SEULEMENT.

———　♕　——— affil. furina | genshin impact

[fanfaire]

  　❝　　𝐋𝐄𝐓　𝐓𝐇𝐄　𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃　𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄　𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄　!

　 #FANFAIRE.　♕　closed roleplay blog for 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐀 from 𝖦𝖤𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖭 𝖨𝖬𝖯𝖠𝖢𝖳, affiliated with gnostic hymns. directed by rai ( she / he ).

quick intro: name's rai, thanks for reading this! furina's my second ( arguably tied for #1 with childe — the hydros are always fighting ) favorite character in genshin and incredibly beloved. my goal is to get a con or two every time she reruns and slowly c6 her over time, amen. 　

i use the chinese dub as the basis for my characterization. 　

per group rules, with furina also comes jurisdiction over focalors, so i'm happy to explore her in flashback or otherwise with other relevant characters. she's likewise an interesting personage both in how she relates to and informs furina, and as an individual. but the main focus of this blog will still be on furina. 　

if you're reading this on the blog, check out the playbook and the dossier links on the sidebar while you're here for more information! ( apologies mobile users for the lack of links; its the popup life. ) 　

[fanfaire]

[TOUR]

"Ah, Miss Furina. It has been a while since we last met."

The sight of a familiar face brings a light smile to Dan Heng's expression as he waves to her to grab her attention, approaching as he does. It would not do to shout at a museum, after all.

"I hope you've enjoyed your stay in Belobog so far... even in spite of the temperatures." He smiles faintly; Jarilo-VI's climate was indeed a far cry from the tropical resort that saw their first encounter, even if the city itself was not too bad thanks to its heating system. His gaze, then, wanders slightly off of her person, taking note of the exhibit behind her, showcasing some old technology from the Underworld.

"If you're interested in the history of this place, I could show you around... if I'm not imposing, of course. I've been here several times before, and I'm quite familiar with it at this point."

it's a small world after all. . .

THE MACHINERY OF BELOBOG LOOKS NOTHING　✧　like that of fontaine. they're both made of metal, and there is a longstanding tradition about both nations when it comes to their ingenuity, but that seems to be where the similarities begin and end. everything produced here was so. . . block-like ; for lack of a better word, it's the best way she can think to describe it without sounding too disparaging. the more she had learned about their history, the more she supposes it'd made sense. and yet, faced with a certain calamity of their own, the fontaine that'd grown under her steady hand had only become more flamboyant. like the dolorous ring of a great bell from far away and long ago, she can still hear the exact reason why.

you have inherited a doomed nation, so why not send it off in glory, with the most excellent of masquerades.

could two places give such different answers to the same question that it would come to light in their faces hundreds of years in the future? the news of their eventual end had never been kept from the people of jarilo-vi, she'd read——there was of course no way for it to be, with catastrophe coming so rapidly and spawning a bitter war of attrition against a landscape filled with monsters. by comparison, she supposes she'd had it easy. could the only reason be that they had never thought of it as something so final?

lost in her thoughts, furina would have missed the unexpected greeting from nearby if the surroundings weren't so quiet. head lifting, she turns and registers the young man, the dark hair, and the subdued smile——he's familiar, but she doesn't remember at once where they had met before, a feeling she is not unused to. was it on one of her sojourns lately into the world beyond the skies of teyvat? despite how often it happens, it's always somewhat unwieldy when she cannot completely recall someone who clearly recognizes her.

"then i have to thank you ; you're very kind to offer. to tell the truth, the cold here isn't so bad, though i have also been told that it does get much worse at other times of the year."

she begins walking——slower and half-turned toward him to invite his accompaniment. "if you're familiar with belobog and its history, then i'd welcome the tour. i was eager to learn more myself, but as with anywhere, there's only so much that is kept archived for the public in museums and exhibits."

[fanfaire]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗

a tale from when the borders between this world and the next are thinnest

[fanfaire]

AUGUSTE DEBORD DEPARTED THE SCENE OF FONTAINE　✧　as quickly and abruptly as he'd entered it. following the events of his ill-fated charity gala some half-year ago, he had fallen, it seemed, into some shadow of ignominy away from the public eye. at least, she certainly hadn't heard of him of his affairs since, and she liked to imagine that, though retired, she wasn't so out of the circle of things as far as events in the city.

it had nearly been enough for them all to forget his extravagant balls and public dedications——and whatever shadow that'd lain beneath them that she had never, to this day, wholly figured out, only knowing that she had narrowly escaped the jaws of them not once but twice. until the day that his name had suddenly appeared again, headlined in The Steambird: WEALTHY PHILANTHROPIST UNMASKED! MONSIEUR DEBORD BEHIND BARS. of course, she had no illusions that the likes of chevreuse and the others would make anything known of their investigations and actions, but she wasn't sure what was more shocking: that it had taken this long, or that her nightmares, too, had eventually ceased.

or that, in the government seizure of all his property and assets, they had opted to open his estate up to the peeraged public for sale.

men and women and children of all kinds crowded in to process through the old halls of debord's empty manor as though it was a mausoleum, dressed thickly in finest furs for the occasion, eyes and hands bent toward some tea kettle or painting or burnished redwood cabinet. furina, by contrast, had not come to buy——her presence had been requested as a consultant, one whose years and appraising eye went unparalleled in spotting the make, date, and quality of goods echoing the long past of inheritance. her word elevated some antique vase to the realm of coveted treasure or deemed it no more than thrifted junk purchasable for pennies on the streets of any fair.

". . . xt item looks like an ordinary——well, maybe a little gothic——book! but it's actually one of the strangest things that's been found in monsieur debord's archive. no title, no writing on its pages, but plenty of pictures. . . !" the auctioneer peels open the leatherbound cover and sweeps around in a semi-circle so everyone can see ; the pages are embellished with vibrant illustrations from end to end, depicting a desolate countryside, a tall castle spire silhouetted in ink-like darkness. he drones on: "according to folklore, the souls of two women were once trapped between the pages of this tome, but we've had no less than half a dozen specialists investigate it, and nothing's amiss. so don't worry, good ladies and gentlemen, you're no more at risk here than reading any ordinary children's book . . ."

standing off to the side of the stage, furina barely suppresses a yawn. the day has been long, and she's begun to feel sleepy.　/　@balemouns

[taixuandream]

ill make an archon out of you

[taixuandream]

As quick as she had commented on confidence, realism and struggle crash the once-Archon down. Wanting to offer some profound reassurance, there are no words to be found. Regret, "should have," or "could have" always come a little too late. Hindsight is never wrong.

