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There's a saying that has steadily worked its way into the common vernacular of just about every resident of Mondstat: Master Diluc is caring, but not kind.
He’s aloof and a man of few words, preferring to get straight to the point and skip any small talk that others tend to find delight in. He’s constructed from harsh lines and sharp angles that give the impression of a stalking gait even when he is only strolling from the bar to the winery. His eyes smolder like embers, ringed with gold and constantly alert, mimicking the falcon he has as a companion. He’s a constant and steady presence in everyone’s lives to some capacity, and it’s inevitable that he hears of the many problems of Mondstat’s populace.
Drinking was a sure-fire way to loosen tongues, and bartenders are particularly adept at handling whatever gets tossed about the room. Diluc has filed away a myriad of information bites from the customers that come and go like clockwork, and he finds himself getting invested beyond anything purely professional. He’s quietly sworn to pick up the slack from the Knights of Favonius, to protect the city of freedom from evil that may slip through the cracks, and assisting his patrons in menial inconveniences managed to worm its way into his job description. After making such an oath, chasing down lost pets and making deliveries hardly seemed like something to turn his nose up at.
A certainly golden-haired traveler comes to mind. No matter where they may wander now, Diluc would forever say that they left a piece of themselves in Mondstat, within his very own heart.
So, yes, when not bartending or balancing the books, he’s lending a helping hand. He’s not any more talkative, not any gentler than before, but he gets the job done. Word spreads that Master Diluc is a reliable figure to turn to, especially in the absence of Mondstat’s Honorary Knight, but to never be put off by his dull expression or unintentionally biting remarks. He takes his reputation in stride, continues to give himself wholly to the place he calls home. But there’s only so far one can extend themselves, and one lesson he neglected to pick up from the traveler was their penchant for negotiating and making demands.
Diluc has no problem demanding information from the relentless abyss mages, making (false) deals to get what he wants from them, but the same courtesy does not extend to everyone else. It’s an odd line to draw, and even he’s not sure when it appeared, though that doesn’t stop people from theorizing. It doesn’t take a mastermind to connect Traveler’s flight from Mondstat with Diluc’s sudden and unwavering generosity. He had always been a caring figure, but it had remained contained to those he worked with. Now he takes after the Traveler, as if attempting to keep their image alive until the day they return.
It’s not a problem until it is, and it’s no surprise that Diluc does nothing to solve it. After all, he has a reputation and an image to uphold. The Windblume Festival is in full swing, and he’d been working day and night to help set it up and get it underway. He has no particular attachment to the festival, but when his assistance was requested, he readily agreed to help. Shoddily compiled sleep schedule be damned, he didn’t need a poorly constructed festival to go down even worse day-of and cause more hassle later. That’s what he told himself as he continued to forgo rest and even give Charles the day off so that he could spend time with some unnamed Special Someone.
So he arrives at the tavern—though in retrospect, witnesses would more aptly describe his entrance as a poorly covered up stumble—and takes his place behind the counter. He stands as still as a statue for a solid minute as he eyes the rough wood before him, brows furrowed slightly. Something feels off, and he’s attempting a mental check to figure out just what it is. Frustration mounting, he cards a hand through his hair and comes to a realisation: that in his half-asleep state he’d left the winery without his usual coat, meaning the plethora of hair ties within the pockets now felt miles away.
A sharp frown tugs at his lips as Diluc adjusts the simple vest he’d changed into, if only to keep his hands busy as he tries to coax a solution from his sluggish mind. Crouching down to check under the counter, he finds his answer. A short dagger that had been left behind on a table on the second floor roughly five months ago. Originally placed here should the owner return to reclaim it, but that possibility seemed less and less likely with each passing season. Deciding it would have to do, he recalls yet another lesson he learned from Traveller; a lesson on tying hair in a pinch.
When his own had been ripped loose during a rather fearsome battle, they had tamed the locks into a messy bun and pinned it in place with some trinket they kept within that astral pocket of theirs. Diluc’s own movements are halting as he gathers up the red mane that had always been trouble, twisting and twirling until he holds the bun together with a singular hand. Without any pins or clips hidden in subs-space, he took up the dagger and wove it through the layers of the bun. He’s sure he scrapes his scalp with the tip, but the pain doesn’t truly register above the satisfaction at being able to pull it all off despite the few strands that escape, framing his face and accentuating his shadowed features.
It’ll have to do, and he’s just on time as the rush from the festival hits. He does his best to ignore the trembling in his hands as he mixes and pours with increasing detriment. Evening has hardly begun and Diluc swears this is the 30th time he’s gotten the “Sorry, but I think you mixed up my order with someone else…” line. Thank the Archons that it’s the Windblume Festival or he’s sure that the customers would be far less forgiving. A muted apology passes his lips without really thinking, and his eyes don’t even catch who walks in next despite being fully trained on the door. He blinks languidly, brain working overtime to figure out who came or left and how they passed through his field of vision undetected.
