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Furina was drunk. Which by itself wasn’t a bad thing; as far as she was concerned, having the freedom to indulge in such pleasures was one of her rights as a free woman.
No, what the Knave was currently concerned with was that an inebriated ex-Archon was the one responsible for preventing their fall into the water below them, considering that said ex-Archon was most likely too drunk to swim and that Arlecchino was, admittedly, a bad swimmer to start with. And who was also drunk.
“Hehe, your ears are red.” That was another detail that the Knave was beginning to get a little concerned about: as surprisingly audacious Furina could be when sober, a drunk Furina especially had no filter– a finger comes up and clumsily pokes the Harbinger on the nose. She scrunches it in reflex, eyes blinking. “Boop.”
…Or inhibitions, as it turns out.
Without waiting for the Knave to regather her bearings (and dignity), Furina is already tugging them further across the surface, and further away from the safety of the harbor.
“...Furina, may I ask, where exactly are you taking us?” The words slur on her tongue; a rare miscalculation of her own doing in assuming that Furina would have the same tolerance of a regular human. Were any of the children able to see her now the Knave would no doubt never live it down.
“It's a surprise~”
“How ominous.” Arlecchino does not stop her, however, which she blames on the alcohol in her system.
Eventually, Furina does come to a stop, a good distance from any sign of shore, and the Harbinger idly wonders if this was where she was planning to drown the both of them.
“Look, isn’t the view just wonderful out here?”
Without the light pollution from the city, the absence of any clouds revealed to them the wide expanse of the night sky lying above and below in mirrored reflections. At their feet, stray Hydroflies drift about in glittering trails, leaving behind silent ripples as they dive in and out of the water. It was as if they had left Teyvat altogether, stepping instead into that boundless ocean of stars, a place reserved for only two.
Furina steps into a perfect bow, raising their joined hands as if toasting to the full moon above them; with the cascading moonlight wrapping her in a mantle of illuminating silver, Arlecchino wouldn't even be surprised if she had suddenly regained her divinity just for that moment.
“Shall we dance?”
“...Another time. I doubt that either of us are in a state to do so.” Were Arlecchino just a tad more intoxicated she would have immediately acceded without a further thought, but as it was, the Knave–feeling the energy holding them up stutter and almost dissipate for the nth time–was not particularly inclined to their names being printed in the Steambird’s obituary column come morning.
Still, as Furina deflates like a popped balloon, looking so disappointed that Arlecchino is already reconsidering the decision with the words yes and with pleasure half-way out of her mouth, another tug on her arm pulls her into an unsteady jog just to keep up.
“Very well– next time, then! Anyhow, I just had the most wonderful idea! Allons-y!”
And then they are off again, Arlecchino inwardly cursing at herself all the while.
The Knave does not recognize the upscale apartment they’ve arrived at, but there are enough contextual clues for her to make an educated guess from the small pool of candidates which of Furina’s acquaintances was about to be rudely disturbed. Which means that unless the Knave wished to bother the premier Champion Duelist at 3 AM in the morning she needed to get the two of them away from here–
Furina is already enthusiastically knocking on the door. With great vigor.
Before the Knave can even finish concocting a plan of escape, the door is swinging open to reveal–to the bafflement of her wine-addled brain–a rather disheveled and partially undressed Navia Caspar.
“...Furina?”
“Navia!” Furina giggles happily, “I knew you’d be here– listen, I have dire need of your services.”
Navia, for her part, is still sleepily rubbing her eyes as she replies, “What is it?”
Undeterred, Furina places both hands on Navia’s shoulders, declaring with utmost gravity, “I require your parasol.”
“...But why do you need my parasol, and at this time of night…?” Arlecchino watches as the other woman’s disgruntled expression progressively shifts into one of bewilderment, the sleep-induced haze slowly clearing up.
“...Is that the Knave with you?”
“Apologies for disturbing you, Miss Navia. Furina is a little intoxicated right now, we’ll leave–”
“Not so fast, Arle! The parasol is absolutely essential to the plan!” Furina hiccups midway through ‘absolutely,’ nearly bowling herself over and taking Navia down with her, “Navia, my honor as Furina de Fontaine is at stake here. I need that parasol. I order you as, as, uh,” Furina trails off, eyes squinting, and the Knave takes the opportunity to pull her back by her waist–deliberately ignoring the way Navia was now openly gawking at them–and begins dragging the ex-Archon away from the doorway.
Furina positively whines. “But Arleeee, my honor–”
“We. are. leaving. Good day, Miss Navia.”
“...Good day?”
Furina eventually manages to escape the Knave’s hold on her once they make it to a safe distance on the outskirts of the city, cheeks puffed up like a squirrel’s as she stalks along the side of the canal.
The Knave would really rather she not walk so close to the edge, but Furina continues to avoid her attempts at gently herding her back, insisting on leaving a steady gap between them. “...Furina.”
“Nope! ‘M still mad!”
“Furina.”
“I told you, I– woah!” Despite her attempts at warning her, Furina walks straight off the ledge, nearly falling in if the Knave hadn’t quickly rushed forwards to catch her. She sucks in a breath, resisting the urge to sigh.
“Okay that’s enough.” It takes little effort to scoop the ex-Archon into her arms, though she frowns a little at the weight. “...Have you been skipping meals again?”
“Whaaat, me?” The Knave narrows her eyes, and gives her a small squeeze in warning. “F-fine, maybe a bit. The troupe had an argument with the sponsor, and it was for a good reason too, but our budget did get cut, so I…”
Arlecchino starts walking as Furina continues to ramble about the troupe’s various problems, making a mental note to pay a little visit to that sponsor later.
“...Where’re we goin’, Arle?” She asks, head nestled under her chin, eyes drooping.
“To your apartment, of course.”
“No.”
“No?” The Knave looks down at her, expecting a petulant pout perhaps, but the little actress is hiding her face in the crook of her neck, trying to make herself small.
“Don’t. Please, I don’t… want to be alone.” Arlecchino doesn’t know if Furina is aware of how shaky her voice has become, lower than a whisper.
“...You know that I must return to the House.” She is aware that the words, soft as she says them, are harsh. But Arlecchino will not lie to her.
Furina makes a tiny nod, having already expected this answer, but her hands grip the front of the Harbinger’s coat tighter.
“Then take me with you.”
“...As you wish.”
“Welcome back, Father…?” She nods at Lyney, whose smile has frozen in place just like one of his grin-malkin cats.
“Lyney.” Arlecchino wisely decides to overlook his reaction and starts walking up the stairs, taking care that the movement does not disturb Furina, who’d finally fallen into a peaceful slumber. “Tell the children I will be preparing breakfast myself tomorrow.”
“Y-yes, Father.”
The Knave does not sleep regularly, and as such the bedroom she keeps is mostly untouched and relatively plain. Still, the mattress is soft when she lays Furina down, and the bed is big enough to house both of them when Arlecchino maneuvers herself into a comfortable position at her side, a single candle lit with her flames as she reaches for the book on her nightstand. When Furina murmurs something inaudible and reaches for her, Arlecchino blames the wine for letting herself get pulled into a close embrace– and since her arms were now rendered useless, the only logical option was to blow out the candle and settle in for the night.
…For once, her dreams are quiet.