"I just wanted to know your thoughts," offered in a neutral tone. Then, a sharp inhale followed by a drawn out sigh through the nostrils. "Dramatic flair suits you, but more often than not only shackles you in a life or death battle. When you turned," she would mimic her pirouette, pivoting on her heel at the same tempo, "You took your eyes off of me." As she finishes she takes a few steps closer to Furina, only a sword — or bamboo stick — lengths away. An index finger is raised before an intense gaze, fierce despite softer intentions in this moment. In an instant, that finger is jabbed to the other's chest. Such quick movements don't attempt to buckle Furina, but rather, "Death is an instant away. You saw me and should have been able to react to that attack. But with your back to me, you know nothing. Where I may strike, where I may move..." Turning away, "A sword to the back is not a graceful way to go." Take it from her.

"Your initial attacks were fine enough, your overall athleticism is passable. I don't know if you have a regiment or system that you stick to, but consistent training will help with your physical capabilities," more just murmuring to herself, Fu Hua faces Furina, sizing her up. A head tilt along with narrowed eyes muse upon the others initial advance. "Balance and control do need work," admitted after a moment.

Face lighting up with an idea, "Think of how props or backgrounds may be set up for theatre. When there is a wooden cut out, how must it be balanced? If just leaned against a wall or left to stand on its own, it is not very secure, no?" Legs come to be shoulder width apart. "This doesn't offer any resistance when being attacked. You'll be pushed over, buckled or broken with enough pressure." Heel sweeping back against stone tiles, dust kicks up ever so slightly. Hands positioned between the two, palms left open. A familiar stance from their shared dream. "When positioned like this, you can not only brace for your opponent's offense, but also improve your own strength."

One thing the Phoenix did not miss from her days as the Empyrean was how much talking she did. Furina was unlike her previous students. A spark within them, the desire to protect that which they loved and maim that which caused them so much grief. Soldiers forged of a cruel world. "Everything you hold tight, there is only one thing we can do to protect that. There is nothing to prove on the battlefield, yet we fight until the end, because we all have something left to lose." Beckoning the other forward, she challenges, "Come at me again. I want to feel your resolve, Furina."

[fanfaire]

FU HUA IS A GOOD TEACHER.　✧　over time, she's encountered many——both excellent and exceedingly mediocre——but the other woman's critique is direct and easy to follow, while not unkind. dramatic flair. that was the kind of thing suited for the stage, she understood this ; and yet, she knew no other way. watching the duelists had never been any particular love of hers ; she was aware of clorinde's skill largely by association. so she shouldn't turn? is that what fu hua was trying to tell her? furina's grip tightens on the end of the bamboo stick, trying to imagine what else she could have done.

the rest of the assessment passes by in the sweep of a critical eye, furina remaining silent and still as she takes it in and allows for the scrutiny. only the minute changes in her facial expression give away indication of her thoughts: a regimen or system. . . not other than the habitual things she did to watch her weight. . . she supposes she really could use some more exercise, though. all things considered, she should probably be grateful her athleticism was even deemed ' passable '. maybe fu hua was only being gracious.

but it's the last words she speaks that draw furina's attention back to her with wider eyes.

because we have something left to lose.

blue gaze follows the woman's stance, try to imagine herself mirroring it on her own. the thought already feels foolish. "my resolve. . . " the idea of protecting——did she have something to place there? what was her resolve? back in that strange perhaps-not-a-dream, she had fought because she'd had to, not to protect anything, at least not anything more precious than her own life. but the others hadn't been like that ; they'd been centered, in-control, not panicked and flailing desperately. she'd assumed it was because they simply had a wealth of experience——but was it because of a resolve that she lacked? was that what made them so seemingly strong?

it didn't sound quite realistic, but then she shouldn't just stand here thinking about it. still: "i'm afraid i might disappoint you," she says with a shake of her head as she takes two steps back and readies herself to try and strike again. resolve, resolve. wherefore art thou, resolve? what was it she wanted to protect. . . fontaine? only loosely, in a manner of speaking. herself? the arts, the articulation of human emotion and life? the truth at the very root of things, that came from experiences ordinary people had each and every day? these are all too abstract to give strength to her arm.

but she tries, anyway. "hh—yah! eyah!" focusing on trying to unearth some origin of her strength, she forgets the temper the wide-arcing drama of her swings, assertive and full with forward motion ; in fact, as she swipes the reed through the air in long, downward slashes, each one seems more flourished than the last as she identifies and tries to hold onto that passion close to her breast, the closest thing she supposes she has to such a fighting spirit——for righteousness, for expression, for feeling.

[fanfaire]

A NEW AND SANGUINE SUN.

comm.⠀ABUNDANCE⠀∶⠀unexplored frontiers

[mydcimos]

Only a rare individual can open their mouth and render him stupid with shock. The prince no longer paces, arms slack at his sides while he studies her with an intensity that does not betray the white noise ringing through his thoughts. He thinks a full quint must pass by in seconds, when the sound that fills his mind is the bell-like chime of her voice wrapping around impossible words.

I know something about your enemies. I promise that I am not of this world. Your past. Your future.

The only real victory in this moment is that Krateros has taken his leave and that there is no one else that has heard what the girl had said. The riot it would cause… were the Titans mocking him after all? Had he waded from the sea of souls and succeeded in his warpath only to be brought low by the very same omen that damned his father and changed the very foundation of his entire life?

Had the Titans truly sent him a prophet? Or was this some clever trick, aimed at his heart where swords had proved useless? Something to put more uncertainty into the ranks?

“A prophet.” The word slides across his tongue and burns, but he manages it as well as he can. As much as he wishes to know…the natural, internal instinct that consistently asks whether he is doing enough. If he will lead his people toward a future where they survive or if this has all been for nothing. “I have no need for such a person nor did I ask to be given the opinion of the Titans.”

