ㅤㅤ𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐲𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 mondstadt for three straight days.
ㅤㅤㅤusually - the god of anemo's good nature rarely messed with the wind, usually - his jovial temperament meant his slightest annoyances were only conveyed in sharp gusts or an occasional billowing gale. what's more is lord barbatos made a point to isolate any tantrums he would have to the highest peaks of mondstadt - or off the coast where no ships sailed. rare, for his ire to blanket the entirety of his nation - and rarer still for it to gust down into the liyue border, clouds and winds speeding through until thunder rumbled in the sky and he had disturbed the elements enough to produce gusts and a downpour. he wasn't sorry. even without the gnosis, his power ran deep - and his emotions along with it.
ㅤㅤㅤventi had not flown down to liyue the second he'd gotten the news - had caught wind of the happenings of the chasm and what the vigilant yaksha had tried to do. no, the bard had become unusually reclusive - shutting himself away in the angel's share or lingering at the base of the cathedral. smiles slow, laughter even slower - as lord barbatos found himself at a loss of what to do, and instead ruminated over how he might handle this situation... these... feelings. the more he thought though, the more irate he became and... well, thusly the storm.
ㅤㅤㅤonly now did he descend upon the top of wangshu inn like a cyclone.
ㅤㅤㅤthe leaves of the great tree whip in his wake, rain smattering against the eaves as venti drifts to the floor with a soundless stomp. where usually he might find xiao among the tree branches - the bard is instead privy to the yaksha staying dry beneath the wangshu's roof - and yet that doesn't stop the gale that disturbs his rain soaked capelet, as he advances on his quarry with purpose. and yet - at xiao's side, venti hesitates, the glow of vivid gaze fading and the wind easing briefly, as if actually seeing them alive is enough to bank the anemo's god smoldering worry a substantial amount.
ㅤㅤㅤ❝ xiao. ❞ normally sonorous voice lilts instead with worry, and he invades the other's space with hesitance, reaching out with the faintest breeze to play through their hair, along a cheek, and to remind himself that they are - indeed - alive, ❝ little bird, i have no interest in singing of the heroics of a dead wind. doesn't really sell well. ❞ the touch of that breeze turns real - the vague press of to fingertips to the pulse within xiao's wrist. gaze now imploring, reaching. ❝ are you okay? do you... need anything? ❞ // @eldritque