hydrangeabloom | Mafia AU

Entry tags:

Mafia AU

[ A tale of two people leading double-lives and the inevitable misunderstandings that follow ]

[ The twist of Signora's lips (terrible diplomat that she is) gives away her obvious displeasure at meeting with such lessers, but Regrator's pleasant (if obviously fake) customer service smile is hopefully enough to smooth out a little of her rough edges. He starts with pleasantries and gifts of fur from Snezhnaya as a way to break tension between the two parties.

"Why, after all, would it not be more profitable for everyone if the Fatui and the esteemed Adepti were mutually beneficial partners instead of at each other throats?"

It's a feint and it is flattery for the most part as then discussions open up to such things as territory (taken by force and blood and mora slipped into the palms of powerful people) and safe passage. The offers are aggressive just barely toeing the line of insulting — a plan devised and hastily edited when they had calculated the loss of any significant figure of Rex Lapis's organization under their belt. It has no hopes of success but Regrator is a known risk taker and La Signora is prideful. Best to be talked down from a lofty perch than be seen as an underdog begging for scraps.

Which is to say that Childe tunes most of it out within the first few minutes. Booooooring~

But like a good little Vanguard, Childe hovers near the entourage — not close enough to cause a stir of another person sitting at the table, but close enough to get on the action is this whole endeavor turned out to be more interesting than slithering wordplay and compromising over useless baubles. ]

[Zhongli continues his meticulous tea preparations, movements deliberate and precise. The tea he has chosen for this occasion is a simple Chenyu blend, designed to calm the nerves and brighten the mind. It's a subtle reminder that Liyue's most prominent family does not resort to intimidation or rudeness but rather leads by example, treating every collaborator, and even potential adversaries, with respect and grace. The tea is carefully brewed to perfection, each cup a small gesture of hospitality.

He gestures for the tea to be served, ensuring that each guest receives a cup with the utmost attention. The young leaders accept the gifts with grace and explain what the staff is bringing them in return. Zhongli had warned them that Regrator enjoyed showing off his deep pockets (his financial power) with lavish gifts. It is only fair to reciprocate, not just to the Harbingers themselves but to the entire entourage.

As the tea is served, each cup is accompanied by a small token of appreciation. A single gold collector's Mora coin for Regrator, a beautiful hairpin for La Signora, and small, exquisite trinkets for the agents around Childe. On Childe's tray, however, is a pair of chopsticks—a subtle and symbolic gesture. The chopsticks, intricately carved, are a welcoming gift, signifying the potential for a prosperous relationship with the youngest of the Harbingers, an invitation to immerse himself in the culture of Liyue.

Zhongli sips his cup of tea, his demeanor calm and composed as he listens to the ongoing conversation. Yanfei, with her characteristic poise, thanks the staff for the tea, sips at it carefully (to show it's not poisoned), and clears her throat before speaking. Her voice is clear and steady, a testament to her confidence and training.

"While we acknowledge the potential benefits of our collaboration, it is imperative that we address the overreaching presence of the Fatui in our region. Certain contracts have been breached, and this goes against the very foundation of our family's business. Trustworthiness and adherence to agreements are paramount if we are to move forward."

Keqing speaks up, her voice crisp and clear.:

"We need concrete assurances that the Fatui will honor their commitments and respect the sovereignty of Liyue. Only then can we discuss a truly beneficial partnership."

"We seek a partnership based on mutual respect and adherence to agreed terms," Yanfei continues. "Our contracts are and have always been the foundation of trust and cooperation. We hope that the Fatui can demonstrate their commitment to these principles."]

[ Regrator is perhaps a bit longwinded in his praise of the received gifts and the craftsmanship of the tea, prone to long drawling conversations that can show off his knowledge. He is polite and poised in his response, taking stage in the land of commerce (his home turf on many levels) in lieu of La Signora's more aggressive tactics.

"The Fatui have no interest in encroaching on the sovereignty of Liyue." Puppet governments are so useful after all. "It is our sincere regret if that is what appears to be the outcome of our business negotiations."

Tartaglia, on the other hand, spares a few moments to pick up the intricate pair of chopsticks, marveling at their beauty. He holds them carefully between his fingers just as Mr. Zhongli taught him, the lacquered and gilded finish making the movement smooth and fluid. This is a expensive gift, which means that perhaps the Fatui are making more progress into Liyue than he first had thought. After all, such finery would not be wasted on those not worthy to sit at the table. Rex Lapis's people either mean to acknowledge them as equals or flaunt their wealth in an act of intimidation. A victory indeed for Her Majesty.

Pantalone continues, fingers laced carefully in front of him and with a feigned air of confusion at the accusations.

"Might you inform us of how exactly our contracts with your honored family have been breached so that we may best avoid such misunderstandings in the future?"

For Regrator came to this meeting to weave an infuriating web of technicalities. Each aggressive act and overreach explained with a loophole in each contract, honoring only the words agreed to but not the spirit. He (and other like-minded Harbingers) had spent months scouring each and every document, finding the weakest links among them (those not penned by Rex Lapis's hand or any of his most trusted advisors). It was a gambit that surely could work only once in the Land of Contracts, but a well paid off one if it had already afforded them a meeting such as this, junior members of Rex Lapis's family or not.

"It is, after all, quite the heavy accusation that you are laying down against us." ]

[As Yanfei speaks, she brings forth a massive tome, setting it on the table with a resolute thud. The book is dog-eared and heavily annotated, having been submitted to meticulous scrutiny. She opens it to a specific section, her eyes meeting Regrator's with a composed intensity.

