#!cisoriaseams

[dustymetaltrail]

[DRESSING ROOM]

A jingle, the door opening to the boutique. "Welcome to Chioriya Boutique, how can I—" She stops, mouth agape as she perceives the mechanical cowboy before her. A tilt of her head to the side, eyes squinting, bemused and baffled by this strange man before her. A need pinched between her thumb and index in indirectly pointed towards him, with her hand flourishing an open palm, silently asking too many questions to feasibly understand.

"A. A crop top? A zip up crop top? A zip up, long sleeve crop top? With the cuffs folded? Who let you dress like that this morning? This is more dire than I ever could've anticipated. Come on, I need your measurements." Several, small, circular hand gestures, ushering the cowboy in closer. "This isn't gonna fix itself. Chop, chop!"

all he wanted to do was come in and look at the fancy hats , that's all he wanted , he wasn't even sure if he came into the right store , his eyes looked around a little , before his attention turned to the woman who welcomed him , he raised a hand and went to open his mouth -- serrated teeth shining through , but before words could leave his lips . . . the criticism began rolling in , his expression grew more and more shocked by the second , he kept trying to speak , but each time , another comment to his outfit , this was baffling ! who was this woman ? !

" hey -- I'll have you -- the zipper is con -- the sleeves are com -- i don't want them in the way ! i dressed my darned self ! who the fork you callin' dire ? ! " measurements ? what's she on about ? despite his confusion , he just followed her lead , her commanding aura was simply overpowering , he felt like he couldn't really say no to whatever she was saying .

[crowfeatherd]

Fingers drum upon the corners of a clipboard, carmine eyes scanning down a list of crossed out names. Lips purse with displeasure. Dire circumstances have befallen the illustrious Chioriya Boutique, with a new replacement for staff being a quite the necessity. Now this was a predicament. Today alone, nine interviews already that had resulting in nothing. This man would mark the final interview, and considering the upcoming projects coming, perhaps she should just hire him, use him for whatever he's good for, then fire him.

No, she wasn't that bad of an employer.

Still, about as far as standards go, they're in the dirt.

Gaze meets the cloaked man as he enters the room. So far, not impressive. But it takes a real bold individual to try and rock chaps in this day and age. Even if it was a miss, it's that boldness that really sets him apart. The cloak is... also odd. A sleeve with buttons on only one side. Feathers on the other to off set the imbalance. It's a shame he's a man; probably doesn't understand symmetry and asymmetry. A male model could still be useful, though.

"Well, welcome. You're here for the job interview, correct? At the Chioriya Boutique? I'm Chiori, nice to meet you. Why don't you take a seat and tell me about yourself? Some of your past experiences?" An open hand, motioning to the empty chair across from her. The office was fairly small, a backroom to the actual boutique, in theory.

Moze has never had to interview for a job in his entire life, and it shows in the way he comes through the door dressed in the clothes he'd just washed fresh blood out of yesterday, how his hair looks like he'd just woken up, or the way one hand hovers constantly near the hilt of the knife sheathed at his waist - a warning or simply some kind of personal comfort. From under the shadow of his hood, he eyes the woman - Chiori, as she's introduced herself - warily. Those robes she wears are layered such that any manner of thin weapon could be concealed within them, and the exasperated look on her face says she might not even think twice about pulling one out if this doesn't go her way. Which means he needs to sit himself in that offered chair immediately.

He introduces himself with a muttered version of his name as he takes his seat stiffly, back straight and at attention, hands set impatiently on his knees. A moment passes in silence as Moze gathers his thoughts, reminding himself alongside the answers to the questions that he's playing a role, and that he's trying to be hired for a job.

"I clean up... messes," he starts with a grimace. He hates talking about himself. "General Feixiao leaves behind no shortage of them."

Should he have said her name? He doesn't know anymore, but he presses on anyway:

"Blood, or dirt, or anything else, I'll take care of it. I also know dozens of ways to hide my presence. You won't see me unless I want you to."

