage would a fall of this height do to a body of this build? does he have the reflexes to land on his feet? — though nothing particularly outrageous. considering all possibilities is just reflex.

“ so skipping choir practice is against the law now? maybe in fontaine. ” she says nothing regarding her promise and its breaking, a habit she has no qualms with and no plan to shake off. she watches from the side as wriothesley drinks in the sight of her city, a quiet pride washing over her. when he turns towards her, she doesn't avoid eye contact.

some of the best people i've met are criminals, rosaria thinks to herself. the parents who stole to feed their young, the people who killed to revenge their loves; she wants to say something on the matter, something that exonerates the weight borne by jailtime; then, she figures, she doesn't know enough about his arrest to assume anything. surely, tids and bits of his story had come to her knowledge during meropide, though never detailed and coherent enough to piece together a timeline from inmate to duke. her curiosity clings to the blanks but agrees to wait for when prying will be received as caring. if ever.

“ noted. avoid arrest, ” she nods twice before shifting on her feet. “ catch your breath. that's our actual first stop. ” she points at the bell with her chin. then, with a faint smirk, she pokes, “ no rush. i'll wait for you. ”

every ten steps, she turns around to check on him; by the third time she looks back, she realises how much like a cat-guiding-human situation this is. a strange sting of embarrassment hits her, so for the rest of the distance, she stops checking altogether.

making it to the platform, rosaria slips under the bell behind while waiting for her guest. for a brief moment, she looks like a bell with funny legs. reaching up the clapper, she retrieves a small pouch tied to the base of it and remerges from beneath. from the pouch she produces a secret stash of cigarettes, pulls one out and puts it in his hand — she hasn't forgotten wriothesley's hovering indecisiveness; whether he smokes it or keeps it is up to him — another to hold between her teeth; then a paper bag with assorted candies and snacks. having collected all she needs, she sits on the edge and sets the pouch aside.

“ nothing sucks more than when you have climbed all the way up here and suddenly feel a craving. that's why i have these stashed here, ” when he finally joins her side, she explains. she finds a match, strikes it and lights her second cigarette of the day, then glancing at him to see if he needs a fire. “ this is no cuisine but they're easy to carry. ”

what she doesn't tell him are the times she survived on nothing but these treats. she unwraps a red candy made from windwheel asters and offers it to him.

“ how's sigewinne? ” right after the question, she starts checking wriothesley from back to front, wondering if any of the head nurse's stickers made it to mondstadt with him. sigewinne had always been kind to her, and she had enjoyed running “ errands ” for the melusine during her time serving. leaning back on her arms, she watches him with keen eyes. “ truth be told, i never thought i'd see you here. ”

dukemeropide

Skipping choir practice was probably against the law in Fontaine, but Wriothesley would let Rosaria figure that one out on her own if she ever came back for a visit. It'd be a learning experience for them both, in truth, since despite what one would believe about a prison's administrator, this one only encountered the overworld's laws when the paperwork for new convicts crossed his desk. Or whenever Neuvillette tried to crack an unfunny joke. At a glance, of course, he was law enforcement - a lapdog for the system - but peeling back the layers, one would find a man who respected little but the rules he himself used to maintain order within his little pocket of the world. Go deeper still and one might even catch the barest hint of excitement for the prospect of being arrested in the Nation of Freedom despite what he says.

But Wriothesley has had plenty of practice pretending to be a certain way, so he lays the idea to rest with a knowing laugh and follows Rosaria's directing nod to the belltower standing tall over the cathedral.

"If I'd come prepared for a hike, I'd be out on that snowy mountain of yours right now," he answers and rises to his feet. Just like before though, he doesn't always say what he means, and this time there's a little more to his smile to suggest that he's just griping for the sake of it. There couldn't be a better place in the whole city to see all of Mondstadt from a single perch, and he had wanted something off the beaten path. Up they go, with Wriothesley, who's only ever had to climb scaffolding and iron piping on rare occasions when the mechanical fixtures around the Fortress demand his specialized attention, lagging only a few feet behind. Only because Rosaria seems certain that he might slip and fall if she takes her eyes off of him for too long. For a moment, he entertains the morbid thought of a misstep just to see what'd she'd do, but he's heaving himself up onto the ledge beneath the bell before it can stew long enough to become reality.

This time, he's offered a second cigarette for his efforts. He throws her a sly look like they're teenagers sneaking away from responsibility and expectation, but takes it and slips it behind his right ear. For later. For never. Whichever it is, he waves away the match and settles on the edge almost an arm's length from Rosaria. The real reward for the effort of a climb fans out ahead of them in pastoral beauty, the likes of which the city of Fontaine has probably never known.

Mondstadt is so small by comparison. A walled village and the leisured life to match. The people Wriothesley had seen seemed to live life at their own pace, in their own way, unbound by the rules and regulations of bureaucracies. That included the women of the cloth, one of which he's aware has been eyeing him while his head's been turned.

She says she didn't expect to see him here, and he supposes that's fair enough a reason to make sure he's real now. An amused huff answers her at first, then he turns to accept her second offering.

"The Head Nurse insists that I take a vacation every now and again," he says and pops the candy into his mouth, letting it melt into its subtle, floral sweetness. "All work and no play isn't a sustainable way to live. Seems you've got that figured out already though."

Not that Wriothesley truly needed to leave Fontaine to have his break from work, and in truth Sigewinne usually chided him for not working enough. But traveling nevertheless offered an unparalleled refresh of the mind that merely slacking off on paperwork never could.

He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it back past his eyes for a moment, then leans back on one hand to soak in the sight.

"She'll be glad to hear that you didn't return home just to get arrested again. Although," he chuckles, "it looks like jury's still out."

#gggno #thread : up high #// sorry for the wait!#// I kept being interrupted while writing this so this took 3 separate days when usually I write in a single sitting #// so I apologize for this being much longer than probably necessary hahah

aesthetecomplex

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

kaveh & wriothesley

aesthetecomplex

for all the brief anecdotes told about the fortress of meropide, no picture that had been painted for him holds a candle to the sights kaveh walks into.

even an architect as seasoned as he could not have imagined that a stronghold nestled this far beneath the waves would be capable of sparking the imagination as it does, leaving his head craning upward to marvel at the domes spiraling overhead as he sinks deeper still. the mark of every impressionable structure was that it beat with a heart of its own—and meropide’s mechanical one is no different. every piston and cog, every wrought piece of iron and towering meka, thrums with life beyond the gentle hisses and whirs expected of machinery.

“...we’re here.” the person who led him in—a worker named jules—pauses in front of an arched door that towers before the common man. “the duke’s office. he’s already been notified about you.”

*** when those great doors finally creak open, kaveh finds himself wishing that he could be standing there with something other than an apologetic look. a smile of some kind, perhaps, to show just how thrilled he is to run into an old friend again—but to pretend all is well would be a disservice to the man himself.

instead, he heaves a small, apologetic sigh. “wriothesley,” he starts, “it’s been a while. it’s good to see you. i’d been planning a visit...though as luck would have it, the circumstances behind it have changed.”

tiredly, a hand presses to his temple. “there’s someone i was hoping to talk to you about. can we speak in private?”

