Chapter Text
Angel's Share is the most popular tavern in all of Mondstadt not only for its drinks, but also for the security it affords its patrons.
Like all self-respecting establishments, it has one strict rule everyone is required to follow if they wish to stay a welcome patron of Angel's Share: no fighting. It's such an easy rule to follow, but still such an easy rule to break, and so the staff of Angel's Share wields judgement upon rulebreakers with an iron fist. Charles and Patton do not discriminate when throwing out rowdy patrons. It doesn't matter who started the fight; once you throw a punch, you're out, then the rest of the patrons who saw the spectacle get treated to a round of drinks as an apology for the inconvenience.
Diluc is confident in his people's skills. Charles and Patton are just as good at wrestling people's hands behind their backs as they are at their respective jobs at the tavern. He barely has to do anything to keep order there, save for the rare times he's the one bartending instead of Charles, so for a messenger to come running to him and beg for his presence at the tavern alarms him, and he doesn't ask what exactly the problem is; if they're asking for Diluc's help, then he has to be there immediately.
It's a sunny afternoon in Mondstadt, a perfect day for a picnic at Windrise. Diluc just finished discussing business with Sara at Good Hunter and meant to return to the winery when a boy came running to him with the dire message from Angel's Share, and off they went. Diluc’s worry for his employees presents itself as a scowl on his face as he takes quick steps towards Angel's Share, unaware that it’s why people take one look at him and make way for him wordlessly, but it works well enough in his favour. What is it that Charles and Patton can't handle that they need him there? It's only been a few minutes past noon, which means they just opened; surely there's no one who got plastered enough to break a bottle and wield it around like a weapon? Or is it a blasted Fatui agent insisting to be served?
His footsteps echo as he walks past Flora's shop and nears the tavern, and from the stairs he can already see Patton sitting on one of the tables put outside for customers to use. His arms are covered with thin red lines—several cuts from what might be a knife. He's treating them with a bottle of alcohol and a wet cloth, but every pat against the marks makes him wince. The man looks so distressed. The door to the tavern is open, and Huffman isn't at his usual post across the tavern. As expected of a Knight of Favonius, gone when they're needed the most.
"Patton!" Diluc calls out, and Patton looks in his direction, dropping the cloth onto the table and standing to greet him.
"Master Diluc!" he says, and the relief in his voice is clear. "Thank the Seven you've finally come. Quick, Charles has been keeping that blasted intruder at bay for too long and I fear for what's become of him!"
"An intruder?" Diluc repeats, and the fact that someone dared to break into Angel's Share at this time of day and hurt his employees takes him aback. It's just—the audacity , and the disbelief turns into indignation that makes his Vision glow bright red. Diluc turns to the open door, and his claymore shimmers into existence on his back, itching to be drawn and to draw blood.
"I'll take care of this," he snarls, and he makes his way to the tavern with renewed vigor, Patton's voice falling on deaf ears as he storms into Angel's Share. Diluc enters the tavern, and for a moment, his burning anger flickers—the place is deserted, and everything is clean, with nothing out of place—then there's a crash and Charles yells in alarm and the door behind the counter is ajar—
Diluc jumps over the counter and slams the door to the stockroom fully open, claymore now in his hand. Fire bursts forth from his claymore as Diluc prepares to unleash retribution upon the thief who dared hurt his employees. To hell with the wines here; no one gets to hurt the people Diluc cares about and gets away with it alive.
"Charles!"
"Master Diluc?" Charles turns to him. Like Patton, he has the same thin lines on his arms, but not as terrible as the other man's. He's holding a chair like a shield, and when his eyes land on the burning claymore, they widen dramatically, almost comically, if Diluc actually reflects on it later. He probably wouldn't."Master Diluc?!" Charles repeats, and he almost sounds scandalised. "Stand down! Put out the fire!"
"What?" Diluc hisses, "don't protect that blasted—"
Then there's an actual hiss behind Charles, then an offended mewl, and Charles is spinning back and shaking his chair at...
…Well.
It's a cat.
A large one, just a tad smaller than the stray dogs that roam around the streets of Mondstadt—Diluc never realised cats can get this big—and it has a shaggy brown coat. Diluc can at least tell it's well taken care of with the healthy sheen of its fur, but it's also really angry as it swipes an angry claw at Charles, who simply wants it at least a chair-length distance away from him.
Diluc blinks, puts the fire out and the claymore away. One of the shelves stocked with bottles of wine is tipped over, and that's an entire week worth of wine right there on the floor. When Diluc looks above the barrels stacked atop one another, he sees one of the windows open.
Ah, so that's what Patton means when he said intruder, and their so-called cuts, too—they're cat scratches.
"You called me here to take care of a cat problem," Diluc finally concludes. Charles winces. The cat hisses.