"Oh, no, we're not accusing. We are merely expressing our concerns, considering you may not be aware of how we do things here in Liyue. We have documented instances where the contracts have been breached. We appreciate your business and understand that there are learning curves as we navigate without the direct assistance of our elders. However, these breaches have given us the opportunity to create new addendums that address these issues and ensure the integrity of our agreements moving forward."

She flips through the pages, highlighting several breaches noted in the tome. "We recognize that there have been contracts with some openings, but this provides us a chance to solidify the terms of our future engagements, which, as you know there are plenty. This is why it is essential that we establish clear and mutually beneficial guidelines, especially given the numerous new contracts awaiting approval. I'm sure you understand?"

Ganyu steps in, her voice calm and firm. "We have not imposed any of the protocoled fines on the Fatui thus far, assuming no ill intent on your part. However, it is important to note that the cumulative fine cost for these breaches amounts to a significant sum." She mentions an exorbitant amount of Mora, the weight of it hanging in the air and making some people in the entourage swallow something hard in their throat. "We are willing to cooperate and move forward, but as you understand, we cannot withhold our own due diligence in the next negotiations. It would not be fair to play favorites if we face our other collaborators, and we're sure it's in both our best interests that we keep things by the book."

Zhongli maneuvers himself through the corridors around the room, covered by lattice panels, his movements unobtrusive. He hears an agent's voice, laced with a mocking tone, "Yeah, we're sure to keep your 'interest' in more ways than one, from what we hear on the streets."

The young leaders clear their throats, choosing to ignore the dig and maintain their composure. Zhongli, however, does not let the comment pass unnoticed. He sends a subtle signal to a waiter, who places a reassuring hand on the shoulder of a Millelith enforcer sitting at another table and already patting their waist, searching for a weapon that had been left in the lobby as per meeting policy. The enforcer relaxes slightly, the tension easing from their posture.

Zhongli remains calm. The infamous Liyuen trap is set—pull at its foundations, and it will trap you further. He's very curious as to what comes next.]

[ Regrator spreads his hands out wide, placating if not for the feigned ignorance in his tone.

"Lady Yanfei, you have quite the silver tongue but I'm afraid you have me more than a little confused. I most assuredly agree that if you find our actions unfavorable then we should clarify future endeavors so that they be acceptable to both our parties.

However, those current infractures— I call them that for convenience though I will not admit fault for things not yet negotiated— are not present in the current contract, correct? Else we would have no need for addendums. Yet you speak of fines and breaches as if these were concrete things. So might I ask again and ask that you answer plainly— are you accusing us of breaching the contracts as they currently stand?"

It's a half-bluff, of course. With all the moving pieces and fine print, surely somewhere the Fatui have slipped up and caused an actual infraction. But then, that is the point of this meeting, is it not? To box in the opposite side until their back is against the wall and see what they due in times of distress.

For it would be a heavy accusation to accuse the Fatui of breaching the contract (even though they have). But also perhaps they are just looking for blood in the water as the Harbingers' entourage straightens up at Regrator's words as if to seem the more imposing force. La Signora's confident smile only adds to the tension in the air as she idly twirls a lock of platinum hair around a finger.

"Yes. It's hard to imagine that you're acting in good faith as you wave around fines with that many zeroes. We're not the kind of paupers that get cowed regarding such trivial matters."

At this, Tartaglia finally looks up from his gift, tucking the ornate wooden box into his coat for safekeeping. Oh? Maybe things would finally get a bit more interesting after all. That's the thing about working with the Fair Lady. She always has to get the last word in. And while Tartaglia would trust her as far as he could throw her, it at least meant that these talks could always end up— well, interesting is one way to put it. ]

["Oh no, Lord Regrator, there's no change to the contracts that the Fatui have so diligently explored and highlighted. Those are of no consequence to the Adepti's major operations, after all." Yanfei's smile is polite but carries a hint of steel. "We do want to thank you for your diligence. It's certainly inspiring enough for us to bring our A-game to the table—"

—and then, something shatters.

Porcelain, but also the air in the room.

Zhongli suddenly hears a loud clatter from behind the lattice panel. The sound startles him, and he senses the already tense atmosphere in the room snap into a wildfire. In an instant, the room erupts into chaos as both Fatui agents and Millelith enforcers jump into action. Some rush to get in front of the Adepti, others move to protect the Harbingers, and still others start to throw punches.

The air is filled with the sounds of scuffling, grunts, and shouts as the situation spirals out of control. Zhongli remains calm, but he knows he needs to make a hasty retreat. The delicate balance of the meeting has been shattered, and staying any longer would be unwise.

Zhongli slips quietly through the corridors, using his intimate knowledge of the venue's layout to avoid the escalating conflict. He moves swiftly and silently, ensuring he remains unseen as he navigates his way out—

—"There he is! Get him!"

Ah. Well.

The agents charge at him with swift, precise movements, their intent clear. Body moving instinctively into a defensive stance, he knows that engaging in a prolonged fight would draw unwanted attention, so he needs to end this quickly.

The first agent lunges with a dagger, aiming for Zhongli's chest. He sidesteps effortlessly, grabs the agent's wrist, twisting it sharply, and disarms him with a flick of his wrist. The dagger clatters to the ground, and Zhongli delivers a swift, disabling blow to the agent's midsection, causing him to crumple to the floor.

The second agent, seeing his comrade fall, hesitates for a split second before drawing brass knuckles into his fist. So they had somehow slipped past the search at the entrance. Perhaps he'll save a note to the owners of the establishment later about how disappointing that is. He swipes at Zhongli with a fierce determination, but Zhongli's reflexes are honed by years of experience. With a swift, calculated motion, he sweeps the agent's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.]

Vexing. [He mutters as he moves past the agents into the next corridor. He doesn't enjoy this kind of thing at all; not anymore, anyway.]