@dukemeropide

dukemeropide

Notification of the visit had come with a mixture of emotions. It had been several months since the Duke had last seen or heard from the young architect from Sumeru he'd met that one fateful day in Fontaine. Their meetings since had been brief, never with enough time to get fully into the meat of their hobbies, and the intervals between far too long thanks to the demands of their everyday lives. Such was the way the adult world worked, and to be frank, Wriothesley had scarcely realized how much time had passed in such a way until he stood face-to-face with Kaveh in the entranceway to his office. While confident that he could pick the man out from a crowd, he realized that there were things about his face, his posture, his voice that he had forgotten in such fragments that what stood before him felt like the shape of a friend patched over with the effects of a stranger.

The guard who has escorted him bowed and backed out of the room, the great iron doors creaking shut behind him. Wriothesley stood in the middle of the circular foyer with his arms folded over his chest, his fur-lined coat adding width to his already-broad shoulders and lending him the impression of statue standing watch over a locked door. He watched Kaveh broach the reason for his visit with the quiet impassivity he usually met his guards with. He was the Duke here, after all, such that even his name rings hollow between these iron walls.

"A cafe would have been my first choice," he quips suddenly, and cracks enough of a smile to set aside his steel-clad facade. It's good to see you, too comes out in the warmth behind the joke. With a nod, he unfolds his arms and gestures for Kaveh to follow him up the winding stairs to his office on the second floor.

"Fortunately, you've caught me just as I was about to take a break for tea." Which could be any hour of the day, in truth, but this one was indeed his habitual afternoon break when he contemplated the paperwork he would have to manage that evening. A stack of papers await his perusal on the hefty, half-moon writing desk below the iron image of a three-headed wolf, but it's clear enough by their tidy corners that he has not begun working through them yet.

They pass this to the plush sofa pushed up against the wall opposite to the staircase, where a few books lay scattered about the coffee table as if reading for pleasure had been what Kaveh had just interrupted, not the work of a prison warden.

"Take a seat over there. There's no better place than this office when it comes to privacy. We won't be interrupted."

Because his guards know better than to fetch the Duke when he's having his afternoon tea. Wriothesley sets a kettle over a hot plate as Kaveh makes himself comfortable, and then goes to the bookshelf built into the wall behind his desk.

"I assume this someone you've come to see me about is an inmate." He drags one finger over the spines of a few binders, searching for his current set of files.

#aesthetecomplex #thread : every man is innocent in his own eyes #// thank you for the starterrr #// I told myself that I was going to keep my replies short and. well.#// excited to be writing with saraveh again

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 & 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

what does your muse smell like ? ⸻ On most days, sweat and other body odor. The Fortress does not smell good, and Wriothesley has likely gone noseblind to it. Sweat is the most pervasive smell, since the production floor gets pretty hot and that's where most inmates spend their time, but there's also blood, urine, and other body excretions all over the place, implied by Emilie's voice line about the way the prison smells. Wriothesley has refused her services for the Fortress specifically, but he doesn't bring the Fortress with him when he goes outside. He bathes and puts on cologne any time he goes up to the surface in order to blend in better with Fontaine's upper class. Or, at the very least, not offend them. He goes for woody and fresh scents, with a dash of sea breeze as well. Nothing too strong though, since Wriothesley's all about keeping a low profile. He won't wear anything that turns heads when he enters a room.

what do your muse’s hands feel like ? ⸻ Extremely rough, with plenty of scars and callouses. The way he wears wraps over the prominent scars on his arms and neck suggests that he doesn't like showing them off, so I think he treats his hands the same way. They're unsightly in polite company, and tools at their best, so he treats them accordingly. He's rough with them, rarely moisturizes, cuts the nails down as short as he can, and has likely broken and jammed his fingers a few times. Many of his ugliest scars are on his hands since he doesn't usually give them time to heal. Not self-conscious of them per se, but no matter how well he dresses, his hands are a dead giveaway for the kind of life he's lived.

what does your muse usually eat in a day ? ⸻ Wolsey cooks all sorts of food at Wriothesley's request, and Wriothesley does exert his power as the Duke to eat well. Usually two square meals a day at the least, but he takes snacks with his morning and afternoon tea as well. The Coupon Cafeteria offers a variety of soups, stews, and red meat dishes, most of which are pretty filling. Before becoming the Fortress' administrator, Wriothesley tried to survive by eating very little, since food cost coupons and he believed there were better things to spend his hard-earned credits on if he had to spend them on something. Obviously, it was difficult to keep his energy up like this, which is why he later implemented the rule that every inmate gets one free meal a day. Now, he spares little expense when it comes to indulgence and comfort, so he's grown quite comfortable with having hearty meals and decadent desserts whenever he wants. As a result, I headcanon that he's put on a noticeable amount of weight since becoming the administrator, but it serves him well as the imposing and intimidating Duke of the Fortress of Meropide (and he didn't get those thighs and ass from nothing ;) ).

does your muse have a good singing voice ? ⸻ Not particularly. There are many things that Wriothesley could do well if he set his mind to it, learning to sing among them, but he tends to shy away from things that require failing publicly. While singing might not necessarily demand an audience, there's still the chance of being overheard, and it was ingrained in him as a child in the prison system that such weaknesses could be used against you in some form or fashion. Being able to sing is not something he feels like he's missing out on though.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics ? ⸻ I think Wriothesley would have deliberately snuffed out any nervous tic he had to avoid giving any of his thoughts away to anyone else, but he does have some bad habits. Most notably, he never seems to take anything that seriously, to the exasperation of those around him. Yes, he's serious, and yes he's intimidating, but he's also not serious at all when it's demanded of him. He likes to throw people off balance, punch them not just with fists, but with words, and make morbid jokes about his own mortality. He uses this as a kind of defense, making himself seem open and vulnerable when in reality he's just leading the other person by the nose. It's a way to hide what he really feels and thinks.

what does your muse usually look like / wear ? ⸻ I'd call it Fontaine's version of business casual. Vest, dress shirt, a nice overcoat, and some expensive looking accessories suit Fontainian sensibilities, but chunky steel-toed boots, rolled up sleeves, loose tie, and leather wraps around his neck and arms give him more of a working class look. He strikes a balance between comfort and style, and does make an effort to visit a tailor a few times a year in order to keep his wardrobe up to date. Appearances are extremely important in Fontaine, and Wriothesley is no exception to this.

is your muse affectionate ? how much ? how so ? ⸻ Not in an obvious way. He's not very physically affectionate, and you'll almost never catch him popping the L word, but it's a good sign that he's fond of someone if he's making verbal jabs at them constantly. At the very least, it shows trust, and he doesn't even mind if the other person dishes it back at him sometimes.

what position does your muse sleep in ? ⸻ A light sleeper who generally sleeps facing the door. He's never relaxed his vigilance from his time as a prisoner, and finds it difficult to sleep soundly at night (it could also be all the caffeine he drinks in a single day). Doesn't share his space or travel very well, as he tends to stay up all night in alert mode.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room ? ⸻ Yes. He's a big guy and those giant boots are not quiet. With that said, he's certainly quieter than one would expect. While it wouldn't be too hard to hear him coming if he's the only one walking down the hall, Wriothesley would instead choose to hide his footsteps in a crowd.

tagged by : @gggno tagging : you!

