Chapter Text
On nights like this, when the moon hangs low and the sea mist rolls over the docks of Mondstat, good girls should remain inside where it’s safe; everyone knows that nights like these are when pirates and other criminals stalk the streets, after all. There’s only so much the Darknight Hero can do to keep people safe at night, the citizens say, only so much the Fleet’s personnel can do on land.
Good girls should heed these warnings and stay home; a good girl does not consort with criminals, especially not a good girl whose brother is admiral of the Favonius Fleet.
If she were a good girl, she’d wait patiently for Acting Fleet Admiral Jean to mobilise the ships; she’d wait for Captain Kaeya to reassure her in that snarky way of his that they’d return soon with her brother safely in one piece. She’d sit and wring her hands in court, and Lisa would recommend her a book to read; Amber would do her best to cheer her up with a sticky honey roast, and that would be the extent of what Lumine would be allowed to do.
Lumine does not have time to be a good girl anymore.
The night wind is cold on the back of her neck; the unfamiliar sensation sends a chill down her spine. Wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she takes a deep breath, and plunges into the alleys of Mondstat.
It's not an area she's ever been allowed to go to before, because of the impropriety as a noble, but it does not frighten her. The oil lamps outside a few rotted buildings shine an eerie light on the cobbles below, casting shadows that served to shield the few scattered bodies strewn about. Drunk, if the smell is anything to go by — not to mention the almost comical snoring — but that’s exactly the sort of trail she needs for her mission. There’s always been hearsay of a tavern in Mondstat’s underbelly, a place for the undesirables of society to make their home. A place where the pirates who skulk in the waters of the Windrise Sea gather to find ale, companionship, whatever it was pirates did when they weren’t pillaging and looting. The thought of having to enter such a place might fill a normal noble with disgust and loathing, but Lumine does not have a choice.
If it’s for her brother’s sake, no price is too great for her to pay. The uneven strands of her newly cut hair should be proof of that.
The sound of music faintly enters her ears, accompanied by muffled jovial shouting; briefly, she wonders how this tavern has remained secret to the Mondstat elite for so long, if a simple walk at night can reveal its location so easily, but perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. Far too many people in the City of Freedom think of themselves as above the masses, after all. She’s seen them herself. It puts a wry little smile on her face as the music and voices swell, as she comes ever closer to the first of her goals.
There’s no one outside the tavern to guard it. She supposes that makes sense for a den of cutthroats. A light touch of the wood sends the door swinging open with an unpleasant creak , yet despite the volume of it, it does nothing to draw much attention to her. A peek inside sets the scene. A bard standing on the table with his lyre, gathering much of the attention of the tavern-goers. He’s leading them in a song, she realises idly, though it’s not much of a musical achievement given the absolute tone-deafness of the majority of singers. Those who aren’t singing are huddled round their own tables, tankers of ale in hand; some whisper amongst themselves, cloaked by the volume of the singers. A few tables are littered with cards and piles of silver and gold coins, and at least one cribbage board is about somewhere, if the clacking is anything to go by, barely audible over the general hubbub of the tavern.
It’s very much the picture of what she’d expected a pirate’s den to look like then. Good. Lumine sets her shoulders, and crosses the threshold. It’s barely a step, just a crossing of outdoors to in, but it is the step that will change her life. She feels it in her gut, that instinctive feeling that tells her this is what she must do.
There’s more than a few women amongst the clientele of the tavern so a new addition doesn’t draw much attention. That’s less good. Pushing past the rowdy singers brings her to the bar at the back of the building, where the lone bartender appears to be the most bored man in existence. She supposes scenes like this must be the norm in these circles — it’s the same way she feels about lavish parties and endless waltzes. Perhaps the stunt she’s concocting in her head might liven up his evening.
He barely glances up at her when she seats herself on one of the barstools. Lumine reaches into the pocket of her dress (sewn there at her request by Lisa, gods bless her), and pulls out five golds. That catches his attention; his eyes balloon to an almost comical size, so she smiles demurely back at him.
