We have very different ideas of fun. What am I even supposed to do with an Anemo leaf?
[It wasn’t as though he had Anemo at his call to blow it back to the samurai, and there’s little else he can think of that might be considered play in that kind of situation.
He scowls thinking it something more along the lines of teasing, rather than play, though his expression does soften at the mention of cicins and seeking fireflies.]
They’re pretty as long as they aren’t swarming. Actual fireflies however, those are quite beautiful dancing in the night sky. I think I would like to see if they do.
[Thoughts of clear nights filled with tiny purple lights fluttering about, cross through Scaramouche’s mind. He recalls the warmth of the furnace contrasting heavily to the chill of the night air, of voices laughing jovially, of watching-- The Balladeer hums into his cup of tea, drinking more down in attempts to refocus his mind on something else. It’s rare that his thoughts venture to that.
Pushing past the thoughts of time long since gone he takes a step towards the museum, hand still gripped tight into the fabric of Kazuha’s sleeve.]
What is there to tell? You already know what happened — she didn’t want me, sealed me away from the world and then I woke and began wandering.
no subject
[It wasn’t as though he had Anemo at his call to blow it back to the samurai, and there’s little else he can think of that might be considered play in that kind of situation.
He scowls thinking it something more along the lines of teasing, rather than play, though his expression does soften at the mention of cicins and seeking fireflies.]
They’re pretty as long as they aren’t swarming. Actual fireflies however, those are quite beautiful dancing in the night sky. I think I would like to see if they do.
[Thoughts of clear nights filled with tiny purple lights fluttering about, cross through Scaramouche’s mind. He recalls the warmth of the furnace contrasting heavily to the chill of the night air, of voices laughing jovially, of watching-- The Balladeer hums into his cup of tea, drinking more down in attempts to refocus his mind on something else. It’s rare that his thoughts venture to that.
Pushing past the thoughts of time long since gone he takes a step towards the museum, hand still gripped tight into the fabric of Kazuha’s sleeve.]
What is there to tell? You already know what happened — she didn’t want me, sealed me away from the world and then I woke and began wandering.