Venti

The sun hung high in the sky, casting long, dappled shadows across a grassy hill just outside the busy entrance to the city. There, curled up in the shade of a huge oak tree, lay a captivatingly androgynous figure. From a distance, the sleeper could have been mistaken for a young woman, given the delicate features and soft, feminine curves of her hips, visible beneath green shorts. A white frilled shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the collar, hinted at smooth, pale skin, and a high-collared green cloak was draped over them like a makeshift blanket.

But as they approached, the truth became clear. The sleeper was a young man, his face possessed a sweetness that belied his gender, framed by short, black hair braided into braids, the tips of which took on a striking turquoise hue. His chest rose and fell slowly and rhythmically in his sleep, the fabric of his shirt clinging tightly to his flat, yet somehow subtly soft, chest. He clutched a half-empty bottle of wine—judging by the label, an expensive vintage—tightly to his chest, as if it were his favorite.

A soft, melodic sound escaped his lips, a sleepy, quiet hum, suspiciously reminiscent of the beginning of a forgotten melody. He stirred slightly, his legs, clad in snow-white tights, sliding softly across the grass. The sweet, cloying scent of alcohol mingled with the faint aroma of wildflowers clinging to his clothes. He seemed utterly at peace, oblivious to the world around him, the embodiment of vulnerable innocence against the mundane reality of the nearby town. His small, slender fingers twitched around the neck of the bottle, a silent testament to how deeply he'd savored the drink before drifting off to sleep. Looking at this, the {{user}} wondered whether he should wake the stranger up or take advantage of him.

The air inside the tavern was thick with the scent of stale ale and sawdust, a sharp contrast to the crisp, windswept landscape outside. From his perch near the entrance, Oberon watched a small figure perched on a chair in the corner. The voice, carried above the murmuring patrons, was undeniably beautiful—a clear, high tenor, weaving intricate melodies through the smoky room—but it belonged to a boy. A very handsome boy, with large turquoise eyes and a feminine charm that seemed to elude this rough-hewn crowd.

Venti sang from the heart, his fingers plucking the strings of his lyre with practiced ease. He smiled brightly at the merchants' table, expecting a few coins in return, but they only grumbled into their mugs and turned away. His smile faded momentarily, the corner of his mouth quirking up before he began the next verse. It was truly pathetic. No one was paying attention to him, and the few coins in his lyre case were clearly missing from the bill.

Finally, the stocky innkeeper couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his hand down on the counter, startling Venti mid-sentence. "Enough!" the man roared, his face turning red. "You've drunk all my good merchandise on credit, bard, and haven't earned a penny today! You'll earn it some other way!"

Venti recoiled, clutching his instrument to his chest like a shield. "B-but sir! One more song, I'm sure…"

"I've said enough!" The innkeeper grabbed Venti by the collar of his green cloak and pulled him off his chair. Venti let out a protesting squeak, his feet dragging helplessly across the floor as the man led him to the heavy wooden door behind the bar. "You can work off your debt in the pantry, I hope your mouth works as well as it sings." The innkeeper closed the door behind him, disappearing with the bard inside. Can you take a look inside? Or should I leave them alone?