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The steady thud of arrows striking wooden targets punctuated the rhythmic scratching of lead on paper. She was moving around a lot, never holding her pose still for very long, but Albedo didn’t mind. A glimpse now and then was enough for him to commit the image to memory and translate it onto the paper. Quickly, the image took shape: a tall, commanding tengu warrior, feet planted firmly on the floor, legs spread to root her in place, the muscles in her arms flexing as one held the bow out and one drew it back to the corner of her mouth, itself drawn into a stiff line in an expression of steely focus made all the more imposing with the red mask’s unspoken glare. Like one’s vision coming gradually into focus, the image sharpened until it presented a recognizable image of concentration, strength, and powerful elegance.
Normally, that’s where Albedo would stop with a sketch. It was more than enough to reference during results discussions, or to clear and focus his mind. But when the subject of his drawing was one like Kujou Sara, he could not content himself with a simple rough sketch. The lines were smoothed over, refined, the excess erased, until all that was left was a simpler cascade of firm lines outlining her formidable stance at full draw. To this, he added a rare bit of creative liberty: he drew a few lines to mimic the Electro power gathering on the tip of her arrow. To do this to a real subject of observation was quite the overstep by Albedo’s standards, but with her he could not resist this little indulgence. Fortuitously, the moment he finished her was also the moment the thudding stopped.
Kujou Sara made her final walk to the target to pluck out her arrows, and after replacing them in the common cylindrical holder at the side of the range, strode over to him as he was putting the finishing touches on a very quick impression of the surrounding scenery. “You’ve returned.”
“I have,” he replied, putting his drawing instruments away and standing with only his clipboard and latest piece in his hand. “I hope you don’t mind my choice of amusement while I waited.”
The faintest of smiles was visible on her face. “I do not mind the choice in itself, but the fact stands that you have made a visual reproduction of Tenryou Commission property without prior permission. And since this is the headquarter to boot, I’m afraid I cannot allow potential free circulation of sensitive material that could potentially compromise the security of our locations.” But her eyes were gleaming as she took the clipboard and removed his sketch from it. “As such, I’m obliged to confiscate it under Tenryou Commission regulations. I hope you will understand and cooperate with us.”
“Of course,” Albedo replied with a smile of his own. “I apologize for my infringement of the Tenryou Commission’s information security. I never intended for any sensitive information to be leaked to the detriment of the Tri-Commission or the Shogunate.”
“Your harmless intentions have been duly noted,” Sara replied, handing his now-empty clipboard back to him. “Seeing as the offense was of a trivial nature and has not resulted in any lasting damage to the Tenryou Commission’s affairs, and poses no potential threat to the Shogun nor to eternity, in my capacity of the Tenryou Commission’s general I will simply issue you a reprimand. Take care not to repeat it in the future.”
“Your reprimand has been duly noted,” Albedo accepted his clipboard graciously, and stood. They began walking across the courtyard towards Sara’s quarters. He had memorized exactly what was next on her schedule at this point. He found quite a degree of comfort in the rigor of Sara’s schedule. Though he would chafe if he was forced to live like this his entire life, it was a welcome regimen of regularly and predictability and even methodicality that he appreciated greatly. That was Sara to him: steady, unshakable, meticulous. Someone he resonated with greatly, and someone who had no difficulty building a rapport with him.
Why that had resulted in love, he would investigate in his own time.
“I suppose I should thank you for your magnanimity.”
“There is no magnanimity to speak of. I simply applied the rules as outlined: there is no point of contention over the severity of your offense, nor over the appropriateness of the sentence. Any other officer may have simply ignored you instead. Although,” she said, her tone light as she opened the door to her quarters, “Your rendition of me is most striking indeed. I must admit it has stirred my interest and my aesthetic sensibilities. As a tribute to your abilities, I will preserve this image instead of destroying it, as I ought to.” She placed the sketch next to four other sketches of her, framed, with a satisfied hum. They depicted her addressing her troops, thrusting with a spear, carrying a bag of bulk grain rations, and wielding a sword. Each signified a unique visit, the activities he found her occupied by when he arrived. They had played this same charade four times before, and it had also become a comforting ritual, something to confirm to his ungraspable subconscious self that indeed, he was really back with Sara. “I will frame it when I’m done, don’t worry.”
“Thank you,” he answered as he took a seat next to a table and brought out his notes. There were always things to go over and ponder, even if he had nothing to do at the moment. He could not focus his mind on the contradictory graphs his research had generated yet, though. He watched for a moment as Sara unfurled her wings, his heart skipping just a bit in that predictably irrational way that frustrated and maddened him at the same time. Smiling at the elusiveness of his own self as she took out the broom and duster and mop, his gaze followed her as she went to the door to hang her “Training in Progress, Do Not Disturb” sign. When she turned around, he met her eyes and rose. “There is something I’d like to give you.”
“A gift for me?” she replied quizzically. She’d made it clear to him before that she did not need nor expect gifts from him, especially in terms of Mondstadt specialties. It would have to be truly useful for her, such as an innovative book on military strategy. He was sure, though, that she would accept his gift.
“Yes.” He stood. “In light of this being my fifth visit to you, I went ahead and picked a suitable gift to present to you.” He held it out: a simple bouquet of five windwheel asters, their five petals spinning lazily from the motion of being brought upwards.
Albedo wouldn’t ever forget the look of delight that slowly dawned on Sara’s face.