The Beyond's Host and Their Guest

by the15thpaladin

Summary:

A short, completed work; continuing from the ending of the 2.5 story quest. Can these two make amends? I really hope so.

I hope you find something to enjoy here.

A/N: Apparently, luck would have me write a short Rover/Phrolova fic, after all these years. Have fun, and hope you enjoy reading this.

Chapter 1

A simple series of taps: a rhythm all too familiar to her. Phrolova swings open the door -- once again, it's them.

"You even remembered to knock again."

"I thought you'd appreciate more courtesy from 'intruders.' Oh, *after* you keep leaving your portal wide open."

"It matters little. After all, you've been the only 'guest' after all this time."

She gestures towards the gramophone on the writing desk as she takes her place at the opposite side of the dining table. Her baton manifests as she begins swaying in time to an inaudible melody; her studies of immortality continues even now, it seems.

Walking over, Rover notices that a collection of vinyl records have been laid out. The one sonata they didn't finish last time… and an unfamiliar second.

"What's this one?"

"A recommendation. You may choose to not listen." She does not break her focus.

An almost all-consuming curiosity takes hold as Rover reflexively mounts the record as Phrolova finishes speaking. Amidst her vast curation -- one that would make even the most hardcore historian turn pale at its breadth -- she had chosen just one.

…

The familiar dirge Phrolova performed for Rover's past self tumbles out of the horn… it's… slightly different this time… Yet, the melancholy is the same. Rover plays it again, fully attempting to digest the work… yet their opinions do not differ from their past self. The technicalities and the emotions are woven together better, but they cannot come to a different conclusion. An unease settles on them. Even the inflection they would choose remai-

"Daydreams are for the untethered. Tell me. Your impressions." The *clack* of Phrolova's shoes and her approaching voice snap Rover free.

"… Is this related to reviving people again?"

"… It is. Answer the question."

"… I don't think it's that different from what my previous self said."

"I see…" Her gaze turns downward but the rest of her face is implacable. "Then this one." A third record manifests in her hands, setting it onto the turntable.

Again, it's a variation. Rover continues to not perceive anything notably different with its essence…

A fourth. A fifth. A sixth. A seventh. An eighth. Immaculate verses, riveting passages, crystal clear instrumentation. Yet still: nothing what she had hoped for. Incomplete. Hearing the judgement of the eighth, she seats herself back across the nearby dining table. Calmly resuming her Orchestration. Breaking the silence, Rover turns.

"… Why are you showing me these, Phrolova?"

"… You should've showed up." Her voice barely sneaks out.

"… I-… I know… … I'm-"

"-No. Not from you. Not yet." A brief anger colors her voice.

The silence weighs heavily. Her baton still calmly swaying to the melodies.

"… Okay. Then, I'll come back another time to resume."

"Tomorrow." She stopped herself from chirping her response. Strange…

Nodding, Rover gets up, silently closing the door behind them as they leave the home. Frustration painted over their expression.

As the footsteps trail off into the distance, a pit begins to form in Phrolova's stomach. Joy? Excitement? Resentment? Perhaps, all three and more -- maybe even a twisted glee in holding something over them. She mutters a verse under her breath. Only the wind catches the faintest of whispers:

"'...While thy branches mix with mine, And our roots together join…'"

Chapter 2

Notes:

Man. I've not actually written a proper story in so long. Haha. This is harder than I remember. I hope you find something to enjoy here, if it pleases you.

Tomorrow comes, as does the familiar knocks on the door. Yet, Rover is left outside Phrolova's house waiting. Five minutes turn to ten -- another series tapping upon the wood. Now, twenty. Even checking with the other villagers, they say that she should be home at this hour. Thirty minutes -- into forty.

"I suppose this is one way of getting back at me..." They lean against the frame.

"It's a start." Her muffled voice resounds from immediately behind the door.

"!"

The door opens slightly, the Overseer's deadpan stare pierces through the crack -- the low visibility of the sliver created by the door and her baton over her mouth obscures the amusement plastered on her face.

"Phrolo-…" They shake their head. "May I come in?"

"Don't be so impatient. Preludes are important."

"So, I'm supposed to just wait here?"

"No. I wouldn't do you such discourtesy." She can feel her face wrinkle into a wry smile.

"… I'm glad you think so highly of me."

"Oh, but I do."

She swings open the door and performs a curtsy. Rover enters, presenting her with a record of their own just as she finishes. Surprise dashes across her uncovered eye as she uprights herself.

