resolutepath

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“An over-indulgence of anything, even something as pure as water, can intoxicate.” (geshu lin to scar, like the hypocrite he is -)

"And yet you return to me every time, no? Over-indulging in every whim that strikes you, intoxicating yourself on the high of my dear companionship..."

Audacious to the last, Scar surges forward suddenly, pushing until there is brick at Geshu Lin's back and his own hand held high on the wall, crowding the former general there. His other hand remains fixed to his hip, fingertips searing through clothes to bruise, to claim, with a daring curvature of his smile.

"Just admit to it. There's a thrill you cannot find anywhere else. Why waste the days worrying about over-indulgence and self-restraint when you have had a taste of what letting go of your inhibitions can do?" He accompanies his words by leaning in close, breath ghosting the shell of the other's ear, words hissed with twisted amusement. For as charged as his words are, he is not simply talking of the dynamic that has been forged between them, but rather everything that has happened to Geshu Lin since joining the Fractsidus. The freedom of not kow-towing to rules, the lack of worry for every life too weak to be spared. The chance to grow in strength and power, the choice in doing things because you wish. Because you can.

"You're addicted to it..." An accusation delivered like a punch, sharply spoken into his ear as hands move to grab for wrists that are no doubt shifting to push him away. Too soon, too early in their little game. "To the freedom. To the power. To the taking what you want, when you want it." He leans closer and sinks teeth into the flesh at the hinge of the general's jaw, a sharp nip meant to sting. "You want it more than anything. So don't go running chicken now. You've already played your cards, remember?"

Laughter spills across lips and Scar pounces away, putting enough distance between them to at least give himself a fighting chance as the general no doubt retaliates. His mirthful gaze is alight, a cocktail of frenzied enthusiasm, anticipating the next move. What a way to kill time.

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Writing down some notes about Caspian's life at sea, purely because aven asked me some questions so here's some facts about Caspian:

Caspian is 32 years old and cannot remember a time in his life when he was not on a ship. He grew up as a cabin boy on a ship and while there were some formative years as a baby he lived on land, he cannot recall any of them. All he remembers is the rock of the deck beneath his feet and the crash of the waves against the hull.

Caspian has been captain of The Damned Corsair for 3 years and thus also carrying his curse for the same length of time.

He sailed The Howl of the Saber for 8 years prior, making his total time in captaincy 11 years.

Before that he sailed with the same crew he'd been with since he was a boy. I will dive into this deeply in a separate post as there are some key life moments I need to think about and flesh out.

The longest serving member of his crew is his gunner, Ainsley Draegan, who has been with him since he left the previous ship as he chose to follow Caspian over. He was originally the Quartermaster until Calista came along, holding the role as someone who could be trusted entirely. Calista joined the crew 1 year into them sailing, and made Quartermaster in the third, as Ainsley handed the role over to the person who complimented the captain best.

Caspian is quite, superficial, at times, mostly about his own looks. He cares a lot about his own appearance, particularly when he ventures onto land.

He calls the one who cursed him the Salt-Tongued in lieu of knowing their actual name.

Calista actually has to send him to clean his cabin because it is always messy. Not aggressively so but he's the type of person who is in the middle of doing something and then gets distracted and leaves things behind.

Caspian is friendly until he is not. He's pleasant in disposition, occasionally flirtatious, full of vigor for life, but if something angers him or upsets him then he can swiftly become more tempestuous and cold.

Caspian has something of a rivalry with the captain of The Star of Daedelus, a privateer's vessel set to continue undoing the crew after they captured Caspian's former crew and captain. More on this once I've cooked a bit more.

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Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Joaquin Nin, featured in Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940

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DAHLIA CALL. You have to specify this time because you can choose either inbox or starter; no speciification on this will default to inbox. You also need to specify your muse or you get nout. I am happy to plot a little first to get an idea or wing it neither matters to me. I'm capping at 5 starters / 5 asks because I still have pirates to write djfdsjfhk

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I think the other thing I need to note before I go and get myself a cup of tea is that Dahlia does not tell Venti immediately. First of all he needs to sort out all the memories he has been given access to which are a lot covering millenia and he does not want to draw upon them all.

