The crystalline god regarded Aeliana with the stillness of an old star, light present, motion implied, but no energy wasted on the theatrics she so clearly hoped for. One graphite tendril lifted, just barely, in a gesture that could have been amusement or exasperation. With Antero, the two were functionally identical.

[color=#1a98c3]“Subtle,”[/color] he echoed, voice reverberating with a soft, glass-like resonance. [color=#1a98c3]“Yes. Your display of subtlety was only marginally less conspicuous than a meteor entering the atmosphere at terminal velocity.”[/color]

A pause, and a hint, just a hint, of that familiar, ageless smugness.

[color=#1a98c3]“But I suppose your version of subtle is… better than nothing.”[/color]

He did not bother to follow the champagne glass she held up like a lens. He knew precisely what she saw, a geometric body trapped in a celebration far too loud for his liking, contained by expectation and divine politics rather than glass. His attention shifted briefly to the path Getsuy had taken. The wendigo’s restraint was… anomalous. Admirable, even, if one were grading on a curve involving centuries of carnivorous outbursts.

[color=#1a98c3]“At least he is moving away from the mortals this time,”[/color] Antero murmured, the words carrying the same tone a teacher might use for a student who managed not to set something on fire. [color=#1a98c3]“And Melion is present. Peace is not guaranteed, but statistically probable. Ninety-two percent, if we are being generous.”[/color]

Aeliana’s half-grin declaration earned a faint tilt of the head. The orbiting halo of mana crystals brightened by a fraction, the Manakin equivalent of narrowing one’s eyes.

[color=#1a98c3]“That is typically what you say,”[/color] he began, [color=#1a98c3]“immediately before abandoning me to…”[/color] 

She was gone. Already latching onto the nearest unsuspecting mortal like a barnacle of charm and chaos.

[color=#1a98c3]“…yes,”[/color] he finished to the empty space where she had been, [color=#1a98c3]“…that.”[/color]

One tendril drifted up to his headpiece as though pinching the bridge of a nose he did not possess. After a millennium in Aeliana’s company, the gesture had become instinctive. He turned his gaze toward the corner table where she had accosted the flower-laden servant. The girl looked overwhelmed. Aeliana looked delighted. And Antero looked… resigned. Before speaking to Aeliana again, he noted a small bee drifting lazily near the flower arrangements. The creature hesitated in midair, its wings humming with a warm, familiar resonance. Antero inclined his head toward it in the smallest, subtlest nod of respect.

[color=#1a98c3]“Little courier of Melion,”[/color]  he intoned softly, [color=#1a98c3]“offer him my greetings, and inform him that I trust his presence will prevent unnecessary carnage in the garden. I am, admittedly, placing considerable faith in his abilities.”[/color]

He then called out to his old pain.

[color=#1a98c3]“Aeliana,”[/color]  he called, his tone unhurried but absolutely clear, [color=#1a98c3]“that is not a bouquet. That is a person attempting to perform her duties. Please attempt, just for one evening, to minimize the chaos you inflict upon the staff.”[/color]
A pause, then, dryer, [color=#1a98c3]“And if you cannot manage that, at least do not uproot her from her station. I am still calculating the fallout from your last creative intervention.”[/color]

Another slight lift of a tendril, whether in warning or amusement, even he might not say.

[color=#1a98c3]“Please refrain from making this celebration more complicated than it already insists on being.”[/color]

[hr]

[@mmori][@Ducksworth][@NekoKyu]