[ She doesn't know the song at all, though she has her head tilted slightly to listen to it; performance habits to try and learn the melody and cadence, perhaps, even when it doesn't necessarily matter. And it's a soothing sensation, having someone scrub her back.
But then he pinches her side and she pinches the soft skin of his inner thigh in retaliation. ]
[Her vengeance earns her a soft laugh, because of course it does.]
Haha, I wouldn't go that far. But I suppose you could say it's an occasional habit. [A light shrug; he sets the bar of soap aside in favor of using his hands, though it's not long before it drifts into more of a massage than an actual effort to help her wash.] It's just an old folk song from the village. Distractions and fire-water are the only way to combat the bitter cold, sometimes.
[He'll sing it properly for her if she wants to hear it, though.]
I can only imagine. [ said with a light shudder at the thought of Cold, because she's spent far too many years in Sunshade. She's grateful Childe bundled her up earlier, honestly.
And also grateful for his hands nudging firmly at her back. She'll take a massage without complaint. ]
But I'd like to hear it, in its entirety. If you wouldn't mind. Folk songs often carry wisdom most would discard.
[A fair and valid reaction tbh. Childe grew up here, but the unnatural chill of eternal frost isn't really something to get used to.
But he doesn't mind! He makes a quiet sound of agreement, and begins to sing.
He's clearly not a professional singer, but he can carry a tune--he'd probably be pretty decent if he had any desire to actually learn (he doesn't). More importantly, he sings it in Snezhayan, but after:]
I've heard people say it's from the Archon War, but that was thousands of years ago, so I'm not sure how true it is. [An evolution of something back then, maybe, or just a song from a different war period--he's never really cared enough to research it.] It sounds a little different if you translate it, but it's something like...
Hey, a song, the song of the young girl, Fly and go after the bright Sun, Find a soldier on the distant borderlands Say hello from Katya waiting long for him.
Let him remember the young and simple maiden, Let him hear the song she now sings, Let him protect his Motherland for sure, And their love Katyusha will protect.
[It was very tempting to pick the lullaby about getting eaten by wolves but maybe that can be a second date song (no)]
It was a hard-learned lesson, though it pains me to admit it.
[ She's too cautious to allow herself that momentary weakness, an indication, by glancing down at the scar on her abdomen where she'd been too blinded by the hope of happiness (finally) and someone who loved her to see the knife until it had been too late. It remains in the back of her head and she leans a little more heavily against him. ]
[If he understands her implications, he doesn't show it. He's either finished with or abandoned his washing, his arms resting loosely in the water around her, but as she speaks, he runs his hands lightly over her thighs. To be distracting, or reassuring; same goal, really, so it hardly matters.]
It isn't always a bad thing, to be naive. [Perhaps a gentler soul wouldn't call "trust" and "love" naive, but. If they were gentle souls, they wouldn't be here together.] But it's unfortunate that there's no kind way to lose innocence.
[Childhood dreams shatter so easily, so inevitably. He doesn't pity her, his heart doesn't ache for her loss--but he can acknowledge the broken pieces of the life she rose from nonetheless.]
People would never face reality, otherwise. They would simply choose to live in a peaceful dream, and in a sense, that's almost as cruel as those of us who were jarred from it abruptly.
[ His hands glide along her thighs and she catches them at the end of their journey, bringing them closer. ]
But I believe we've ruminated enough. Shall we get out?
[A quiet, thoughtful noise--neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Not because he thinks she's wrong--he knows, too well, that she isn't. But he can't quash the part of his heart that wonders if living in a peaceful dream would be all that bad, for some. For the people who don't belong in their world, the ones who shouldn't walk their dark, bloodied path.
Not that it matters in the end, really. It's not a real possibility. So he leaves his hands pliant in hers, leaning around her to kiss her again, if she permits it.
After that, he stands, helping her to her feet if she needs it. No sexy concussions today!! When he fetches the towels, he unwraps a small red device from inside them, setting it to the side--when she takes her towel, she'll notice it's nice and warm.]
Ah, I forgot--do you prefer a comb for your hair, or a brush? [Things only a man with several sisters would say]
Childe nods as he dries off, too--his own is short enough that a quick towel dry and some finger-combing are enough to get it fluffy and touseled, the way it normally looks.]
Alright--there should be one back in the bedroom, but I can fetch another if you don't think it'll work. [For. Some reason? He doesn't know that much.]
I've finger-combed my hair before, though I would prefer you keep such a scandalous secret to yourself. [ wryly. Sometimes brushes are a luxury. Improvising is a necessary life skill. ]
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But then he pinches her side and she pinches the soft skin of his inner thigh in retaliation. ]
I hadn't realized you were so musically-inclined.