There is also a sense of apprehension around his confession. For he swore to do this for the one he cared for so entirely. And once he does confess there is no going back. That is to say, Dahlia is the first life where the Nameless Bard is in the position to disclose the entire truth of The Returning Wind to Barbatos. That these reminders through history are deliberate and how he has always come to his side or fought for Mondstadt to preserve his desires for freedom.

Dahlia is not scared that Venti will reject him, he sees first hand how much he cared in the visage he looks at, in the stories he shares, but rather he does not want Venti to hold onto guilt for his own choices. Namely that he will never rest at peace, perpetually drawn into cycle after cycle of life. To him it is worth it and he will carry that, but he does not want it to become a source of friction between them only a reassurance that Venti will never walk alone indefinitely, he just needs to wait for him to catch up.

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Dahlia was warned back as a Nameless Bard that taking on this mantle may end up becoming more of a curse. This need to support, to be another calling for freedom, to chase Barbatos in light breezes and tempestuous squalls may end up with him losing what made him so human.

But at heart? Dahlia is still just a bard who longs for stories, good companions and a glass of Dandelion Wine or an ale to finish his day.

And he has so many stories, that he can write down in words or scribe in his songs. The wrath of Ursa the Drake? He was there. The Cataclysm and its horrors? He was there. The songs of the Wandering Troupe? He was there. The fierce and valiant Vennessa? He was there. He has always been there, to witness and aid and record and then return on the next wind for freedom and for the one he dare not leave behind.

And how many stories he has to tell him truly. It will take them days for him to share them all. Perhaps even years. He can't wait to see the look on Venti's face when he tells him when the time is right.

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What other awakened lives has he lived?

Aster - The first awakened rebirth, born in the era where Ursa the Drake threatened Mondstadt and immediately became part of the movemetn to try and defy the aristocracy that sought to keep the people ignorant and sources of entertainment dimmed. Operated as a bartender, with a speakeasy-esque space in the basement for song and plots, to bring back the freedom once sought. Did not meet Barbatos in this life. Died when executed for his rebellion.

Rowan - The second fully awakened rebirth, a member of The Wandering Troupe who played the lyre. He helped fight against the aristocracy and was slain in battle.

Oak - Born during the era of Barca Lawrence's rule. Joined Vennessa's rebellion, but took a sideline to allow Barbatos and Vennessa's friendship to flourish. Was close to them both at the time. Was known as the Nameless Shepherd in history books for none recorded his name. A member of the Church of Favonius who died shortly after the insurgence.

Zinn - Awakened during The Cataclysm. A medic supporting the Knights of Favonius who also spent some time with Dvalin in Decarabian's Tower, trying to patch the wounds before he fell into his slumber. Died while treating a member of the Knights as they were surrounded by creatures of The Abyss.

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What's in a name?

Dahlia is not actually his birth name, one left behind once his awakened mind came into a state of being, but rather the chosen name for a young man who discovered the truth of his purpose in the world. A habit that has repeated for every awakened version of the Nameless Bard through history. And what better than a flower that carries so much symbolism, particularly the Victorian Era notion of commitment and lasting bonds.

Dahlia chose his name to profess his intention again and again, to return to the side of the one he was reborn for. Along with the recognition that they mean new beginnings and change. A nod to the past and a wish for the future.

I think also the idea of Dahlia's symbolising inner strength and resilience appealed to him. Because this is not a journey for the faint hearted. He went into it knowing that he might fail, that this might be another missed lifetime, but he swore he'd do it anyway.

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Dahlia is the Nameless Bard. Now I'm not going to go too deeply into the logistics of this theory as this post covers it so well, but rather I would like to focus on the why and how this came about.

