[ just fulfilling his duties, he'd say. gallivanting about with the knights, worming intel from the palms of men more hungry than he is. slicked with the scent of an omega, poured into the spaces of any who seek treasure leave behind, it'd been only right that diluc had been (unpleasantly) surprised. four years away, four years absent — the rot rooted out and the rot receded, but diluc had no such qualms about trusting the institutions that betrayed him. had no such illusions that all had been fixed and mended. had no such hopes that the paths that wound him "home" would be as he remembered, memories a bright and bitter cinder on the tip of his tongue.
where they flounder, diluc rises. pressed against the night, chasing the thin edge of dawn, he strings his own networks along. he knows the names of those who linger in their boundaries, the faces of fatui behind the city walls. he knows how to dispose of such difficult messes before often the knights ever catch wind of it, but kaeya — sir kaeya had always been different. a cold wind against the back, a dagger through the lungs. between the slats of ribs, disarming first with his "given gifts" and the curl of silvered tongue. he'd always stumbled not at all over the social standings, maneuvered his words as pieces across the polish of a board. it'd charmed him, begrudgingly, in his youth. he'd been foolish then.
but now, garbed even as he is against those who would stare not at all closely at him, he finds it infuriating. irritating. enough that he should want to — ah, perhaps he's not thinking too clearly. it'd been enough of a night of errors, another comedy of mistakes. his first had been to approach a group he'd only had a smattering of information on. not as though they themselves were unknown to diluc, not really, but the shipments they were moving to and from liyue? no such knowledge on what the bottles contained that the men threw. not that it mattered now, considering he'd had them dispatched on the far shore and left the smoldering fleet of their boats against the lip of the lake, but —
staggering isn't something the dark knight hero does, per se. he's efficient and fleeting, a shadow that answers no pleading to cease his actions under threat of arrest. he is not ungainly in the way he uses the cobbled stone of the city walls to pull himself along. he does not become overwhelmed, sweat beading at his temples and dry at the mouth. he doesn't become sick on the scent of the knights that flicker still about the city — scattered crystal flies in the vineyard. he does not — ]
Ugh. [ enough of a sound to contain multitudes. if he can just make it back to the winery (or some secluded place in-between) it won't be worth worrying about the searing heat that spreads from the gut to the tips of his fingers. the itch that begins burrow at the blunt of his teeth. he could just sleep it off, he figures. the high rise of his scent like smoke against the mountain paths, a fire lit among the needling pines. it reeks, he's sure. he reeks even more, when he comes from the western exit — backlit by the moon, framed in silver.
diluc attempts to turn on his heel and make a quicker exit, but his body isn't having it. in the mess of bottles that remain, his leaden feet kick through the battlefield of glass. he grimaces. ]
no subject
where they flounder, diluc rises. pressed against the night, chasing the thin edge of dawn, he strings his own networks along. he knows the names of those who linger in their boundaries, the faces of fatui behind the city walls. he knows how to dispose of such difficult messes before often the knights ever catch wind of it, but kaeya — sir kaeya had always been different. a cold wind against the back, a dagger through the lungs. between the slats of ribs, disarming first with his "given gifts" and the curl of silvered tongue. he'd always stumbled not at all over the social standings, maneuvered his words as pieces across the polish of a board. it'd charmed him, begrudgingly, in his youth. he'd been foolish then.
but now, garbed even as he is against those who would stare not at all closely at him, he finds it infuriating. irritating. enough that he should want to — ah, perhaps he's not thinking too clearly. it'd been enough of a night of errors, another comedy of mistakes. his first had been to approach a group he'd only had a smattering of information on. not as though they themselves were unknown to diluc, not really, but the shipments they were moving to and from liyue? no such knowledge on what the bottles contained that the men threw. not that it mattered now, considering he'd had them dispatched on the far shore and left the smoldering fleet of their boats against the lip of the lake, but —
staggering isn't something the dark knight hero does, per se. he's efficient and fleeting, a shadow that answers no pleading to cease his actions under threat of arrest. he is not ungainly in the way he uses the cobbled stone of the city walls to pull himself along. he does not become overwhelmed, sweat beading at his temples and dry at the mouth. he doesn't become sick on the scent of the knights that flicker still about the city — scattered crystal flies in the vineyard. he does not — ]
Ugh. [ enough of a sound to contain multitudes. if he can just make it back to the winery (or some secluded place in-between) it won't be worth worrying about the searing heat that spreads from the gut to the tips of his fingers. the itch that begins burrow at the blunt of his teeth. he could just sleep it off, he figures. the high rise of his scent like smoke against the mountain paths, a fire lit among the needling pines. it reeks, he's sure. he reeks even more, when he comes from the western exit — backlit by the moon, framed in silver.
diluc attempts to turn on his heel and make a quicker exit, but his body isn't having it. in the mess of bottles that remain, his leaden feet kick through the battlefield of glass. he grimaces. ]