#out of character #headcanons #// one of my favorite things about wriothesley is how much his casual attitude hides the fact that he's always kind of on edge #// everyone in fontaine is a performer of some kind and wriothesley is no exception #// he devotes a sizable amount of energy to maintaining his image and reputation

gggno

up high.

gggno

rosaria does not remember who named her. maybe it was her birth parents, maybe it was the bandits who killed them. either way, if she were truly a flower of any sort, she would be the rotting kind. no, not wilting — she has no stomach for graceful let goes. people don't usually address her out-of-placeness. mondstadt has grown accustomed to her worn out stare. it doesn't warrant their reactions anymore. for better or worse, their lack of concern provides comfortable room for her questionable missions.

as wriothesley steps into the shade, her watchlist narrows down to him alone. with all that talk about himself, the guide never reached the architectural genius of the cathedral. the building is constructed to be in a dialogue with light, especially on clear days. sunshine is sliced by the columns into bars that map onto their features, leaving one eye near white and the other dark as night.

“ if you wish to cuff me, at least catch me in the act. ”

that is as close to “ nice to see you ” he will get.

jokingly — simply because his gaze lingered on her cigarette for more than a second — she offers him a huff. maybe it's a joke. maybe it's a dare. with an arched brow, she waits for a reaction.

his quip draws out a snort from her. if not for the cig in her mouth, her grin would be way too obvious.

“ and what community needs me doing this? ”

she waves her cigarette hand to make a point. blowing out a billow to the side, she cuts her smoke break short and tucks the butt into the coffin-shaped tin hanging from her waist. even some as prickly as her has manners.

“ rosaria? is this your friend? ”

barbara peeks behind wriothesley, fascinated at what she is seeing. lord barbatos! rosaria is speaking to a friend! barbara's heart leaps in her chest. how joyous! how miraculous!

the deaconess doesn't have to say her thoughts. rosaria can hear them loud and clear from just the look on her face, and it's already hurting the nun's stone cold image. looking past barbara, she sees the expectant tour guide and his expectant tourists huddled together expecting a free choir performance. that's too much expectation to bear for a woman like her.

rosaria looks at barbara, and then wriothesley. she gives him a look that said what happens in meropide stays in meropide.

“ yes, my community service friend whom i met at community service when i was serving the community in fontaine. ” she finds entertainment in the funny string of words, and the long-winded sentence buys her some time to come up with a decsion. “ barbara, why don't you lead everyone inside first? get our generous guests seated, ask for donations... while we prepare our performance. i'll be there in a moment. ”

well, she is lying. when she moves, she plants her feet heavily with intention to create an illusion of her compliance; in reality, she is stepping backwards. then, at a quick turn of heel, she climbs up the side of the cathedral and peeks over the ledge to extend an invitation to wriothesley, whispering, “ want a better tour? ”

dukemeropide

She's still just as prickly as Wriothesley remembers. That hadn't just been a unique characteristic drawn out of her by prison after all. It's not a dangerous kind though, as long as one know show to handle it. He wonders if the cigarette she offers him is an olive branch, or a test, and it's that split second of indecision before he ultimately reaches for it that winds up costing him in the end. That girl that'd waylaid his tour group - Barbara, Rosaria calls her - interrupts them before they can make much for conversation. With his hand still hovering midair for the cigarette that's no longer there, he catches the sharp look Rosaria shoots him. It's a look he's seen a dozen times on a dozen different faces. Meropide wasn't exactly a luxury location, and its Duke wasn't too interested in speaking about its existence outside of that sunken iron bucket anyway.

So he merely smiles with that knowing look of someone with a secret. Not just any secret, but yours, and he might just spill it if the price is right. Or the situation a particularly amusing one. It's hard to tell if he thinks this is one such situation, but he turns to offer Barbara a polite nod when he's half-introduced. As far as lies went, community service was more truth than not, at least. Barbara buys it, and even leaves them alone, taking the rest of the tour group with her.

"Well, that went smoothly." He watches them go with his hands on his hips, already formulating his next move. Follow them inside like he'd never stepped away to begin with? Or--

Rosaria offers something better. At the very least, something that piques his curiosity enough to turn his head and find her, not where she'd been a second ago, but up above him. Tilting his head, he turns on his heel and approaches the wall.

"Don't you have a promise to keep?" he prods at her cheekily. In truth, he's been looking for something off the beaten path. A snapshot of Mondstadt only the locals see. That's where the most interesting things are found; the city's most authentic face. There are only two ways to explain why the Duke starts to climb up after her: having spent his whole life around criminals, he's confident he can handle one trying to get him alone to exact revenge, or he simply doesn't care if she does. The thought does cross his mind, but Wriothesley has never really feared for his life the way ordinary people do, welcoming instead that which would send others cowering as if daring fate to try.

She'd made it up the side of the cathedral lithely, like a cat slipping away to her favorite hiding spot, but for someone of Wriothesley's size and stature, it takes a little more work before he's pulling himself up over the ledge to join her. While by no means the highest point, it nevertheless offers a beautiful panoramic view of rustic houses clustered around the city's famous windmills, far better than what one could get at ground level. Wriothesley rocks back on his heels to admire it for a moment, a gentle breeze rustling his hair, before he turns an expectant look on Rosaria.

"So we're up here now," he points out with the tongue-in-cheek cadence of "now what?" "Are you going to show me all the ways you know how to break Mondstadt's laws, too? As interesting as it would be to compare our city's prison systems, being arrested once was enough for me."

#gggno #thread : up high #// I do not mean to keep writing this much hahaha #// by the way I loved that line about the light and shadow in front of the cathedral #// really beautiful description

WHAT ENTERS THE ROOM BEFORE YOU DO?

( Wriothesley, )

THE ARMOR

you arrive already assembled. Posture aligned. Voice measured. Boundaries humming quietly beneath the surface. There is no rush in the way you enter a space - only intention. People feel it immediately: you are not careless with access. Respect forms before familiarity does. This isn’t distance for distance’s sake; it’s discernment. You learned, at some point, that softness without structure gets bruised. Those who earn their way past the armor find something rare - warmth that chose to stay, not warmth that leaked everywhere. Colours: Polished steel, charcoal, deep forest green Scene: Leaning against a wall at the edge of a room, observing first, deciding later who deserves your full attention.

tagged by: @gggno tagging: @aesthetecomplex, @hopetune, @iustitians, @huntersoath!

#out of character #headcanons #dash games #// floored by this read actually hahaha #// my expectation for quizzes like this tends to be low but this one's a pretty accurate result for mr. the duke #// warming back up for draft time

gggno

up high.

gggno

@dukemeropide

rosaria has almost forgotten the coppery scent of meropide. it's lighter than blood but clingier to the nose, made bearable only by the majestic sight of underwater fontaine. the sight was only accessible at the reception area, and she only had a chance to marvel at it during her entrance and exit. as cagey as it was down below, that view was worth it.

today, after morning prayers, a group of tourists gather at the cathedral's door. their guide is giving an animated speech on favonius church's history, and how the church works under the knights to keep mondstadt safe and sound.

rosaria isn't particularly interested in that story, though she finds it amusing how he keeps sharing personal anecdotes to keep his audience engaged. quietly, she steps to the side and hides beneath the arches, lighting a cigarette and watching them.

then, among excited men and women, she spots a familiar face, and the smell of underwater rust spooks her like a phantasm. she wasn't at her best during her sentence, and it's a strange feeling to see the duke of meropide again.