What else... At this point, Moze had been staring intently at Chiori's face as he rattled off his abilities, but now his eyes lower to the floor to think. Many of the other things he was good at weren't intended to be spoken out loud. And he doesn't have a note from Jiaoqiu to help him this time.

"And... I'm good with... weapons?"

[jxrmngxndr]

🎄- A glance to the man, a hand on her hip. Amber eyes see the signs above. Who keeps hanging these? Gazing lingering for a moment, Chiori finally speaks up.

"Well are you just going to just stand there or..." a small little flick of her hand, lightly ruffling her dress as it hits her thigh.

It was the gentlest bump which brought his attention to her and which, if he had been entirely honest, he had assumed was simply the lady trying to get by him.

There seemed few enough spots where one could have escaped the sprigs of mistletoe, looming and everpresent.

There was that moment, long and heavy, where he saw her eyes travel upward, then in their own time back down to his, languorous and deliberate; the shift in her weight from one hip to another almost drew a soft sigh from him, apologetic, his mouth beginning to open to excuse himself before she spoke, freezing him once more.

A blink, the smallest of creases forming between his brows - not out of confusion but consideration, putting the pieces together to form a picture of the sort of person who demanded something so freely from a stranger. As though it were expected.

Kevin supposed it was. Must have needed to have been, those tacit social contracts signed by all present.

A flick of his eyes down, then up - an involuntary mirror of her own, he realized as he took the step forward - before, hesitating one final time, he dipped his head and brushed lips gently across her cheek, with the softest sigh of frosty air in the wake of his departure.

[immovablewill]

[DRESSING ROOM]

"Goodness, is this what the Tenryou commission has you wearing now? Almighty Shogun above, we've got to fix this..." Chiori would crouch, taking measurements of the crow-feathered general. "They just let you all wear anything? I forgot how traditional Inazuma still is."

⁀➴ OVERTURE 2024

That—…

…A heavy frown tugged at her lips, golden eyes following the infamous designer’s while shifting uncomfortably from where she stood. Her usual uniform—one she had always worn with pride and confidence—felt suddenly inadequate under the designer’s sharp gaze, even when she couldn’t recall exactly how she’d been roped into this. Something about an official shoot, was it? All she knew was that one moment, she was walking a few steps behind the Almighty Shogun, guarding her, and the next, the same Shogun had easily pawned her off when someone, a director or photographer, had requested for their aid.

It felt absurd—here she was, the General of the Tenryou Commission, reduced to standing stiffly under the scrutinizing eye of a sharp-tongued seamstress. That all she could do was to lower her head slightly with a quiet hum in response to the harsh words only made the situation feel even more ridiculous.

So… So perhaps she does not have the best sense of fashion (in fact, the Lady Guuji once said she had absolutely none of it), but what good does fashion serve in her line of duty? She had no need for expensive kimonos or fancy dresses. Her uniform alone should suffice. (Thus, explains why she only ever wore them, having ordered multiple such that she wouldn’t have to worry about needing to wash her clothes for five months, should an emergency arise.)

“ My uniform does its job well, " came her delayed response, her shoulders slumping slightly. " It is easy to move in and does not hinder me from my duties. I don’t see why we must go through all this trouble and change out of my usual clothing… ”

Any other excuse she might have offered died on her lips as the seamstress swiftly fixed her with a sharp look, and just as swiftly, Sara’s resolve faltered.

She heaved out a heavy sigh, surrendering to the inevitable.

