🎲 i just think it would be funni
━ kiss roulette
28. A kiss in parting
Monstadt’s ever-so-popular Windblume Festival is in full swing outside, laughter and music filling its decorated streets and the faint scent of blooming flowers dancing with the wind. Yet, the atmosphere is remarkably different here inside Angel’s Share: quiet save for the tune playing on the gramophone, paired occasionally with a clink of glass and the low murmur of a few patrons scattered about.
Rosalyne sits at the bar, gloved finger tracing the rim of her near-empty glass, silver gaze fixed on the man behind the counter.
And goodness, what a sight for sore eyes he is, hm? His white vest pristine clean and well ironed, his black tie perfectly knotted, and his crimson hair tied in a ponytail, though still wild and untamed. Still, it’s his expression, however, that has caught her attention most—sharp, piercing eyes unabashedly meeting hers, his brows furrowed and his lips openly showing his displeased frown, as if her very presence is an affront to his establishment. She can’t help but find it amusing. No, more than that—it’s endearing, in a way that makes her chest ache with a bittersweet nostalgia.
How he reminds her so much of her wolf pup. The memory of him is like a curse she can never let go. Though centuries may have passed since, she can still clearly recall his ridiculous rigidness. Always so serious, so dedicated to his duties, though beneath it all had been a heart that burned with such intense love for Mondstadt and its people. Ah, yes… He would have loved today, she thinks. He would have wandered Mondstadt’s mountains collecting Cecilias to present to her with that rare, soft smile of his…
But Rostam is now gone. And there will be no knight of hers who shall come with a hand full of clumsily picked flowers for them to weave together into crowns. There’s only—well, Diluc, and that glare of his as though she’s some kind of a nuisance.
She can’t help but laugh slowly under her breath. How amusing, how adorable, that this young little pup thinks he can intimidate her. She’s no stranger to these sorts of hostility, and his attempts to make her feel unwelcome only serve to entertain her further. In fact, hoping to taunt him further, she raises her glass and, much to his chagrin, gestures for a refill.
The way his jaw seems to tighten as he pours her another glass of dandelion wine, that momentary hesitation and she swears she heard him grunt just then—oh, it’s all just too much. She can see how he clearly despises serving her, yet he can’t outright refuse. After all, it is an important day for Mondstadt, a day for happiness and freedom and love and wouldn’t it be cruel of him to suddenly kick out a diplomat when she has done nothing wrong? She chuckles. It doesn’t matter that her blood is as Mondstadtian as his; to him, it seems, she’s nothing but an outsider, a threat. And perhaps she is. But that only makes this game all the more enjoyable.
As she sips on her wipe, she can’t help but notice how the few patrons who remain keep on stealing glances her way, careful and wary of her. Ah, his own little guards, maybe? How thoughtful. She almost wants to give them a reason to act, just to see what he would do. But she isn’t here to cause trouble, no. Not today, at the very least. Today, she’s here to remember, to indulge in the bittersweet ache of memories that she hopes will continue to haunt her, that she may never forget.
Dandelion Wine has always tasted sweet on her tongue, but the aftertaste is bitter.
She doesn’t ask for a third. The ache in her chest only grows heavier by the second, and she knows better than to drown it in alcohol. So while she would love to continue this silly little game she’s made for herself, she rises from her seat, smoothing out the folds of her dress before gesturing for her bill.
When Diluc slides the slip of paper toward her, she can’t help but laugh—a full, unrestrained sound that echoes in the quiet tavern. It even makes a few patron jump in their seat, surprise and confusion painted across their features.
Double the usual price, is it? Oh, this boy is too much. She doesn’t complain and reaches for her purse, her laughter still bubbling in her throat, and sets a handsome amount of mora on the counter. Before he can reach to take the money, her hand reaches out, grabbing him by his tie and yanking him forward.
She watches as his eyes widen in surprise—hears the sound of seats scraping against wooden floor as some of his men quickly stand in concern—but she gives them all no time to react. With but a small tilt of her head, she presses a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, her laughter still dancing in her eye as she pulls away.
“Something for me to take on the road,” is all she says, her voice light and teasing. “Ah, and keep the change. Think of it as a tip.” With that, she turns to leave, hand raising in a half-hearted, languid wave, uncaring of any protests he may have.
Hah. Even his angered face, flushed and scowling, looks so much like her Rostam’s.