The answer shows itself in the form of pink hair, fluffy ears, and sharp glare that would look more at home on his own face. His mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he stares down at her perched on the edge of a chair and braced against the counter. He nearly misses the glass as he moves to pour out the correct concoction, and this seems to soften Diona’s expression, though he isn’t sure if it’s his own imagination or not. He passes the drink to the waiting customer, so focused on the young feline before him that he misses the dubious look that’s thrown into the cup. “Yes?” he finally asks when he feels the silence has stretched long enough.
Diona appears to be startled from her thoughts before giving Diluc a once over and nodding her head sharply. He eyes her warily as she prepares to speak, taking the chance to momentarily empty his mind of mixed up orders and noisy patrons. “I was going to request your help coaxing Roger back to the Cat’s Tail, but I think someone else went to get him. You should keep an eye out just in case though!”
Her speech is not as sharp as it usually is, especially when directed at himself, but he doesn’t feel that he could parse out the reasons why at this moment. So he instead nods his head, a little belatedly but confirmation nonetheless. “Ah, sounds good.” The silence stretches once more, taking up more than just the space between them and extending itself out. No one else has stopped talking, but Diluc swears his ears are ringing from a distinct lack of other stimulus. “...Is that...all?”
“Oh!” The chirped response sounds far too loud in what was previously an overwhelming nothingness, and he doesn’t feel himself flinching so much as he sees Diona reacting to his sudden movement. Her revelation must not be meant for him as she turns her back, maneuvering with ease to stand upon the chair and look out over the crowd like it was her domain. “Quick announcement!” she calls out, voice bouncing off the walls. “The Cat’s Tail is doing an impromptu cocktail giveaway and kitty play time in the spirit of the festival!”
There’s a beat of silence before the murmuring starts which quickly gives way to cheers as the tavern empties in record speed. Money is tossed onto the counter as Diona waves them out with the promise to be right behind them. Diluc can only gape at the door as it finally shuts, leaving only himself and Diona within. “What are you thinking?” he bites out with the most amount of clarity thus far. He knows she detests alcohol and the selling of it, a fact he’d finally managed to let her know he agreed with her a few months after the traveler left, and they both understand the burdens of running a business. So why, oh why, did she rip all the business away from him when she having it all for herself would be the complete antithesis of her own crusade?
Instead of any coherent response, Diona simply smiles as she hops down from the chair and heads for the door. “Seemed like it would be a beneficial move ‘s all,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits the tavern. He watches the door swing shut for the final time and is left with true silence. He hears muted music and chatter from the festival goers outside, but it does little to quell the sudden unease and weariness that washes over him. Had she known about all the orders he’d messed up? About the money he was already losing on this night alone? He’d thought they’d forged a bond that would steer them away from capitalizing off one another, but perhaps he was wrong.
The conclusion doesn’t sit right, though, and Diluc busies himself with cleaning up the mess that was left behind as a means of distraction. There isn’t much, but he feels like it takes hours to get everything in order and the money locked away. Limbs heavy, he sits at the chair Diona had previously stood upon and rests his elbows on the bar, propping his head up on a hand. He wants to know the sudden cause for this unexpected turn of events, but the more he thinks about it, the less it makes sense. Soon enough, he finds himself blinking awake repeatedly instead of deciphering Diona’s enigmatic appearance, and his head finds its way to his arms that he had folded upon the bar at some point. Frustrated with his inability to think clearly and unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he succumbs to the silence of the empty tavern.
He’s brought back to awareness in what feels like merely minutes by the sudden rising in volume of the noise from outside. His eyes remain closed and his brain scrambles for a solution once more, only for his train of thought to be halted by the deafening sound of footsteps. Someone had entered, then, and he’s sure he must look rather sorry sleeping like a passed out drunk, but he can’t find the energy within himself to make any move, let alone defend himself. He’s quickly falling back into unconsciousness, barely catching the sounds of a soft voice and the feeling of something warm being draped over his shoulders and the bun being undone.
Diluc welcomes the comfort with a quiet noise of content, shifting slightly in a half-hearted attempt to burrow deeper into whatever it was that had been placed on him. A hand passes through his hair, and much like a cat, he leans into the touch. It vanishes all too soon, and the quiet laugh he hears sounds more like a dream than anything coming from the second occupant of Angel’s Share. Finally settling, silence meets his ears once more, and he welcomes it, chalking up most of what had just happened to be some sort of lucid dream, those sorts of moments that come in between sleeping and waking. Except instead of waking, instead of mustering up what little energy remains within him and getting back to the winery, Diluc succumbs to sleep once more.
And, if he woke up to discover a white-furred cape about his shoulders and a small smile on his face, that was a moment only he needed to know about.