[ Finally! Considering how late he stayed up the night before, Childe was starting to have a real concern that he might nod off sometime during Pantalone's mind-numbing droning.

But this— this!— was something he could contribute to. And hopefully Her Majesty had ordered him to come here just in case this very scenario played out and not the fact he was in the doghouse for a previously failed mission. With a grin that has no right being that gleeful, Tartaglia leaps up, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet as he slips his blood red mask over his face.

But before he can jump into the fray of a fantastic four-on-one fight where it looks like one individual has found a suitable makeshift bludgeoning weapon, a hand grips him by the shoulder. That fact that the Vanguard knows who the hand belongs to is the only reason that it's not cleanly slice off from the rest of the arm as he turns to face the Ninth Harbinger with a raised eyebrow (not that he can see it) and a grunt of acknowledgement.

"I want that book." is all Regrator hisses before turning Tartaglia in the direction that Yanfei had been ushered off to (using it bludgeon someone in their retreat. Seems the young trio had more than ambition and brains to bring to the table.) As if to further emphasize his point, Signora sweeps the nearest Liyue lackey off their feet in a maneuver one should really not be doing when wearing a dress with a cut like hers. Two precise stomps of her heel on vulnerable squishy anatomy keeps said lackey down for the count. The message is clear enough from both of them though. Stay on task on don't get distracted with useless indulgence.

Bah, they know him too well. ]

Yeah, yeah. I'll get your paperwork.

[ Tartaglia vaults over the table, dropping into a crouch that gives him just that much more leverage to deliver a vicious uppercut to one of remaining entourage, dropping them with a sickening sound. A twist to the left has his partner's incoming blow meeting nothing but air as he bring his elbow down hard on the outstretched limb and kicks them away. Predictable. Dreadfully so — Tartaglia laments internally as the next person is laid low with a feint and a punch. And thus does the Eleventh Harbinger almost dance his way across the oncoming wave of enemies like a salmon swimming his way upstream.

A gunshot ringing out behind him as he finally manages to duck down a side corridor proves that security had missed a spot when the Fatui had been brought in. Well, at least that should keep most people still in the meeting room good and occupied for the time being. Sighing, Tartaglia smooths out a crease in his suit before continuing his pursuit of the young and rising lords of Rex Lapis. ]

[Making his way through the labyrinthine corridors, Zhongli keeps being attacked by even who he thought were his own hired hands—perhaps the disguise was working too well. At the end, he's exhausted, his body mindlessly working through the assaults, the narrow corridors not allowing him much to work with, his jacket gone to wrap around a knife and twist the assailer's arm. A sleeve slightly ripped at the shoulder, torn stitches, from someone else pulling at him back into the fray before he kicked them unconscious. As he rounds a corner and enters one of the kitchens, he finds Yanfei and Xiao, who has suddenly appeared as if from thin air. The telltale sound of a gunshot echoes through the building, prompting Xiao to tug Zhongli and crouch down.

Yanfei's eyes widen with concern as she takes in Zhongli's presence. "What are you doing here?!"

Zhongli shakes his head, still calm.] This place is dangerous, you should leave.

[Xiao's grip tightens on his weapon, a frown souring delicate features. 'I'll escort them. We can't afford any losses.'

With a nod, Zhongli watches as Xiao moves to lead the group, his movements swift and precise. Ganyu, despite the chaos, manages to tilt a freezer, scattering ice across the floor and out the exit of the kitchen to create a makeshift barrier. Keqing, fiddling with a panel on the wall, somehow causes the electricity to go down, plunging the establishment into darkness and giving them some leverage to get away. The half-light from a generator creates an eerie blend of shadows, casting an ominous glow over the scene.

Aware of his own exhaustion, he allows himself to rest behind the counter in the kitchen, sitting on the floor as the chaos continues to erupt around him. His breathing steady, he closes his eyes for a moment, centering himself amidst the turmoil. He should get a weapon, himself. Perhaps stop a few more agents that would cross this path.

In the dim light, Zhongli the solid crack of someone stepping on ice as they walk in. He steadies his breathing, allowing himself to be very still.]

[ Disappointment is an understatement as Tartaglia stalks the corridors on the trail of the escaped trio. The opposition he met so far while sheer in number had been uninspiring in technique — the most exciting moment of the evening so far had been when two guards had him in a pincer attack with his back to the wall. He was rewarded with a bruised rib and a dripping cut on his left forearm as he consolation prize for a risky if not effective escape maneuver. But otherwise the whole experience had been painfully dull considering all the hype around the syndicate.

As Tartaglia rounds another corner, he finds another one of Rex Lapis's men sprawled out cold upon the pristinely polished sandalwood floors. The fact that the blow was non-lethal ruled out many of his own companions. But who else had managed to sneak so far into the dragon's den before him? An ally perhaps? Unlikely. But then who—? That train of thought is ever so rudely interrupted as the lights sputter and die dramatically around him.

A handicap. How exciting.

Grinning behind his mask, Tartaglia approaches the room most likely to be the escape route for his prey by memory alone. The ice crunches pleasantly under his feet, lighting too dim to enjoy the spidery cracks that most certainly crackle across the surface. On the next step, treaded leather slips, but the Vanguard barely stumbles, huffing a soft laugh. Perhaps this would have been an effective trap if it had been anyone else but a boy who had spent many winters racing across the the frozen waters of his quiet fishing town, always one misstep away for plunging into icy waters. ]

Clever.

[ Halfway across the room, he stops, half-turning to the shadow of appliances and cupboards lining the far wall. He hears nothing, sees even less, and knows every moment dallying is another moment he loses ground in his pursuit. And yet—

He lingers for one breadth. Two. Three.