And I am going to start with venturing to that book, Lost Prayer to the Sacred Winds as there is a strong sense that it was written by someone who knew they were going to die and knew of the fight against Decarabian. Who better than the Nameless Bard. Specifically I want to focus on this part:

" 'Tis but my flesh and bones which rest in the soil: My soul has become one with the Thousand Winds. "

Now the Thousand Winds are interesting because this is a connection to Istaroth potentially as well as many other things and well she is known as the Undying Wind. And Istaroth has played with death before, namely supporting Makoto in the planting of the Sacred Sakura, if Ei and Yae Miko are to be believed, as they both suspect the involvement in a higher power to distort time.

And so that Nameless Bard made a bargain with Istaroth, a plea for time to come, that he could become a part of the Thousand Winds, The Returning Wind, a soul reborn again and again, always to support Barbatos and ease the way. He would endure anything to ensure Mondstadt's continued support, and with the acknowledgement that he would never be laid to rest entirely, he pursued this path. A worthwhile bargain, in his eyes.

Now it would be simple, wouldn't it, if he were reborn with everything intact each time, but no human mind could endure that, and though he had become something more, he was so very human at the end of it. So each life begins anew, his soul reincarnated into life and always in Mondstadt or its vicinity, drawing him close to Barbatos. But its not perfect, sometimes he does not remember in time, sometimes he is reincarnated while Barbatos sleeps, but over the years that will to find the archon has grown, the knowledge that he was born for something strengthening, and most certainly that heart that yearns to find the one he was reborn for.

Memories come back to him in dribs and drabs, dreams of lives once lived, echoes in places around Mondstadt and in books that he chases. Over the years he begins to leave himself books and prompts in key places he know he'll be drawn to visit, ones that will jab at lives once lived, carved in stone and hidden amongst shelves, trusted in songs and stories passed through Mondstadt's history.

And then he awakens. Sometimes it is slow, sometimes it's a snapshot, a face flickering over his own as he looks in the mirror, a knowledge he is and he was and the two are the same. And then he can do what he has set out to do, with the knowledge he has.

Now not every life gets him close to Barbatos, in fact I would wager that Dahlia is the closest life he has had to the one who became archon, in the sense or personal closeness. In lives before he has done things to ease the archon's weight, his friend's burden, but perhaps has not had the means nor tools to get close enough to the one he desires to support or been held at arm's length, or remembered too late. But Dahlia knows who he is, and what he desires to do.

I should also note that becoming The Returning Wind offers no additional power to The Nameless Bard, bar an intrinsic inbuilt compass to draw him closer to Barbatos and the ability to reincarnate to see the world beside the one who promised to show it to him so long ago.

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[This] incorrect quote by @incorrect-mishanks inspired me to make a small comic, click for better quality.

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Liberties taken and made permissable owing to the fact he has not yet been made to rue the day his hand came into contact with the hat, Shanks cannot help but keep it atop his head, adding another wiggle here and there. Of course he'd never be imitating Mihawk himself with such a poor quality attempt but he merely grins at the question if only to leave the other wondering.

"It suits me, eh? Now that almost sounds like a compliment coming from your mouth..." Another laugh follows, each one so full of vitality, a mark of one who has committed to enjoying life, making the most of its challenges and sees the beauty of the world. It rings around the beach and is returned with a chorus of rumbled chuckles from the crew who are splayed out, not interfering in the thing between the swordsman and their captain, but close enough if they are needed.

With bottle retrieved, Shanks begins to bring it to his lips, to continue that faint warmth partake in further merriment but he finds the bottle slipping, losing his grip as the hand curls around the back of his head and draws him in. There's a clink of the bottle in the background, the steady drip of amber liquid as the dregs pool on his side of the table, but he does not notice, cannot when Mihawk consumes his every moment with such a sudden move.

Breath hitches as teeth scrape at his lip, and he leans forward on instinct chasing that kiss that was gone too soon, eyes half-lidded until he jerks and stills in his seat, lips still slightly parted. To be outplayed, well that was an experience, one that warmed rosy cheeks into a deeper flush and changed that ferocious grin into something more tender. So caught is he, he almost misses the comment about his straw hat, but finds it in him to laugh breathlessly and shake his head.