[dellarosula]

╰ ✧ ˖ @cisoriaseams asked:

[DRESSING ROOM] "Ah, you're back. I haven't seen you in a couple weeks, Navia." Standing from an unfinished piece, her friend would find less divided attention than most others. Sleeves were rolled up, hair more disheveled than usual. It appears that whatever it was she'd been working on had given her more of a struggle than she'd care to admit. "Come now, you've got your work cut out for you." While her inflection does not change, it's clear that this is no ordinary client, but instead a good friend. Even at the prospect of ordering the Spina's President around, it never feels too difficult a task, usually because a rewards lies at the end. "I've got a couple dresses for clients similar in physique to you, as well as your latest order ready. I just need your thoughts." Like a whirlwind, Navia has several garments thrust into neutral arms, and is quickly pushed into the changing room, with a curtain swinging, metal rings hissing along a supportive rail. "Quickly now, The boutique has been busy with all these visitors for whatever this festival is. I haven't even been able to book appointments with how much time it's all taking, and that's not even accounting for orders that I have deadlines for afterwards." A glance at the dressing room curtain. "How's your day been, Navia?"

Straight to business, such is the Chioriya Boutique way. Modeled top down by its founder, the very woman dumping enough dresses to last even her a month. Not that Navia has ever once complained, of course. They are friends, after all, and that had to have come from somewhere.

"Goodness, these are..." She's careful to hook the garment bags on the nearest hook with minimal risk of crushing any one of them. "You've had your work cut out for you, I see."

The first is unzipped, its protective layer shrugged away so that Navia can begin the well rehearsed art of donning it. This is routine for them, a song and dance that the Spina's president has never once tired of. Even on her busiest of days, she would make certain there was time to play Chiori's mannequin. It eases her mind, silly as it may seem.

"My day? Certainly nothing compared to yours." She chirps in response, humming to herself as she goes through the motions. Laces here, the odd zipper there-- Navia makes careful work of smoothing out where and how the skirts lay, running a thorough inspection in the mirror before turning towards the curtain.

"Now then, prepare yourself for the latest and greatest work by Teyvat's greatest seamstress-" The curtain is thrown back with as much flair as she knows how to muster ( which is, generally speaking, quite a lot ) and out steps Navia with a smile. "Ta-da!"

Her next role is that of the pincushion, but she hardly minds. It's prime conversation time, after all. "Your turn! Tell me all about your latest projects."

[garmgeyr]

”It means whatever you want it to mean,” Gallagher answers with that cryptic smile of his, deftly dancing around the question she’s turned on him. “Aspirations will take you far here, just as they do in waking life. You’ll find a place in no time. Heh, maybe you can even start by giving the city a fashionable facelift.”

The longer he talks, the more apparent it becomes that he’s forgotten to offer her a name, or that he simply doesn’t want to. That question, like so many others, must be pursued doggedly to pry an answer out of him, and one that might not even be the truth. Even now, he weighs the value of a name as they turn the corner to a dead end and he flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground. It’s a short alleyway, sheltered somewhat from the rain by an overhead awning here or there. Warm orange light ripples out from an open doorway across the slick, stone street, accompanied by the murmur of life, and this is where Gallagher decides to lead her.

And this is where Chiori might find some much-needed relief from her guide’s frustrating penchant for forgetting.

”Gallagher!” calls the young man behind the counter as they step through the doors and into the cozy living-room-turned-restaurant. The room is heady with the scent of garlic and basil, and the handful of guests who lounge in the booths cast friendly glances their way, but fall swiftly back into the comfortable patterns of their own conversations. For his part, Gallagher tosses a look toward Chiori that could almost be called sheepish, maybe even just a little bit apologetic, but it could also very well be a trick of the light, then weaves around the scattering of tables to the counter.

“Thought the Family got you for good this time. It’s been a while,” says the young man, dusting his hands on the front of his apron. A striking head of red hair looks almost out of place among the undersea tones that make up the rest of the dreary city, but there is a cold lightlessness in his blue eyes that looks right at home here.

”Decided to take a little vacation to the Blue Hour. You know how they still have those galas for the Watchmaker,” Gallagher answers with warm familiarity, then gestures to his guest. “Picked up a lost cat on the way back.”