Truly…in this, the only person he could trust was himself. But, she’d answered with conviction and clarity, perhaps for the first breath, he can even see a spark igniting in eyes that can only be titan’s-blessed. “I believe you.” How could he not? Was this just another curse of his bloodline, not as a Chrysos Heir, but inheritor of the Kremnoan Dynasty? “Get up and we’ll go, alone.” They would draw looks, certainly, but none would question his orders. Mydeimos the Undying would never be in danger from a single opponent, even if they were a messenger of the gods. Drawing close to her on his way to the exit, he pauses, golden eyes narrowed as he takes her in.

One last assessment. “Keep your freedom, prophet. If you wish to run, then do so, I won’t stop you.” Hadn’t he already mentioned that the darkness beyond their camp could be unforgiving, dangerous? Even an outlander would know at a glance, unless they lacked basic survival skills. “The detachment does not keep prisoners." They killed their enemies, but mentioning this would be pointless, if she already knew. "After we retrieve your book and discern the truth, we will find a place for you.”

[fanfaire]

BY ALL RIGHTS, SHE SHOULD BE DEAD.　✧　that is what happens to those who babble nonsense in an effort to save their skin. she's seen it time and time again: grand flourishes of the like that'd save a protagonist in a wishful storybook only drew laughter and mockery on the real stage ; the scales of the oratrice were not so forgiving as an author's pen. the only thing that'd be remembered of the poor fool who thought to make one last grasp for freedom through madness was the excruciating silence that followed their proclamation as one half of the audience looked on in pity and the other in secondhand shame.

so she almost loses the act completely when "i believe you" comes out of his mouth instead.

it's enough to erase how he'd sounded out the word ' prophet ' in a way she couldn't place, as well as the surprise of realizing ' titan ' was another familiar word——familiar concept.

she scrambles for her mask before it falls like a novice actress does her lines.

up on her feet at his urging as though afraid that even a half-second's delay would have him change his mind, she presses down her skirts around her legs in an nervous gesture, as unconscious as home ; it's the only thing, besides a certain anxiousness that hurries her movements like those of a colt, that reveals the still-present fear for her life. she even fights to keep from glancing to him too much——to his fists, the size of her head ; to any places where weapons might be kept on his person, indexing for that imminent threat.

". . . ?!" his assertion that she was free to run, and that he would let her, however, draws the most surprise of all. she's wise enough not to blurt out in disbelief, keeping a lightheaded disorientation behind tightly pursed lips that give her the impression of looking defiant, or resolute, maybe. should she run? when he turns his back, she looks out past it to the whole darkness outside, swallowing down a chill that runs down her spine——would it be better than whatever ' place ' he found for her promises?

her shoes are not fit to walk in the tall, dry grass when she follows. the wild, brackish blades tickle at her ankles uncomfortably. seeing him stopped just outside, she also stops, and only belatedly realizes that she must be the one to lead.

"i. . . "

no, she shouldn't say that she doesn't remember the way back to the tree she'd sat under. the whirlwind of being brought her with metal pressed to her back had scrambled all hope she had of knowing the way. so she musters the next best thing and hopes that it'll hold. ". . . recall a massive tree with gnarled roots. beside some crumbled ruins. th. . . is way, i'm sure."

as she walks in what she hopes is the direction that she'd been led in, aware of her beating mortality with every step, furina thinks that she ought to build up some more for herself of this ' prophet ' role if it was going to keep her alive. think, furina. what would be safe to start. he appeared to share a sort of piety and superstition with the kremnoans from the story ; prophecy had played a powerful role for prince wandi too and his predecessors. "the book," she begins slowly, as though weighing each word, "chronicles the life of one prince of castrum kremnos. a. . . prodigal prince, who was destined to walk under the star of strife and——" a fleeting glance to him, "——survived his earliest years never even knowing his homeland."

[fanfaire]

"I know this is a little unconventional for a birthday present," the Duke starts, and what he means is that it's much more than a little. Among all the stages that the former archon might call a home away from home, this one resembles those places only in its beaming spotlights and audience seating - for now mercifully empty. In all other ways - the faint stains of blood and other bodily substances on the floor, the lingering stench of iron and sweat, and the man across from her who has discarded his usual costume instead of adorning a new one - this is, he assumes, like nothing she's ever experienced.

"I thought you might have had enough of the cakes and autographs by now." Even if he'd asked Wolsey to prepare some sort of confection, he knows it would have been just a drop in the ocean by comparison. So he'd endeavored to steal Furina away instead, once all the festivities and attention had died away, and dragged her down to the deep, dark depths of the sea. Alone. The guards posted at the entrance to the Pankration ring had a duty to stop anyone curious or otherwise from coming to her rescue, so that prison warden and accomplished actress might square off in the center of a crude fighting ring undisturbed.

"I hear stories all the time about retired celebrities being assaulted. As you know, most of the offenders wind up here. Being out of the public eye just means it's easier for criminals to catch you alone."

He rolls the sleeves of his dark work shirt up past his elbows and raises his bandaged fists into a readied stance.

"So instead of another cake, you'll be getting a few lessons from the 'King of Criminals.'" He smiles teasingly - it'd been Furina who'd called him that, after all. "Say your complaints now or forever hold your peace."

THE DUKE CERTAINLY HAD A WAY WITH SURPRISES.　✧　she still has yet to decide whether she means that in a good way or not. arms fold across her chest. "i certainly don't have any shortage of complaints——like some warning, for instance." when he'd said he had something prepared for her deep inside of meropide, part of her had recalled the news reports of the grand ship that'd breached the churning waters of the flood that destined day like an ark of old and wondered if the belly of the fortress harbored some other secret for her just as unbelievable.

when the crowds of milling, regular workers had dwindled and then eventually disappeared altogether, leaving only his staunch figure to guide her through the network of massive pipes that served as the fortress' corridors, she'd hardly known what to think. like the first time they had properly met, the rubber tread of his footsteps and her own piccolo-staccato ones by comparison had been their only companions in the silence, and it brought back a strange claustrophobia she knew was a bit unfair to attribute to the duke alone.

any other man, and the thought would have crossed her mind earlier if she ought to devise an appropriate exit and take her leave where she could. but, she'd reasoned, this was wriothesley, with whom she had traveled alone all the way to natlan and back, and if he had wished to do her ill at any point of their somewhat unexpectedly prolonged acquaintance so far, he'd hardly need to wait until now. and so, all she'd kindled instead was a curious anticipation that built and built. . .