" rosaria! where are you? it's choir practice! "

before she can decide whether to retreat further into the shadows, barbara comes calling her name. if the group hadn't noticed her yet, they sure notice her now.

" here. just having a smoke. "

she didn't tell the church about her time in meropide when she came home, she isn't about to tell them now. she stares at wriothesley, wondering what has drawn him out of his fortress.

dukemeropide

The Fortress of Meropide houses all kinds of criminals, from all walks of life. Most of them come from Fontaine, but it's not unusual - in fact, it's rather common for some foreigner to trip over one of Fontaine's many senseless rules and spend a night or two in the ocean's depths. The world is vast though, and the Duke of the grand underwater prison does not make a habit of checking in on every petty thief to cross his doorstep, nor does he have the headspace to commit every face to memory, so on his rare trips beyond Fontaine's borders, he doesn't usually run into anyone who he would recognize. Or who recognizes him in turn.

The history lesson outside of Mondstadt's beautiful cathedral is not as riveting as he'd hoped it would be, its undoing made in part by the tour guide's desire to talk so much about himself. His eyes wander before long, and catch on the incisive gaze of a nun peering hard at him from the shade beneath the encircling columns. The clothing is different, but the face is not; it's not even a question of if he recognizes her, because he does immediately. It's what she's doing here, of all places. A single thorny rose growing amidst lilies.

For a while, these scenes exist in separate spaces: Rosaria smoking in the shadows - Wriothesley only halfway listening to the guide's stories. Then a third bounds down from the stairs and melts the two together with 'Rosaria!' Half the group turns their heads to stare at the nun trying to make herself scarce, and the tour guide intercepts Barbara before she can go much farther. Something about choir practice as part of the tour. Wriothesley stops listening entirely and takes this opportunity to slip away from the back of the group.

"The way you're standing over here is making me second guess whether I signed your release," he says wryly in lieu of a greeting as he sidles up next to Rosaria in the shade. By now, the attention from the other members of the tour group has turned back to the tour - or more specifically, to the Mondstadt celebrity who's stumbled into range, even when it's clear that she has other things to do - so Wriothesley can get away with making his quips. She looks like a fugitive, is what he means. He crosses his arms and questions the cigarette with his eyes, but doesn't say anything about it. What does he know about Mondstadt's religious practices, anyway? Not nearly enough for the tour he'd paid for.

Instead, his eyes cut toward Barbara, who's almost managed to free herself. A smirk thaws his icy expression a little when he looks back to Rosaria.

"... Community service?"

#gggno #thread : up high #// needed a small window before barbara reaches rosaria so that wriothesley would actually go over to her #// but now we can bring her back in to make things awkward hahaha #// thanks for writing the starter!#// I like the title callback to our old thread #// cleverrr

dukemeropide

When Dark Meets Light

Wriothesley & Neuvillette - Crystallize | Antimatter Legion

iustitians

There they are. Neuvillette's ears picked up the distant echoes of garbled intergalactic swearing - one had to assume that that was what those strange sounds were meant to convey, anyway - and the steady beating of Wriothesley's boots against the dirt, long before his eyes caught the dynamic movements of the ongoing chase. For both common Vishaps and fully fledged dragons, sight was the least important of senses, providing very little in the ways of information that they would not have already gathered from elsewhere.

As such, the moment the figures came into his view, he abandoned it, closing his eyes instead to focus. The Duke went to great lengths and pains to carry out this plan - he had to ensure he fulfilled his part well to make that effort worth it. The timing had to be right, and the balance of elements, too, must be maintained; even that brief moment when the dragon's fury would reign over the area had to be controlled.

He did not move as the air danced and whistled anxiously, disturbed by the swirling foreign blades.

Not yet.

He did not move as the sound of the rushed steps reached further and further down into the valley.

Not yet...

He did not move - save from a light frown flashing through his face - as his emotions resonated with a distant, brief sensation of pain coming from Wriothesley, when the Duke took a light slash to his face.

Not yet—

And then his companion reached his destination, his pursuers still hot on his trail, and the hilichurls took the bait as well, yowling in fury—

and in that same moment, Neuvillette looked into the sky as though in a challenge, his eyes alight, and commanded his mental barriers to let go.

Within the blink of an eye, the warm sun vanished as though scared off, eclipsed by a thick layer of dark clouds manifesting out of thin air and covering the area in darkness. What fell from those clouds in the next instant was not rain. Not even a downpour. It was a river's worth of water slamming into the valley in a matter of seconds, snapping trees and drowning everything in its path. Immediately, the otherwordly noises went from fury to panic, the hilichurl yowls turned into disordered screams, and all heads vanished beneath the deluge.

It was a spectacle that would likely remind Fontaine's ancient tribes why they thought his kind to be ruthless monsters, had they been unlucky enough to witness it. It would go on to claim all lives in the valley, save for the heavens' - and the dragon's - chosen one.

Neuvillette watched the devastating outcome of his verdict in cold silence for a moment, before flying towards the newly born lake and diving in like a hunting bird. The bodies of the already dead hilichurls floated limp in the dark azure, while the hands and blades of some of the still living invaders from beyond reached towards the surface and him in vain desperation, but the Iudex paid attention to none of them. Almost immediately, he spotted Wriothesley and swam towards him; reaching out, he grabbed his arm, and warped them both out of the water and to the surface.

By the time they both stood again on solid ground, on the edge of one of the hills overlooking the area, the dark clouds had already vanished as though they had never been there to begin with, and the sun re-emerged, permitted to cast its warm rays over the area once more.

Were it not for the large body of water where there was dry ground only a minute or so ago, one would be excused for thinking it was all just a dream.

"... Are you alright?" Neuvillette asked, looking at the Duke, eyes drawn to the scratch on his face, as if that was the most major event that had just occurred. His voice was quiet, maybe a touch awkward even - it was difficult to find proper words after what the latter had just witnessed and endured.

dukemeropide

There was one thing to the plan that Wriothesley had decided to keep from Neuvillette, and that was the matter of water pressure. A deluge heavy enough to fill the basin before any of their enemies got wise and escaped would come down like a ton of bricks, and with his life already on the line, Wriothesley just knew that Neuvillette would restrain himself for his sake. Too little water risked not drowning the whole lot of monsters in one go though, and if they wanted to protect Fontaine from the threat of Destruction, then this was the only way to do it. From the Duke's perspective, anyway. So he'd held his tongue so as not to worry his partner, but every step he took down the hill into the basin was braced for the downpour he knew would come and knock him flat.