“I’d like the largest bottle you have,” she says pleasantly. The look on his face is priceless.
“For five golds? ”
“It’s an apology,” his eyes narrow at her response, but nonetheless, he pockets the gold quickly and shuffles to his stock. After a moment, Lumine says, “You might not want to give me anything you’re going to miss.”
He returns with a veritable bludgeoning weapon of a bottle, with a long neck and a fat body. It weighs heavily in Lumine’s hand — that means it’s perfect. She pointedly ignores the look the bartender gives her as she climbs up to stand on the bar itself (by this point a few of the tavern-goers have started looking at her as well, and she’ll certainly give them something to look at) and steps her way over to the nearest beam. Ignoring the bartender’s gaze on her, she angles the bottle, gives it a few practice swings, one, two, three—
The glass smashes with such force the bard’s song jolts. The music fizzles out soon after that; almost every set of eyes in the tavern are now fixed on her. The runaway noblewoman holding a bulging sack in the hand not occupied with the broken neck of the bottle smashed against the beam, skirt stained with the alcohol held within. The bartender mutters something about it being a good thing he didn’t give her the expensive stuff, but no one pays him any mind.
Public speaking has never been something Lumine has enjoyed (that’s more Aether’s thing, really) but it’s do or die now that she has the attention of a room full of criminals. Still, she finds that she’s not afraid; the pounding of her heart isn’t from fear, but excitement. The smile that comes across her face at this moment is wolfish and confident.
“I’ve a bag of one hundred and twenty five golds for the person who can lead me to Captain Barbatos,” she says calmly, raising the aforementioned sack high above her head.
The silence of the room is deafening. Lumine scans the tavern slowly, watching as the occupants glance and whisper between themselves. She wonders briefly if this was the best way to go about her search for information, but that matters little now.
“And what’s a young lady like you looking for Captain Barbatos for?”
It’s the bard who speaks up first, surprisingly. Lumine turns her gaze to examine him, lowering her arm as she does so. His features are youthful, and there’s a playful glint in his eye. He’s still standing on the table, a mirror of her own position on the bar, but he’s lowered his lyre for the moment, regarding her carefully. That alone belies a nature more than a simple bard, but she supposes even pirates need hobbies. Below and behind him, flanking him on either side on the ground, are a young man and woman; the young man, covered in bandages; the young woman, with an eyepatch and large black bird held in her hands. They glance between him and Lumine, expressions unreadable. They must be a group, she supposes, but that matters little to her at this moment in time.
“I’ve heard tell that if you need a dangerous job done, you look for Captain Barbatos,” she replies, keeping her voice and gaze level. It’s not that the bard’s gaze is intimidating, per se, but there is a certain power to his eyes. If she looks away, she’ll lose — that’s the feeling she gets. “And I have the most dangerous job of all, for a pirate.”
At that, an uneasy chuckle ripples through the room. She holds firm as the tavern-goers mutter amongst themselves.
“Look at the dress, she’s one of them nobles, ain’t she?”
“She’s got a lot of nerve demanding the Captain.”
“What would a noble know about a dangerous job?”
“A hundred and twenty five golds ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at…”
The bard’s mouth quirks into a smile; it’s not at all mocking, but Lumine feels her hackles rise nonetheless.
“Well, I think we should hear her out,” he says, not once dragging his gaze away from her. It’s almost unnerving, how fixed he is on maintaining eye contact… but still, Lumine has practised this game for far too long to give in now. “It’s not often we’ll get noble visitors down here after all, is it?”
There’s a few guffaws at that. Lumine holds in the urge to roll her eyes.
“I wonder if any of you are brave enough,” she doesn’t mean to let out a provocative comment, and she almost cringes at the thought of Jean chiding her for it. But Jean isn’t here, this isn’t the Fleet or a ball or anything she’s known. She’s not a lady, the sister of the Admiral; she’s here as Lumine, herself, and she will speak out if she wishes to. The notion makes her feel more confident. “I’m sure all of you here are familiar with the Abyss Fleet, aren’t you?”