"…?"

"Have you heard of this one?"

"Yes… It's a popular work. But I've not found any one performance to my liking." She takes hold of the disc with both hands.

"Shall we… test our luck today? It's a newer ensemble."

"…"

"Phrolova?"

"… What is this?"

"Huh?"

"Is this a pittance to worm into some semblance of good grace?"

"What? No… I just- ... I'd like to listen to something together." They scratch their head.

"… What could have possibly possessed you…?"

"Well, I was sure that a connoisseur of music would be able to help me discern the quality of this rendition."

"That is hardly a reason to-"

"Or are you saying the countless years developing your craft aren't good enough?"

"…Ahh, provocation then. A royal robe, bright red and woven of simple callousness." She casually twirls the record, spinning it in her hands as she turns around, taking slow deliberate steps towards the gramophone.

"It appears to be working."

"…"

"In that case, perhaps you would care to enlighten me if it meets your standards, Phrolova?"

The record slides neatly into place, as Phrolova gently places the needle into the etched grooves. As melodies sing once more, she takes a seat next to Rover by the window. Nary a word was spoken across the four-movement symphony. The silence as the piece ends is broken by Rover's upbeat questioning:

"Well, what do you think?"

"… It's certainly… better… in some regards."

"How so?"

"…The legato phrases are normally the highlight for most audiences, where the wooden texture of a recorder or oboe has room to shine. However, compared to other renditions, they elected to feature both. Changing the more complex oboe solo in the third movement into a series of alternating phrases between both it and the recorder is something quite a number of composers would call a radical departure from the original intent."

"Well. I believe the change from allegro to allegretto in the third movement allows it to achieve a more balanced quality. Lets the strings have more opportunity to pull everything back to center." Rover gestures a bit, emphasizing their impression of the effect on the melody.

"I have my doubts about that. If either one of the two soloists overpowers the other, even by a hair, then the final result is easily ruined."

"Then, it's worth another listen, right? To appreciate the work they've done."

"…"

"Phrolova?"

"… I would agree… This deserves further scrutiny."

So does the gramophone continue for a short while longer. Until Rover leaves for the day. With an agreement to meet again soon, no less.

Phrolova does not move from the chair as Rover closes the door. As the footsteps trail off into the distance, she turns her head just slightly -- catching a glimpse of them walking back into reality.

Strange.

Years have passed, but everything buried still comes rushing out -- every single emotion, sacred and vile. How easy it was to simply return to those joyful moments with a gentle push. How easy it is to still embrace the welling, bitter sensation in herself…

"They do know -- that they do not. Unchanged in many ways, irreparably different in others. Yet still -- they are."

Holding her baton up to her face once more, she mutters another verse under her breath as the thoughts continue to swirl around in her head:

"'…Joys upon our branches sit, Chirping loud and singing sweet…'"

Chapter 3

Notes:

Oh boy. This one was much more difficult than I hoped it would be.

I wanted to try to capture a bit of time passing mixed with absence to show how comfortable they are now than before. Granted, I have no idea how well this will land, but I think I'm at a point where I'm satisfied with putting this out as is.

As usual, I hope you find something to enjoy here, if it pleases you.

The days pass once again. First, it started as music theory. Then, one day, musical preferences. And, at a later date, the abstract understanding of music: the color of sound, the scent of melodies, or even the taste of the notes themselves -- what many could easily consider as esoteric at its base level. Day-in and day-out, the two continue this little ritual of theirs, bickering back and forth. Demarked by the simple act of knocking upon the conductor's door. But today, just as Rover was about to knock once more, A young girl calls out.

"Oh! Rover! Rover! Over here!"  She excitedly waves them over to her and her mother.

"Triss, right? And Melissa, yes? How can I help you?"

"Oh! You remember us! Hehe. We guessed you'd be here today too, so we waited to tell you. Phrolova's focused on something today so she won't be available for a bit. Sorry."

"Is that so? Did she ask you to tell me?"

"Mmm." The young girl affirms.

"Then, I'll only stop by to say hello-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Triss hurriedly steps in front of Rover. "She asked not to be bothered in the slightest."

"Really? That important, huh?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's better to catch you here before you walked straight into a new problem." Melissa chimes in. A hint of disappointment tinges Rover's face.

"Appreciated. Sorry for the disturbances." Rover scratches their cheek, slightly embarrassed.