only to be. . . questionably?——suspended when the great iron seal of the pankration ring booms shut behind them with a rather threatening fall of a latch.

should she be worried about how excited he looks?

or was it just that she'd rarely seen him smile before?

with a sigh, she uncrosses her arms, but even the most dignified mask can't completely hide the nervous light behind her eyes. what exactly was she supposed to do against him? his hands, bandaged and pulled taut into fists that, she's certain, could cave her skull in a blow if he wanted to. gentlemanly as he could be, wasn't he also just that——the king of criminals? "is it. . . hand-to-hand?" not even with her sceptre she could manifest, or the help of her salon? by comparison, her own gloved ones, laughably delicate and nearly without callous.

but in looking down at them, out of nowhere, she finds herself envisioning brilliant fire and atomic, dazzling strikes. fu hua. her stomach squeezes uncomfortably. some time ago, she had asked her for a lesson under similar reasons after a humiliating showing among proper warriors had left her smarting and chagrined. with another sound exhale, furina squares her courage in her chest and thinks to herself:

what is the worst that can happen? surely, he won't kill her.

and so those delicate hands resolve to peel off their ivory gloves, laying them one over the other to the side on the edge of a crate. polished nails, smooth knuckles, unblemished skin. all the work and time that had gone into keeping them that way for the exacting and all-seeing eye of the kamera. she can't say she has faith, necessarily, that anything would come of this save another round of embarrassment, but at least there wouldn't be anybody else around to see. and wriothesley seemed a man that could keep secrets.

"very well. i don't know how much i can promise, but i imagine you don't offer this to just anyone, or very often." her expression lifts a little at that——from one sort of virtuoso to another, she can appreciate the time and effort set aside to take another under their wing, even if only briefly, and for a most bizarre birthday present. "so if nothing else, i should at least give it my best."

[animepopheart]

★ 【CAISENA】 「 🎂 (bday: oct. 13) 」 ✔ republished w/permission ☆ follow btt’s fanart twitch stream!

[genshinimpactresources]

Genshin impact | 2025 Birthday Artworks & Character Shorts: Furina

Artist: tokki

Download Link (Google Drive) | Animated Ver.

[arboriter]

of gods and men

[arboriter]

He thinks for a moment, if he could recall anything of the sort from his trip around the venue a few moments ago, but comes up short. Perhaps she is right, and it is already taken- he certainly remembers the many reminders not to leave anything expensive unattended he had heard and said to others. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t remember seeing it.” He shakes his head, then turns his attention similarly to the hotel, “But it may simply have slipped my mind.”

After all, an unattended handbag has no use to him, and certainly nothing would be gained from paying any attention to one. 

Curiously, he continues, “Is there anything stopping you from briefly checking for it? It might spare you the anxiety of not knowing.”

[fanfaire]

THE MAN'S BACKWARD LOOK AT THE HOTEL　✧　inspires both hope and trepidation. so he had come from the party too. . . what were the chances, she wonders, that he had not been simply ' passing by ' at all but had followed her here, for motives either benign or malicious? it seemed more likely than not, all things considering.

the slant of her eye is more cautious on him now——' slipped his mind ' begets suspicion. what would he have been distracted by, or why would he have been looking for something like a handbag in the first place? it sounds readily like the words of someone who had perhaps been tasked with cleaning up evidence. the plaza they stand in is not empty, thankfully. should he try anything, there would be plentiful witnesses, particularly for someone as notable as herself. ". . . yes, i suppose there are quite a few thing that stop me from returning to look." him among them, her tenor seems to imply.

she clears her throat and stands a bit taller.

"so, you were at monsieur auguste's banquet as well?" she asks evenly, watchful for any reaction at the name or any new look in the other man's eye. "did you also have other matters to attend to this evening? it's a shame that he should lose so many esteemed guests so early into the party."

[fanfaire]

　PARADE OF THE LADY ｡

[dukemeropide]

Is there anyone else who would be down here? Wriothesley glances down at Furina as he keeps up with her down the dark corridor. By now, they're deep into a block of old prison cells. The rust on the decrepit iron bars almost resembles blood as the lamplight flickers over them, and they moan and sigh all on their own inbetween the slightly out-of-sync tempo of footsteps, so one couldn't blame the fearsome Duke and the spirited former Archon for maintaining a pace just shy of running to the other end.

It's also why the Duke doesn't answer right away. The truth is... well, no. No one else would be in these abandoned floors that haven't seen activity in years, even decades. They'd have no reason to be. But there had to be some explanation for that camera that they both had seen turn on. Then, with a firm nod, Furina comes up with her own reason. She isn't looking at him, but if she had looked back at that moment, she might have seen the brief furrow between the Duke's dark eyebrows, and she'd known at once that she was wrong.

"The surveillance system in the Fortress is pretty expansive," he says instead. "If my guards can get this elevator working before we reach the generator, then that will save us a load of trouble."

It pushes a little bolster under the lie Furina has told herself, knowingly or not, and maybe with enough rationalizing, Wriothesley can come to believe it himself, too. He looks ahead again, raising his lamp to try to get a glimpse of a door he thought had been around here.

"The door should be somewhere on your right." But for now it's just more of the same - rusted iron bars, forlorn chains, the frames of old cots, and dried out plumbing. Until--

"Aha, there it is." Wriothesley crosses in front of Furina to make his way to a hefty steel door at the end of a row of cells. He grabs the handle.

--!!

The lantern shatters on the ground as Wriothesley jerks back from the door, soundless but startled stiff, his face firmed into a sort of tightlipped, wide-eyed mask. Something red flashes on the other side of the window slat at the top of the door, and from somewhere deep within the block, a low, steady click starts up.

[fanfaire]

THE WARDEN WOULDN'T LIE TO HER.　✧　of this, she must be certain——and the thought hadn't even occurred to her until this moment, proceeding down this long corridor of abandoned prison cells in search of an alleged door, in passing: a seditious and ever-brief whisper in the back of her mind, driven by the steadily-mounting desire to get out of here and back to the comparative safety of the upper levels, intrusive and quickly dismissed. she forces herself to look at the cells they pass instead to distract herself, each of them dark and dank in the brief, dirty windows of light from their lanterns as they pass.

it is not an inviting distraction.

after four or five of them and the degradation of the old iron bars and cinderblock and steel behind them had begun to look more haunting than ordinary, she's just about to open her mouth to ask something more when the duke's sudden announcement dispels the restlessness that'd built up inside her like a needle to a full balloon. she doesn't bother hiding a sigh of relief.

