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Albedo gives birth to Solar Isotomas like lilypads. He stands upon them, resisting the urge to rise to his tiptoes in a bid to escape the water. When she sees his straining feet, his elongated spine, Kokomi offers up a wry laugh.
‘I’m not a gifted swimmer,’ he explains.
‘It is not that you will melt from the saltwater?’
He won’t confess that the thought has crossed his mind. All he does is smile, reaching out to clasp Kokomi’s hands in his own.
‘Would you save me if I did?’
Her eyes are like deep-ocean pearls.
‘Of course I would.’
‘It’s unbecoming to treat a court case like an opera play, Deacon.’
One side of Dahlia’s mouth rises in a grin. The sunset catches on the gold of his hat, glittering upon the edges. ‘The whole thing would’ve been wrapped up a lot more quickly if we just went to Angel’s Share.’
Albedo shrugs. ‘Sorry my plans didn’t suit.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Dahlia presses him to the back-alley wall of The Cat’s Tail. Albedo’s thoughts drift to the Imaginarium Theatre tucked inside.
‘Well,’ croons Dahlia, ‘I should thank you for being a good sport.’
So he does with a kiss.
Yumemizuki Mizuki sighs, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. ‘Ah… the dreams of synthetic humans have such a lovely taste.’
He lies abed with her, curled beneath the sheets. As the synthetic human in question, Albedo has not even body heat to offer.
Yet though he does not remember them, she loves to sup on his dreams.
‘Do you feel any more relaxed?’ she asks.
Albedo is surprised to find that he is. The look on his face brightens hers.
‘Come by the Aisa Bathhouse any time. Your next session is free of charge.’
‘Oh. My thanks.’
The Scarlet Sands spill through the gaps in his fingers. They blaze with life– and they blaze with contempt, the long-suffering resentment of King Deshret. It’s not unlike how the snowfall of Dragonspine, spiked with Durin’s hatred.
Sethos places his hand on Albedo’s hip like it belongs there. ‘The Temple of Silence hides a lot more than just its namesake,’ he promises.
Albedo’s eyes slide off the temple in question, its illusory power stronger than the knowledge that he knows it is right there.
‘Is that an invitation?’
Sethos laughs. ‘What else would it be? Come on; let’s explore together.’
‘Friendly, five-star service at your service! Don’t forget to leave your courier some nice feedback~!’
Albedo signs for the jostling package. In less than a second, Sucrose has run off with it. Pensively, Albedo stares in her wake; Kirara stares at him, tails wiggling impatiently.
‘Do you have a survey of some kind?’ he inquires. Kirara produces said papers from her pack.
‘Feel free to leave any additional comments on the back!’
‘Let’s see…’
He doesn’t expect her to read it as soon as he’s finished, but– oh dear. Now she’s turned red.
‘N-nya!?’
All he wrote was cute courier …
Arataki Itto is nothing less than completely wowed by Albedo’s attempt at doing his body paint.
‘This is a total kowabunga! You rock, dude,’ he exclaims.
Thoughtfully, Albedo rubs the last of the paint between his bare fingers. Cadmium, as a rule, is lethal to humans; at the very least, it causes something like the flu, if not outright kidney failure. Inazuma once used it as a paint, and Itto has blithely continued the tradition.
‘How do you feel?’ asks Albedo.
‘Like the coolest dude this side of Teyvat! Bring it in!’
Itto then crushes him in the tightest hug.
Sigewinne coos over his composition. ‘You’re made up of so very many impurities,’ she says. Each new observation (whether made by touch, taste, or smell) gets scribbled in her small notebook. Albedo is acutely aware of her uncallused hands, and all the pressure they’re under, sitting at the bottom of the sea.
He broaches the next silence with, ‘Aren’t Melusine also made of metal?’
‘That’s right!’ she answers, smiling. ‘We’re dragon flesh and manmade machinery. Not very cute, but that’s okay.’
‘Am I cute, then?’ he hazards.
Sigewinne reaches out to touch the star on his neck.
‘Just absolutely darling.’
‘Get lost!’ Ajaw tells his “servant”. ‘Ugh. You’re the worst kind of third wheel!’
‘You need me around to manifest,’ Kinich points out. ‘I have to be here.’
‘Did you hear me? I, Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw, order you to stop CRAMPING MY STYLE!’
Albedo and Kinich share a look. Accordingly, Kinich’s laugh sends Ajaw into another paroxysm.
Being involved with an ancient pixellated dragon has its challenges. It’s certainly stranger than Mr Zhongli’s affair with Azhdaha.
Actually…
‘Ajaw,’ says Albedo. ‘Are all dragons angry?’
‘Only when puny humans make them. Good thing you’re not a puny human!’
‘Yes. How fortunate.’
Clearing her throat, Kujou Sara addresses Albedo with a sharp look. ‘Thank you for the flowers. But take caution and do not have them delivered when I am on duty.’
Albedo blinks, paintbrush frozen in the air. He thought her days of stony silence were– well. He thought it was far more serious.
‘I understand. Is that all?’
Sara shakes her head; her face flushes, colour dancing beneath her many scars.
‘It was… very nice. I simply did not appreciate those in the Tenryou Commission teasing me so mercilessly.’
‘Then fight back.’
‘What?’
Albedo smirks. ‘Tell them to eat dirt.’
‘If your body were buried in the earth, would it nourish the plants?’
Albedo is not one to be taken off-guard by strange questions. Ororon’s eyes sparkle with interest, and Albedo replies sincerely. ‘I suppose. I’m composed of a great amount of nitrogen; more than likely, my bones could nourish a farm for several planting cycles.’
Ororon takes Albedo into his arms. He says, ‘That’s why your words are so green.’
‘Do you see the words I say? Is it your synesthesia?’
Ororon nods. He’s quite sweet: so faithfully, eternally earnest.
‘You’re free to use my body when I die.’
‘How’s this, Master Calx?’
Salsa retreats from her easel. She’s recreated Mont Esus in rigorous, confident detail, her emotions bursting vibrantly across the canvas. All that effort they put in to “organise” the environment has paid off.
He touches the crown of her head, unable to bite back his smile. ‘This is particularly well-done,’ he says. Salsa grins.
‘Yours is almost as good as mine!’
‘Maybe,’ he laughs. Then: ‘May I paint you next, Salsa?’
She’s a girl who shines when others offer her simple understanding; the resulting brilliance is almost blinding.
‘Would you? Oh, you must start right now!’