"Not at all. Makes it livelier around here." The mother chuckles, gently waves her hand dismissively and shakes her head.

"Oh! This is a good chance then! Can we talk too?"

"With me?"

"Yeah! Yeah!"

"Sure, I can- whoa!" Triss almost drags them over to the small pond in the square, where… a lot of the villagers seem to have gathered quietly without Rover noticing.

"What's all this then?"

"Tell us a bit about your travels! If you're called 'Rover' then you must have a collection to share? Whereabouts to? What's your favorite place? D'you have a favorite food from there?" Multiple excited voices echo out at once, with more questions than they can even process.

"Hey now." Rover chuckles at the sudden barrage. "Why the interrogation?"

"Just hearing how the world's getting on outside is good fun. People don't visit often either, you know -- or, well, at all really." Melissa starts.

"Phrolova shares a lot, but a new face means something special." The old Leah starts. "New opportunities to share a brand new story with everyone." Aeschylus -- in perfect beat -- continues.

"Alright, alright." Rover lets slip a few chuckles as an idea sparks to life in their eyes. "I've seen a few things… How about this then?"

Doing their best impression of the Jinzhou storytellers, Rover weaves tales from their past journey with a more dramatic flair:

---

A young leader and her advisor work tirelessly to make a better home for their people. In their quest, they are beset by strange forces, cloaked in mystery, as the land's guardian dragon is trapped on a distant mountain. Forced to act quickly, the advisor schemes and strategizes, beguiling with cunning and wit to open the path forward. However, in a twist of fate, the leader is forced to make a gamble. A wager that would change her future forever or rend her forever between life and death. Yet she does so without hesitation because it would save her home -- a home that she loved with all her heart.

...

Next, a city of skyscrapers that could scratch the very heavens; the tallest capable of even touching the stars beyond. It stands among the wonders of science and a pinnacle of humanity's dreams and growing ambition. Though calamity returns them to the earth below, the potential to reach where even stars become lost in reverie is intoxicating in its own right. Only its shell remains now, a husk, but a testament forever immortalized in crumbled steel and distorted gravity.

...

And finally, a dreamscape where even the living can stand hand-in-hand with the dead. An illusory realm where the past, present and, future collide between reality and fiction. Its depths are as murky as the deep sea amidst a tempest. A chaotic labyrinth woven from empty thoughts and cherished memories; held together by a small wish born of hope. What lies at the heart of this place -- a new beginning? Who knows…

---

Though it is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Beyond, several hours have clearly passed as the villagers slowly return to their daily routine and say their goodbyes, leaving only Triss and Melissa once again.

"Goodness, we've kept you the whole time. It's already this late, huh?" Melissa apologizes.

"No. It's okay. It's not often that this many people want to hear me practice my storyteller impressions."

"Next time, Rover, will you tell us more? Or, or! Maybe you can show us a few things about what you know of music? If you can keep Phrolova chatting with you for that many days, you have to know a bit!" Triss asks.

"I'll think of something."

"Please! Thank you!"

Rover waves the two goodbye and starts to walk back. However, this time, it's not as quiet as their usual exit. Past the village's wooden arch, one set of footsteps become two -- in time with each other. Rover slightly turns to face her.

"Phrolova, you're here."

"… Did you enjoy your time, chattering away like a common gossip in the square, spinning your outlander tales?"

"You were listening in? I thought you were working on your own machinations."

"I was, and am."

"… Is it something that I should be concerned about?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? Well… you shall see in due time. What I am willing tell you, is that I happened to spare a few moments then to listen, and now to see you off."

"… I'm glad the host is so amenable, even now..."

A few more steps in almost-bearable silence.

"… The others wanted an opportunity to talk with you too. A prime opportunity to sate curiosity and add more joy to their day. They have lived in this world for years upon years. Thirty-six souls. Happy they may be, but they still want to live -- to know the world -- in their own way.

"I kind of get why some people do storytelling for a living now. I saw how much fun they had."

"Everyone has had their fill today… Their spirits are emboldened. You have my thanks."

"..." Rover almost stops walking -- what was that last part?

"… What of it?" A hint of irritation peeks through.

"… Nothing, nothing."

Just as they approach the pier, instead of leaving, Rover stops for a moment. They walk over to the rope fence facing the waterfront, ducking underneath to have a seat over the edge. Both of them gaze out over the water into the distance.