Before the ice crackles again as he continues toward the exit. ]

[In the dim, flickering half-light of the generator, Zhongli remains still behind the counter, his breath slow and measured. He peers around the corner, his gaze falling on a figure moving with liquid precision, lethal and graceful all at once. Each step, each movement, is a testament to the deadly dance Tartaglia embodies. The man’s presence is palpable, an aura of menace that Zhongli recognizes instantly. Tartaglia, the infamous Harbinger, known for his bloodlust and unrelenting pursuit of the thrill of the hunt and the fight.

Zhongli's breath stills as he watches Tartaglia pause, his senses clearly attuned to the slightest disturbance. His heart quickens at the sight of the ice cracking beneath Tartaglia's tread, the way he navigates the makeshift barrier with an almost careless grace. The Harbinger's pause is brief, yet it feels like an eternity as Zhongli considers his next move. He knows the Harbinger's reputation all too well, a dangerous adversary with a penchant for chaos. He also knows he can't afford to reveal his true identity, not here, not now.

As Tartaglia continues toward the exit, no doubt in pursuit of the young leaders, Zhongli knows he needs to act. He can't let Tartaglia reach them, but he also can't afford to engage him directly. The guise of a lowly consultant must be maintained. Zhongli takes a deep breath.

And reaches out for a silver tray on top of the opposite counter.

Only for it to topple a bunch of cutlery and pots onto the floor as he uses the tray to shield himself in his corner.

Oops?]

[ Tartaglia turns immediately at the sound, stance taut in preparation for an attack on any side. But when none comes, he takes a step back and seems to disappear into the surrounding shadows, the subtle crunch of ice the only sign that he has not yet left the room.

As he stalks around the edge of shelves and counters, Tartaglia does the mental math to see if this distraction is even worth it. Of course, if it was a possible ambush, he should get rid of the threat immediately and mercilessly. But if this was a planned attack, it was a poorly executed one indeed. And the lack of that tangible thrill in the air or tension (that sixth sense that has both kept him alive and drawn him to the most masterful of battles) means that whoever was hiding was probably no combatant.

But the Vanguard still is so curious.

It's silent for a handful of seconds — until the crunch of ice is right next to Zhongli, behind as much as the sitting man's position is allowed. One kitchen knife is missing from the block, Tartaglia having swiped it nearly effortlessly in his vault over the counter. That same knife finds the flat of it pressed to the side of Zhongli's neck, slipped past the serving tray but presses no father (there was no glory to be found in slaughtering the kitchen staff after all).

Close as they are, Zhongli will see Tartaglia's eyes (a deep shade of almost violet in the dark) narrow as he tries to get a closer look at him, a playful grin that had no right to be there twisting his lips. ]

Boo.

[In the half-light, Zhongli can't help but assess Tartaglia's approach. The Harbinger moves with a predatory grace, each step precise and deliberate. If Tartaglia had wanted him dead, he would already be, the knife pressed against his neck a clear indication of the Harbinger's lethal intent. Like a very sated cat playing with its food, Zhongli knows he at least caught Tartaglia's interest for a while.

Zhongli can't help but internally praise the beauty and elegance of Tartaglia's form, the way he carries himself with an effortless power. But admiration does not overshadow the urgency of the situation. He needs to buy time for the leaders, to ensure their safe escape.

Outwardly, Zhongli allows himself to appear frazzled. It's not a difficult thing, either. If his eyes widen and his mouth parts with what seems like fear, it's because he's also struck with how the air around Tartaglia feels familiar, how the warmth feels steady. If his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, brushing his throat against the edge of Tartaglia's knife, then it's only a natural reaction to being under it.

If his knuckles whiten as he grips at the silver tray, it's because he swings it with a sudden, desperate motion, aiming for Tartaglia's head.

The tray connects with a loud, metallic clang, a sound that reverberates through the kitchen. It's still quite a swing.

The impact is very likely not enough to incapacitate Tartaglia, but it provides Zhongli with a precious moment of leverage. He pushes himself away, scrambling to a corner of the kitchen, his back against the cool tiles as he faces his attacker. His breathing is measured, and he searches for something in his scramble—a pot—that he still throws at his attacker.

A long time ago, he had a penchant for javelin throwing. And it shows, as the pot goes over Tartaglia and clangs on the floor behind him.]

I don't want any trouble.

[ The tray does connect with an uncomfortably loud clang, Tartaglia stunned for the precious seconds it takes for Zhongli to scurry away. Thankfully the jagged edge of his mask turns away the majority of the strike, both metals bending under the curve of the other's weight. It's quite amazing, Tartaglia thinks, as a thin trickle of blood drips down his temple.

(So the rabbit has fangs. Aha~! Tartaglia did, too, the first day he fell into this world.)

The Harbinger's first instinct is to lash out— sever a tendon on the heels of the retreating staff to halt him in his tracks. It wouldn't be the first time he's handled a encounter against a particularly slippery foe in such a manner. Those who tried to outrun their debts tended to flee than stand the ground, after all.

But oh~ his interest is further piqued as a pot goes sailing harmlessly over his head; he doesn't even have to dodge the clumsy thing as it whistles harmlessly by. So much bravery and for what? Were the followers of Rex Lapis so loyal that they'd throw everything away just so that those of higher rank and value might escape? Or were these the last desperate throes of a man who saw death approaching cloaked in silvers and reds like a blade dipped in blood?

Tartaglia's voice pitches low with a promise of violence that never colors Ajax's words: ]

Doesn't want any trouble, he says.

[ And yet he sounds so terrible pleased even as he taunts.