The man smiles and tips his cap to her. “Oh, pleased to meet you, Miss—?“

sleepie times

[immovablewill]

About Chiori

⁀➴ Send me “About [NAME]” for my character’s thoughts! [ accepting ]

ABOUT CHIORI Friendship Lv. 4

Ah, the lady behind Chioriya Boutique. I have never had the chance to meet her or visit her shop in Fontaine, but her reputation precedes her. In fact, I often hear about her work, especially when a festival draws near. Her yukatas are the most popular—whenever the summer festival arrives, you should expect to see nearly everyone wearing her designs. Hm? Me? I’ve never had much use for one. I always volunteer to stay on duty during the festivities, so my uniform is all that I need.

[huntersoath]

"You're lacking in imagination, that's your problem."

This project was one she had been slaving over for what felt like an eternity— countless revisions, scrapping a majority of it only to start completely anew… and yet despite it all, it still felt as if it wasn’t quite enough. And so she sought assistance from one of the most original and unique people she knew.

Sure, maybe it wasn’t Chiori’s area of expertise. But a second opinion couldn’t hurt… right? The seamstress always had been honest and upfront with Clorinde. And for that reason, she’d trust the other woman with any input.

People would walk on eggshells around Clorinde because of her reputation of a fearsome Duelist. Chiori never did.

“I know, I know… I don’t usually have this problem, but I want this to be really unique. It’s going to be for a larger group— probably the largest I’ve ever hosted. I want it to be fun for everyone.”

It was a new script that Clorinde had taken upon herself to write; ever since the small gathering of Navia, Lyney, Furina, and the Traveler, there had been talk of organizing a campaign with even more of their friends. While things could quickly get complicated with a larger party, Clorinde had full faith that she could easily manage the details.

“What would you suggest? It feels… bland. The heroes need more difficult choices- I want them to truly ponder what they’re choosing. Moral dilemmas.”

It’s then that Clorinde jolts, sudden snagging the papers she had brought and staring at them with wide eyes. The idea that popped into her head would be absolutely perfect for what she had already constructed, and she was unable to keep the smile from her face. If there was ever a moment where she looked like an excited child— this was certainly it.

“I’ve got it. I have to go write this down! Thank you, Chiori!”

@cisoriaseams

[huntersoath]

A box, wrapped in a patterned orange and brown paper. A little bow is tied at the top, matching in its geo-like patterns. A quick tug on it and the wrapping paper would seem to flutter off, without the need for a tear, although such diligent folds were no doubt lost upon a woman as busy as Clorinde.

The care package would contain a few separate pieces. The first a button-up shirt, white and nearly identical to the one she so often found herself in. The difference? It was custom-tailored with measurements more accurate to the duelist (don't ask how she got them). Beneath the neatly folded shirt, a new mug, with several different teas and coffee blends. A shared suffering, knowing all too well the pain of early mornings after late nights. And finally, a few stray pieces of paper, with some handwritten instructions for basic, origami folds, along with a letter.

Dear Clorinde,

I hope this finds you well on your birthday. I've got quite the ordeal going on, so I tasked Tamoto with delivering this present. Your greatly appreciated for all you do for Fontaine, and I treasure our kindled companionship. Thank you for your help around the boutique, and for being so generous as to look the other way when I have to handle bad clientele.

P.S. I hope this shirt fits you better than the ones you always seem to find yourself in. It is okay to buy new clothing.

Warmest Regards, Chiori of Chioriya Boutique, Located in the Court of Fontaine Proper