And that was exactly what it did. One moment, he was running to the hilichurl camp. The next, he was thrown into a churning whirlpool of dark water, unable to tell up from down as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. Weapons and debris flew past him, and though the edges of his vision darkened, he witnessed how the water dissolved their enemies right before his eyes. Then through the foam and bubbles, something grabbed his arm, and before he could strike out with his other one thinking this was one of the monsters trying to find safe harbor, they were out.

Wriothesley staggered on his own two feet for a moment. He could handle this, especially when he'd gone to such lengths to make sure Neuvillette wouldn't worry about putting his life in danger. But the world still spun around him despite being free of the whirlpool, and despite his best effort to compose himself, he dropped to one knee, coughing and spitting out water.

"... Haven't been hit like that in a while," he finally said to test his own voice. It came out still somewhat strangled. Was he alright? He thought so, all things considered. He was alive, and although bedraggled and soaked to the bone, the worst he'd gotten was a nick across the face. And a cut across the arm from something that had hit him in the water, which he only noticed when he looked down at the hand he'd caught himself with and saw that his knuckles were drenched in filmy red. The gash was the worse between the two, but it was the water that was making it run blood down the length of his bicep, down his forearm and all the way to the ground, where it started staining the grass and dirt.

"I hope we got all of them. As much as I like a good swim, I don't think I can hold my own in rainstorm like that again anytime soon."

Delivered in his usual inappropriate levity, Wriothesley sought to use it to hide the way he winced when he finally managed to push himself back up to his feet. That was a bruise in the making, he was sure. Maybe he'd gotten knocked around a little more than he'd first thought, now that the adrenaline was ebbing away.

As he stood, wicking the blood-tinged water from his shoulder, he turned to admire the newly-formed lake shimmering beneath the setting sun. A few hilichurls bobbed in the water face-down, but there were no sign of the monsters they'd sought to drown. With that thought, Wriothesley frowned.

"It'd be a good idea to take stock of their remains."

#iustitians #thread : when dark meets light #// cue wriothesley pretending like he DIDN'T just almost get killed #// cannot have neuvi adding another guilt to his ever growing pile

dukemeropide

Mind Cage

Wriothesley & Childe - Preservation | Bakedanuki illusion with a twist

tartagliare

…Was that it?

The Duke began as if…as if nothing had happened at all. In his pockets, Childe’s hands were curled, still primed to strike. He couldn’t help but be stunned, eyeing Wriothesley while he grabbed Childe’s bluff toward a truce and made it reality.

He’d never been one to tap out mid-fight. He didn’t know how some liked to say, but the truth was more like he didn’t want to.

Whatever he’d been grappling against had been roughly Wriothesley‘s height, wielding size and strength that seemed appropriate and when the other man brushed past him, he knew. It had to have been him. Who else could it have been?

Wildly, he could only think: if he attacked Wriothesley now, he’d know for sure. In the light, he’d be able to confirm that whatever hulking, terrible creature his mind had conjured in the dark was a figment. That he’d imagined the blade-like claws digging into his skin in place of worn leather for sheer effect or wishful thinking. Stranger things had happened…

“So, you still think I had something to do with this.” Irritable, his tongue clicked the against the roof of his mouth, eyes narrowing to glare. They might be walking side by side, but the Administrator’s glacial gaze never left him, even as he paced ahead to lead.

A good call on his part. “As for my escape-“ It was almost embarrassing to think about now, how utterly outmatched he’d been. He was stronger than before. It wasn’t enough. The smile curving his expression felt wrong. “If you know everything that happens down here, then why are you asking me?“

The Abyss wouldn’t save him now…and he could be sure that the same pathway wouldn’t appear twice, either. They wound down each new hallway, all nearly identical. Only the slight rise in temperature lets Childe know that they’ve roamed into a more populated area. “You don’t have to believe me, but blackouts and a few scary monsters aren’t really my style. I’d be offended that you think I need to turn the lights off to have a good time,” The new smile at least felt more real, a taunt. “But you don’t know me very well! Maybe the other Harbingers want to play games with their targets,” His shoulders rolled back into a shrug. “I’d take them head on. I don’t need an opening. I’d make one.”

They must be nearing the cafeteria now. Childe stopped, arms crossed. “If there’s nothing wrong with how everything’s set up, then someone must be causing it. And…whatever people are seeing.” He waved a hand, though less dismissive now that he’d glimpsed a bit of the so-called terror jumping at him from the darkness. “And you’re no closer to figuring it out, are you?”

dukemeropide

Wriothesley's impressed. He'd assumed this Harbinger to be too young and battle-crazed for the kind of conversational dance the two of them were locked in. But he supposes he wouldn't be a Harbinger if he couldn't keep up with this sort of thing. The ordinary ranks of the Fatui had violence in spades, after all. No, to be hand-selected by the Tsaritsa, surely one needed more than that, and Childe was proving to have a whole range of skills outside of the Pankration ring.

It doesn't last though, fortunately. It doesn't take long before the Harbinger grows bored of the effort and finally gives Wriothesley a straightforward answer. And Wriothesley does, in fact, believe him.

"I don't know you very well," he concedes. "But your colleagues seem to enjoy sending spies all the way down here. Maybe when you're released, you ought to tell them that this place really is just a boring old prison at the bottom of the sea."

He throws him a wry smile from over his shoulder. There are no secrets hidden in the Fortress, it says, just as Childe is the type to obediently carry such reports to his colleagues.

In other words, they both know neither of these things are true.

"For now, I'll take you at your word. We're both on the same page at least when it comes to one thing: these blackouts are someone's fault."

"Oh, Your Grace, you should have let me know you'd be coming by today. I was just cleaning up the kitchen." They'd finally made it to the Coupon Cafeteria, and here was where a keen eye might notice the ever-meticulous Duke's earlier bluff: the 'late lunch' he'd used as an excuse to keep Childe close was not on his itinerary at all, as he rarely showed up without informing Wolsey of his coming.

"Can I get you one of today's special boxes?"

The Duke steals a glance at Childe, then waves his hand and smiles apologetically. "Sorry for the short notice. Just drinks this time."

"Sure, just a moment." The old chef disappears into the kitchen again. Wriothesley gestures to the same table he and Childe had dined at some days earlier.

"We won't stay long," he insists, and picks there conversation right back up where he'd left it. "I'll write you off my list of potential suspects, but you're going to have to help me out in exchange. If the Abyss opened up here once before, I can't ignore the possibility of it happening again. These unexplainable blackouts might even be connected to it." Crossing his arms, he sits back on the bench and studies Childe's face for a reaction, to see whether this new negotiation needed a little more to entice him. After a moment, he heaves a sigh in dramatic fashion.

"The Pankration tournaments will have to be canceled until I get to the bottom of this. I was thinking about joining the next one, too."

#tartagliare #thread : mind cage #// a million years later I'm so sorry #// my routine exploded this month with gh's closure #// but I'm getting my hoyo blogs back in order again

Words That Should Be Said

It’s not the mods who kill a group, it’s the members.