Like the tide coming in at dusk, Tartaglia rises, stalking carefully toward his prey, his grin stretches wide behind his mask. It can't hurt right — just a little detour. A fun little romp to test the other's limits. ]

[ But Tartaglia stops in his tracks just as whole picture comes into focus. He knows that voice. Knows the cut of that suit and the polish of those shoes. The visage of a cultured man expertly weaving through Liyue streets now huddled in a dark dank kitchen. It's been less than a handful of meetings, a brief whirlwind of encounters, and yet Ajax feels as if his stomach has dropped a dozen feet as a cold sense of dread tingles down his spine. This isn't the kitchen staff at all!

(Who knew that the consultant had such a strong right hook?)

But then why— why is Zhongli here of all places? Twice tangled in the web of Rex Lapis but left to his own devices (and unprotected) on both occasions. Not someone of importance then or he'd not be left behind in the dark. Maybe not even a knowing player at all.

(No no. Now was not the time to jump to conclusions. Not when he had no way of getting the answers he needed. Nor the time to even entertain such a diversion.)

Zhongli had to leave this place.

Now. ]

Let's see how much you mean it.

[ Two final determined steps and the kitchen knife in his hand clatters next to the floor next to Zhongli's ankle, Tartgalia leaning over him with both hands shoved deep into his pockets. His posture looks casual and slack, save for the soft tapping of leather of the tip of his back foot against the polished floor — a restless energy ready to be honed back to life on the turn of a mora. ]

You have people to go home to, don't you?

[ Is the cryptic question that the Harbinger gives as he stands there waiting for Zhongli's answer. Hopefully in the form of getting the hell out of here. There'd be no one to send Zhongli safely home today save for the consultant's own prowess and the fond smile of Lady Luck. Tartaglia had to get that book. He had to succeed.

(But surely a few seconds to ensure Zhongli did not foolishly head off into danger would not change the outcome.) ]

[Each moment is stretched thin by the anticipation of violence. Zhongli's heart races, and his mind is calculating every possible outcome. He had expected Tartaglia to relish the confrontation, to seek the thrill of a challenge. But as the Harbinger steps closer, his demeanor shifts, the playful menace replaced by something else entirely.

Zhongli stares at Tartaglia for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. For two moments, the world narrows to the space between them, the knife clattering to the floor an unexpected and disarming gesture. Tartaglia leans over him, hands in his pockets, his posture deceptively casual. The restlessness in his foot betrays the coiled energy ready to spring at a moment's notice. Perhaps he sees him as too meek to be a decent fight.

Zhongli is taken aback, his mind reeling. He expected a tussle, a struggle for dominance. Instead, Tartaglia's words and actions suggest something different, something Zhongli hadn't anticipated. He braces himself against the wall, slowly rising to his feet, his eyes never leaving Tartaglia's.]

I... I have a dog, [he says, the words sounding pitiful to his ears but they are the truth. His mind races as he nods, understanding the unspoken message. He bows in thanks, a slow and deliberate movement, never breaking eye contact with Tartaglia.]

Thank you, Lord Harbinger, [Zhongli murmurs, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He takes a step toward the exit, his movements cautious and deliberate, the weight of Tartaglia's gaze heavy on his back.

Just as he thinks he's made it, his foot slips on the ice scattered across the floor. The world tilts, and he is going down hard. Zhongli is already imagining the cold seeping through his clothes as he eventually lands. The irony of the situation isn't lost on him, a wry smile tugging at his lips even as he struggles to regain his footing. Rex Lapis, assassin, leader, don. Too struck by his plans to forget his own group's trap, his excellent footwork not enough to catch him and brace himself from an embarrassing landing.] Ah—!

[ Something inside Ajax violently twists again as he continues to look down on Zhongli, expression perfectly kept as a bored sneer. No mention of his family (not the younger brothers and sisters that he has painstakingly watched over through the years). No one waiting for the consultant when he came home after this tangled mess. It seems unfair— that Ajax should get to go home to the warmth of family and siblings (even if his parents might fear him and the lies he tells his siblings get harder each time) while Zhongli was left so bereft.

(Being called Lord Harbinger only further adds to the way his skin crawls, his boot scuffing the floor in one particularly violent tap.)

And that's where the encounter should have ended — both of them leaving via separate exits of the stage while Tartaglia rolled his eyes that Zhongli did not even take with him the knife he so generously provided him. No preservation instincts. None at all!

Except...

Except—

Ajax sees Zhongli stumble out of the corner of his eye. Sees and knows that he should do nothing. Tartaglia is the Tsaritsa's Vanguard known for his ferocity on the battlefield. A disinterest in those deemed lesser is truthful to him and his character, but to assist the enemy (for on the battlefield, people were guilty until proven innocent) would cause a stir if word were to spread. Tarnish his already dented reputation.

But Ajax wouldn't stand for it. Naive smitten Ajax who had given up the idealism of his dreams so Tartaglia could practically provide for his family was desperate to cling to this one last thing. The only bit of normalcy that he had left in his life. Ill-advised and probably doomed to fail, he just cannot let go of Zhongli. (So he would just have to make sure that Zhongli didn't say anything. That is the compromise.)

So while Ajax would have caught Zhongli around the waist and righted him carefully with gentle touches and soft words— Tartaglia catches him by the scruff of the neck, fingers wrapped tight as he yanks him back on his feet, once more crowding into his space with the press of the metal edge of his mask to Zhongli's ear as he speaks. ]

Walk away from this. All of this. And don't look back.

[ Tartaglia squeezes once, just long enough to steal one of Zhongli's breaths, before he lets go and steps back. ]

[Sharp, talon-like fingers vice around his neck and jolting his spine and his throat with a gasp. Tartaglia's grip is iron digging into his skin as much as the cold edge of his mask, but his breath the heat that molds it against his ear to molten his blood into a simmer. Tartaglia commands something out of him and he frowns even if he does close his eyes.