"That one will return to me in time..." he answers, hand scrounging to find the neck of his bottle, face contorting a fraction when his sleeve drags through the spilt rum. Just one touch of lips and he's off kilter, his ground shifted beneath him, but he can't be seen to be so breathless lest he be left to the merciless ribbing of his crew. He sidles closer instead, popping the hat off his head and back onto Mihawk's "It might have suited me, but it is truly your signature..." His audacious streak allows him to tuck fingers beneath Mihawk's chin, tipping his head left and right, gaze focused only on the man who he shares his space. He lets his hand slip away to resettle himself but not before running his thumb against Mihawk's lips, a promise to collect at his own leisure, for a treasure stolen must be returned in full.

@resolutepath sent: "What do you think?" Shanks is merry, cheeks cast in rosy colours as hand reaches across the table between them and plucks Mihawks hat from where it sits, placing it upon his own head. With the absence of a certain straw hat, handed away along with precious trust to one who will keep the legacy alive, he had decided to forgo headwear, though enough rum and he's bold enough to try Mihawk's own. "Suit me or not?" He postures, make an exaggerated flourish and tipping its brim in the direction of its owner, before leaning back in his seat.

"Perhaps a bit too much for me, more your style. but I see the appeal..." he wiggles his head side to side, a ridiculous effort to send the plume into motion before he laughs full of mirth, eyes bright as he reaches for his drink.

Were it anybody else reaching for his hat, they would have lost their hand by now, faster than they could blink. But as with many things Mihawk doesn't tolerate from others, Shanks has free reign to do as he pleases - whether he's aware of that privilege or not. The swordsman watches as his hat finds its new place upon the messy red hair, the contrast reminding him of a sunrise over the black shore.

It suits him surprisingly well, although paired with the familiar alcohol-induced flush on his cheeks and the ever-present lazy smile on his lips it makes him look more like a tipsy aristocrat trying to socialize rather than a renowned pirate captain enjoying the mild weather in his favorite bay. "I do hope that is not your impression of me," Mihawk comments on the little flourish, watching the presentation with a neutral expression.

"It's a bit of a clash with your usual style," he assesses in a calm tone. "But it does suit you." The white plume wiggles comically and not for the first time Mihawk is struck with a mixture of affection and disbelief in the face of Shanks' capacity for childlike wonder. Sure, he's drunk, but he knows for a fact that no amount of rum is required for him to find pleasure in such simple things. And then his laughter reaches his ears, unrestrained and genuine, and Mihawk's heart beats faster at the sound of it. This is what he travels for, what he stays for, what he thinks about when he's alone half across the seas.

Without another word he pushes off his seat, just enough so he can lean across the table and press his lips to Shanks', his hand curling around the back of his neck to hold him still. They have a corner of the little make-shift bar to themselves but he still senses Shanks' men stirring at his sudden movement, ever wary of him, no matter how often he shows up in their midst. Good.

Their kiss ends with a gentle scrape of teeth against a soft lower lip, a promise of a bite that never comes, and Mihawk sits back down, his head spinning enough to remind him that he, too, had a few drinks too many. "I preferred the straw hat."

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well that was an afternoon well spent 🤭🤭

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“Well, chew a man’s throat out, it tends to make an impression.” ( irina @ shanks )

The high seas always churned out fascinating individuals and this archipelago had not disappointed in the slightest. Though small in nature, it was habited enough to contain all that a decent pirate crew needs, a safe decent from the powers that be, somewhere to dock a ship and do necessary repairs, and most importantly - at least in his opinion - a well stocked bar that holds the best rum of the region.

A bottle hangs from his hand idly, odd swigs taken as he lounges in the hammock on the beach, lips curled as he listens to his fellow corsair speak, an indulgent smile settling on lips that turns to outright laughter at her way of dealing with the problem.

Well, chew a man's throat out, it tends to make an impression.