He's not sure what to feel. Two of his best fighters were bested by an angry cat. They were beaten (scratched) so bad they sent someone running to call for him. And, well, maybe the cat turned out to be much larger than anyone might have expected, but it's a cat. What are they even expecting Diluc to do? Charles already stopped him from burning down their tavern, after all.
"We're so sorry about this, Master Diluc," Charles starts to say, and Diluc looks back at him. "It's, well, we know how to deal with rowdy humans, but rowdy cats with sharp claws are beyond us. You tend to your horse by yourself—"
"Cats are not horses."
"—Surely, you might know a thing or two about handling animals in general?" It's as if Charles didn't even hear him.
Diluc stares at Charles, then at the chair he's using to keep the evil creature at bay. He eyes the scratches on the man's arms and thinks about the ones Patton is tending to, and he supposes they tried their best.
He did say to call for him if things got too much for them to handle, and they never did until now, the competent lot. Diluc can't really hold this against them.
"I don't know anything about cats," Diluc says as a disclaimer, "but I'll see what I can do. Step aside, Charles." And to make sure Diluc doesn't embarrass himself in front of his employee, he adds, "go back inside the tavern."
Charles slowly backs away from the cat, chair still held out in front of him as Diluc walks past him. The cat’s hissing slowly softens the farther Charles is from it, until it completely calms down once it’s clear that the bartender is leaving the stockroom. Soon enough, Charles is gone, leaving the cat and Diluc alone.
The cat stares at Diluc, and Diluc stares at the cat. It’s a fluffy one, that’s for sure, and well-groomed despite its mass of fur. It has an owner, then. An escaped cat, maybe? Then its owner must be looking for it by now. Now that Diluc is really looking at it, he realises that the cat is blind on its left eye; its left eye is a dull milky colour as opposed to the bright golden colour of its right eye.
Behind the cat is the ruined shelf and the destroyed wine bottles. As far as Diluc can see, none of the liquid has managed to touch the cat’s majestic coat, nor has the cat stepped on any broken glass, but still, better to get it out of here before anything more unsavoury happens.
How, though, is the question.
The cat yawns, forcing Diluc to pay attention to it again, and as if sensing Diluc’s current dilemma, it stretches its front paws before walking towards him with a disgruntled meow. Diluc blinks, and when it stops in front of him with an uncharacteristic soft mewl, Diluc’s hands are hovering in the air, at a loss of what to do.
Well, it approached him, and it looks amiable enough now, as if it didn’t assault his two employees just a couple minutes ago. Diluc isn’t going to take this unexpected turn of events for granted, and he squats in front of the cat, puts his hands under its armpits (is that a thing? Do cats have armpits?), and lifts the cat, and, by the Seven, it’s heavy. It doesn’t fight back like Diluc first thought it will; if anything, it looks unimpressed with the way he’s holding it, but how else is he supposed to hold it anyway?
Ugh. He’s getting too worked up over this.
Charles and Patton are back inside the tavern when Diluc walks out of the stockroom with the cat in his hands. The two men look up from tending to their scratches, and neither hide the surprise on their faces upon seeing their boss with the cat. Diluc frowns at them instead.
"What?" Diluc says, then he redirects his frown at the knight standing by the entrance, "and what are you doing here?"
Huffman straightens himself, and he, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. "I apologise, Master Diluc," he says, "I, uh, heard a cat broke into your tavern." He redirects his gaze at the giant fluffball in Diluc’s hands, and Diluc looks at it, too.
"Oh, good," Diluc says, then he leaves the counter to hold the cat towards Huffman. Its body simply wiggles along with the movements. "Take it and get out, and tell the owner to look after it better," he tells the knight. "The cat cost us a week’s worth of wine—" Huffman visibly pales at this, and Diluc sighs. "It’s fine; I will not demand payment, but I better not see the cat here again. Am I clear?"
"Of course."
"Now take the cat."
Huffman does take the cat, holds it far more gingerly and with far more care than Diluc did, but the cat growls at being held by someone else other than Diluc. His two employees look concerned for the poor knight as he leaves the tavern, but it’s fine. Huffman is wearing armour, for Seven’s sake; he won’t get scratched the same way as the two men who had their arms bare—
Diluc pauses after closing the door as realisation finally dawns on him. He looks at his gloves and the long sleeves of the black coat he’s wearing, and it suddenly makes sense why the first person Charles and Patton thought to call to bring an enraged cat out of the stockroom was him.
"Hm," Diluc says before pulling his ponytail off to tie it higher. He turns to his employees. "I’ll bartend tonight, so go home to have those scratches treated."
From the other side of the tavern’s door is an eerily familiar voice of a certain knight yelling, but that’s none of Angel’s Share’s business anymore.