The letter deposited on top of the package delivered to her immediately gives her the idea of exactly who had sent such an elaborately, carefully decorated gift-- the intricate folds and ribbon tied flawlessly around it speak of a dedication and skill that could only belong to one person that she knew... and the thought brings a warm smile to her face. And of course, as violet eyes scan the contents of the card, her suspicions are confirmed. There's no visible rush in her actions, but the slight relaxation of her posture suggests a quiet curiosity as the box opens with a soft creak- and the familiar shade of navy blue that greets her isn't something she expected. It's a look that she normally dons, so it's not much different from normal... but Clorinde knows the amount of effort put into each and every stitch, and she knows the quality of the work that comes from Chiori's hand. Her fingers run lightly over the fabric of the shirt, testing the softness of the cotton, and examining the craftsmanship with the practiced eye of someone who has always appreciated quality. Though she may not outwardly express much in the way of emotion, the subtle satisfaction that lingers in her gaze and a softening at the corners of her mouth is enough for those who know her to understand what this means to her. It means more to her than anything she could buy, and a soft chuckle rumbles in her chest as a response. "I'll have to thank her for this. Somehow... She always manages to improve this even further with every order I place," She muses to herself, fingers toying with the packaging on the box of tea packed under the clothing. "As for the tea, I believe we can share a cup." The origami instructions... That does bring a laugh from her. The vote of confidence in her 'artistic' ability to follow them is certainly appreciated.

"Thank you, Chiori. I only hope I can repay even a fraction of the kindness you've shown me."

@cisoriaseams

[avcnturine]

IT'S OFTEN SAID THAT BUSINESSMEN aren't known for their honesty. aventurine discards the sentiment——all things considered, he'd much prefer to play within the rules. sure, duplicity could be one part of the toolbox, but it was a far cry from the indiscreet brand of shamelessness that made business synonymous with swindling in the eyes of those not savvy enough to sit at the table. to miss chiori's candid question, he gives an equally candid answer: a sound of affirmation, and another glance at the flickering image hovering above his wrist, threatening to wash out entirely in the sheet of snow that blows over the bank in frigid crystals.

he shuts off the display, returning his attention to the road. though there isn't much in the way of a visible path, it looks like she knows where she's going. "right on the money. that door. . . mm, how should i put it? how much stock do you put in the gods, miss chiori?"

devouts, heretics, ambivalence, and atheists ; every planet had their own mix and match of the bunch. teyvat's current rule stood under the seven, an enigmatic roundtable that governed the laws of the place in accordance with a high-up throne called the heavenly principles. it seemed like there was more to it, with some of these seven walking fresh-faced among their own people. rather than the aeons from beyond the stars, eldritch and incomprehensible, much less visible, by the average man, the archons of teyvat sounded like a more humanitarian bunch.

and, at least, if that strange little domain on the summer island were to be believed. . . "supposedly ' starsilver ' might just have the power to subdue one."

♠　creation myth

comm. SWIRL⠀∶⠀heart of the dragonspine.

[entwinefates]

‎ ‎ ‎ RIDDLE ME THIS: when do one feel like a doll trapped in a dollhouse? perpetually, when one is as small as paimon, and irritably, when one is fastened to the bed like she is.

‎ ‎ ‎ it's not the most clever riddle, to be sure, but the little fairy can't help it. as she lies thrashing in her heavy velvet sheets and a searing, scorching pain cuts through her skull once more, all she can think about is flinging herself into the nearest ocean and instantly dissolving into its waters. but even that would involve a tremendous amount of willpower, and she realizes with a frustrated whine that she can't even muster the strength to tear off her covers, let alone fly anywhere.

‎ ‎ ‎ ❛ paimon's going to bake here, ❜ ‎ she thought to herself miserably. ‎ ❛ she's going to bake in this death oven and turn into a delicious moon pie, devoured by a pigeon, and it'll be the travelers' fault because they HATE her and left her here to ROT. ❜

‎ ‎ ‎ it's not true in the slightest, she knows, but doesn't she deserve some melodrama for all her suffering? oh, paimon could see herself as the poor ingenue, weeping on stage alone, waiting for a great golden hero to rescue her from this flaming prison of cushions and blankets. alas, it would seemeth her destiny-eth was to remained chained to a bed for all eternity, forced to merely dream of being released from suffocating weight.

