Banality was the spice of life. Even if that spice was mild.
Just beyond bright lights and cobblestone streets of Mondstadt there was a small farm. Owned and operated by a simple man of even simpler tastes. Never flat or abrasive, the man fancied himself a share-cropper on a small plot of land. He'd never known much else, not even a foggy memory of years gone by; it didn't bother him one lick. It couldn't have. The Farmer was an NPC.
The seasons were consistent, livestock predictable and even the crops knew just when to sprout; everything occurred in a constant state of flow, never missing a beat. The Farmer had never once even visited the city; it felt wrong. The hustle and bustle of Mondstadt just wasn't quite his speed either, far too fast paced and eventful.
Yet despite his own limited nature, he hadn't a bad thing to say about the free-spirited adventurers that roamed about, namely the 'Knights of Favonius'. They'd helped him out on several occasions with menial tasks, always so eager to assist. His life existed with a small plot of land and he'd never once strayed.
Dusk was soon approaching and the cool, summer night air refreshed the Farmer's spirit and body. Each breath was slow and deliberate as he savored the taste of it; it was time for dinner, then bed and finally that sweet sunrise that beckoned another day. The exact same as the last.
The pattern was interrupted shortly after he headed in when there was a faint tapping at the door; that wasn't supposed to happen. No one ever knocked but still he answered; the first unconscious break in protocol.
"Hello?" There was no one at eye-level but soon he felt a slight tug against his sweat-stained tunic.
"Hiya, mister!"
Ah, Klee! What a sweet little girl, always so helpful when it came to dealing with those buggering Hilichurls; the crafty little bomb-enthusiast was a surprisingly competent fighter for being so young. "Good evening, little one, can I help you?" Each word felt unnatural to utter, but they were similar enough to existing dialogue patterns that he didn't mind too much.
Klee's bubbly grin was infectious and the Farmer couldn't help but return a warm smile as she hopped on her heels, "Yeah! Well, erm..." Pulling her routine act, she was laying it on thick; Klee innocently pulled an oversized, red cap over her face,"...it's dark, and I think I got lost...I should've listened to Jean..."
"Oh," he paused. She shouldn't be here. It wasn't a part of the game, at least not for him. NPCs existed by a certain set of coded dialogue options and movement patterns. No one ever entered his home. The Farmer wanted to turn her away and quickly return to his preordained routine but--she was so sweet. Klee had helped him out on several occasions; what was the harm? "O-Of course. Come on in."
The night dragged on and conversation was, difficult, to say the least. He'd only ever spoken with the bomb-loving girl in preprogrammed instances of text. Never had he been forced simply hold a conversation of his own volition; his psyche was being shredded apart and reprogrammed on the fly.
"This is a nice place, mister." She looked about eagerly, though Klee's eyes locked onto her host's from time to time; pale, pink orbs that searched for a spark of sentience.
"You're the one that lives alone, right?" Klee posed the question innocently enough but it felt wrong; dirty.
"I g-guess I do live alone." He managed to spit out.
"That's amaaazzing!" She beamed, tilting her little head to the side, "I knew I picked the right farm!
The right farm? "Excuse me?"
Slowly that sweet façade of hers was beginning to fade, Klee's spritely grin and cheery disposition relaxing into something a bit more 'adult'. "Nothing, silly. Wanna see something?"
Want? He never considered his wants; had the Farmer ever had them? "I think so...I-I don't know."
"Of course you don't, how could you? Don't worry, Klee will help!" She hopped down from her seat, ruffled red dress flowing just above her knees; Klee's pointed ears twitched with excitement as she locked eyes once again. "Come on, dummy."
The NPC could do nothing but mindlessly obey, following her to his own bedroom; what had overtaken him? None of this should be happening. It defied the parameters of his programmed existence yet he was still here, making conversation far beyond what had been put in place for him. He was an NPC, an automaton designed to move the narrative along for the player characters, but--what was Klee's narrative?
"Can ya help me up?" She purred, dropping her little backpack to the hardwood floor.
"Y-Yeah."
He touched her. He'd never touched any of the adventurers when they came by. Klee felt so different than his many tools, so light and airy; the texture of her coat and the way his firm yet soft grip pressed into her delicate sides.
"Mmm, you're pretty strong, mister; I know how to pick em!"
What happened next was the final crack in the Farmer's mundane worldview.
In each hand, the oafishly innocent Klee unfurled a roll of a extra-large condoms.