WAKE UP (option A) [Kazuha doesn't enter any of the buildings at first, instead carefully examining his surroundings, the slightest of frowns pinched between his eyebrows. He pays particular attention to the flowers, being by far the most striking feature of the natural landscape. It's disquieting, the way they smell faintly of blood, though at least they seem tethered in place. Whopperflowers are, objectively speaking, more significant threats--so why do these unsettle him more?
He crouches a short distance from one cluster, a wary curiosity on his face. He'll look up if approached, a slight tension to his limbs, suggesting he's ready to move if necessary--but he won't get up just yet.]
Excuse me. I don't mean to trouble you, but I seem to have stumbled into this place by accident, and I find myself unable to leave. Are you by chance in a similar predicament?
WAKE UP (option B) [Kazuha is never one to turn down shelter, and he'll gravitate toward a room a little bit out of the way of the rest, if there is one. Perhaps at the end of a hallway; any option that might muffle some of the noise from downstairs. Kazuha has nothing against any of his newfound companions so far, but some of them seem as though they could be a bit... loud.
The photo doesn't startle him as much as it might have; he's seen a kamera before. Still, he's quite sure his family never owned one. This image of him as a small child, brandishing a bamboo practice sword, face alight with simultaneous pride and bashfulness--it cannot be real, however much his mind would like him to think he remembers it.
Apart from its existence, though, there is nothing about the photo that feels ominous; if it's meant to be some kind of veiled threat, it's veiled a little too well. He slips it into a pocket, and resolves to think no more of the issue for now. Then he opens a window, gathers the winds beneath his feet, and vaults himself out and up onto the roof.
As he thought, the higher vantage point offers him a better view of small village and its inhabitants. He sits by the edge, one leg dangled over, elbow resting on his other knee. He's not trying to eavesdrop, exactly... but it is incredible how often people fail to look up when going about their business. He might learn something this way, if his past experience is anything to go by.
Or maybe someone will simply yell at him to get down, which happens just as often.]
IT'S ALRIGHT [His breathing is shallow, shaky. There is an outside influence at work here, he's sure of it; these are thoughts he has long since put behind him. He shouldn't be thinking them still. They shouldn't be affecting him this way. The past is no gentle anchor, but a sinking stone, and he will not allow himself to be tied to it. He cannot.
The way he clutches his right arm is entirely unconscious. It's trembling with the intensity of the memories running through his mind. It has long been his habit to keep his sword hand wrapped, a common way of avoiding stress injuries, but such methods were futile when it came to blocking a strike from a god. He can still feel the electricity shooting up and down his arms: it had felt like trying to hold a bolt of lightning in one's hand, to prevent it from meeting its destiny in the ground below.
Kazuha is no hero, of this he is more than aware. His body simply moved on its own. His actions had, in the days following, prompted everything from accolades to jeers; he wanted none of it, but the accolades were almost worse. If anything, his decisive action at that time merely incriminates his lack of it before. If he and his friend had never separated, if he had chosen to fight at his side rather than run, could he have endured the lightning's glow then too? Could the two of them have done together what neither could alone?
These thoughts are meaningless. He will never know the answer.
The gods, one's fate... these are things that might be escaped, perhaps, but never openly defied. So he had thought. And so he fled, from everything: his family's dying legacy, his friend's reckless courage, his homeland's strife. All he does is flee. And sometimes double back, too late.
His grip on his right arm tightens as he continues walking blindly forward, no longer really looking for escape, whole body shaking with grief and fury. Kazuha is very difficult to startle under normal circumstances, but he has lost all awareness of anything around himself now. Those who approach will elicit no reaction at first, until suddenly he turns on his heel, a sword materializing from nowhere into his hand.]
Kaedehara Kazuha // Genshin Impact
[Kazuha doesn't enter any of the buildings at first, instead carefully examining his surroundings, the slightest of frowns pinched between his eyebrows. He pays particular attention to the flowers, being by far the most striking feature of the natural landscape. It's disquieting, the way they smell faintly of blood, though at least they seem tethered in place. Whopperflowers are, objectively speaking, more significant threats--so why do these unsettle him more?
He crouches a short distance from one cluster, a wary curiosity on his face. He'll look up if approached, a slight tension to his limbs, suggesting he's ready to move if necessary--but he won't get up just yet.]
Excuse me. I don't mean to trouble you, but I seem to have stumbled into this place by accident, and I find myself unable to leave. Are you by chance in a similar predicament?
WAKE UP (option B)
[Kazuha is never one to turn down shelter, and he'll gravitate toward a room a little bit out of the way of the rest, if there is one. Perhaps at the end of a hallway; any option that might muffle some of the noise from downstairs. Kazuha has nothing against any of his newfound companions so far, but some of them seem as though they could be a bit... loud.
The photo doesn't startle him as much as it might have; he's seen a kamera before. Still, he's quite sure his family never owned one. This image of him as a small child, brandishing a bamboo practice sword, face alight with simultaneous pride and bashfulness--it cannot be real, however much his mind would like him to think he remembers it.
Apart from its existence, though, there is nothing about the photo that feels ominous; if it's meant to be some kind of veiled threat, it's veiled a little too well. He slips it into a pocket, and resolves to think no more of the issue for now. Then he opens a window, gathers the winds beneath his feet, and vaults himself out and up onto the roof.
As he thought, the higher vantage point offers him a better view of small village and its inhabitants. He sits by the edge, one leg dangled over, elbow resting on his other knee. He's not trying to eavesdrop, exactly... but it is incredible how often people fail to look up when going about their business. He might learn something this way, if his past experience is anything to go by.
Or maybe someone will simply yell at him to get down, which happens just as often.]
IT'S ALRIGHT
[His breathing is shallow, shaky. There is an outside influence at work here, he's sure of it; these are thoughts he has long since put behind him. He shouldn't be thinking them still. They shouldn't be affecting him this way. The past is no gentle anchor, but a sinking stone, and he will not allow himself to be tied to it. He cannot.
The way he clutches his right arm is entirely unconscious. It's trembling with the intensity of the memories running through his mind. It has long been his habit to keep his sword hand wrapped, a common way of avoiding stress injuries, but such methods were futile when it came to blocking a strike from a god. He can still feel the electricity shooting up and down his arms: it had felt like trying to hold a bolt of lightning in one's hand, to prevent it from meeting its destiny in the ground below.
Kazuha is no hero, of this he is more than aware. His body simply moved on its own. His actions had, in the days following, prompted everything from accolades to jeers; he wanted none of it, but the accolades were almost worse. If anything, his decisive action at that time merely incriminates his lack of it before. If he and his friend had never separated, if he had chosen to fight at his side rather than run, could he have endured the lightning's glow then too? Could the two of them have done together what neither could alone?
These thoughts are meaningless. He will never know the answer.
The gods, one's fate... these are things that might be escaped, perhaps, but never openly defied. So he had thought. And so he fled, from everything: his family's dying legacy, his friend's reckless courage, his homeland's strife. All he does is flee. And sometimes double back, too late.
His grip on his right arm tightens as he continues walking blindly forward, no longer really looking for escape, whole body shaking with grief and fury. Kazuha is very difficult to startle under normal circumstances, but he has lost all awareness of anything around himself now. Those who approach will elicit no reaction at first, until suddenly he turns on his heel, a sword materializing from nowhere into his hand.]