‎ ‎ ‎ ❝ as if that would ever happen, ❞ ‎ paimon muttered under her breath, kicking her feet against the blanket. between sputtering coughs, she vehemently swore, ‎ ❝ if tr-traveler thinks they can just leave paimon here then they've got another thing coming! paimon, escape dash! ❞

‎ ‎ ‎ with a twist of the covers and a great deal of effort, the little fairy managed to roll off the bed, unraveling as she went and falling unceremoniously onto the ground with a loud thud. she groaned aloud at the impact, stars exploding behind her eyes as the throbbing pain pulsed around her skull. a small price to pay for freedom, she reasoned as she continued to flounder on the floor, rolling and sliding across the dark wood like a member of the shuumatsuban. heh, once she got out of here, maybe ayato could hire her as a spy…

‎ ‎ ‎ unfortunately, paimon's dreams of grandeur were cut short by the sharp clicking of heels and the twist of a doorknob. the little fairy, delirious from fever and exhaustion, vision spinning with dark blotches and her head throbbing, wheezed and sputtered as the guest finally unveiled herself.

‎ ‎ ‎ ❝ ch-chiori? what are you doing here? ❞

✦ ‎ TAILORED TO YOUR NEEDS

[huntersoath]

A quiet curiosity settles over Clorinde's features, her footsteps light as she nears the familiar figure of her acquaintance seated at a small table nestled under the shelter of a parasol. Originally, she had come to deliver a small package-- a payment for some repairs done to her cape in the wake of a particularly fierce duel-- but... the colorful paper situated in the delicate grasp of Chiori's hands draws her attention almost immediately. The deep focus evident on the other woman's face piques her interest, and violet eyes survey the folds and creases executed with a meticulous precision that she appreciated. That same reverence was apparent in the way the duelist maintained her weaponry, and ... it kind of looked relaxing, in a weird sort of way. Wouldn't something like that make a wonderful gift? It was small, intricate, and rather personal. A grand idea struck her in that moment, and she paused to clear her throat.

"Hello, Chiori. I've brought my payment, as promised," Her voice breaks the otherwise quiet seclusion of the shade situated outside of Chioriya's Boutique. "Debts aside, however... What are you working on? I don't believe I've ever seen you do this." As of this moment, it didn't seem to have any definitive form; but with each additional step, the creation seemed to evolve into something new and exciting. In a single smooth, practiced motion, Clorinde pulls out the chair situated across from her companion-- her posture remains poised, yet comfortable as she takes a seat. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you."

@cisoriaseams

art is in the eye of the beholder (i hope)

learning origami with @cisoriaseams

[jxrmngxndr]

Liyue’s famous Pearl Galley invites everyone on board for a true treat for ears and minds: a storytelling contest! In the finest company, to the smell and taste of the highest quality snacks and tea, you may choose the category you like best. A traditional folktale? A comedy? A ghost story? There’s even an amateur class competition if you’d like to try to tell a tale or two yourself! And remember to bring a friend along so that you can engage in a refined discussion of the story’s merits afterwards. It’s only proper. (starter for @cisoriaseams)

They kept handing him little plates.

Kevin was fairly certain that it was not the same waitstaff over and over, but a rotation of them, plucking the plate from his hands and replacing it with something else. It did not, entirely, seem to matter whether he had eaten (completely, or at all) what the plate contained, neither did it appear to be on a schedule that he could discern.

And he had been counting. The seconds, minutes, hours – the rotation of shifts, noticing when each staff member moved through the room, in and out of the crashing wave of the gathered guests, marking details of each one either through facial features or dissimilarities in dress (harder to do with a uniform, but there was enough individuality that he could keep a record in his head).

But regardless of all of this, no matter where in the room he milled or what he had in his hands, every so often someone would come by, smile politely and expectantly at him, and swap out the plate in his hand with something new.

He had known that it was to be a social event when he had arrived – neither in particular gravitating to the conceit, nor disconnected – but he had mostly expected for there to be a sea of the entirely unfamiliar to blend into, to float freely amongst those gathered and immerse himself in something new, for the first time in what felt like a very long time.

The amber eyes pinned him from meters away and Kevin, for the second time in what felt like a very short amount of time, could only blink at the approach.

