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He shows up with a brush of breeze, bearing the scent of a faraway spring.
Zhongli takes his time, finishing his tea before setting down his cup and turning to acknowledge his presence, knowing that with him, there’s never any rush.
Venti’s eyes are bright as he raises a hand in greeting. “Hey.”
“Barbatos,” Zhongli returns, in a habitual tone he reserves just for calling his name over the many years they’ve known each other. One where he tries to relay just how insufferable he finds him, when in truth he does look forward to his visits, deep down.
“So I heard you’ve finally retired, Morax.” Venti sets down a satchel on the stone table, the glassware within clinking precariously against one another. He doesn’t sound particularly scandalized by the decision Zhongli thought many others might find at least a little difficult to accept, especially after the sheer amount of time he’d spent dedicated to his role as the Geo Archon. Venti even comes across jovial, as though they’re merely discussing a hobby Zhongli had decided to have lost interest in, something on a scale that can’t even compare to the truth—yet spoken of this way makes it infinitely easier to digest.
“Word does travel fast in the wind, I see.” Zhongli accepts the wine glass offered to him, fingertips feeling over the familiar patterns etched subtly across its surface. He tries not to think about how the lingering taste of tea in his mouth would mix with the alcohol.
“Actually, the word that travelled was that the Great and Honorable Rex Lapis has Died,” Venti moves to pour Zhongli a drink with practiced ease. “Buuut I figured you of all people wouldn’t kick the bucket so quietly. How are you feeling?”
How...is he feeling indeed. Zhongli hasn't exactly found the chance to sit down and think about it. Nothing drastic seems to have changed, that’s for sure. He is still who he is, Gnosis present or otherwise. Though he supposes it does feel like some sort of weight has been lifted off his chest, one he’d gotten so used to that he’s yet to fully register the full extent of its absence. He feels lighter now, but in a way akin to a freefall. Overwhelming, air rushing into his lungs yet it’s difficult to breathe. And, perhaps, he feels a little too vulnerable to be comfortable.
“I’m not sure,” Zhongli lifts his glass to his lips, feels the sting of strong alcohol on his tongue. He wonders how Barbatos deals with it, how much worse it must be for him to have his Gnosis snatched right out of his hands. “I don’t think it’s fully sunken in yet.”
“Yeah, you always were kinda slow in the emotions department.” Venti tips his head back and downs a glassful of dandelion wine in a single shot. “Why don’t you take some time off to just wander around, get a change of scenery? Teyvat’s a big place, after all. It’ll do wonders to help clear your mind and figure stuff out.”
“Well unlike a certain someone,” Zhongli takes a sip while shooting his companion a look, “I still have responsibilities to attend to.”
“You mean working in that funeral parlor while also being everyone’s errand partner?” Venti raises a judgmental eyebrow at him. “You’re no fun.”
“Might I remind you that ‘fun’ is subjective, Barbatos.” Zhongli casts his gaze down toward Liyue Harbor, his vantage providing him a clear view of the town. Still lit bright despite mostly deserted, now being the only window of time where all activity outside the harbor truly stops. “You may think it’s boring, but I do rather enjoy it.”
“I guess. ” Zhongli draws his focus back to the table just in time to see Venti roll his eyes, though his tiny smile of amusement remains. “And here I am, rushing over after hearing about the fuss to see if my ol’ pal would need some cheering up. Aren’t you doing just fine?”
“...Does it seem that way to you?”
“Nah, you’re just terrible at outwardly seeking comfort,” Venti chuckles. He then sits a little straighter, visibly excited. “I know! How about I offer you a song to commemorate your retirement? Comes with a price, of course, though I suppose I can give you an acquaintance’s discount just for the occasion.”
Perhaps it’s due to the growing influence of the alcohol in Zhongli’s system that he decides to humor him this once. “Oh? And what would that be?”
“Hmm, let’s see,” the corners of Venti’s eyes briefly crinkle with mischief, and with a gust of wind he reappears right in front of him, leaning down while seated on the edge of the table, their faces a mere inch apart. “How about a kiss for the bard? For old time’s sake.”
Zhongli stares at him, not pulling away despite their proximity. “Your breath reeks.”
“Strange, I don’t remember that ever stopping you.”
“And that can’t start bothering me now of all times?” Zhongli breaks into a wry smile; weary, yet filled with much more fondness than he cares to admit. He then closes the distance between them, and brushes his nose against Venti’s; a gesture reminiscent of older times and younger days. “There. I’m holding you to your acquaintance’s discount.”
There’s a blush high on Venti’s cheeks when he pulls back, a look of what seems like him holding back laughter on his face.
“Stingy,” he says in a halfhearted protest, before springing up and landing on the other end of the table with a flutter of his cape and a shower of feathers. He twirls once in a circle, bearing the grace and flair of a practiced street performer, his lyre manifesting from a soft glow of light. “But that’s the cutest you’ve been for the past few hundred years, so I'll let it slide this time.”
Zhongli pours himself another drink, picking up his glass. There’s a prickle of warmth across his skin, not something he’s experienced much as of late, but familiar enough to him. “And a contract’s a contract.”
“A contract’s a contract,” Venti agrees. He plucks a few notes on his lyre, spends a moment to find his tune and words. And then he takes a deep breath.
Listen one, listen all, for this bard will only perform this song once. This is a song of an ending perhaps long awaited, a song of new beginnings long yearned for. This is a song dedicated to the final days of the Geo Archon, and to a future of unknowns awaiting a longtime friend.
This is a song to be sung only here tonight, under the light of the crescent moon and the watchful gaze of an archaic lord.