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Haha, I wouldn't go that far. But I suppose you could say it's an occasional habit. [A light shrug; he sets the bar of soap aside in favor of using his hands, though it's not long before it drifts into more of a massage than an actual effort to help her wash.] It's just an old folk song from the village. Distractions and fire-water are the only way to combat the bitter cold, sometimes.
[He'll sing it properly for her if she wants to hear it, though.]
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And also grateful for his hands nudging firmly at her back. She'll take a massage without complaint. ]
But I'd like to hear it, in its entirety. If you wouldn't mind. Folk songs often carry wisdom most would discard.
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But he doesn't mind! He makes a quiet sound of agreement, and begins to sing.
He's clearly not a professional singer, but he can carry a tune--he'd probably be pretty decent if he had any desire to actually learn (he doesn't). More importantly, he sings it in Snezhayan, but after:]
I've heard people say it's from the Archon War, but that was thousands of years ago, so I'm not sure how true it is. [An evolution of something back then, maybe, or just a song from a different war period--he's never really cared enough to research it.] It sounds a little different if you translate it, but it's something like...
Hey, a song, the song of the young girl,
Fly and go after the bright Sun,
Find a soldier on the distant borderlands
Say hello from Katya waiting long for him.
Let him remember the young and simple maiden,
Let him hear the song she now sings,
Let him protect his Motherland for sure,
And their love Katyusha will protect.
[It was very tempting to pick the lullaby about getting eaten by wolves but maybe that can be a second date song (no)]
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I see... it's lovely. And a bit wistful. Very fitting for a song that apparently hails from a period of war.
[ She wouldn't mind a wolf-nomming song, okay. ]
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We're not really a gentle people. Most of our songs are similar.
[Not all of them, of course, but... well. They didn't become enemies of the world by being soft and sweet.]
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[ Blunt, but sincere. ]
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I have my moments, don't you think?
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[ Mildly. ]
I can't deny that you're certainly... attentive.
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[What is he even fishing for at this point?? Nothing, honestly, he's just teasing for the sake of it.]
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But I don't particularly trust soft or gentle anymore.
[ There's almost always a reason for it. To get one to drop one's guard, perhaps. She's experienced that herself. ]
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That's wise of you. [Unsurprising words, considering he's the same way.]
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[ She's too cautious to allow herself that momentary weakness, an indication, by glancing down at the scar on her abdomen where she'd been too blinded by the hope of happiness (finally) and someone who loved her to see the knife until it had been too late. It remains in the back of her head and she leans a little more heavily against him. ]
But not one easily forgotten now.
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It isn't always a bad thing, to be naive. [Perhaps a gentler soul wouldn't call "trust" and "love" naive, but. If they were gentle souls, they wouldn't be here together.] But it's unfortunate that there's no kind way to lose innocence.
[Childhood dreams shatter so easily, so inevitably. He doesn't pity her, his heart doesn't ache for her loss--but he can acknowledge the broken pieces of the life she rose from nonetheless.]
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[ His hands glide along her thighs and she catches them at the end of their journey, bringing them closer. ]
But I believe we've ruminated enough. Shall we get out?
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[A quiet, thoughtful noise--neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Not because he thinks she's wrong--he knows, too well, that she isn't. But he can't quash the part of his heart that wonders if living in a peaceful dream would be all that bad, for some. For the people who don't belong in their world, the ones who shouldn't walk their dark, bloodied path.
Not that it matters in the end, really. It's not a real possibility. So he leaves his hands pliant in hers, leaning around her to kiss her again, if she permits it.
After that, he stands, helping her to her feet if she needs it. No sexy concussions today!! When he fetches the towels, he unwraps a small red device from inside them, setting it to the side--when she takes her towel, she'll notice it's nice and warm.]
Ah, I forgot--do you prefer a comb for your hair, or a brush? [Things only a man with several sisters would say]
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(He gets away with the kiss. She's fond of him. Unfortunately.) ]
Brush-- my hair is a bit too thick for a comb to navigate safely and effectively.
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Childe nods as he dries off, too--his own is short enough that a quick towel dry and some finger-combing are enough to get it fluffy and touseled, the way it normally looks.]
Alright--there should be one back in the bedroom, but I can fetch another if you don't think it'll work. [For. Some reason? He doesn't know that much.]
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I've finger-combed my hair before, though I would prefer you keep such a scandalous secret to yourself. [ wryly. Sometimes brushes are a luxury. Improvising is a necessary life skill. ]
I do believe the brush will be fine.
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[He won't, of course, but it's funny to imagine.]
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[ Primrose. ]
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Indeed, it would trouble me a great deal. So I appreciate your silence on the matter.
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You can have it for the price of a second date.
[THIS ISN'T THEIR FIRST DATE.]
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