#choivenant

[wind-blumes]

[KARAOKE]

"When's the last time we've sung together?" A rhetorical question serves as an invitation as the two of them pass by the stage, currently occupied with an enthusiastic opera fan singing her heart out to what Dahlia could only assume was her favorite song- despite not quite having the range for it.

The edges of a smile play in his voice, clear eyes watching the performer make up for what she lacked in skill with passion, the birthplace of the most breathtaking of arts.

"How about a duet or two? We can line up there!"

Without truly waiting for an answer, the deacon swiftly maneuvers the bard to join the queue- with how quickly each song goes by, he thinks they'll spend ten minutes at most waiting.

"Surely you've already got something fun in mind~?"

“What an honor! This humble bard, being invited to sing by Mondstadt’s very own cantor of the church choir!” 

Venti grinned and followed Dahlia to the queue snaking around the stage. The current singer was quite impressive—with a bit of training, maybe she could even start a professional career. “How could I ever decline? Ah, but you’ve left the song choice to me? I’ll have to pick out something good! They might throw us off the stage if we do our usual rendition of '99 Bottles of Wine', ehe...”

There were countless songs to choose from, of course, but the main factor was how much he wanted to throw Dahlia under the bus.

"Hm... actually, I've got a song in mind! How good is your Liyuean?"

[rapperias]

🎲

.˖ ࣪ ⚔︎ kiss roulette (accepting) 25. A kiss that's an accident

She allowed her posture to relax, arms folded on the cool stone of the plaza’s upper balustrade, overlooking the city. The letter had been delivered, the requisite courtesies observed, and now, she was free until morning. What an odd thing that was, to be free. A breath of a laugh escaped her at the thought. Fitting, perhaps, that she should find herself temporarily freed from duties and the nosy press in the City of Freedom.

The visit to Mondstadt had been rather relaxing. Much more than Clorinde initially thought it would be, even, considering that she had come here to deliver a missive from the court. Mondstadt’s night air, carrying the faint, scent of dandelions, sweet wine, and apple, was a novelty. Quieter than the Fontainian nights. Quieter than the busy footsteps that often echo throughout the Palais well into the night. A sort of comforting silence that she could almost burrow herself into and sleep. Almost.

A sound. Not from the city below, but somewhere just close enough to nearly starter her. A soft intake of breath, the subtle scuff of a shoe on stone. A person. Her hand quickly reached for the hilt of her rapier, heels turning sharply, brow furrowed, a warning already forming on her tongue—

—had it not been for the sudden pain that came. Her own teeth caught the inside of her bottom lip. Archons, he was much closer than she’d anticipated. Improperly so. And with a forehead that was harder than steel, too, not that she would ever give such a rude remark voice, displeased she must be.

A gloved hand reached for her lip, testing to see if it had bled. There was no taste of iron, nor any traces of blood. Good. Hopefully, it won't bruise in the morning.

“I—” Her lips pursed, a fleeting grimace of concern tightening her brow. She hadn’t hurt him too much, she hoped. “I’m sorry. I reacted before properly taking in my surroundings. I hope I didn’t hurt you, erm,” she took stock of the man before her.

A member of the clergy, maybe? Although he dresses differently from the stern sisters and quiet acolytes she’d seen earlier. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else here at this hour. You have my apologies again.”

[immovablewill]

#GHSnowswept2025 ー Fight Club

@choivenant asked:

[BET] “Would it be unfair to these fighters if a vision wielder entered the ring?” Dahlia muses aloud, half to himself, half to the woman who wore hers so obviously on her belt. It is obvious he has no intention of testing it out- through their machinery and wits, the fighters are no easy target, and besides- He’s racked up quite a nice pile of… something or other, the local currency, he figures. It’s not hard- having sweet talked himself into getting a starting bid, the rest had been some observation and a lot of luck, the one who had handed him the original coin long since reimbursed.  Then, shamelessly, “Say, if you enter the ring and win, I’ll get you a drink! Not a bad deal, hm?”

A fresh tickle of meltwater found its way through the seams of Sara’s boots, and with her frown only pursing tighter, she finally gave the stranger beside her a glance.

All this constant, grating roaring of the crowd, the stench of cheap ale and what may as well be fuel and oil, the sight of people blatantly cheating; a fighter’s gauntlet powered up with what seemed to be electricity, frying his opponent with each contact, his trainer starting up a new betting ring, greedily scamming others of their money…

This entire city, with its endless frost and louder machinations, had put her on edge since arrival, and the quiet boiling in her blood demanded an outlet.

Was this shameful? Perhaps. But stepping into a fighting ring was a lesser shame than losing her composure entirely.

She breathed out a scoff, fingers already tracing the fastenings of her thick jacket. With a quick flick of her thumb, she popped them undone one by one. The heavy wool, damp with cold, fell away, revealing the rather pricey roll-neck she had purchased for her visit beneath. From a shady man at that, now that she thought about it… Oh. Had she bought her clothes at a price higher than normal…? Her vision, now completely freed and uncovered, glowed as though it were thrilled to be put into use at last.

Meeting the stranger’s gaze, she offered the shorter male a small, barely there smile.

This really, truly, is quite unlike her.

“Two drinks,” she countered, her voice cutting through the noise with practiced clarity. “And I will give you a new champion.”

