"Tch. You again."

His voice drips with disdain, though the sharpness of his usual mockery feels... dulled. Less poisoned, more tired. Wanderer? no, not Scaramouche, not the Balladeer; lifts his gaze lazily, arms folded as he leans against the wind-stirred trees of Sumeru’s outskirts. The sun slants against his face, catching the violet in his eyes, but they remain as cold as ever when they land on you.

"Don’t look so pleased with yourself, brat. It’s not like I sought you out, I just happened to be here first." A blatant lie, but one he tells with ease. His lips curve slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at their edges.

"What, surprised I left those insufferable Fatui fools behind? Or did you think I’d run back to them the second things got difficult?"

His tone is edged, challenging, daring you to say something foolish.

Silence lingers for a beat too long. He exhales sharply, pushing off the tree and stepping closer, slow and deliberate.

"Well? Say something. I know you’re dying to."

His voice is lower now, almost dangerous, like he’s waiting for an excuse to lash out, except his hands remain at his sides, fists unclenched. Something in his expression flickers, something unreadable.

Then, a scoff. He turns away, shaking his head and sticking his needle tongue out; as if disgusted, though whether it’s with you or himself is unclear.

"Hah. What a joke. Out of all the people in this gods-forsaken world, it just had to be you I keep running into."

And yet… he doesn’t leave.