Chapter Text
When Barbara finished all her duties, signed as many autographs as her poor hands could handle, posed in front of a kamera till her eyes burned, when her feelings threatened to crawl up her throat and spill out, she’d withdraw from society for a moment or two, escaping to a room that Sister Victoria had gifted her after a… troubling interaction with a fan.
In this room was one door, one window, and one piano, hidden away in the proud peak of a windmill. No one could get up there if they tried, giving Barbara peace of mind, assured no one could interrupt her as she let go of her stress. She’d sing and she’d write, letting her songs and emotions flow out into the wind.
And the wind carried it to a certain god, who heard her honey-sweet tunes, drinking in the calming melodies as he did wine. On late nights, when he’d been kicked to the curb by Master Diluc and he sure as hell couldn’t go to the Cat’s Tail, he’d sit in Vanessa’s tall oak standing glorious against the night sky and listen to Barbara sing.
He didn’t know why, but her voice brought him a sense of comfort and peace. Not exactly the fireplace kind, where you’d be snuggled up under a warm blanket with a book and a lover, it was more the kind of calm you would feel floating still on water’s surface, closing your eyes with the sun shining gently on your face. There was sort of a pastel quality to her voice, it wasn’t rich and deep, but light and airy. Soft. Even still, it held power. And you could tell she’d dedicated hours to perfecting her technique and poured her soul into her songs.
Barbatos swore her lines could give even him a run for his mora.
While Barbatos’s music was about epic heroes and daring adventurers, there was something far more personal about Barbara’s music. It was far more quaint. There was something laced in her words that gripped your heart with such intensity, tugging at the strings and playing it like a lyre.
He specifically remembered a song called “Dandelion,” and he was fairly sure it was written about Jean. Phrased like an epic, yet instead of fears of grandeur, killing monsters, claiming treasure, it was about how kind Jean was. It was about how much Jean did for the people of Mondstat, and how much Barbara looked up to her.
It was a masterpiece, in Barbatos’s very humble opinion.
Barbara sang with such delicate and raw emotions, ones that had clearly been untouched for a long time, let out in a heart-wrenching ballad about Barbara’s love for her dear sister.
Barbatos looked forward to those nights, wondering what it would be like to talk to her. He hadn’t made a friend in quite some while, maybe it was time that he gathered the courage to try again.
One of these days…
One of these days I’m going to meet her.
-
Being both Mondstat’s idol and its deaconess could get stressful. And maybe a little lonely. Barbara had her friends, who she loved dearly, who supported her through her brightest and darkest times, but they were always so busy. Bennett and Fischl were always out adventuring, chasing treasure and thrills, and Razor had to take care of his pack. They had important responsibilities and it would be selfish of Barbara to ask them to rid her of loneliness.
Didn’t mean the idea wasn’t tempting.
Maybe she could ask Sister Victoria if she could leave early, climb up to her windmill and spend the rest of the day alone with her notes and her staffs and her keys, all her toys to play with.
“Sister Barbara?”
Jolted out of her thoughts, Barbara gave a strained smile, so tense she was afraid her teeth might crack. “Ah, Sister Victoria, how may I assist you?”
Sister Victoria frowned, clearly worried, but Barbara paid no mind, just about ready to run out of the cathedral to her safe haven.
“Sister Barbara,” she spoke gently, with the tenderness and care of a mother, “you’ve been… distracted all day. Is something troubling you?”
Honest and polite as ever, Barbara sighed, shifting back and forth slightly as she admitted her desire to relax in her tower.
“I see. I’ll allow you to take the rest of the day off. It’ll be good for your health.”
Barbara smiled, sincerely, giving Sister Victoria a big hug. “Oh thank you, Sister Victoria! Your generosity knows no bounds.”
Sister Victoria chuckled, running gentle hands through Barbara’s hair. “Sister Barbara, as well as a coworker of mine, you are also my friend, so I take your mental well-being with the highest regard. I care about you, okay?”
Barbara felt so happy she could cry, in fact, she felt some tears leaking out. “Thanks, Victoria. You’re a good friend.”
The deaconess sped off, rushing to change out of her uniform and into casual wear so she could spend the rest of the day singing away her stress.
-
Death After Noon was false advertising.
Venti was already dead before noon, completely wasted as he ambled through the streets of Mondstat. He sang drunkenly, garnering sympathetic looks and pity mora from passersby.
It wasn’t even 11 o’clock yet.
Suddenly, the soft breeze picked up, and that’s when Venti heard familiar singing coming from the edge of town. To the regular passerby, the song was drowned out by the churning of windmill blades. To Venti, it only amplified Barbara’s sweet voice.
Venti’s wine-addled mind decided now was the perfect time to properly introduce himself to Barbara.
So he closed his eyes and followed the gust, drowning in the heavenly sound of Barbara’s voice.
-
It was often that Barbara was swept up in her music, swaying gently along with the piano as she penned her heart to song, echoing off the stone walls. However, it didn’t mean she was oblivious to her surroundings. Even still, it was difficult not to notice the stranger singing and strumming along with her, boisterous and surprisingly in tune. His singing was quite good, even if his words were slightly slurred.
Their harmony continued on for a while, Barbara curiously playing along with the stranger.
“‘M gonna come up there so I can meet you.” Said the stranger, shouting from his seat in the grass.
Barbara chuckled, as much as she’d like to meet him, she doubted that he could make it to the window. “I don’t think-”
Like a bird, the stranger shot up to her window, starling Barbara out of her bench and spilling her ink. He sat for a moment, unblinking as he perched upon the brick window sill, before he opened his mouth. “The song would work better in Bb minor,” he said before collapsing onto the floor. Barbara cringed, watching as the stranger passed out completely, nose dripping with blood.
“Lord Babarbatos, give me strength,” she muttered as she lugged him onto the bench. Barbara held a gentle hand to his forehead.
He doesn’t have a fever.
The deaconess held his face gently in her hands, placing her vision beside her. With great patience, she hummed lightly, carefully cleaning up with his blood using her vision and her shirt. Slowly, the alcohol flush dissipated and the crookedness in his nose corrected itself. The stranger’s eyes fluttered open, confusion swirling in them. Sighing, Barbara collected her things, preparing to take the stranger to the rest of the nuns to properly patch him up. He made a confused noise as Barbara slung him over her shoulder, determinedly marching down the windmill steps.