#CORE VALUES.　the bedrock that informs how we live and behave, and what we pursue.　please repost, not reblog!

part one.　bold the values that apply to your muse. you can also strikethrough the ones that absolutely don't apply.

achievement　adventure　authenticity　balance　beauty　belonging　career　collaboration　commitment　community　compassion　competence　competition　courage　creativity　curiosity　dignity　empathy　equality　fairness　faith　family　fame　financial security　flexibility　freedom　friendship　fun　generosity　growth　happiness　harmony　health　honesty　hope　humor　independence　influence　inner peace　innovation　integrity　justice　kindness　knowledge　leadership　learning　love　loyalty　meaningful work　openness　order　passion　patience　perseverance　pleasure　power　recognition　relationships　reliability　spirituality　respect　responsibility　security　self-expression　service　simplicity　stability　success　teamwork　tolerance　tradition　trust　truth　wealth　wisdom

part two.　pick your muse's top 3 values from those bolded. list them below and say more.　(　i.e.　how they define it ; where does it come from ; how does it show up in them ; etc.　)　similar values may be combined.

i.　security / stability / order.　Where Neuvillette and Furina represent the tenets of Equity and Justice, respectively, Wriothesley completes Fontaine's trio with Order. As a prison warden, it's part of his job to control the uncontrollable, because the people who wind up in the Fortress are ones who disregard the rule of law to begin with. Without a heavy hand and strict guidelines, it would be anarchy, no matter how much he sympathizes with the other inmates. He recognizes that rules are a necessity for every functioning society, but more than that, he understands that it's those in power who benefit the most from those same rules. Wriothesley fully enjoys the privilege that comes with his administrator position, and the freedom to shape the Fortress' rules however he sees fit. There are multiple instances where he admits that he bought his position, or that he can disregard the Fortress' laws because he's the Duke, or even that he can enjoy a comfortable lifestyle because of the money he makes from the prisoners he sets to work under him. Ripped out of context and drained of the color given to them by Wriothesley's personality, these statements seem rather selfish and tyrannical. And frankly, they are - Wriothesley himself believes that other people have a better impression of him than he does, but he has no reason to disrupt the system if he's benefitting from it. His actions are fortunately tempered by empathy and compassion, which he values alongside order, security, and stability, just to a lesser degree.

ii.　hope / perseverance.　Wriothesley has an idealist's heart with a pragmatist's brain. While he himself was robbed of an ideal childhood and has to witness the worst of humanity on a daily basis, he still likes stories of hope and perseverance. Although he doesn't outright admit it, it sounds like he finds them inspiring. At the very least, he understands the necessity of hopeful stories in motivating humans to keep fighting even when things seem bleak. As a child navigating the prison system alone, these are things that would have inspired him to get out of bed each day, to keep getting up every time he was knocked down in the Ring, or to try to play the system and gather as much wealth as he could, even if he was robbed or ordered by authority to hand over his coupons. He wants to believe in miracles and the impossible, just that tiny 1% sliver of a chance that something might turn out better than he ever imagined. Yet if you look at Wriothesley, from his rags to riches story, to the construction of a flying ship based on ancient tales, he is that 1%.

iii.　curiosity / knowledge.　Wriothesley is an extremely intelligent and learned man for having no formal education. He reads constantly - his office with its shelves crammed with books is a testament to that - but we also know that he applies what he learns from those books to reality, such as with the creation of the Wingalet to counter the prophecy. As humble as he is though, he offloads any credit for his genius to the people he employs to help him, but it's his interest in others and their professions that allows him to make those networks to begin with. He's the kind of person who likes pocketing interesting things - metaphorical or otherwise - for a rainy day, certain that whatever he learns, whoever he meets, might one day be of use to him, as long as he's constantly poking around and learning.

tagging.　you!

#out of character #headcanons #// rambling rambling rambling #// underutilized facet of wriothesley's character is his capacity for 'evil' smh

dukemeropide

When Dark Meets Light

Wriothesley & Neuvillette - Crystallize | Antimatter Legion

iustitians

The smirk on the Duke's face was usually Neuvillette's cue to prepare mentally for one of those lines - the ones that left him shaking his head with a sigh and responding with a deadpan this isn't a laughing matter, Wriothesley or something of that sort. But this time, it never came. What he got instead was an affirmation of trust, and a hand outstretched to him to help him back to his feet.

Were someone to ask, the Iudex would have had to admit that he did not recall when he last received something like that. It was rare, and rather unusual for him. Of course, he was aware by now that he commanded a good amount of trust within Fontaine - or, at the very least, that was the opinion he had heard from others - but the mindset of an outsider died slowly and stubbornly, and within his heart, he never truly stopped believing that he was first and foremost seen as a means to an end.

Wriothesley did not even need to come here, he reminded himself. And he could not have received a clearer message that the Duke intended to stick through it until the very end.

Naturally, the spirit of justice and fairness dictated that he deserved the very same in return. But Neuvillette was fully intent on offering that even if they did not.

"Of course," he responded, a newfound stirring of resolve present again in his voice, as he took the hand held out to him.

---

The warm afternoon was slowly but surely giving way to a still warm evening, the sun moving beyond the horizon to make room for the moon. Or whatever that large sphere was that the Usurper put up there in its place, but he supposed it filled the spot well enough for humanity's purposes. This would normally be the kind of day Neuvillette would spend taking care of some duties ahead of time in his office, or at most, watching a play at the Opera. It was not to his satisfaction when it came to outdoor activities.

But today, he did not get to choose based on his frivolities. There was a task to focus on.

Concealed between two walls of the nearby mountain, he watched, eyes fixed on the valley ahead and below. Soft breeze passed through it, rows of flowers and tall grass swaying gently in response. Leafy branches, too, hummed a quiet song to Barbatos' tune. A group of four hilichurls idled in the area, cooking food over a fire; even they played into the calmness and serenity of the area.

Neuvillette knew, however, that it was merely a calm before the storm - a storm that he silently waited to unleash.

He glanced in the direction from which he expected the heralds of chaos to come, reminding himself of the words he spoke to Wriothesley in preparation.

The time we spent regrouping was most likely enough for them to return to patrols. Those monsters do not allow themselves long breaks from sowing destruction - it's their purpose.

The scout will probably be the first unit you run into again. I expect they will remember you - use that to anger them and draw them here.

If we're lucky, we might even be able to use those hilichurls as further bait.

dukemeropide

If I were an ousia block that wasn't an ousia block, where would I be hiding? It was the only thing that kept Wriothesley's mind from wandering to the weather, how nice it as, how the sunset was just starting to color the sky behind the mountains, and how these invaders from beyond the sky could have chosen a worse evening than this to become a problem. He would have been out from the murky depths of the sea to stretch his legs anyway, only now there was something a little more dire he had to keep his eyes open for. No napping in the sunlight this time.

Neuvillette had selected a fine valley for their plans, and Wriothesley couldn't complain about the walk either. At the far end from the mountains that the Iudex had set up as his post, the hills rose up sharply to form the edges of a kind of natural basin. The place had probably been a lake once upon a time, or even a manmade pond, which meant that it would hold enough water to cover a full grown man standing at its lowest point. The key, of course, was to get their targets to the the deepest part before the flood, which just so conveniently happened to be marked by the curling black smoke of a hilichurl campfire.