The chortling stops nigh instantly. It’s as though the temperature inside the room drops at the very mention of that name. Good. Perhaps now they’ll take her offer seriously .
“Someone very important to me has been taken by them,” she continues — though she’s speaking to the whole room, it’s as though she’s speaking only to this bard. His light expression betrays nothing, but she swears his knuckles tighten around his harp. “I can’t rely on the Favonius Fleet for this. I intend to get him back myself, but I have no ship and no crew. So I’ll say again,” and again, she raises the bag. “All this gold is yours, if you can take me to Captain Barbatos.”
She’s done something to earn the bard’s approval with her speech. It’s the slightest movement, almost unnoticeable, but he gives her a satisfied nod before he at last turns his gaze from her, and crouches on the table to speak with the two accompanying him, leaving Lumine with time to examine the room around her at last. There’s some who avoid her eyes, some who regard her with open contempt or incredulity. That’s fine. She just needs one person, after all, just the one who can take her to Barbatos.
After that… She’s got more gold tucked away to plead her case, at least, from selling a myriad of useless trinkets that barely left her jewellery box. She’s sure the networking nobles who gifted them to her won’t mind her using them for an important matter such as this — and if they do, then to hell with them. Trinkets mean nothing to her if she can’t have her only family back.
The bard is apparently satisfied from speaking with his companions; he hands the harp to the bandaged one (this makes the eyepatched one look nervous, for some reason), and hops off the table. He strides over to her with such confidence despite his short frame, several of the larger pirates take instinctive steps back to clear his path. There’s a twinkle in his eye, as he stops before her, offering her his hand. She regards him warily for a moment.
“I can find Captain Barbatos for you,” the bard says confidently. “I can get you into his crew, too. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it, miss?”
Somehow, despite the capriciousness that simply oozes from every inch of this man… Lumine believes him. Of course, she can’t simply trust her gut feeling every time, her mind knows this. But right now, this bard is the only lead she has.
After a moment of regarding him, Lumine makes her decision.
His hand feels much rougher than she’d expected as she drops the broken bottle neck and allows him to help her off the bar, though perhaps it’s to be expected from both a bard and a pirate. But his hand is warm, holds hers with confidence, and for a moment, Lumine feels deeply assured.
“I’ll trust you for now,” she says evenly. He regards her with that same bright smile on his face. “But you’re not seeing a hint of this gold until I see Captain Barbatos.”
At that, he laughs; it’s a light sound that reminds her of a gentle sea breeze, somehow, and yet it irritates her. Before she has the chance to react, the bard sweeps himself into a deep bow, and presses his lips to the back of her hand. It’s so unexpected she almost lets out a yelp; she’s glad she had to restraint not to when he looks up at her with a grin that is somehow both annoyingly innocent and wolfish at the same time. Giving him the satisfaction would have been mortifying.
“I’ve no need of gold,” he chimes pleasantly, releasing her hand at last. Lumine withdraws it as though he’d bitten her. “I’ll be more than satisfied to see this venture unfold.”
“We’ll see about that,” is her only response. With another laugh, the bard swings his arm around her shoulder, and begins to corral her towards the doorway — at some point, his two companions had made their way over, watching them expectantly… Along with the rest of the eerily quiet tavern, it seems.
“You can call me Venti,” the bard — Venti — continues from there, speaking as though they’re old friends. Lumine’s not exactly sure about how she feels about that, but a name for a name is only fair.
“Lumine,” she responds in kind, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. The bandaged man shoots her a grin when they get closer, and the eyepatched woman’s bird flutters to her shoulder while she opens the door for them. Venti leads her out first into the sea mist that rolls through the alleys, his companions close behind. The smile on his face is like the sun.
“Looking forward to this adventure with you, Lumine,” He says brightly.
Lumine looks up to the moon, and prays she hasn’t made a mistake.