"… It was nice to talk with the villagers more. I see how you hold them dear… But, I'm also glad I got to see you today too."

"I hadn't realized I still possessed such a hold over you."

"… I suppose so. But here you are too, seeing me off."

"… I suppose I am."

Rover lightly chuckles under their breath as Phrolova's expression lightens slightly, still half-obscured by her baton. The wind quietly sweeps over the water's surface. Ripples form and vanish as the water laps against the beams beneath them.

"The breeze here feels nice. I think I'll stay a bit longer to enjoy it."

"Hmm. Do as you like."

She takes a seat down next to Rover. One minute turns to five -- to ten. Until Rover bids them farewell; until next time.

Chapter 4

Notes:

I'm approaching the end of my vision of the post-2.5 interaction. Next chapter will be the final intended one. Maybe I'll write more when I'm feeling it.

I hope it doesn't seem too rushed -- I don't think so at least. One of times where my comparatively slower writing speed actually pays off a bit -- a diagetic passage of time, haha.

Please, I hope you find something to enjoy here.

Visits are no longer just between the Conductor and their guest. Some days other villagers come to talk to Rover about the outside world more. Others ask for their impressions on something: music, performance, or even just general topics. Triss in particular wanted to know if Rover could sing. Meanwhile, Aeschylus and Leah shared some stories about their own escapades in the past. Everyone reveled in talking to their new frequent visitor -- their new friend.

However, there are always moments shared only between the both of them. Sometimes silent, sometimes bickering. A handful minutes to a few hours.

On this day, however, there is instead a raucous clattering of shoes upon cobblestone, the laughter of people, and loud cheering and clapping -- telltales signs of a gathering hitting fever pitch. Only after several hours do they find the time to slip away to a hill above the town -- just out of sight from the square as the festivities continue on.

Rover flops on the ground beneath a tree. Taking a deep breath as the wind blows.

"Phew…"

"Hmm. Excellent work. I wasn't sure you would survive the ambush." Phrolova, another amused expression on her face, crouches down next to the sprawled out Rover.

"Come on, Phrolova. I wasn't expecting everyone to want in."

"Is that the attitude which defines a Laureate of the Carnivale?"

"A Laureate does encores, but seven is a bit taxing. With extensive guided lessons in-between!" Rover lets out a chuckle as they continue to let the breeze wash over them.

A few minutes pass as Rover relaxes -- a soft bed of grass almost gripping them in a sweet slumber. Phrolova stands up and walks a distance disrupting the foliage's dastardly dozing snare. Turning to face Rover, she extends her hand out; her baton safeguarding her face once more.

"… Surely you have enough reserve to attend to one more performance."

"… I believe I do." Rover rises. Taking her hand-

"Ah-." She quickly pulls away. "Too slow."

Only for Phrolova to grab their hand instead. She begins humming a quiet tune, barely inaudible, swinging slightly to her own rhythm. She drags Rover along with flowing steps across the hillside. Her face stony as ever, but her eyes reflect expectantly -- "I thought the Laureate would do better than that."

"Ahh. Provocation. Cloaked in red, swaying freely to her own rhythm."

Rover attempts to twirl Phrolova, taking deliberate steps to slow the spin. However, the conductor leans into the movement -- closing her eyes and allowing herself to plunge freely. Rover moves briskly to dip her, else she would fall to the ground.

"It appears to be working." Another light smile crosses her face as she reopens her eyes.

"So it seems." Rover pulls her back upright, and she ducks underneath Rover's arm, seamlessly pivoting back into rhythm at its end. They initiate a series of frenetic ducks and dives -- a small tapestry of dance, woven just for them, by them. A tiny tinge of melancholy reaches Rover's eyes at times, and does not escape the Conductor's gaze.

Somewhere along the line, the dancing becomes less animated -- the free swinging and twirling becomes a gentle swaying waltz. The melody Phrolova hums is now audible. A simple one; one that Rover has never heard of. A moderato tempo. Sped up, it'd make for an exceptionally good swing. The two lean against each other slightly -- one hand on the other's back, as they both hold the lycoris baton between their other.

"… Hecate still dances better."

"Seems like I've got a high bar to reach."

"Mm. It isn't bad though. Pleasant enough. The quality is compromised though…" The slightly amused face Phrolova wears is slowly overwritten by one of knowing. She doesn't let go of Rover, and neither does Rover of her.