"about time. w——ahh!"

her shriek matches the tinny shatter of the lantern on the ground, and half their light winks out, cloaking wriothesley's form in a sudden shadow that only makes her more nervous. "what is it?" she lurches forward as though to grab onto him but stops halfway in case it was him that something was wrong with. then she hears it: a click——click——hollow and faraway. coming closer, or only her imagination——?

BANG!

she shrieks again, stumbling feverishly backwards this time at the deafening burst that'd come from the door. when she looks, breathing hard, the steel is bowed out at them from some great force on the other side.

BANG!

panic seizes her for the second time in short order, and she turns and takes off back down the corridor as quick as her heels will lend her in a certainty that something's coming out at them. then jolts to a pause just as abruptly, caught by the guilt of leaving the duke behind and the knowledge that if he died, she would be all alone down here. her salon has materialized too at some point in defense, triangulating around her at the ready, and against all better judgment, she turns and races back toward him. any second, whatever monster dwelt on the other side would smash through.

she reaches him ; there's no third bang. she's trembling all over ; the door is distorted, dented grotesquely convex. some animal instinct has her clap a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasps as she looks wildly from him to the threshold. . .

there's no third bang.

". . . w. . . what is. . . ?"

all is quiet.

[dukemeropide]

Solstice 2024: Wriothesley & Furina

sheep washing

[dukemeropide]

Wriothesley laughs to brush away the gravity the conversation had taken on a moment ago, eyes flickering up toward Furina as she at last stops fretting with her dress and takes a seat.

“Would you believe that’s one of the plays the acting club in the Fortress likes to put on every now and then. I guess it’s true what they say about art and understanding your own circumstances.” In other words, performing the role of le prisonnier while he himself was un prisonnier was the last thing Wriothesley would ever want to do, even if the last administrator had allowed such troupes to exist when he was carrying out his sentence. The Duke had come to see the group put on this show - clumsily adapted from one of the novels and not the original script as performed on the surface - out of some morbid curiosity toward the surreal and ridiculous, but had come away from it with newfound appreciation for its story.

“If my memory serves, the playwright had been inspired by his son’s debatably just sentence to the Fortress. He’d only spent a few months down there before being released for good behavior, but he never felt like a free man again.”

There’s a short pause, then Wriothesley chuckles at the wool spread across his knee.

”… Well, that’s the way Fortress’ current prisoners like to tell it.”

[fanfaire]

FIRSTLY, SHE IS SURPRISED TO HEAR　✧　that the fortress has an acting club——then secondly, she thinks she can, in some part, understand what the duke means. there had been more than one occasion in the past when the figure of focalors had herself been either the main or sideline character in a script, and on the occasions when such a piece and her own presence in the cast had crossed, the director had desired for her to play the exact part. it wouldn't even be a part at all, or require any acting on her behalf, they'd explain. sometimes she had agreed; sometimes she had not. . . how curious. so her own mind, too, had changed on things before.

"they are right, for the most part," she says, voice more subdued than before in contrast to the lift in wriothesley's. eyes on the flames, she can still imagine the small house she had visited decades after the fact and its cramped, smelly entrance corridor. claustrophobia's worst nightmare. beuchot had used up the bulk of the money he'd received from the play's acclaim in the years after its debut, leaving his son with little when he'd eventually passed. but that's not why she'd brought this up.

"in fact, i met his son many years later, after he'd already lived out as full a life as he could on his return." he'd been nervous at her arrival, at most often were, but she remembers the lack of fanfare at her reception even more. after the initial shock, he'd spoken to her, she imagined, much the same as he did to anyone else, without bowing or scraping in her presence. and she still wonders whether she'd imagined his dislike that day in the way he'd spoken and how anxious he seemed for their meeting to end——and if so, for what. her, possibly, though by the time it'd become glaring, it could've been for any number of reasons. "i was surprised to hear he didn't care much for his father's magnum opus. it took some time to get to the bottom of, but eventually i learned that lazare beuchot didn't bask in the success of his work for long. he took his own life within years of its debut."

she lets that sit for a pause, a pensive shroud settled in the line of her shoulders and her eyes on the flicker of the flames. "i did always feel something rather tortured in that script, buried behind the lines." to speak of wriothesley's question as to how much she had wondered about the lives of the prisoners consigned to meropide, where the stars of the epiclese's stage went after they took their exit. it's not an exact thing, maybe, but this is what it'd brought to mind.

lazare beuchot, his son's cramped little apartment, and a curiosity she still nursed as to that tragic ending. life, unlike scripts however, seldom had such clear answers.

[fanfaire]

✧　ANOTHER WORD FOR EXTINCTION.

comm.⠀CRYSTALLIZE⠀∶⠀fontaine aftermath

[balemouns]

if she notices furina walking closer to her, it's not apparent in her posture or mannerisms. instead, there's almost a grin when the salon members appear around them; it's little more than a faint upward slant at one corner of her lips, amused that the hydro creatures who accompany the former archon seem aware that they'd become the subject of conversation.

as though there's a formal introduction to be had while furina speaks ( and, perhaps it is exactly that ), she bows partway in turn to each introduced figure --- the gentilhomme, the mademoiselle, the surintendante each. they do sound fairly formidable, if the former archon trusts each to accompany her and protect her from harm... but opportunities to strategize how they could be used in tandem with her own abilities are gone in another instant, and the abrupt end of the introductions doesn't go unnoticed. arlecchino turns back to the other woman as she changes the subject after singing her entourage's praises, and directs attention back to the monster that had fired arrows at them along the shore.

arlecchino's head tilts at the way the question is finally posed towards her. the question is parroted back as she considers it: "do I know anything about what is happening...?" of course she did, but... the pieces still weren't falling quite into place. the doctor she'd met in that strange environment who'd shared so much of what he knew, for instance... what he had said then had left an impression. but how would she explain any of that to furina? a handwave, and she continues walking down the shore and out from under the aquabus line overhead; eyes glance off to watch the hydro attendants as they follow along to some degree, seemingly vigilant for any threats that may be on the horizon.

