Chapter Text
Sure, I mean well
Sure, they bow their backs in pain
Surely,
they only pray to me
Sure, the storm ahead is harsh
Sure, it is an ice cold march
Surely,
they march in loyalty to me
I mean only well
So don't you dare dwell
Rebell birds with clipped wings don't fly away
•••••••••••••••••••
A lone melody trickled through the thick howl of the mighty storms that build the golden cage Mondstadt found itself in.
Barely audible, solely for the ears of one boy to hear; the boy who sat humming atop the cold stone tower at the edge of the closed off city port.
The tiny watchtower the boy perched on, was mocked in sized by the gigantic tower of the god of gales, that pose as the all mighty center of the world.
And as the boy drew in a breath, he smiled, leaned back and resumed to hum his lone melody.
The turbulents played with the raven braids at either side of his face, tickling the boys cheeks as he kept singing.
Spinning lyrics as he went.
They made not much sense as of now, but he would get there, he had all the time of the day to just lounge atop the tower humming away.
His gaze lingered on the grey swirling sky. From up so hight everything down below felt so distant, as if he could just stretch out his arm and touch the storming cages edge, reach right through and feel the clouds at the tips of his fingers.
A sigh disrupted his song.
When even the birds themselves are chained to the ground, how is music supposed to travel on the wind.
-
As the world began to darken for the night, the boy decided to slip down the tower and tumble towards the west-edge of the port. He had watched the stormwall with his head bend back all day, it left him dizzy everytime he returned to the ground.
The moldy ladder he used as a shortcut held his small frame steady and as he skipped the last few ledges with a grin his mind cleared fully.
The streetlights illuminate the swaying grass and he couldn't help himself but dance with them; spreading out his arms and putting a gentle sway into each step - side to side. And if it made him apear drunk, he didn't care at all.
There were very few people on the streets at this time of day, most either letting the day come to a close, resting in large pelty armchairs in front of the fireplace, or celebrating whatever they found worth their cheers at a tavern.
And that was where the boy was headed.
Not to drink but to serve, perhaps sing one or two songs while he believed the tavern lady Gertrude wasn't listening and gradually avoiding as many slip of tongue's as possible. They did say he had a loose mouth for blasphemy, after all, and in all honesty - he'd like to avoid having to perform another public apology. Two in one week are more than enough, one more and Gertrude might actually make truth of her threats to lock the door to the bed chamber he had been allowed to inhabit and leave him to sleep in the alleys for a week, until he managed to sweettalk himself back into the freshly washed sheets that'll await him in the topmost floor of the tavern.
He had got himself into that situation before.
It wasn't that Venti did not want to be respectful. No. It is just and only the way Decarabians guards were so easy to tease, that it sometimes became simply impossible to bite his tongue in time.
Who could blame him, really?
He reached the tavern, west to the tower, with a lilt in his step and a half thought out melody on his tongue. He slipped in through the back entrance and promptly came face to face with the tavern lady.
Gertrude was noone to be afraid of, no, Venti knew that; might she seemingly be taller than the gale gods tower itself, thicker than the old oak trees by the city gates and her voice and speech harsher than the howling winds - She had a heart of pure spring water and her skin was soft like down feathers. Though she did occasionally scream at Venti; when he dissapeared for hours without giving her notice for example.
Venti had earned the nickname Insolent brat hard and honest, and he was very proud to know Gentrude cared enough about him, that no matter how big he messed up he could always talk to her.
They wouldn't catch him dead, calling her mother, though.
No, he called her: "Gerti!"
He grinned at her as he squeezed past into the larder, tripping over a stray milk churn.
"You're shift started two hours ago." Gertrude had her hands stemmed into her sides, right above the belt with so many large pockets Venti had lost count - he believes he saw her pull a whole life chicken out one not too long ago.
That is to say, he ignored her accusatory tone and the words too while he was at it and instead grabbed a pear from a basket and shrug.
"I was thinking-"
"Never a good thing, when you do it...", Gertrude interrupts, a deadpan expression on her shallowly wrinkled face.
Venti gave her a look that said, or a the very least he hoped that it said; seriously?!
Gertrude chuckled.
"I was thinking about a new song.", he finished his sentence and bit into the pear. He didn't bite a piece off yet, instead holding the pear between his teeth to take off his outdoor cloak and throw it into a corner where it wouldn't bother.
"As long as it won't cost me more than it brings in." She gave Ventis back a whole hearted pat which almost send him flying into the potato stash. Either he was about the weight of a straw stuffed scarecrow or Gertrudes strength far exceeded... well, everything.
In all honesty it probably was a cruel mix of both - it wasn't his fault, he appeared seemingly unable to gain any substantial weight... or weight at all, for that matter... no matter how big Gertrude made his portions. He had also stopped growing in height after he guessed he turned 14... it was fine...is apparent baby face made running errands for the tavern uselessly difficult, though.
"Now get out there and steal some mora for me, will you."
Venti grinned.
"Well, gladly, Fräulein Gerti.", the innocent, slightly awkward rhyme slipped past his lips as he bowed playfully before Gertrude. With an theatrical hand gesture he exited the larder, stepping into the large kitchen where Richmond perched on a stepping stool cradling his head and right on cue a large exasperated sigh presses out from between Richmonds clenched teeth.
"My, I apear to have a arrived just in time." Venti snatched a wooden tray off the counter.
"You never arrive in time, Venti... but thank Decarabian you arrive at all, one more round and I might just start bawling like a child.", says Richmond followed by another long, pained sigh.
Venti grimaced.
"Decarabian is not to thank for me being here. Rather thank Gerti or von Pfeffertahl or anyone but that delusional tyrant, whom wouldn't recognize our suffering even if it bit him into that bloated ego of hi- ow!"
Gertrude had hit the back of his head with a wooden spoon.
"What did I say about spouting blasphemy-"
Venti rubbed the back of his head.
"It ain't blasphemy if what I'm saying is the plain truth."
This time he dodged the swinging spoon and dissapeared into the main refectory.
"You gotta keep that kid in check, Gertrude..."
Now it was Richmond that yelped in pain as the spoon hit him perhaps even a little harder than it had Venti.
"That kid can make his own decisions just fine, I'm not here to coddle him and chain him down even more.", she said and threw the spoon into a wash pot.
"And you know he's right. We all do."
Richmond scratched his nose absently.
"He's too stubborn for his own good... I bet the only reason you're still keeping him is 'cause the folks outside like his singing for some reason."
Gertrude itched to throw the spoon at her employee.
"You're shift ended two hours ago; get lost before I make you scrub the restrooms.", she said instead and made to fill two crugs with beer.
•••••••••••••••
Sure you meant well
But I can't stand your empty parade
Sure you meant well
But can't you hear the wail
Surely, you must know
Sure the storm ahead it harsh
Sure we brave that ice cold march
But we surely
don't match in loyalty to you
We march as there is nowhere to go
Sure you meant well
But I must dwell
Rebell birds with clipped wings may not fly away,
but their songs of freedom are not sung in vain.