"…"

"You may not wear it on your face, but its scrawled all over your movement; woven over your melody."

"… Phrolova… It's time I continue to search for answers."

The words were inevitable from the moment they stepped into the Beyond. A weighted shadow that always loomed overhead.

"… I presume you have your destination set. Your plans in motion."

"… Yes. "

"…"

"…"

"Hmm… So be it." Phrolova's gaze turns downward as her grip on Rover's hand slightly tightens.

"… I'm sorry. For back then… and for now."

"…"

"This past while… I've come to know you better. I've enjoyed the time spent with everyone… But at the same time, we've been denying the truth long enough…"

Rover twirls Phrolova lightly. She does not force anything extreme -- electing to resume their slow swaying instead.

"… Even with your memories, you would never align with my views." She closes her eyes.

"Mm." Rover affirms, closing their eyes too. "You also still have your plans. Ones that I cannot abide by..."

"… It's fine. That won't change a thing. This path is the only one I can tread, and it must be a viable one. As is yours to you…"

"…"

"… Will you return tomorrow? … I have something for you."

"… Okay. I will."

"… Can I trust you on this?"

"Yes… I promise."

"…"

The two now dance in a weary silence as the carousing continues below. To dare to speak means shattering the close of their little dream. Almost countless moments pass, until they both let go.

Chapter 5

Notes:

I've made it to the end. I had to push this last chapter out faster -- because I really, really wanted to. At fear/risk of it not landing in my preferred way or making it not as rounded as I preferred. But for now, I am satisfied.

Thank you for joining me on this short journey. I have found my catharsis with the story, and I hope you'll find something here too. These are two people, who, by all accounts, should get along but they don't. Their synergy is undeniable, but everything is just working against them in some way -- be it by their own actions, or the actions of others. Can you turn the page and try to make a new chapter together? I'd really like to think so -- I really hope so. But it's far more complex than my wishes. It's an incredibly human experience.

(Also me inserting some of my own romantic headcanon. Successfully, hopefully. I felt kinda heavy-handed with it at times, not going to lie.)

I hope WuWa does something special to pull their story together for the canon. I think they have every bit of potential to do so. Lest I come back and inflict more of my writing on everyone, haha.

The square is quiet -- everyone seems to be up to something on the other side of town judging by the noise. Not a soul in sight, except for the one lone soul calling out.

"Rover! Been waiting for you!"

"Hey, Triss."

"Got time today? I want to belt a few lines."

"Not interested in what's going on over there?"

"Nope! Not up for it today."

"Flights of whimsy, I see."

"Heehee. So what do you say?"

"Not today, sorry. I've already made plans."

"Aww, alright. Just Phrolova for you today... Next time then!"

"Of course. It'll be a while though." Rover crouches down to Triss's height. "I've got to take care of some business starting tomorrow, so I won't be back for a while. Could you tell everyone else too? I've even..." Rover fishes around in their pockets, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. "Brought a note for everyone."

"Oh! Out for another adventure again, I see!"

"Yeah."

"Sure thing. Can you bring back more stories then?"

"I'll make it extra exciting. And I'll learn a few new songs for you." Standing up, Rover chuckles while pumping their fist. "Maybe bring back a souvenir or two."

She bounds off with the note, giving Rover a hearty wave and a beaming smile.

"Take care then! We'll see you soon!"

Rover waves them goodbye, leaving them to their thoughts as they draw closer to Phrolova's house.

 

---

 

The same wooden door as always. Yet today, it stands as if made of steel and thorns -- as if merely touching it will strike them down.

 

Knock.

 

Knock.

 

Knock.

 

The door opens slowly, leaving the two facing each other through the threshold.

"… Phrolova... I'm here."

Merely thinking is stifling.

"… I can tell… Come in."

She directs Rover to the writing desk where the gramophone rests as usual. Slow and heavy steps from both.

"… This is for you."

The Conductor slides a wooden box forward. Finely finished and even pleasant to touch. Meticulously polished metallic corners and decorations. An enviously elegant and well-maintained keepsake that may as well have leapt from an era long gone. Opening the lid, the inside is lined with a gorgeous red velvet, cradling two envelopes.

"..."

The first one is official-looking and intricate -- black, trimmed with golds and reds. Inside is an invitation; the date clearly erased. A reservation for the first front-row seat. Behind it, another item peeks out of the folds. A ticket. Not a single crease, and crisp as if freshly printed; painstakingly preserved over untold years. Phrolova takes it from Rover's hands gently, cleanly tearing the stub and returning it.