"destruction. that was the word I seemed to hear countless times while in a strange place, just before these creatures started appearing. based on the words of some of the individuals I met in that place... I further suspect the creature we are following is not alone, and they and their counterparts are not of teyvat." the timing of the strange adventure in another land was too coincidental, as was the words miss honey had left her with before the sequence seemingly faded and the story ended. "have you heard or witnessed anything similar? considering what we discussed once before, back on that shoreline... I would hope that this sort of experience occurring once more is not isolated to myself alone."

[fanfaire]

IT'S DIFFICULT TO EXPRESS WHETHER　✧　it's the word or the way the knave says it that sends a chill down to the pit of her stomach. destruction. so final. so complete, and seemingly unavoidable. at first, furina imagines the knave speaking of any number of strange realms or unspoken corners of the world that people like snezhnaya's dangerous harbingers must frequent when she speaks of some place she had been journeying just before these alien attacks on fontaine began, so when it's mentioned that she might have had a similar experience, likened to one of the last times their paths had crossed, it's enough to make furina look up and over in surprise.

she. . . had nearly forgotten that bizarre experience altogether. or, not so much ' forgotten ' as drowned out of the mind by so many other things, perhaps for she doesn't think it's quite possible to forget the illogical, wintry domain she and a few others had been pulled into on those islands. the domain——home? cage?——of a repudiated god.

not of teyvat. . . how does it just become more and more verboten the moment she thinks that had to be all of it? how were any of them equipped to repel a threat like that, then, which they couldn't even understand and may not even follow whatever logic they know? a cool realization forms in the pit of her stomach then, like the sudden and quiet stillness of a lake's surface: it was good that the knave was here, not just today, but in fontaine. the qualities that made her so frightening were undoubtedly one of the best chances they had at fending off something like a serious extraterrestrial invasion. her——and perhaps the iudex.

they walk for another stretch of thoughtful silence before furina finally shakes her head. "if you mean something like back then, with winter, then no. things have been fairly ordinary for me." she can't imagine she would be anywhere near as well-informed as an elite snezhnayan spy, with the vast web of connections she assumes the knave must possess.⠀(⠀yet even so, she wishes she could say there was something, not wanting to disappoint.⠀)⠀

a movement of blue distracts her. "——mm? where are you going?" usher's tentacled shape drifts forward ahead of both of them, and at an uncharacteristically swift pace. instinctively, furina jogs to keep up, eclipsing the knave before a twinge from her leg scolds a sharp reminder of her ungainly sprint for her life before. "usher!"

but he doesn't go far. spinning in place as though to signal them, he comes to a stop beside an ordinary copse of grass in the hillside. it's well-concealed from their angle, but as they draw closer, a strange formation juts out of the packed sand like ruins of a statue or monument. speaking of domains.

[dukemeropide]

All The Way Home You'll Be Warm

Wriothesley & Furina winter wonderland

[dukemeropide]

In the time that Wriothesley has come to known Furina - the Furina beneath the Archon costume, that is, although he harbors no delusion that he’ll ever know her real face - the span of her long life has not ceased being some storybook tale, a character on a stage, something unreal or otherwise impossible to him. She is, as he’s come to know her, ordinary in many ways. In the way she keeps her living space, in the books she reads, the plays she enjoys, how she takes her coffee, what makes her laugh, what frightens her, and the way she’ll splay out on a bed fully dressed to fall asleep right then and there. She’d once been an Archon, but instead of staying high up on her unreachable throne, she’d come down to earth as if she’d been human all her life, yet perhaps it was a testament to her acting skills that she’d even managed to fool Wriothesley with it all. It didn’t seem possible that she could be any older than he was, to have had all these memories from decades, even centuries ago, and while it still didn’t feel real, after witnessing her camaraderie with the old tailor, it felt realer now than it ever had.

How vast her life experiences must be. She brings up an old brand that Wriothesley has never heard of and though he’d never been one to follow Fontaine’s fashion industry, it only serves to highlight an era retired long before he’d ever been born. An entire world he had never witnessed. Furina’s life was a catalogue of little moments Fontaine’s greatest historians would never write about.

His mind wanders in and around this topic as Furina narrates their walk down the snow-lined, lamplit street. Softly, he laughs.

”That’s true for just about anything, isn’t it?” He pulls his attention from her only long enough to check the distance to the restaurant up ahead. By now, the streets have begun to clear as shoppers trickle into cafes and eateries for an early dinner, so they have much of the space to themselves and can stroll through halos of orange light as if they have nowhere else to be.

”A researcher in the Fortress once told me that diamonds can only be formed under incredible pressure.” With another laugh, he shakes his head and looks down at the cobblestone passing beneath their feet. “She was just trying to encourage what she thought looked like some wayward kid without anything left to lose, but I realized as I got older that she wasn’t blowing hot air. Or… being literal.” He throws Furina a sheepish smile. “Entrepreneurs need competition to invent the unbelievable. Artists give their best performances to exceed expectations. And time, or the lack of it, decides the value of a memory.”

There’s a quiet beat as Wriothesley looks ahead again at the hills of still-white snow heaped up along the roadside and basks for a moment in the warm light that spills out from the windows they pass. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen Fontaine like this. He can’t remember the last time he’d ever walked the streets with someone else before either.

”How many times have you seen the play we’re seeing tonight?”

Is my diamond just another penny in your purse?

[fanfaire]

IT IS WITH SOME SEDATED SURPRISE　✧　that furina realizes that wriothesley is speaking of himself. it happens so seldomly——something that furina equally realizes in this moment at the same time as her shock——that her mind jumps at first to wonder what had prompted such a recollection. some wayward kid without anything to lose. is this what wriothesley had been when he was first committed to the fortress' isolated interior? what that woman had reflected upon him? or his own reflection upon himself now through the imagined eyes of that woman, only interpreted now through layers of time and his own guesswork? she supposes whichever the case, it is about him in some way.

he returns to agreeing with her conclusion about the fate of the saint salvy's, but now she hardly remembers what she'd been talking about. and in the next beat, the duke's own return question jumps to a new topic so naturally and in the same even tone he always held that her response comes equally off the cuff, without much thought: "many, of course. it is a classic."