To leave. To never return.

Zhongli's breath catches, his body instinctively reacting not to the threat, but to the warning. Anger at being manhandled, confusion at the unexpected warning, and a deep-seated curiosity about Tartaglia's motives. He tries to suppress the mixture of admiration and frustration from his face, struggling to maintain his composure.

The grip loosens, and Zhongli's breath hitches as Tartaglia steps back. He stares at the Harbinger, his mind racing. He had not expected this. A confrontation, yes. A battle, even. But this strange blend of threat and concern leaves him reeling.

For a moment, the mask of the Harbinger slips, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath—the one who isn't entirely lost to the bloodlust and chaos.

The idea of walking away, of leaving this all behind, is tempting. He has been trying to retire, to distance himself from the world of Liyue's underworld. The responsibility weighs heavy on him, the constant pull of duty, the inescapable gravity of the syndicate's affairs. He lives near those he considers dear, and finds himself unable to not heed their call should they need him.

Zhongli has tried to step back, to leave the organization in the capable hands of young, promising leaders. Yet, every time he attempts to distance himself, something pulls him back in.

So, maybe...]

I— [Zhongli's voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He swallows hard, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the turmoil within. With a final heave of his chest, Zhongli forces himself to nod, the motion slow and deliberate.

He casts one last look at Tartaglia, his eyes meeting the Harbinger's with a mix of gratitude and confusion. Then, he turns and heads towards the exit, his steps cautious on the ice, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Just as he reaches the door, his foot slips once more on the ice. The irony is not lost on him, a wry smile tugging at his lips even as he catches himself. The weight of Tartaglia's gaze is still heavy on his back even if he's no longer behind him. A few corridors in—empty, somehow—and he pushes the door open and steps out into the night, his mind replaying the events, the unexpected mercy, and the feeling of Tartaglia's grip on his neck.

As he leaves, the cold night air hits him, a stark contrast to the heat of the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, the fresh air grounding him. He knows he needs to move, to get as far away from the chaos as possible—

—and to the safehouse. He cannot afford to go home. Tomorrow, if the leaders survived, he'll be notified.]

[ Tartaglia lingers just long enough for Zhongli's footsteps to fade (good, no one has attempted to obstruct him yet) before he turns and sprints in the direction of Lapis's new leaders to make up for lost time.

Preoccupied with the hunt, Tartaglia does not allow the encounter with the consultant to occupy another second of his thoughts. His pursuit is brutal, both for any guards that try to stop him and for the entourage themselves when he finally catches up. Yanfei herself will probably be in the hospital for many days, her life spared by a combination of Keqing's quick thinking and Xiao's acute martial prowess. It's been a long time since Tartaglia's own blood has been spilled, and he would have relished to see the fight come to a proper conclusion if not for Ganyu bringing reinforcements and her pinpoint accuracy with a firearm.

Tartaglia is forced to retreat with the bloodied book tucked under one arm. But his mission is successful and secured once he meets up with a group of Fatui Skirmishers who tangle with the reinforcements long enough for both sides to make a getaway. Pantalone is even mildly surprised at Tartaglia's success as he does his best not to get any blood spatter on his finely pressed suit.

And thus the all-out turf war between the Fatui and Rex Lapis begins.

Many hours later—

Ajax finds himself soaking in the tub, the purples and oranges of another beautiful Liyue sunrise filtering in through the distorted glass. He's been in here much too long, long enough that his skin is wrinkling from the water and the blood that he meant to rinse off has long since spiraled down the drain. One arm is propped up against the marble of the tub, self-bandaged around a nasty wound on his bicep. He should be feeling victorious and yet that lingering feeling of dread is still lodged in his throat. Not that Zhongli had not managed to make it out safely (a meandering backtrack through the halls had turned up no sign of the consultant before he met back up with the other Harbingers), but that he might not be so fortunate the next time.

But there was no way to even approach such a conversation with Zhongli because "Ajax" didn't know this information. Nor were they close enough for Ajax to even begin to entertain such an idea. At least not in any sort of straightforward manner.

He stares at the phone in his hand — opened to his conversation with Zhongli as it had been for the last half hour and finally begins to type: ]

Hey! Mister Zhongli~ Morning! Did you know Liyue has a chess museum? Well, not just for chess but for shogi and go and a whole bunch of games that I've never even heard of. I bet you have though. 😉 Want to go this weekend?

[ And then dumps the phone off the side of the tub with a distinct thud and submerges his head under the water completely.

Ugh. What was he supposed to do? ]

[Streeet light filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, but Zhongli's mind remains ensnared by what happened during the evening. Every action, and every decision plays back in his mind, a ceaseless loop of calculation and introspection. Seated in the quiet of the safe house, Zhongli leans back in his chair, responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

Tartaglia's mission was a brutal success. The Fatui's mission, while possibly not the initial outcome, was a success. The young leaders of the syndicate lay wounded, and the possibility of an alliance between the two factions has dissipated. The delicate balance of power in Liyue teeters on the brink of chaos, the city's underworld a cauldron of tension and uncertainty.

Zhongli knows he must act swiftly and decisively, his phone on speaker, quietly giving orders. He's to get every contract that is on the tables, to have his own review personally so that they will be issued immediately, their terms fortified to prevent any further exploitation by the Fatui. Every clause will be scrutinized, every loophole closed. The Millelith will undergo a rigorous vetting process, too; their loyalty will need testing with a fine-tooth comb. Trust, truth, confidence, are now precious commodities that cannot be squandered.

