hydrangeabloom | Mafia AU

[ Ajax saw him everyday dropping Teucer off at school.

The well-dressed man in a tailored coat that sometimes seemed too warm for the weather sits at the same table at the park every weekday. He sits on the same side of the chessboard (white) while the other seat remains vacant. Today's newspaper is always carefully folded and set upon the table as to not disturb the pieces. And after a few days where Narwhal had gotten away from him (troublesome lovable pup that he is), Ajax had noticed that his morning drink was always purchased from the same shop.

They have never spoken nor do they know each other names. But Ajax (Codename: Tartaglia Alias: Childe) had been trained to be very aware of his surroundings and that including keeping tab and nearly ever person in his nearby vicinity. This was doubly true when the safety of his beloved siblings was involved.

A younger, more paranoid Ajax might have thought that the man was tailing him. That this might have been a drawn out mission to expose his identity. But the man (while objectively handsome) seems more of the geeky academic type. More familiar with a book than a weapon. And besides, even the most patient of operatives would have made a move (or a slip-up) by now.

So Ajax's interest only grows. The theories about this mysterious stranger growing wilder and wilder with each implausible theory until he is almost bursting at the seams with curiosity.

It is today of all days — some nondescript fall day where the leaves are turning red and the wind is brisk — that on Ajax's return walk from Teucer's elementary school that he slides into that always vacant chair and moves one black pawn two spaces forward. The most textbook opening move to a chess game ever, revealing nothing more about himself than he was more than passingly familiar with the game.

Narwhal barks in encouragement at his feet, tail wagging. ]

Your move.

[ Even after sundown, the bustle of the harbor has one last hurrah as people gather for dinners and drinks and perusing the famous late night market. As one of the major cities of commerce of Teyvat, Liyue truly never rested. But it was in those sleepy hours well past midnight that it did slow to a crawl and only the brave (and the foolish) would wander out into certain areas of the city in the dead of night.

The Eleventh Harbinger being one of such people.

Tartaglia crouches patiently from his designated vantage point, dark clothing blending him into the Liyue night and blood red mask obscuring most of his recognizable features. (All except for his bright red hair, of course, but he had to live a little bit dangerously where he could.)

He'd been here for well over a couple hours, nestled between the beautiful Liyue architecture of two rooftops that would make it difficult for anyone that wasn't a bird flying overhead to spot him. A sniper rifle (his least preferred as well as least proficient weapon) was lain carefully across his lap, ready to be brought to aim at a moment's notice. In addition, two long and wicked knives were strapped to his person — one to his thigh and other tucked in the leather harness strapped around his chest. The chances of any close (and therefore enjoyable) contract with despairingly slim tonight, but yet that didn't dim the Harbinger's enthusiasm in the slightest.

Because tonight, Tartaglia's prey was Morax.

Morax, the infamous and indisputable (though not official) ruler of Liyue. Ruthless. Undefeated. And a thorn in the Tsarista's side as the Fatui could barely make an inch of ground into Liyue with how expertly and efficiently he protected his turf. But after weeks spilling into months of planning, Pierro finally found an opening at the mafia boss— a chance in a million to take him down in the open on the streets of his own city. And who better to be served such a task but the most brash and risky (and potentially expendable) of the Tsarista's Harbingers— the Vanguard and her 11th.

Tartaglia was practically buzzing with excitement as his handler Ekaterina droned into his ear piece about exact coordinates and final preparations. Thrice now had he been reprimanded for not listening but who could blame him when the most important mission of his life was to be executed mere minutes from now. If he didn't have the discipline of a trained hitman, he'd be nothing but restless motion and excitable laughter at this very moment.

But he could be patient. He could.

He glances once again (for the umpteenth time) at the now deserted side street and alley were Morax would be arriving soon.

Not much longer now. ]

[ There is no rest for the wicked.

Or so Tartaglia thinks as he stumbles home bleary-eyed at dawn's first light to half a dozen missed text messages on his "work" phone. The tone is nothing less than reprimanding as he is given orders to serve petty guard duty at the upcoming meeting between the Fatui and Rex Lapis's Syndicate. He shouldn't be surprised, really. The whole point of taking out the head of the Liyue mafia (or at least someone higher up on the food chain) has been a pivotal part of the Tsaritsa's strategy to gain more bargaining power for a meeting that was already bound to be tense. Or better yet, do away with the meeting altogether with a solid show of the Fatui's might within impenetrable Liyue.

Everyone knew how well that worked out.

And they sure hadn't let Tartgalia forget about his failure for even a fraction of a second.

So the Vanguard found himself once again in the posh, high-end of Liyue's entertainment district (for powerful people like this did not hide in the shadows of black markets and alleyways). Dressed in a silver suit with just the right splashes of maroon, he really did look the role of the Tsarista's blade even if no one outside of the Fatui knew the identity of the 11th Harbinger. He famously wore a mask during missions after all. Not that it mattered when he never let a single survivor (who did not defect to the Fatui) live to tell the tale.

Tartaglia cracks his neck to one side as his hands one again find themselves sliding into his pockets. It's a soothing motion, a tic almost. For starters, it means that his hands are that much closer to his hidden weapons (a knife strapped to his inner wrist and another to his ankle), but also one hand curls around something that he had placed there as a good luck charm. A jade dragon earring wrapped up protectively so it wouldn't get scratched or scuffed but still recognizable as his fingers trace over the ridges and edges in a strange ritual of comfort. (It'd be too risky to wear a symbol of Rex Lapis so openly after his failure, even if two events had nothing to do with one another.)

His idle thoughts snap back to attention as he sees the duo of other Harbingers arrive precisely and pointedly ten minutes late for the engagement— Regrator and the Fair Lady. Dressed in opulent finery that can almost be called aggressive, they make their way to a well-guarded room where surely Rex Lapis's own officials must be waiting for them. Nonchalantly, Tartaglia circles the edge of the venue all small talk and charisma and a smile that does not reach his eyes as he puts himself into position.

Ugh.

It was going to be a long night. ]

[ The body hits the floor with a sickening thud.

Not good enough.

Azhdaha steps over the body like one might step over a discarded box left in the middle of the floor — an eyesore that had outlived its usefulness but with no time to tidy it up at the moment. Not knee-deep into Osial's territory as he and Morax were. The clever serpent had obviously been tipped off that they were coming and had obviously ordered his lackeys to take out the leader of the syndicate at any cost.

But that was why Azhdaha was here after all, pacing behind Morax like a shadow instead of leading his own trusted lieutenants. He had been there when Rex Lapis had warmly welcomed the ambitious young Osial into his ranks, watched him prosper under the leader of the syndicate's tutelage like a starved plant being brought into the sunlight. He also watched Morax's blooming pride fade to an expressionless mask when Osial's schemes saw the first of his men betrayed and fallen. Young Sky Bracer had been brave and loyal to a fault, a fault that had saved many lives at the cost of his own. But the clever serpent has disappeared into the depths of the Black Market, whittling away at the Syndicate's defenses for years in his almost single minded in his obsession to take down Rex Lapis.

But still— not good enough.

It would end all here today — this very night. Azhdaha himself would ensure that Rex Lapis made it home safe after Osial was banished from Liyue one way or another.

And yet his tone still carries a careful warning (and perhaps a fond exasperation) that his dear friend had stubbornly decided to lead the charge instead of stay back where it would be safe. ]

Morax.

[ Azhdaha moves to stand beside Rex Lapis — always on his right side, patient and watchful like the "Eyes of the Dragon" he was so often called. Even as he speaks, his pistol is raised and ready to deal with any threat the moment it appears. ]

You know this to be a trap.

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