How it looks could not be further from my considerations...
[Left to his own devices for a moment, Zhongli finally allows himself a brief reprise to really think about what's happened here. Fingers work to dry his hair, mind wandering back into some brooding space.
This... really is what he's become. Hands rest on the counter as it dawns, and his facade crumbles for a time. Here, with only any mirror to catch it, his body trembles, head bowed low.
The very thought is repulsive. A proud warrior, brought low and suffering the frustration of defeat, the agonising effort of traveling to Snezhnaya. Brought to a singular room and then furnished with little more than glorified scraps and jewels to wear.
He doesn't allow himself the shimmer of tears and the telltale puffy skin therein. He doesn't even allow himself the satisfaction of hitting something, instead forcing himself to grit his teeth and step back into the other half of the room, to be reminded of just what it is he'll be wearing. They'll cover him, but barely. Celestia help him if he does get hard, too.]
I suppose I should be relieved at that, but I'm also aware of what that means you're intending.
[It's all he has to say on the matter, and his nose wrinkles with the dawning realisation that he'll have to allow Childe to put the mess on. It's simply too little fabric with too many clasps and little details.]
no subject
[Left to his own devices for a moment, Zhongli finally allows himself a brief reprise to really think about what's happened here. Fingers work to dry his hair, mind wandering back into some brooding space.
This... really is what he's become. Hands rest on the counter as it dawns, and his facade crumbles for a time. Here, with only any mirror to catch it, his body trembles, head bowed low.
The very thought is repulsive. A proud warrior, brought low and suffering the frustration of defeat, the agonising effort of traveling to Snezhnaya. Brought to a singular room and then furnished with little more than glorified scraps and jewels to wear.
He doesn't allow himself the shimmer of tears and the telltale puffy skin therein. He doesn't even allow himself the satisfaction of hitting something, instead forcing himself to grit his teeth and step back into the other half of the room, to be reminded of just what it is he'll be wearing. They'll cover him, but barely. Celestia help him if he does get hard, too.]
I suppose I should be relieved at that, but I'm also aware of what that means you're intending.
[It's all he has to say on the matter, and his nose wrinkles with the dawning realisation that he'll have to allow Childe to put the mess on. It's simply too little fabric with too many clasps and little details.]
Fine. Let's get this over with.