Without waiting for his reply, she raised her hand the very moment the referee’s voice called out for the next fool willing to challenge.

[virtuouslife]

[ SNOWBALL]

The deacon is not unfamiliar with the task of minding children- or at least, keeping an eye on them while their parents work on more urgent business. His current task is not any more difficult than tracking down the many cats of Mondstadt city, as at least the kids’ location is always marked by the sound of laughter.

That being said- the amount of people they’ve roped in was only getting larger, and Dahlia was having trouble catching up between apologizing to some of the passerby, and the small talk that follows.

They, also, were far more familiar with the streets than he was, and while he knew that they were on the other side of the building that he now stood by, he had no idea how to through without trespassing. And, there-

A young woman with an unfortunate amount of snow piled onto her. Some of it looks fresh, some of it less so.

“Greetings, ma’am. I think a group of children just ran by? Do you know where they’ve gone? I’m supposed to make sure they don’t leave the city, you see…”

#GHSnowswept2025 - Part 2

EMBARRASSED (AND A LITTLE FRUSTRATED), KALLEN RUBS AT THE SNOW COATING HER FACE. only, the slight movements loosen the pile of snow on top of her head. sputtering a little, kallen repeats her efforts a little more vigorously — serving to incite another cycle of the same. a voice from nearby jolts her out of the self-replicating loop, and her face, already red from the cold, begins to tinge a brighter red. at least, the stranger is kind enough not to comment on the pile of snow still serving as her hat, barely diminished despite the endless cascade of snow dusting her face over and over.

“greetings! yes, i saw them pass through just now ... ” eager to help as always, kallen nevertheless sounds a little sheepish. to be honest, the encounter was less so passing through and more so ... — well, to the children who have spent the past many days delighted by snowball fights and giant snow forts, the sometimes-lenient and sometimes-stern miss kallen is the perfect target. the thing is: kallen's helpless when it comes to children, good enough to appease and occupy them, but powerless to convince them that they must listen to her. don't throw snowballs into people's faces! don't run so fast! wait for your chaperone! to each pleading advice, the answer was: giddy laughter and a flurry of snowballs.

“they went off that way, 'round the corner.” she points, and the sweeping gesture jostles some more snow off the top of her head. “i can come with you, if you'd like. they're a bit of a handful, as you can tell ... ”

[peerlessgem]

[ SNOWBALL]

One cannot begrudge anyone who wishes to stay out of the snowball fight, given that it is one, cold, and two, composed mostly of children and a few eager adults. After all, the heating is still broken, and they will be suffering the consequences in the hours to come. However,

There is something to be said about those who neither ducked out of the way nor avoided the area, and that perhaps getting hit with some stray snow may have been easily avoidable if they had simply committed to not being part of the snowball fight.

Dahlia does not say this out loud.

He may think it, but still he offers his hand to help the victim of his unfortunate last throw out of the piles of snow, a mischievous smile lingering on his face- indicating that he was not particularly sorry about the situation.

“My bad! Are you alright, miss?”

Oh, did something happen to #531 while it was on standby? Herta dismisses the error, tunes into the puppet's viewpoint, and realizes three things at once. One, that she's crumpled in a heap in a snowdrift. Two, that icy water is soaking through the fabric of her dress, which doesn't actually bother the puppet but does mean it'll have to spend a couple system hours drying in a T-pose. Three, a boy is smiling down at her, hand outstretched, nothing good glimmering in his eyes.

Well, now. What's going on here...?

Confirming with local memory that this pipsqueak did, in fact, throw the first stone, Herta accepts the hand and pulls herself to her feet. Disdainfully, she brushes at her skirt, shaking off the snow.

"I'm fine, thank you. Bye-bye," she huffs primly, turning to leave----just as an icy shadow, suspiciously shaped like a massive diamond, appears above the boy's head, growing ever larger.

[wind-blumes]

[LATE] 

“And one for you, my friend, as you have so graciously brought me here.” Dahlia presents a glass with a flourish, his winning from a long and arduous exchange- as the currency accepted here was not like anything he was familiar with, to the point that Mora was about to be considered another entry to the museum, rather than an exchange of coin for services. 

In the end, he did not have to pay, the long negotiation leading to the offer of a free drink (soon to be two, once he haggled further) as long as the two agreed to help keep the atmosphere light and cheery. “Where is this, anyway? It can’t be Teyvat… I’ve never heard of a place that doesn’t accept Mora, much less not recognize it.”

“Oh, by the way, this comes with the promise of performing the next song for the venue. Perhaps it'll get your creative juices flowing?”

Ah, Dahlia, his valiant hero! He could feel the barkeeper shooting him dirty looks across the room as he accepted the glass from the deacon and took a sip. The sweet taste of victory!

“Worry not! With this, my well of inspiration shall be ever-flowing!” Venti grinned. “Besides, the Belobogians know how to enjoy good music. I went out busking earlier and we drew quite the crowd!” He patted Dahlia on the shoulder. “Speaking of which - you should go out and enjoy yourself. Don’t worry too much about where this is or how we got here. Here, I’ll even give you some allowance.” 

From his pocket Venti drew out a couple of coins and some little cards - his spoils from busking - which he pressed into Dahlia’s hands. “Not sure which one is what, though, so you can try either and see what works. Now, then... what song should I put on next?”