So far though, there were no signs of rifts or destruction, or even the little balls of energy Neuvillette had called their scouts. Until, at last, Wriothesley's eyes caught the blue glow of something nestled within the branches of a bulle tree. He pivoted on his heel and ran his fingers through his hair as he approach its trunk.

"Hiding from someone?" he asked with the same kind of playful levity Neuvillette probably wouldn't have chided him for. His life was on the line; he should be more serious about that. But seriousness had a way of doubling as a tell for fear, or recognition for an opponent's strength, of which Wriothesley would give these creatures neither. Right on cue, the scout flashed and its silver parts expanded. Then the same beam as before, a vertical slice from the base of the tree skyward - Wriothesley expected it this time and sidestepped it.

"Same old tricks, huh?" he kept prodding, readjusting his tie. He didn't even know if these things had intelligence, or if there was even anything watching him from the other side, but then, just like before, a dark, jagged line ripped zigzagged through the air, ripping open space to a swirling abyss that spilled armor-clad humanoids out into the Fontainian sunset one after the other.

Wriothesley flashed them a cocky smile. "Now we have a party."

Crystalline ice shot up from the ground in front of them - three whole shots from his mitts on a warm day like this one, and even that wouldn't last very long. Still, it was enough for him to get some distance. That rift had opened too close to him for comfort, and now he hopped backwards step by step toward the sharp incline down into the valley basin with his gloves drawn up close to his chin. Neuvillette would have been able to see him the moment he reached the top, then he turned to take the rest of the slope down facing forward while the monsters followed after him like lemmings lead to their demise.

Suddenly another rift opened right in front of him and a silver blade shot out. Startled, Wriothesley's backstep sent gravel skittering down the hill, but he fired another icicle into the ground in the same motion. It shattered upon impact and the blade-armed humanoid crashed toward him with a fiery sputter of garbled fury.

"Oh? Looking for a rematch?" As much as Wriothesley forced the smirk to stay on his face, his words came out winded as he tried to regain his footing, dancing between thrusts from the creature's blades. Others crested the hilltop, these brandishing guns and blades of their own, and if there was a split second of doubt that he might have bitten off more than he could chew by playing the decoy, Wriothesley shut that thought right up.

"Alright, Neuvillette..." he muttered through his teeth as he horde drove him further down into the valley on the defensive. Gun blasts exploded near enough to singe the ends of his hair and splash slaps of red across the side of his face, but he dipped and dodged, albeit narrowly, around every attack thrown at him.

Then the hilichurls yowled out their hunting cries.

How quickly things went from bad to worse.

#iustitians #thread : when dark meets light #commissions: crystallize #// tfw you aggro every enemy in the area #// neuvillette don't look #// but look a little bit so you can save his ass #// thank youuu for replying before the end of the month

dukemeropide

Mind Cage

Wriothesley & Childe - Preservation | Bakedanuki illusion with a twist

tartagliare

Friendly greetings followed as he walked. Others simply nodded, preoccupied with their work. At least daily, an inmate he’d never seen before would go in for a shove or two. There were all kinds of dark, unmonitored places down here…and despite the Duke’s warning that the Pankration Ring was the only place fighting was allowed, this was a prison full of convicts. What the Duke did or didn’t suspect didn’t hurt anyone.

Unless it did. But it wouldn’t, because no one was stupid enough to sound the alarm by taking unsanctioned injury in front of the facility’s healer.

“Better luck next time,” Childe called, tone bright despite where he presses a knuckle to his bleeding lip. The prisoner doesn’t respond – because he’d have to be conscious to do that – and the Harbinger emerged in the coupon cafeteria to a meal paid for by others. You earned that one, is the quiet message.

His mother would be undeniably distraught to know that he gets along with convicts better than most other people. Some are more upstanding than you’d give them credit for, he’d argue, which would just turn the tears on him faster. Oh well.

Whatever status the harbinger was earning during his stay, eventually he’s given a wider berth. Those participating in Pankration Ring matches were still eager to go against him, even if he had the benefit of better training. None could compare. What once offered thrill was running stale too quickly, and the Administrator hadn’t shown his face in days. Weeks?

Childe couldn’t blame him. The sudden blackouts created chaos, happening more and more frequently. Inmates went missing. The men sat around their work and horror stories of real happenings – like a wrench that shifted into a blade in the blink of an eye. Like hallways that lead to places that didn’t exist. The lists grew by the day, and the little healer was likely up to her ears with patients to treat.

Despite the warnings, Childe had been beginning to think that it was all made up. Even when the first lightbulb in the hallways shattered. Then the second. By the third, he could see the outline of a person. A creeping silhouette that seemed to draw closer with every flash of light. He pulled a grimace, readying a fighting stance. “Come on, I think I’ve already proved that I’m not afraid of the dark.” On the contrary, adrenaline brought new sharpness as the thing came closer, revealing blood-tinged eyes and barred fangs. It barreled into him with the force of twenty people. Grappling with the faceless enemy in rapidly circling darkness, Childe kicked, rolled, shifted away from the feral hiss that followed.

They collide again, again, again.

This hallway shouldn’t feel so long. The Fortress of Meropide was as uniform as anything else in Fontaine, and instinct made him count the paces until it was memory especially given the rolling blackouts. Whatever latched onto him seemed to be doing just that, intent to keep him close over do damage. A good thing…even if he couldn’t make sense of it.

Then, with a gentle click of whirring mechanical gears overhead, the lights returned. Momentarily blind, Childe brought a hand to shield against even the dimmest of lights, lunging the second his shoulder bumped something solid.

Someone. Someone solid – and Childe had been right about one thing. The hallway hadn’t been that long. More like he’d somehow traveled half of the fortress with one tussle in the dark. Faraway, a heavy door slammed shut, but he was more focused on where his grip dug into Wriothesley’s shoulder. “Heya.” Letting go was harder than he wanted to admit, still caught between the fight or fight response that illogically painted the Administrator as the enemy that’d been slapping him around in the dark.

…At least he didn’t think it could have been him. The man in front of him looking as immaculate as always. Decided, Childe straightened, uncurling those fingers in favor of running them through his own hair, pleased when it fell as it always did. “Guess I got a little turned around in the blackout. Haha, this doesn’t look like the Coupon Cafeteria at all.” Was that what any real prisoner would say in this scenario? Did Childe even care? No, not really. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he glanced at the hallway behind him to confirm that it wasn't the same one he’d started out in. “How’s the appeal on my imprisonment going? Y'know, I’d be surprised if there’s any headway. Word in the Ring is that the great Administrator might be losing his grip lately.”

dukemeropide

"Heya," Wriothesley parroted glibly, looking to the hand clutching his shoulder. If this was another attempt at his life ("another," as if the imaginary slash had been the first), neither of them treated this run-in as anything but ordinary. The Duke kept his arms crossed, calm and in control of the situation, or at least presenting the illusion of such, while he patiently waited for Childe to unclamp his grip and step back, as if he were a feral beast who would tear his arm clean off if he sensed the slightest hint of fear or provocation.

And Wriothesley couldn't be sure that he wasn't, in that very moment. In the dark, he'd certainly appeared to be something monstrous and far from human. Something with teeth and claws and bathed in the murky glow of the abyss. Childe's attempt to play the whole thing off like an honest mistake, and even change the topic, didn't help either. When the Duke no longer had to keep his eyes peeled for an attack, he turned them, narrowed with suspicion, back to the Harbinger.