"but not this particular adaptation. you may have heard camille say so earlier when we were fitting, but there's been quite a lot of talk about what julienne maupeou has done with la dame noire. it is an old story, some may say outdated in ways that many today struggle to relate to, and they say he has reimagined it for such modern audiences."

she reserves her judgment until she sees it, but the way her arms fold loosely across her middle, elegantly gloved hand settled at either elbow, indicates her measured caution nonetheless.

and she finds herself still curious now about the duke as they come upon the front of the restaurant he had decided on, now that he has offered something so rare. one hand glides upon the banister as they ascend the few steps to its front door.

"which do you tend to prefer? the old traditions, or the new?"

[fanfaire]

✧　A SAURIAN AFFAIR.

comm. SWIRL⠀∶⠀natlan nursery.

[dukemeropide]

The morning begins at dawn just like their guide had promised, and Wriothesley greets it envious of Furina’s talent for falling asleep without regard to self or environment. There’s a subtle wear to his face out here in dawn’s first light, the faintest crescent under his downturned eyes which had barely shut for more than an hour or two at a time last night, but he hides it under polite smiles and understanding nods as their guide explains the general work to be done down here in this rocky valley. The rest of him is as impeccable as always - clean-shaven, hair styled in its usual “unstyled” tousle, and his dark linen work shirt without crease or wrinkle. The Duke has survived sleepless nights before, perhaps too many, and faces the day’s challenge with unwavering resolve.

The first of which is the raking out of old bedding. As Furina watches a woman make her rounds with a basket of feed, Wriothesley observes the rhythmic sweeps a young man makes through one of the hollowed nests nearby. He makes it look so easy, and has hardly broken a sweat by the time he’s cleared out all the soiled and trampled hay. Even at this early hour, the day’s heat has already crept under Wriothesley’s skin, so he knows he won’t be quite so fortunate no matter how easily he takes to the task, but a little sweat and hard work pales in comparison to the tour of the Natlanese landscape that this saurian reserve offers. Here, from the azure sea to the painted mesas, to the spiraling buttes, and all the grassland and caves inbetween, is a world on a miniature scale. And all they have to do is work a little to enjoy it.

With rake in hand Wriothesley starts toward the nests on the other side of the valley, but like Furina, his eye is drawn to the little red saurian rooting around the amber stones that scatter the ravine. Unlike the other young ones, who are mostly cream colored and roam from place to place in a loose pack, this one does not seem interested in joining the herd and paces about with its head down, seemingly unaware of how swiftly the feed boxes are being emptied without it.

“A different breed?” Wriothesley offers as an uncertain answer to Furina’s question, casting a look over his shoulder at her. Like dogs, he thinks. There are white poodles and cream colored poodles, and even black and grey poodles back in Fontaine. Interested in taking a better look, he pivots to start with the nest closest to the little red tatankasaur, but it sees him coming and quickly gallops to the safety of another nest with a soft honk.

”Huh… I guess it’s skittish.” And it quickly becomes apparent why. Within moments, one of the other young ones notices the red one and breaks away from the herd with a sharp bellow, head down, charging with all the might of its bigger, more mature counterparts.

[fanfaire]

MUCH AS SHE WOULD LIKE TO STAND AND WATCH ,　✧　she does feel particularly useless doing so. "maybe," she replies offhandedly to wriothesley's suggestion as to the oddly-colored specimen's situation, stooping down to pick up another of the shallow baskets and rest it against her hip, and begin filling it with the feed as she'd watched the woman do before her. comparatively though, her hand feels exceedingly inefficient, raking through the mixture of pellets, greens, and straw, and that's saying nothing for the musty odor her clothes are going to be covered in by the time this is over.

stage starlet though she might be, she had agreed to this arrangement for their room and board, and so she's determined to do a half decent job at the labor——at the very least, not to be an obstacle to the regular workers here even if she may not be up to their par.

just as she's finished filling the basket, however, a sharp cry from behind makes her start and pivot on her heel with eyes wide, just in time to gasp when she sees one of the smaller tatankasaurs making a rush for the unique one. for an anxious moment, she fears a brawl, but then the charging animal stops a meter or two short of collision as the unusual one turns and lumbers quickly away, making a hasty escape from the scene.

the show of dominance is over as soon as it'd started, and so decisively. a brisk whistle and a call from one of the staff walking over diverts the attention then of the one who'd rushed forward, who turns and makes its way back over to the piles of food, holding its head high with a demonstrative shake. it seems like such a clear show of ostracization that she can't help but feel terrible for the victim. "what a poor thing," she remarks, starting toward it with intent to feed it first then, since it'd been so ousted, but another voice calls out before she can make it far.

"i wouldn't go near chuicico without one of us with you."

the young man who ambles over to them on a jog isn't their tour guide from yesterday, but he seems friendlier, or maybe that's just how his crooked smile makes him look. "is there some problem with him?" him? her? she had no way of knowing which.

"problem?" he parrots, looking surprised by her choice of words. "no, no, not so much anymore. but he used to be a big bully, and he's still got some of that attitude with people he doesn't know."

a bully. . . ? when it seemed like he was the one being bullied? she doesn't protest, but trails after the reserve worker as he jogs on ahead of them both, making clicking noises to call out to the jilted chuicico.

[crackshct]

The Good, The Bad, and The Ruining This Script

Moviemaking ft. Boothill, Mr. Reca, Kalpas, & Furina

[bloodbxrn]

[Int. - Daytime - Tall Feather Saloon]

The glass shatters against the far wall, clearly meant for you but this idiot couldn't aim when he was sober, let alone with the drink he's got in 'im. He has the rank stench of a man who's been out under the hot sun all day, and the red in his cheeks to punctuate it - every part of him tells you he's been on the railroad, and in the bottle, and that the line between them has become fuzzy for him.

You were there too, under the same hot sun, and it should be a link between the two of you but it isn't. You reach for the bottle - no, you reach for - you reach for it.

"Yeah, I heard you," Kalpas said, a finger coming up to scratch the hairline resting beneath the hat, catching on the bandana that covered his face in place of his usual mask. It felt odd enough, sitting here, knowing without knowing what he was supposed to do, but his naked eyes seeing the vibrant sun of another's world was indescribable.

Grab it. It's yours now. You reach for his bottle, and stand just as he gets the bright idea to lunge for it, as though he forgot that taking it away from him was something you could do.

"If you heard me, yellow-belly, then say it again, or you too chicken shit, sc'red I'm gonna gut you like a fish?"

