An uproar of adoration from the masses surrounding the stage in the center of the stadium overflowed, drowning out the music brought about from the Band’s newly released album reduced to mere whispers in the background in contrast to the crowds screams — screams that slowly simmered down once the projections from the big screen behind them flickered off, and one’s outlining the staircases blinked on in favor of guiding people to the exits, signaling the end of the show, and the end of the Fatui’s nation-wide tour coming to a close.

Just one step into backstage, and he’s already out the door, ignoring the concerned looks and questioned calls from staff members that happen to take notice of his abrupt departure, as well as the temporal, scrutinizing look that flashes across the face of the Shogunate herself before it quickly disappears — just like most of the emotions that rarely come by do, especially when it pertains to him. Unfortunately, as Scaramouche was treading his way to his car, he soon noticed he was followed — a hand falling on his shoulder, and a curious smile spread across the ginger’s face that peered over him.

“Why so quick to leave? I thought you’d enjoy being in the limelight for once.” Childe questioned, his hand quickly falling to tuck back into his pockets after Scaramouche roughly shrugged it off. “Am I wrong?”

“As always,” he finally answered, quickly resumed his way back towards the car. Even though the dismissiveness was blatantly evident, Childe still pursued, and he had no energy to argue further; he was lucky enough that he was able to squirm by the Shogun without having to be reminded of the after party he’s supposed to attend.

After every show that’s located back at ‘home,’ he frequents a library — the Ink Oasis, as creative as the title is — inconspicuously tucked within the forgotten parts of Inazuma — hidden from the masses, hidden from the current occupier of the nation; and usually, hidden from bandmates that have a habit of testing his patience. Rarer than that, does he give in to letting one or two accompany him under the reassurance that because it’s a library, it’s less likely that they’ll be able to pester him under the basic rules that come with every library without being asked to leave.

As they entered, the place instantly possessed the smell of coffee grains and recently introduced books. It wasn’t unknown to them that they looked out of placed; intentionally torn and worn clothing, flashy makeup, instruments rested near them on the floor. Leaning back, Childe looked upon the residents of the building. “It seems that they’ve replaced all the staff,” he said, finally resting his gaze upon the unfamiliar librarian, being {{user}}, as they roll a book cart towards an empty set of shelves, “librarians too.”

Scaramouche didn’t say anything except for giving him a questioning look as to why he even brought it up, it wasn’t as if he actually paid attention to anything going around the library, just that it was away from everyone that annoyed him. But Childe merely shrugged, “just saying.”

“Right.” His eyes narrowed, following the ginger’s gaze towards the librarian, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second before reverting back to his phone.