He returns home when morning breaks, his thoughts keeping him busy. There is no room for chess games in the park when he needs to play the one his own existence created. Zhongli's introspection is interrupted by the sound of Azdaha's soft snuffling. The bulldog rests his head on Zhongli's knee after being fed and drinking water and a small walk, offering a moment of grounding amidst the turmoil. Zhongli scratches behind Azdaha's ears, the familiar routine providing a semblance of normalcy.

His phone buzzes, a text notification drawing his attention. It's from Ajax.

A smile tugs at Zhongli's lips, the simplicity of the message a stark contrast to the complexity of his thoughts. Sweet Ajax, with his unbridled enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. For a moment, Zhongli allows himself to forget the weight of his responsibilities, the chaos of the night before, and the questions that linger in his mind.

He types a reply, his fingers moving with the reply that needs no introspection. How refreshing.]

Good morning, Ajax. That sounds delightful. I'd love to visit the museum with you this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?

[He hits send, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. Perhaps this meeting will provide the rest he seeks, a moment of respite in an otherwise tumultuous time. Either way, Zhongli finds comfort in the anticipation of spending time with Ajax, a beacon of light amidst the darkness.

The papers reach his house via Xianyun, who briefs him about his new orders. A few minutes of discussion over tea, and a call to Madame Ping later—who is so concerned about her pupil, he hasn't heard her so frazzled in a long time,—and Zhongli sits at his desk, pouring over the most recent contracts to be issued.

One stray thought persists: Tartaglia. The Harbinger's actions defy easy explanation. Zhongli had anticipated a confrontation, perhaps even a battle. But instead, Tartaglia's grip had been firm yet restrained, his words a cryptic warning rather than a threat.

The memory of Tartaglia's eyes, dark and intense, lingers in Zhongli's mind. The Harbinger's lethal grace and unexpected mercy are an enigma, a puzzle that Zhongli cannot solve. Why spare him? Why issue a warning to leave, to never return? The questions gnaw at him, their answers elusive.

As he drafts the new contracts, Zhongli feels a pang of frustration. With Yanfei out of commission, the Adepti may lean too heavily on him. He's supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of these matters. Yet here he is, once again pulled into the vortex of the syndicate's affairs. Their deference to him is hindering their development as leaders. They cannot hold the syndicate with their own hands if they keep relying on Zhongli to serve as a backup.

They need to be tested, to stand on their own without relying on his guidance.

Perhaps he should consider stepping back more forcefully, creating situations that require the young leaders to navigate without his constant presence. It’s a risky thought, but one that might be necessary for their growth and the future stability of the syndicate.

—Either way.

The new contracts are drafted with meticulous care, each clause carefully worded to prevent any further breaches. The other ones that the Fatui so cleverly exploited are considered losses, and Zhongli orders business as usual. New contracts are to be accepted with no redlines. No exceptions. Zhongli works tirelessly for the following days, his attention to detail unwavering. He knows that the future of the syndicate depends on these measures, on the strength and clarity of their agreements.

The Millelith undergo a thorough review, their records scrutinized for any signs of disloyalty. Zhongli's gaze is sharp, his questions probing. He leaves no stone unturned, determined to root out any potential threats from within. The process is exhausting but necessary. Trust must be rebuilt, one step at a time.

Amidst the strategic maneuvers, Zhongli finds himself haunted by the memory of Tartaglia's touch. The Harbinger's grip had been firm, but not cruel. His warning had been delivered with an unsettling mix of menace and concern. Zhongli can't shake the feeling that there is more to Tartaglia than meets the eye, a depth that he has only begun to glimpse.

The weekend nears him. Zhongli takes a moment to breathe, to center himself. Perhaps a visit to a museum is exactly what he needed.]

Saturday sounds great. 😘 Meet you there at 1:00.

[ And so the week rolls on.

Ajax stops by the empty chess tables on the way home from dropping Teucer off at school, taking a seat on his side (arrogant to call it such when he'd only claimed it the one time) and painstakingly replaces all the pieces back to their starting positions. Narwhal curls at his feet, sensing the melancholy in his owner's mood and knows quiet companionship is what the other needs right now. Ajax is not waiting. He's not. It's not like he expects Zhongli to show. He'd actually be upset if the consultant tried to carry on as if nothing happened. Normal people weren't supposed to get tangled in that kind of bloodshed. But restless hands and a more restless mind turn useless worrying thoughts over and over in his head until they become a slurry of doubt— something that is so very unlike him.

Zhongli is fine. Zhongli had texted him back. It's better if Zhongli is somewhere resting. Somewhere safe and away from all this. So Ajax needs to be patient. Ajax needs to wait until the weekend. Then he can make sure that he's okay.

When he arrives at "work" later that day, Her Majesty knows just what to do to take the edge off. Each night, he's paired off with Harbinger after Harbinger, Regrator and Pulcinella using Yanfei's book to pinpoint where the Fatui had gained unfair ground and dialing up that pressure to eleven. It's an explosion of aggressive tactics to turn those resources into defecting to the Fatui by either handsome bribes or removing their leaders by force. And the Vanguard, Her Majesty's blade is oh so ever useful for the latter task, and he is so proud to serve her. A section of the Black Market in the Harbor and a pocket of influence in the affluent Feiyun Slope fall to the Fatui. The tension between the two factions builds like dry kindling, a single spark ready to set off an explosion.

Yet each night in the thrill of adrenaline (where Tartaglia always hopes that the leaders will say no instead of accept Regrator's bribes), the Eleventh keeps his eyes peeled for a certain consultant or any other affiliate from Wangsheng. As he's re-wrapping the still messy wound on his arm late into Friday evening, he breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't see or hear a trace of them. A small blessing in this tumultuous time. The Fatui cannot sustain such an aggressive maneuver for long. The syndicate is well known for weathering any conflict through attrition, bleeding the opponents dry before delivering the final purging deathblow. And with them now on the defensive, it would be an even greater force to deal with.

