Chapter Text
Lyney first sees you when he's in the middle of an impromptu card show on the streets. You're definitely a new face around Fontaine, and the clothes you're wearing outs you as a Mondstadter, but you're watching him with eyes wide and lips parted in awe and-
"Woah!"
And Lyney's fingers slip, spraying his stack of cards into the air like the fountains outside of the Opera Epiclese. It makes the hidden tips of his ears flush with embarrassment and the crowd ripple with laughter, but he's a professional and ends the spray with a quick transition into a flock of pigeons.
"Now, I don't remember putting those there," he says with alarm as the cards flutter helplessly to the ground. "Seems I've put one too many things up my sleeves this time."
The crowd laughs again. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way your shoulders shake with amusement and decides his fumble was worth it.
He wraps up the show earlier than planned, more because didn't want to waste time picking up so many cards or catching his doves. He still has to, unfortunately, but he's just about to start when the toes of well-worn boots appear in his peripherals. It alarms him just how quickly his pulse picks up when he realizes it's you. You're holding one of his cards out to him with a shy smile.
"Why, thank you," Lyney says, accepting the card. He twirls it through his fingers on instinct, but when he holds it up, he almost surprises himself before smiling. "The Queen of Spades, hm? Excellent choice. Some say she symbolizes practical judgment and strategy, or intuition and independence. But I'm never one to make assumptions on a first meeting!" The card dances through his digits before, with a flourish of his wrist, vanishing, and he removes his tophat to bow generously. "I am the great magician, Lyney. Echanté ."
When he rises, your smile has grown, less shy and more natural and only worsening the warmth creeping down his ears. You hold up one finger and begin to pat yourself, then slip a hand into the inner pocket of your jacket. Out comes a freshly printed business card, and you do the same flourish of the wrist before dipping in your own generous bow.
Lyney can't suppress his own chuckle as he takes the card. On one side is your name, the name Nid de Cygne, and hours of operation for a couturier boutique. On the other is a small paragraph that he rereads with surprise.
' I am mute and agraphic. Please submit all business inquiries to Monsieur Corbin for all your couture needs! '
Mute. Lyney watches your face as you rise from your bow, eyeing the gentle curve of your smile and the way your hands seem to curl with nerves. Not quiet, like shy little Freminet, nor anti-social, like his darling sister Lynette. Words are their strongest weapons, able to turn even a desperate situation into something salvageable with a well-placed compliment. They can twist whatever emotion that might leak out of them into something completely fake, just because the other person believes his word above all else.
No wonder you're so easy to read, he thinks. You have no other way to protect yourself.
"Is this your only card?" Lyney asks suddenly.
You blink, lips parting before you nod.
"I see…then I hope you consider this equivalent exchange!" Lyney takes the business card and, with a quick swap of his hands, holds out the Queen of Spades to you. The fact that your eyes sparkle when you take the card does not go unnoticed. "I've been thinking of upgrading my garb into something a bit more eye-catching as of late. As good as I am with my hands, designing outfits entirely from scratch is a bit of a challenge."
Your lips thin, suppressing a smile he's sure would leave him speechless as your shoulders tremble with amusement. To his surprise, you step forward, then to his right, slowly circling around him with loud, traceable steps. Instincts force Lyney to turn, just enough to keep an eye on your hands in case your openness is a façade for some kind of ruthless assassin. That thought almost makes him laugh-with the way you're walking and eyeing his plain clothes with a critical eye, he doubts it.
You finally finish your circle. Your eyes drag from his two-toned wingtip shoes, his plain slacks and white button-up, then to his face and weathered top-hat. Normally, Lyney would not squirm under such scrutiny (he's a performer, after all), but first impressions stand out above all, and he has to fight back the urge to say that he is normally more put-together for his actual show. Then he watches as you hold up the card and point at where he'd tucked away yours. When he retrieves your business card, you point at the earliest hour you open.
It takes Lyney a moment to understand. When he does, he lets out the most dramatic gasp and asks, "Am I truly so ugly that you need to fix me first thing in the morning?!"
And your face floods with so much shock and embarrassment that he can't help but wonder how you managed to survive this long, having so much raw emotion on your face. It's almost adorable, and Lyney decides to take pity on your soul by sighing in mock-defeat.
"Very well," he laments, draping a hand dramatically across his temple. "A magician can't exactly dazzle the crowd with their tricks if they're too busy gawking at their drabby attire."
You pull back and tuck your hands away, then give him a sheepish smile before holding up your index finger. With it, you tap the opening hour on your card, then draw an X over your chest.
"You promise you'll see me first thing tomorrow morning?" Lyney guesses. When you light up and nod, he can't help his own sheepish smile. "Well, I can't break a promise then, can I? I look forward to working with you, couturier. "
Your smile only grows, but you cough into your fist and wrangle it into a smaller (but no less incredible) curl of your lip. With a graceful dip of your head, you turn your back to him and walk off. Even your steps bleed with excitement. How did he ever think you were a threat?
Lyney eyes the business card, gently turning it through his fingers as he finally allows the embarrassment roll through him, warming his face a soft pink. A couturier from Mondstadt…he's sure he could convince you to come to one of his magic shows easily, although he doubts it'd be a good idea. If the way you looked tonight was enough to mess up a simple card trick, he can only imagine what kind of disaster will happen when he sees you during one of his bigger tricks.
He'll have to take it slow, he supposes. How unfortunate.