"If you're looking for the Coupon Cafeteria, why don't you come with me? I was just about to take a late lunch," he lied, and shouldered Childe in the direction of the administrative floor. He wasn't asking; it was a command wrapped in Fontainian dressing. "As you can imagine, I've had my hands full with these blackouts, but there's been no word from the court about releasing you early."

Childe was barking up the wrong tree for the appeal, in other words. Whether or not "word in the Ring" was true about this great Administrator, he was merely a warden, not the judge. But even if he was, returning Childe to society was the least of his concerns at the moment. The blackouts had been interrupting production in the factory, and besides the hemorrhaging costs, none of the Fortress' engineers had been able to get to the bottom of the phenomena. The generators and the internal power grid, while old, were still functional, and they'd picked up no new unstable energy spikes from the Arkhium mine that could be disrupting the rest of the Fortress' machinery.

And then there were the ghost tales, the inmates reporting hallucinations and waking nightmares to Sigewinne, and, of course, that shadowy beast Wriothesley had glimpsed in the dark for the second time just before the lights had cut back on to show him his newest charge once more making threats behind a lackadaisical smile.

They made a leisurely trek toward the cafe, the Duke evidently in no hurry, but clearly unwilling to let Childe out of his sight again so soon.

"I'd wager that your sentence will be extended if these blackouts keep happening. They only started after you arrived, and there appears to be nothing wrong with the circuitry. If I remember correctly, your previous escape from the Fortress had involved the abyss, didn't it?"

#tartagliare #thread : mind cage #commissions: preservation #// childe will probably find his way under wriothesley's skin before the end of this thread hahaha #// unfortunately for childe though rizly is such a grin-and-bear-it kind of person #// in his mind he's like :)) this fucking guy :))))

New Year Housekeeping: Wriothesley

Making sure all my threads are accounted for as we begin a new year, and nudging the partners I'm waiting on in case they've forgotten. Let me know if you want to drop a thread though! Please tell me instead of just ignoring the thread for months.

Waiting on me:

Mind Cage w/ @tartagliare

Waiting on partner:

Spirited Away w/ @bloodbxrn [Last reply: September 19 2025]

Mors Tua Vita Mea w/ @imaginarynoumenon [Last reply: September 23 2025]

The Folly of the Beast and the Madness of Man w/ @gardenvampyr [Last reply: December 2 2025]

The Other Side of the Law w/ @stonepaz [Last reply: December 15 2025]

When Dark Meets Light w/ @iustitians [Last reply: December 16 2025]

Redemption for the Suffering w/ @swordflown [Last reply: December 23 2025]

A Long List of Regrets w/ @virtuouslife [Last reply: December 23 2025]

#out of character

virtuouslife

⋆✦₊‧ — A LONG LIST OF REGRETS.

Wriothesley & Kallen. — Commission : Harmony.

virtuouslife

AS SHE STARES INTO THE DARK, ONLY HALF-LISTENING TO THE MAN CALLING OUT FOR HER TO WAIT, A STRANGE FEELING TAKES HOLD OF HER. irritation, agitation — irrational, kallen briefly thinks, even as the feeling insists upon, then clarifies its own necessity. despite her squinting and the meager glow of wriothesley's peculiar contraption, the cavern's blackness remains unassailable. the yellow light draws attention to the shadows and deepens them. cautiously, she steps forward, this time with the expectation that wriothesley will follow. up ahead, cheng jun? echoes in the thin space ahead of them, carrying her voice away — now faint, now fainter. but miss kallen does not echo back.

instead, wriothesley's voice interferes: the beginnings of questions that scrape like rough sandpaper against the dull blade of irate feeling. why does any of that matter, right now, when a child has run off from them? not bothering to turn, not bothering to look at him, she strides faster into the narrow and still narrowing dark with renewed urgency, absurd senses of “earned” righteousness —

— and aggravation. the unearned impulse surges. “mr. wriothesley, — ” does it matter? with a jolt, the crude edge of kallen's tone comes to a grinding halt as she hears it shimmering in her own strained voice. uneasy, stilted, but not quite remorseful, she adjusts — restarts. “ ... the guards stationed there weren't interested in talking. we ran into you while looking for other guards who might listen ... ” she shakes her head, sighing, “you know the rest. he got upset and ran off ... ” pitching her voice louder, she tries calling out to the kid again. “cheng jun? can you hear me?”

cheng jun? cheng jun? can you hear me? — hear me? the echoes, again. she tries again — her voice echoes again. they are softer than before, as if muddled. then, as before, silence. the absence of any answer. asking no one in particular, kallen frets, “where could he have gone? ... is he hiding?”

kallen's footsteps begin to slow. the dim glow from wriothesley's lamp seems strangely dimmer than before. the radius of its light, smaller. the clarity of its outlines, less clear.

kallen's shadow, stretched in front of her, continues plunging into the dark. hesitating, she turns, “what's happening to the lamp?”

just out of reach, beyond them, where the jagged walls of the cavern should continue, a thin sheen gleams in its place. slick, tar-like, viscous. it drips, slowly. and on the singular path ahead, the uneven ground gradually gives way to the glistening tar — its nauseatingly smooth surface. undisturbed.

dukemeropide

A soft click echoes off the walls as Wriothesley unhooks the lamp to inspect it. The pneumousia core is probably spent - the explanation is already halfway to his lips when he recalls the harried way Kallen had spoken earlier, like a mother who's only interest was in finding her lost duckling, but it's the wet shimmer up ahead that ultimately stops him from saying anything at all. The sputtering lamp goes forgotten in his hand, his attention caught instead on their only way forward.

Cheng Jun has been silent this whole time, perhaps willfully, perhaps not, but as Wriothesley steps ahead of Kallen to shine what little lamplight they have left on the sludge coating the walls, it becomes apparent that there had been no other way for Cheng Jun to have gone. No little tunnels in the ceiling, no caves split from the main path, only a stretch oil-slicked by whatever it is that drips from the ceiling. The air is thin here in a way Wriothesley has never felt before, needling at the back of his mind like a high-pitched drone from a machine he can't see.

"I don't think I even need to ask if you want to keep going," he sighs, his back to Kallen still. There's something wrong with his lamp, that's for certain, and it's not the pneumousia. But if they're quick about it, then maybe they can find Cheng Jun - or the miners supposedly in this cave - and make it out before it dies completely.

"Cover your mouth and nose with something, if you've got it," he advises, and removes the heavy coat from his shoulders to bury his own face in its double-padded lining. Then he starts cautiously ahead, hugging the side of the wall farthest from the slow but steady drip. The tar clings to his boots with each labored step, but the surface softens quickly back into shimmering smoothness, as if he'd never crossed through it. Up ahead, the lamplight finally dances over rocky ground, but it begins to flicker suddenly, rapidly, as if alerting them both to the sludge on the ceiling. Wriothesley spins around. The mass of it above them groans, sloughs off from the rest, and falls.

#virtuouslife #thread : a long list of regrets #commissions: harmony

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