His raucous cheer fills the beach area as the red-haired pirate shifts to swig at his alcohol, amused at such a tactic. It reminds him of others, his fellow shipmate in the past so determined to prove himself bloodthirsty and a young upstart with the biggest dreams and confidence to match before he found the reason to recognise the difference between reasoned action and impulsive decisions to sate a temporary need.

"Certainly an impression," he answers, eyes glinting with mirth as he lowers his bottle and studies her a moment before leaning back. "Gets a bit messy though if you're always chewing throats out," he adds leaning his arm over the edge of the hammock to dispose of his finished bottle, a clink of glass signifying its joining the pile. He draws his hand back then and pulls it through his hair, drawing strand of red from his face. "Sometimes the threat is enough."

Which throats to tear, which men to threaten, where to place the flag, where to shake hands, who to chase, who to leave those are all the kinds of plays that consume his every waking moment on this chessboard of life, always weighted with more than just his insular world. Perhaps once upon a time, he might have thought otherwise, seen the simplicity, but for too long he has been striving for something greater than any might consider. And until that dream is achieved, he will continue to make his careful plays, keeping that smile on his face, never letting the next move be known.

"Besides I'm sure you make plenty impression all on your own, 'Rina. Don't need to tear out throats to turn heads..."

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I've been busy at grandad's today, so just settling down to write now and I'm going where the whims (Shanks) let me go. I'm joking, mostly. I'm also carrying on with my OP anime watch as I write, and resisting the urge to add a few more to my roster. I will most likely fail but a valiant attempt will be made KSDFKJFH

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I think I'm going to pull cyrene from the muse list for now. I haven't watched the livestream but already I know for reasons outside of the h.sr storyline I am struggling to invest myself the way I truly want to and I dont want to not do her justice.

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okay i have finished my original inbox call, tomorrow is the time for pirates so I will be hitting some of you again with more content! Then I think I'll focus on the queue and building up some content before I begin my summer clear out, but we will see where the muse takes me. And by muse I mean Shanks.

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“If you need me, I will be here for you.” (Mihawk for Shanks)

The crash of waves at the edge of the ship rocks it lazily, the motion soothing for one so drawn to the sea. The deck is quiet; crew scuttled away on jobs or into the town to get supplies, giving a wide berth to the main deck where two fierce powers stand. Really he should thank Benn later, knowing the man is responsible for it. It's a mental note cast for later, when he is not occupied with the company that he shares the deck with.

A tip of his head turns Shanks' gaze from the sea to cast over his shoulder at the imposing figure on his deck, the one who has travelled to find him, swiftly realising that change was in the air. Now their time together is not filled with the ring of steel, and the thrill of challenge that comes when two powerful rivals clash swords, but rather the silence of lapping waves that stretches too long, as the recognition of something shifting fiercely is acknowleged. It will never be as it was.

"Careful Hawkeyes, you're starting to sound sentimental." The curl of lips is accompanied by those deep crimson hues that have always spoken more than his words do, the lingering that persists until he turns away slowly and returns his gaze to the horizon beyond. "Don't give it too much thought... I hold no regrets."

His hand curls around the rail as he looks forward, fingers driving into the wood as his mind turns back; back through fierce endurance or relearning skills and before delirious days of healing to that day at sea with that dear boy. No, no regrets indeed. He had made his choice knowing the dangers of the sea, and he'd achieved what he set out to do. Whatever the circumstances he'd accepted them when he had dived into the water.

"You know where I am when you get bored and need a real challenge. I promise not to laugh too hard when I beat you with only one arm..." Despite what he says, he knows that there will be no future duel. Mihawk's made it clear that he perceives the scales to have shifted in this moment, and for whatever reason it is enough to dissuade him from pursuing these duels. Shanks can only hope that a new rival for him comes along to sate that boredom that grows with each lacklustre battle the greatest swordsman faces.

"Are you sharing a drink before you leave, or must you depart? I think we have some wine that suits your tastes if the boys haven't drunk it dry..."