Mafia AU

[misfittoys]

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

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[dragonfell]

[ Beisht, like her husband, was a woman with a sharp tongue and a wicked pride. To swallow both now was taking visible effort as she kept her chin high under Rex Lapis's piercing gaze. ]

"I would not be standing here if I didn't understand the gravity of the situation. After all, the easier path might have been to lie in wait and take my chances with an ambush. These four walls were built with your hands, but they have been fortified with Osial's might. Perhaps we would have had the advantage."

[ She sighs low and long, shoulders slumping as she continues to keep that gaze, not cowed, but accepting. The extension of an olive branch. ]

"But what does that get the both of us? More bloodshed. More corpses.

I stand before you now because even at the heart of betrayal, you look to the future and not to the past. I beseech not your emotions, but your logic. A battle here will cost much to both sides, so let us find a common ground that we can both walk away from this. Allow me and mine to leave Liyue, exiled if you prefer, to lands more suited to us of the sea. And allow us to offer recompense for what you have already lost.

If you will entertain that, then speak I will to what is in the best interest of us both."

[ There's another brush of shoulder to Morax's right, feather-light and too small to be noticed by Beisht. It's both a warning and a vow. A warning that she is not to be trusted, for unlike Morax, Azhdaha's loyalty lay at the feet of a person, not of contracts. He did not forgive and he did not forget, and the sorrow that Osial had caused Morax was enough for him to chase the man to the ends of the earth so he could not harm Morax again. For Azhdaha knew the person behind the mask, perhaps more intimately than anyone else. How his voice held firm even when his heart was breaking.

And thus was the vow— to protect Morax in this den of serpents and all that he loved and stood for. To make sure that he returned to the rest of the Adepti safe and sound. But most importantly, to make sure that he would not make a decision that would only drive the knife of this betrayal in further, carving a wound so deep that it may never heal. ]

[arcaico]

[To rule the syndicate means to quickly learn how to stand like a monolith, to wield the weight of the situation pressing down to guide him through conflict, through harsh decisions, through change. Her words echo through the corridor, her voice a strange mix of pride and desperation, a plea wrapped in the cold logic that she knows he values above all else. But for all of Beisht’s careful words, for all her calculated reasoning, Zhongli can see the cracks beneath her polished exterior, the strain of swallowing her pride in the face of the inevitable.

He listens, his expression as still as stone, but beneath the surface something churns. Her offer is tempting—an end to bloodshed, a way to avoid further loss. He is no stranger to the seductive pull of easy solutions. He has seen too many men, too many lives, twisted and broken by the pursuit of convenience over principle. And as much as he wishes to end this conflict without further bloodshed, he knows that some things cannot be bargained away.]

A common ground. [He allows the words to weigh and press down on all who stand in this narrow corridor.] What precedent would this set, Beisht, if I were to leave the blood that has already been shed alone? What would this teach those who look to us?

[His golden eyes bore into hers, searching for any flicker of hesitation, any sign that she might falter under the weight of what he is asking.]

Would Sky Bracer have wanted it? [As cold and sharp as the blade that took his life, cutting through the air with ruthless precision. It is a dagger he wields with purpose, but it is also a wound that bleeds within him, a pain he does not show but feels deep within his heart. Sometimes you need to hold a weapon by its blade to use it as a shield.

There is a brief, almost imperceptible pause—a moment where the cold logic of Rex Lapis wrestles with the deep well of emotion he keeps buried beneath his stony exterior. But before the silence can stretch too long, he feels it: a gentle brush of a shoulder against his own, a reminder of his unwavering presence at his side. A wall that will support him when he is most tired, who will propel him forward, who will shield him from the harshness of the world with arms, eyes, and words.

Zhongli allows himself a brief moment to draw strength from that touch, from the knowledge that he is not alone in this dark and treacherous place. Azhdaha, who has always been there, steadfast as the mountains, is a presence that grounds him, reminds him of the person behind the mask of Rex Lapis. The person who carries the weight of these decisions, the person who must live with the consequences of them.

He wonders, in the quiet corners of his mind, if Beisht has done this—brushed Osial’s arm as she set out in his defense, whispered reassurances into his ear, as Azhdaha has done for him countless times. Does she feel the same burden he feels? Does she understand the gravity of what she is asking?]

Does Osial know you are here? [Zhongli asks, but this time, whispered. Even so, while question is direct, and there is no softness in it, no warmth, it's still one that may change things. It is a demand for truth, for clarity. Because despite the offer she presents, despite the logic she tries to appeal to, Zhongli needs to know—needs to understand—whether this is an act of desperation or one of cunning.]

[dragonfell]

[ The pause is all she needs to spin her web — a crack is all water needs to begin to wear away stone. She does not need or want the warmth of Morax's generosity having found wealth and power in the arms of another. And emotions were fickle unpredictable— just as Osial had been ever since Morax had started to tighten the noose around his operation.

Her beloved would not understand. Or no— that's not quite right.

He would not be able to do what needed to be done. ]

"He does not."

"Too busy is he building fortifications to force your hand and lying traps to slow your progress. A number that is greater than even Morax and his Right Eye can escape unscathed. But alas, also not enough to guarantee his escape."

[ She takes one step to the side, hand still raised in plain sight as if to give them passage to the room behind her. The flickering lanterns cast dark shadows across her face, cast darker shadows still across Morax and Azhdaha. ]

"If it is the thirst of vengeance for blood that has already been shed, then by all means— I cannot stop you the same as I can not return to you what you have lost. Let the king and his knight continue ever so dutifully forward.

However, if it compensation and lost esteem you wish to regain, that is much more open to negotiation. I believe I have something that you want. Something worth looking the other way for in addition to what else you might ask of me."

[arcaico]

[Golden eyes fixed on her as though she were a serpent coiled in the shadows, waiting for her to strike. Beneath her polished exterior lies the cunning mind of someone who knows exactly what she gambles—and what she stands to gain.

When she confesses that Osial does not know she is here, Zhongli’s gaze does not waver, but the subtle shift in his posture—a fraction of a step forward, a tilt of his chin—speaks volumes. His mind is already fitting her words into the puzzle of this conflict.

Osial, ever prideful, ever reckless, has left himself exposed by this absence. Yet, the serpent’s wife stands before him offering a deal—not out of loyalty to her husband but out of a calculated self-preservation that reeks of betrayal. It is a betrayal within a betrayal, one that could tip the scales in his favor or sink them both into chaos.

He can feel Azhdaha’s steady gaze on him, the faint brush of his companion’s earlier touch still grounding him. Zhongli tilts his head ever so slightly.] What you propose is not a contract but a gamble. A bid that betrays not just your husband but the very foundation of trust you stand upon.

[He steps forward, stops a few mere feet from her now, and the light catches the edges of his face, illuminating the faint lines etched into his features by how tiresome this ordeal has all been. His voice softens, but the cold edge remains, cutting as cleanly as any blade.] Would you betray him as easily as he betrayed me,? Or does this betrayal wound you as deeply as mine does me?

[He glances over his shoulder at Azhdaha, the faintest flicker of trust passing between them before he turns back to Beisht.] You believe you hold something I want, [he continues, his tone still calm, still cold.] Then speak plainly, Beisht. If there is any truth to your words, I will hear it. But know this—if your offer insults the spilt blood, if it mocks the memory of Sky Bracer, I will not hesitate to remind you of the cost of betrayal.