He should be thrilled with the challenge (he is), thrilled at the chance to get one more shot at Rex Lapis (he's over at the moon at a second opportunity). But all he wants today after such a grueling week is to pick up the order of shortbread cookies and a single silkflower accented by violetgrass (meant to be pinned to a lapel like a boutonniere to not interfere with their museum tour) and see Zhongli.

He really really wants to see Zhongli.

Ajax arrives fifteen minutes earlier to their appointed second date, appearing to casually lounge on a stone bench out front while he waits for Zhongli to arrive. ]

[The week has been a whirlwind of strategic maneuvers and relentless planning. The Fatui's influence is mounting in Liyue, their aggressive tactics creating ripples throughout the underworld. Syndicate leaders targeted by the Fatui have begun reaching out, desperate for protection. Even the Qixing have been mobilized, their authority invoked to maintain some semblance of order.

The protocols for this type of event are, for better or worse, already established. Zhongli doesn't need to order these targeted leaders into exile, establishing emergency protocols to ensure the safety of those the syndicate can reach. Some disappear into the shadows, their existences erased with meticulous precision. Others have their deaths faked, elaborate scenarios crafted to make it seem as though they have vanished without a trace. The Fatui, vast and numerous, struggle to keep track of their actions, leading them to claim these mysterious disappearances as their victories.

For a while, the city is frenzied, whispers of the syndicate's lenience and weakness, and the Fatui's ruthlessness spreading like wildfire. Zhongli, however, remains calm, his patience a deadly weapon in itself. He knows that Liyue will right itself in time, the balance restored through careful manipulation and unwavering resolve.

The syndicate's new leaders are readied and brought in, their loyalty currently under tests and proofs. New pieces of the play to show up as if there hadn't been a vacancy at all, their ranks loyal to the bone. They are to take the places of those who have vanished, those who have sold themselves over, their positions fortified by Zhongli's careful planning of years. It is a push and pull that will last for weeks, perhaps months; the Fatui's ruthless advances met with calculated resistance. The syndicate cannot protect everyone immediately, but Zhongli's patience ensures that those seeking shelter under his shield secure their long-term survival.

Even if the whispers of a red-masked horror slither through the darkest parts of the city, terrifying so many that even the youngest of children are scolded about the red mask coming to punish them if they don't eat their vegetables. No one is to be walking alone, even in broad daylight.

As he reviews a report of a mysterious death in the morning newspaper, Zhongli pauses. Something is intriguing about the idea, a potential strategy that could further their cause. He rolls the newspaper and tucks it under his arm, a plan taking shape in his mind as he makes his way to their meeting place, a smile tugging at his lips as he spots Ajax lounging casually on a stone bench outside the museum.]

Ajax, it's been a while.

[ Ajax almost drops his phone that he was pretending to browse when Zhongli approaches him, looking him up and down as he straightens his posture. He looks fine. He sounds fine. He seems fine.

(Zhongli must be fine.)

Ajax lets out a little huff of relief, bouncing up on the balls of his feet and without even thinking leans in to press a chaste kiss to Zhongli's cheek. There's an awkward pause, eyes widening in sudden realization before he hastily places a similar kiss to the opposite cheek before leaning back a respectable, polite second date distance. ]

That's— haha! how we greet people in Snezhnaya.

[ It's funny how the truth is obviously a lie, given away even more by the self-conscious way Childe runs a hand over the back of his neck for a few moments. Oh. well. Who can blame him for getting carried away? Nobody. That's who. ]

It's good to see you, xiansheng. I missed you.

[ A beat. ]

And I'm ready to kick your butt this time!

[ Assuming that the museum even allowed them to actually play the games they showcased. Maybe he should have looked that up beforehand. ]

[Zhongli's reaction is of genuine surprise.

The unexpected gesture of affection from Ajax catches him off guard, but it also brings a flutter of warmth to his chest. His golden eyes widen briefly before softening with understanding and a hint of amusement.]

I see. Then I should reciprocate such a tradition, [Zhongli murmurs, leaning in to kiss each of Ajax's cheeks in return. The touch is delicate and deliberate, a mirror of the sincerity Ajax has always shown him. As he pulls back, a smile spreads across his face, the tension of the past week instantly, if momentarily, forgotten.]

It's good to see you too, Ajax. I have missed you as well, [he says, his voice carrying a warmth that thaws the cold precision he had to carry throughout the week. His shoulders relax, his chest melts. The simple joy of this moment stands in stark relief as he chuckles at Ajax's playful challenge.]

I'm looking forward to it. [He waves a hand towards the building.] Lead the way, and let's see what this museum has to offer.

[ He really should have seen that coming. Or at least that is what Ajax thinks as his face flushes red as Zhongli presses a kiss to both of his cheeks. He should have really really seen that coming. Kind and curious Zhongli would of course rise to match Ajax's ridiculousness whenever he could, and ugh— was it possible to fall deeper into bottomless pit that was this suddenly-not-so-silly crush?

(Apparently, it was.)

Not the time. Not the time. He could be mortified by his infatuation on his own time!

Ajax clears his throat: ]

Great. It'll be great, xiansheng. The museum, I mean. And spending time with you of course.

[ Ajax half turns toward the museum — pauses— before spinning round a full 360 and facing Zhongli again. ]

But first—

[ And he reaches up, touch gentle (so very gentle in comparison to his normal boisterous energy) and covers Zhongli's eyes with his palm, hiding his grin. ]

I have something for you. But you have to promise me to keep your eyes closed until I say so. Okay?

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