[Zhongli hadn't anticipated his enigmatic roommate to break the silence. Startled, he turns his gaze from the window to Neuvillette, their eyes locking for a moment.]
Yes, [he admits, his voice carrying a sense of curiosity, more than gravity, albeit one would argue his voice always carries such a tone.] It's as if there's something buried deep within these mountains, echoing through the very core. I've heard the Bard tell tales about it. [The idea had fascinated him ever since he first heard it from the Traveler, as well, and now, standing here, he could feel its presence even more keenly.] However, [the smile he gives him is rueful,] he was mostly intoxicated when he told me.
[The blizzard outside rages on, casting an eerie light through the frost-covered windowpanes. Zhongli can't help but think that the storm itself is a manifestation of that hidden heart, as if the very mountains were awakening from their slumber.
Zhongli returns to his unpacking, folding his neatly pressed garments and placing them in a corner. The small suitcase he carries feels somewhat out of place in this rustic cabin, a reminder of his human existence and the simplicity that came with it. It's a far cry from the leisured life he had once been accustomed to as the Geo Archon of Liyue.
Neuvillette's inquiry lingers in the air, and Zhongli can't help but wonder about the man who shares this cabin with him. The room seems to pulse much like the ancient heart in the rock. The tension in the air only seems to grow along with how many questions he has about him (who and what, exactly, is Neuvillette?) but Zhongli remains composed, his thoughts shifting back to the poetry event that brought them here.]
Are you well-versed in the art of poetry, Monsieur? [An attempt to bridge the gap between their divergent backgrounds, searching for common ground.]
no subject
Yes, [he admits, his voice carrying a sense of curiosity, more than gravity, albeit one would argue his voice always carries such a tone.] It's as if there's something buried deep within these mountains, echoing through the very core. I've heard the Bard tell tales about it. [The idea had fascinated him ever since he first heard it from the Traveler, as well, and now, standing here, he could feel its presence even more keenly.] However, [the smile he gives him is rueful,] he was mostly intoxicated when he told me.
[The blizzard outside rages on, casting an eerie light through the frost-covered windowpanes. Zhongli can't help but think that the storm itself is a manifestation of that hidden heart, as if the very mountains were awakening from their slumber.
Zhongli returns to his unpacking, folding his neatly pressed garments and placing them in a corner. The small suitcase he carries feels somewhat out of place in this rustic cabin, a reminder of his human existence and the simplicity that came with it. It's a far cry from the leisured life he had once been accustomed to as the Geo Archon of Liyue.
Neuvillette's inquiry lingers in the air, and Zhongli can't help but wonder about the man who shares this cabin with him. The room seems to pulse much like the ancient heart in the rock. The tension in the air only seems to grow along with how many questions he has about him (who and what, exactly, is Neuvillette?) but Zhongli remains composed, his thoughts shifting back to the poetry event that brought them here.]
Are you well-versed in the art of poetry, Monsieur? [An attempt to bridge the gap between their divergent backgrounds, searching for common ground.]