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Before she came to Mondstadt, people usually avoided her or averted their eyes when she so much as passed them on the streets, frightened by her sharp eyes and even sharper glare. More than anything, she supposes, the glint of a knife further drove them away. But not far enough, in her opinion.
Rosaria’s used to it, something she had to endure for years, so it’s not too far to think that the same would occur when she arrived in the city of freedom.
Oh, how wrong she was.
And how wrong she was that the word ‘arrived’ holds any meaning when a certain big lug of a Grand Master practically adopted her on the spot.
With Varka endorsing her to the people by introducing her to the Church and Deaconess Barbara taking her under her wing, Rosaria became the talk of the city. Soon, curious people came up to her (well, whenever she’s too exhausted to avoid them, a laughably bizarre situation compared to the past) and asked questions about herself.
During those times, she excused herself with as much grace as her confusion allowed.
Nowadays, the majority would smile and wave in her direction, while a select few would go up to her and strike up a conversation.
Like now.
Rosaria blinks.
The thing doesn’t blink back.
Of course, since the object she’s having a staredown with is a stuffed toy, its brown fur and prominent bead eyes admittedly adorable to behold, the child holding onto it completing the picture. A bead of sweat rolls down her neck, despite the shade and her ever-active Cryo Vision cooling her down.
“Big Sis Rosaria blinked! Dodoco wins!”
Setting aside her bemusement over the apparent staring contest with a stuffed toy, Rosaria kneels down to be level with the child—Klee, if she recalls correctly, the Knight of Favonius’ Spark Knight. “Klee knows me?”
“Hm-hmm!” Klee confirms with a grin, hugging her stuffed toy, Dodoco apparently, close. “Big Sis Jean is right.”
The mention of Jean, the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius who's been nothing but courteous and proper since day one, instantly grabs her attention. “And what’s that, kid?”
Klee beams up to her. “You’re very, very pretty!”
Rosaria’s eyebrow quirks up almost immediately. Interesting.
“Weeelllll,” Klee continues, “Klee wasn't supposed to hear Big Sis Jean say that since Klee was playing hide-and-seek with Big Brother Albedo. Klee was under her big, old table, see!” Klee looks proud of her achievement, all puffed up and smug, but then her words catch up to her.
Gasping, she covers her mouth and looks up to Rosaria with wide, pleading eyes. “Don’t tell Big Sis Jean…?”
Rosaria’s lips twitch slightly. “Sure, kid. I won't tell–” here, she can't help but purse her lips or else she'll laugh and laugh and laugh, “–your Big Sis Jean about that.”
“Really?” Klee asks, making little hops in her excitement.
“Really really.”
Klee scrunches her face, thinking, before her entire demeanor brightens.
Rosaria stays absolutely still as Klee shoves a tiny hand right into her face and exclaims, “Seal it with a promise, Big Sis Rosaria, or else it won't mean anything!”
Without a second thought, Rosaria raises her hand and intertwines her littlest finger to Klee's own, moves them up and down, reciting, “Pinky promise, pinky promise, may silence reign or else every secret will be in vain.”
At her words, Klee brightens even further, not unlike a little sun. “Whoa…”
Eyes shifting to the side then back, Rosaria unlocks their fingers with a gentleness that comes when she deals with little kids and says, “Go on, then. Someone’s looking for you.”
Klee blinks, startled. “Wha—”
“Klee! Where are you!”
Whirling around, Klee cups her hands around her mouth, Dodoco dangling in the crook of her elbow, and calls out, “Big Brother Razor, Klee is over here! Klee was just talking to—”
Rosaria is gone when Klee turns back around, as if she had never been there to begin with.
—
The moon hangs in the sky, her glow illuminating the main streets, the sole witness to her slinking in the shadows.
As an act of gratitude, Rosaria patrols the city and even some of the outside territories every night, sometimes even crossing paths with a certain Darknight Hero when the moon’s corpse is high in the sky, sharing a nod every time (and she politely turns her gaze away when he heads towards a certain someone’s apartment instead of towards the winery).
Now.
Now, everything is quiet.
The usual shouts and songs inside the Angel’s share are muted, just enough for her to deduce the resident queer bard and his crowd of admirers are absent. Rosaria finds herself on the rooftop of the Angel’s Share, head swiveling to and fro for any troublemakers, and begins to wander aimlessly. Her instincts never led her astray, after all.
The moon shines brighter.
Gaze glued upward, Rosaria doesn’t notice the window open beside her until a voice filters into her thoughts. It isn’t until she’d unsheathed one of her many blades and her dominant hand at the ready to summon her spear, that she recognizes the voice.
Rosaria hangs her head. Of course, ‘aimless’ is not part of my subconscious’ vocabulary.
“Rosaria? You’re still out on patrol? It’s freezing!”
Sheathing her blade and shifting into a relaxed stance, Rosario sends Jean—the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius—a slight smile, and says, “You know I regulate the cold well, more than anyone the both of us know.”
Jean sighs, long yet fond, and holds out a hand, palm up. “Be as it may, I feel a little bit better if you warm up here, thank you very much.”
Rosaria obliges, taking Jean's hand and not letting go, even when she ducks into Jean's apartment. As soon as she's inside, she leans against the windowsill and tugs Jean close, humming in satisfaction when Jean comes willingly, just close enough for Rosaria to wrap her free arm around a slender waist. Her hold on Jean's hand tightens.
Without breaking eye contact, Rosaria brings her hand up and up, presses fleeting kisses along trembling knuckles. “Hello, kätzchen.”
The flush beginning to creep high on her cheeks is delectable. Jean croaks out a flustered greeting in return.
Rosaria gets right down to business. The promise only entails Klee's hiding underneath Jean's desk, after all, not the… interesting comment before that.
“So. The Acting Grand Master believes I'm very, very pretty.”
Immediately, a blush paints the entirety of Jean's face red, the tips of her ears tinting in the same shade.
“You are–I mean—how did you–how—where did you hear that?” Jean finally finishes her sentence, flustered, as she takes a step back in embarrassment.
Rosaria follows, until Jean flops onto a chair and Rosaria, loathe to let the distance cut the warmth beginning to settle deep in her bones, leans into Jean's space.
“A little fishie may have slipped that little tidbit out,” Rosaria hints, watching with lazy amusement as Jean frowns in confusion.
Jean asks, “Fishie?”
Rosaria nods, repeating, “Fishie.”
The sound of a soft smack! from a palm striking a forehead further amuses Rosaria, leaning even closer until their noses brush, the action reminiscent of a kiss.
“Don't worry, kätzchen,” Rosaria whispers, eyes slipping into pleased slits. “I believe you're gorgeous, as well.”