She takes a seat in one of the chairs by the window.

Tucking the token back in, Rover looks to the second, white envelope. A written letter from a younger Conductor. Themed stationary -- a tastefully simple violin motif at the top. The penmanship, refined and practiced, is written in a rich black ink that has not faded and seemed to not even dare smudge or run under the author's composition. No unnecessary movements, yet each stroke bursts with excitement -- to reunite with that special someone.

"…"

Rover delicately returns the two items back into the box, joining Phrolova by the window. Both of them stare at the wall ahead. She soon slowly removes the bandages around her head; turning to look at Rover, as do they to her. They look at each other but never really meet the other's eyes.

"…"

"…"

Phrolova then stands up, pulling a record that had been concealed behind her seat. Placing it into the gramophone, she sets the needle...

The same piece from the hillside yesterday; in its completed glory. A soft and steady melody, ebbing and flowing in intensity. The solo violin sings sweetly as a piano strikes deep, resonant chords. Touches of the Conductor's unique wrinkles are present in almost every facet.

Phrolova extends her hand out towards Rover, who takes it gingerly as they lean together, closer than before. Their heads rest against each other, and they close their eyes. There is no back and forth bickering. There is no one-upsmanship. Only a gentle and solemn swaying as the music echoes on.

"… If you hadn't let go of your past, would you still have kept our promise?" She almost whispers.

"... Yes." 

"..." 

As the song ends, the two do not release.

"… Take this song with you… and my promise."

Rover nods in response. To which they both pull back, finally facing head on. The conductor manifests her baton in her hand, presenting it to Rover.

"… Hold fast and listen."

They take the baton, sharing it between Phrolova's hand and their own. Her Forte takes effect, rooting Rover in place, just as before at the bottom of the sea. However, it's not a violent clash of power, but instead like a gentle caress of long, thin petals.

"…Heed these words and behold mine promise -- mine curse. I bestow upon thee a shackle borne of profound anathema. A brand upon thy essence to god and demon alike: between every waking breath and thought -- to even beyond the throes of oblivion -- thou shalt be skulked, hunted, and tormented by what dwells within the depths of thine own heart. In madness, all shall tear at you as you are beset by fear and hesitation; fitful waking and turbulent dreams. It shalt consume thee, body and soul."

Rover does not flinch.

Phrolova cups her hands around Rover's face, reducing the distance between them. Her power releases as both their eyes close.

 

Contact.

A soft sensation embraced in a wordless torrent of emotions. Time has no place.

Tenderness.
Fervor.
Gentleness.
Fury.
Understanding.
Obsession.
Affection.

 

Phrolova slowly pulls back, opening her eyes. Her face as aloof as ever, dearly betrayed by her eyes -- unbreaking with Rover's -- as she dismisses the baton.

"Suffer it evermore, O fated soul -- entangled with mine once again by threads unseen. None mayst wrest thee free from this weave of fate but mine own will. Yet thou shalt struggle on... Should thee succumb- nay, even if you do not, I shalt offer welcome to this realm once again."

"... O Crimson Flower, wield thy wrath. I shall bear it evermore. Should I falter, may you never let me forget." Mustering their best dramaturgical tone, they nod resolutely. 

"... Thus, our pact is forged... you only needed to say you accepted." 

"... Sincerity deserves sincerity." Rover smiles bitterly. A somber but amused look passes over Phrolova. 

She moves to reset the needle for one last dance.

There is no formality.

There is no rule or regulation in play.

 

 

Only each other in their waltz, without reserve.

 

 

"...'While thy branches mix with mine... '" She whispers.

"…'And our roots together join.'" Rover responds. They both feel the other gently smile.

"…Go back to the dream that belongs to you… One day, we'll show each other who is truly on the right path."

"… Even so… It'd be nice to share a dream together -- every once in a while… A wholly new dream."

"… The midnight bonfire in Tricktown... the endless Ferris wheel of Skob... And the chilly winds of Delores…  You would find it enjoyable." 

"... I think so too... Perhaps one day, we can go. Together..."

Notes:

More informally, I swear, these two are like that one couple that keeps breaking up, but are one really bad fight from making out on the sofa and getting back together and staying together permanently.

I also wanted to frame it around Phrolova's banner being active too as a fun little meta-narrative. Minor, but I think it's apropro.