Kalpas rose from his stool at the bar, the seat giving a painful screech against the fragrant new pine of the saloon's flooring. This little thing was nothing to him, even puffed up as he was, and all it took was a palm to his chest to lay him flat.

"In or out," he called to the stringy boy at the door, pouring himself a hefty glass of whiskey from the claimed bottle, and then, after a moment, another.

"Lettin' the flies out."

@fanfaire

[fanfaire]

SHE IS A NOWHERE GIRL ,　✧　stuck in a dead end life. this waitressing job at the local watering hole will barely be enough to make ends meet for her own family here, much less enough for her to send back and support her parents. life for some is death for others, and she feels the strangeness of standing at the crossroads of both fortunes with one foot planted on either side. the arrival of everything new, and the subsequent boom of storefronts and technology from places all across the belt had driven her parents' business to bankruptcy——but for her and her infant son, there's still hope on the horizon yet, if only she could find those prospects.

what she doesn't realize is that ' prospect ' had just walked in the door, in the shape of a lanky young man wearing a dark hat.

"oh no, please don't——!"

start, she means to say. but her nervous words are easily drowned out in the rising commotion of the inn as the man who'd challenged the burly, drunk brigand hops up off the floor again from where he'd been shoved, quick hand swiping out to grab the drunkard by the front of his tunic with a face turning redder by the second and spittle getting ready to fly.

"only flies 'round here's you, drinking this place to a waste. blood-sucking curd!"

melody tailor doesn't want to get involved, but her feet are moving before her brain does as they're often wont to do, hurrying to the scene of impending crime in naive hopes of settling everyone down before the establishment loses its patrons for it——and she, her only job.

foolishly, she puts her hands on the forearm whose wrist is bunched in the brigand's collar with all the strength she can muster of bussing tables and carting trays, unaware of the collateral it would be so easy to become in the next instant.

"these glasses are very expensive, sirs——!"　/　@memoriauteur

[genshinimpactresources]

Hoyofair | "Parallels Meet" Announcement Artwork

[fanfaire]

A NEW AND SANGUINE SUN.

comm.⠀ABUNDANCE⠀∶⠀unexplored frontiers

[mydcimos]

It shouldn’t be so difficult.

Mydei knows that the proper thing to do would be to bring a blade across her throat and be done with it. War calls to the Kremnoan Detachment and they, he, answers it, chasing the scent of blood and glory to where it was most potent. The next acceptable thing to do would be to turn her around and drop her in the wastes where they’d found her.

Do that, a very loud part of him whispers, darkening the frown etched over his expression as he considers. It’s the right thing, but he knows that it wouldn’t be a mercy, but cruelty. She’ll die, he combats himself, then a snort- So what?

If she died, then she was weak, and the mark she would make on the world was insignificant to start with. Best end her, where the sight of her trembling fingers wrapped around his peace offering could cause no further offense.

But these are the ideals of the Mad Titan, and the King that rules alongside them.

Another sigh, this one carrying a low rumble lodged at the back of his throat. It’s shocking to think that the years have brought him so far, have colored his perspective like this. From the feral child ready to rip into his enemies with his teeth, because their tainted blood could not possibly be human to the one that deliberates over perception, and what it might mean for the future of his people.

So, he banishes the thought, scowling down at what can only be compared to a crown of starlight, hair so finely kept that it seemed like spun silk. Who could she be…truly? “Does this look like the Janusopolis to you?” Scathing words, but it’s progress, and Mydei latches to it with precision. “No. But we’re close, maybe a day’s march. If there aren’t enemies blocking our path. Ohkema, is even farther.” There isn’t a person alive that wouldn’t know the Holy City by name…

Teeth click together in frustration, his gauntlets chime as he crosses his arms. “Anyone would know that. But you don’t.” He paces forward, drinking from his own glass, something sweet to ease the irritation she’s caused him. “You seem sure of the name Janusopolis, but not Ohkema. Time to choose your allegiances.” If he was the ruthless crown prince that the collective believed him to be, this would have been over already. “I'll make it simple for us both- I have little time for Kremnoan spies or Dolos thieves..” Not to mention the Detachment that awaits his word. “Give me a reason to care for your life or death.”

[fanfaire]

SHE REGRETS ASKING THE QUESTION　✧　the moment he answers. it's impossible to recall the last time she'd been made to feel like a stupid child——if she had ever——but her eyes drop quickly to the tabletop, heat rising at the base of her neck in shame that immediately seems misplaced. why should she feel ashamed? of course she didn't know where they were, or how far away from anywhere. but she is not about to argue when he is so certain about what she should and should not know, and is able to end her life swiftly if he decides it.

so she is wise to keep her mouth shut and let him denounce her, pacing across the tent like, she thinks, a caged beast, snapping, waiting for the first excuse to spring. why hasn't he? if he is so eager to think her a. . . threat? inconvenience? is he hoping she will prove him wrong?

choose her allegiances. give him a reason to care. unbidden, her pulse quickens again, beating small and hard in her throat. whatever sliver of grace she'd hoped she might be granted evaporates in the renewed urgency of danger.

wasn't the fact that she was not a threat enough for him to care for her life? she is sure it is not. but what else does she have? it's clear he expects her to be worth keeping alive, rather than simply not deserving of death. "i——i know something about your enemies," she blurts out, hurried and harrowed, grasping at thinnest straw as she stares up at him. does she really? who knows. but janusopolis and okhema had been familiar, and kremnoan too, even if from the most unimaginable of places. that book. . . did it really have something to do with this? oh, why had she dropped it!!

"and. . . and about you, perhaps. your past, or—or your future. it's that book. it's all written there."

she clears her throat, feeling as though she'd started running and cannot stop, buoyed headily by some hopeful grandeur that rises up like a second self. she feels a little mad ; maybe this situation has made her so. when she continues, she sounds surer ; her back is straighter, clammy hands prim in her lap. she is a little more like furina. her pulse has not calmed or slowed, but maybe if she still dies in the next moment, she can at least do so with dignity. "yes, and if you or one of your men will accompany me to fetch it, i'll prove it to you. i'm telling the truth, but if you don't trust me, then you may bind my hands, or whatever other means to prevent my escape. . . but i promise that i am not of this world, and yet that book knows something of yours."