He watched her, eyes flicking over the planes of her face in consideration, the set of her shoulders as she wove about the crowd, and there was a beat of silence wherein they simply stared at one another.

Then, he extended the plate, newly refreshed. "Meatball?"

I’m new to this was I supposed to swipe right or left sorry

[crowfeatherd]

This Chiori is quick to pick up the slack in the conversation, but Moze supposes that this is more interrogation than conversation anyway. She asks questions, he answers, and then the results shake out as they will. He looks up again when she brings up his employer and it catches him at a loss for a second: a crossroads between truth and fiction.

”… Former,” he says after a beat, then adds on, straight-faced, “I killed her.”

A story in which he’d succeeded in his assassination attempts against the general, and was now granted the “freedom” Feixiao had promised him all those years ago. Tentatively, Moze grasps that plotline to steer his character through the scene. At the end of it all, he’d still need a job… right? That’s why he’s here. Right?

”I need a new job,” he says candidly, and Chiori lays out her requirements, reminding him, quite frankly, of his “former” employer. For better or worse, that eases the tension from his shoulders a little, but he still regards her with sharp, nearly-feral suspicion from behind his shaggy hair.

”I prefer to work in the background, but if you must see me, then… I will make myself visible as needed.”

He says nothing about her insistence on handling “unruly clients” herself, but thinks to himself that this interview must be going quite well now… And more importantly, that it must nearly be over, until she startles him with a question about his attire.

”What does what I’m wearing have to do with anything?” he asks brusquely, squaring his shoulders. He'd never given his clothing much thought (as Chiori must be well aware), and spares only a glance down at himself. “I must blend with the shadows, and the fabric must be easy to clean. … That’s all.”

fashion statement

who, what, where w/ @crowfeatherd from here

[sumerananubis]

Liyue, as ever, was vastly different from Sumeru. Though Chenyu valley was probably the closest in climate to the great rainforest. Perhaps... calmer though, but Cyno was quite happy to just pass that off as "adepti shenanigans" and let it be than to comment on it. It wasn't a natural calmness, to his desert honed senses. But whatever.

"I've tried most of the teas from Sumeru," Cyno hummed in reply to his travelling companion. "If I don't leaf the known, then I'd run out of new flavours to try and that would be a tearavesty. And please, it's just Cyno at the moment."

Heh. Plus it was an excuse to not be the General Mahamatra for a length of time.

"But what of your own tea tastes, Ms Chiori?" he asked.

tea leaf gaming

[garmgeyr]

”Heh, that’s the spirit,” Gallagher commends. He’d listened to her circle through her theories without offering any input of his own. Whether she wanted to think of him or Dormancy as Death didn’t much matter to him when the outcome was the same. Likewise, whether one thought dream was reality or reality was dream made little difference to him. As long as it could be experienced, who could say it wasn’t real? That she was on her two feet, grousing about the rain and her gracious guide, should be proof enough that she was still alive.

Perhaps just not in the way she’d gotten used to.

They still have a walk to go. The rain-slicked street smeared in the bleary light of decrepit lamps remains devoid of any other sign of life. Even the dumpsters that sit at the edge of every alleyway have been emptied, and the signs and posters plastered to the brick walls are faded to the point of illegibility.

”This city is home to all sorts of people starting over, just like you,” Gallagher continues, attention on what’s ahead. He almost sounds like he’s lying with how silent the streets are, but if Chiori were to look up at the towering skyscrapers the hem them in, she’d catch sight of warm yellow light flickering on in a window or two. “Some of ‘em have no way of going back home. Some of ‘em never want to go back home. Of course, she’s not showin’ her best face tonight, but rain’s got a way of making anywhere feel cold and lonely.”

It’s then that he glances back at Chiori again, and it becomes clear that he doesn’t seem like he’s getting around to answering her real questions. Or maybe he’s simply forgotten them in his drunken haze.

”What’s something you’ve always wanted to be?”

sleepie times