Chapter Text
Childe set down the three perfumes at the foot of the statue. He knew it was probably excessive. The Liyueans probably knew which perfume would please Rex Lapis, but a Fatui Harbinger couldn't be caught asking around about the worship of a god who wasn't the Tsaritsa. Instead, he had to cast a wide net, and hope against hope for the impossible best.
He uncorked the first perfume, one the saleswoman told him that young noblewoman liked. The scent was... well, floral. Childe wasn't sure what made it different from any other perfume. The statue seemed to agree; there was no reaction in the curling smoke.
The second perfume was supposed to be a favorite of Lady Ningguang. This one did smell different, but not particularly better than the last. This, too, yielded no response. Neither did the third bottle, a perfume Ying'er had little to say about but charged an exorbitant price for. It smelled exactly the same as the other three.
Well, maybe Zhongli had a cold.
Childe cleared his throat. The statue's eyes were shadowed by its hood, but Childe doubted Zhongli would be any more scrutable in his usual jacket and tie. For all Childe knew, Rex Lapis wasn't even connected to his old statues anymore.
"Hey, big guy," he said quietly. "It's been awhile."
Of course, the statue didn't respond. Feeling his heart grow heavy, Childe doubled down.
"I'm probably the last person you want to see right now. Terrorism isn't a great first impression, I guess. And neither is attempted murder. Oh, and using the funeral parlor to hide a body--Hu Tao probably told you about that one, though."
Not a strong start.
"Believe it or not, I think you're the god I've offended the least. I'd have no luck praying to Barbatos or Raiden after what my colleagues did to them... and don't tell anyone I told you, but we're embezzling from Fontaine. Not to mention, I'm far too stupid to pray to the God of Wisdom, even if they did let me back into Sumeru. But you..." he sighed. "You've forgiven me before. You knew what I was, and you still trusted--well, trusted I would lose, I guess, but you knew me, you know? So... if you're even listening, even though you have no reason to humor me... you know that I didn't come here with any malintent.
"My sister, Tonia... She has a rare elemental sensitivity. She was only just diagnosed on my last visit to Snezhnaya over the holiday break. Any high concentration of elemental energy makes her deathly sick. I--" he stuttered. "It would be bad enough as it is, but the doctor told us that it might have been caused... well, it might be my fault. My Delusion is unstable--I'm sure you've felt it. They all are, but when the forge was making the first batch, they asked me what I wanted from mine. I told them I wanted something explosively powerful, and they delivered. I've had to work hard to keep the Electro energy in check, but even so... something's always bound to slip through the cracks. Just my luck, isn't it? " Childe laughed softly to himself.
"I made it out of the Abyss just to serve a colder master," he muttered. He wasn't sure whether he was still speaking to the Geo Archon, or just rambling to himself. Scara would be wondering what was taking so long. "I'm fine... I'm doing what I love. But it's not the same for my family. I don't want them to have anything to do with the Tsaritsa or any of the... less boring aspects of my job.
"Tonia needs treatment. She at least needs to leave Snezhnaya--the permafrost that blankets my home nation is pure Cryo energy, and it's terrible for her. But getting her here--or to Monstadt, if there's no way to get us to Liyue legally--that's going to be the hardest part. So long as I'm a Harbinger, there's no way the Tsaritsa is giving a visa to any Sorokov within ten generations of me. I know you're the god of contracts, but technically, you shouldn't be under contract not to smuggle fugitives out of the permafrost, right?
"If I'm wrong, though... just don't bring this up with the Tsaritsa, okay?"
"How'd it go?" Scaramouche asked, without looking up from his book.
Childe pulled off his jacket and mask, and slung them on the rack just inside the hotel room. Striding to the pair of suitcases open on the back table, he picked out a plain black shirt and pulled it on over his bare chest.
"Just who exactly are you trying to impress, anyway?" Scaramouche needled, pointing his thumb at the jacket. "Twice as much work for--apparently--no payoff."
Childe rolled his eyes. "You can't expect me to fight--"
"Without showing off your abs," interrupted Scaramouche. "I'm sure that little traveler girl was impressed, before she kicked your teeth in."
Childe realized there would be no debating with the Balladeer. He climbed into his bed and propped his feet up on the headboard.
"To answer your question," he told Scara, "it went about as well as you'd expect."
"Did you at least take my suggestion?"
Archons. Scaramouche had told Childe to offer Zhongli a bottle of wine, or a night out in Liyue, or something, but Childe had completely forgotten. "I think I got distracted," he muttered.
"Don't give up hope yet," Scara said flatly. "There's always Natlan."
"Actually, there isn't," Childe corrected. "I met the God of War back in the Abyss... I kind of challenged her to single combat. I lost, but I knocked out one of her teeth. It immediately swore vengeance on me."
"The tooth did?"
"Like it's the weirdest thing a god has done."
Scara grimaced quietly as he flipped the page. He had a bad--actually brilliant, now that Childe thought about it--way of forcing people to keep talking to him by creating an awkward, judgmental silence that his marks grew desperate to fill. That was probably why the Tsaritsa usually gave Scara the interrogations. Childe's preferred method of dry-drowning had a tendency to end up a little less dry and a little more drowning. But such tactics would never work on Childe... right?
"Just so you know," he found himself telling Scara, "I wouldn't give up hope if there were any left."
"I know, buddy."
"Think the Qixing could do something? If you were to threaten them--"
"Not a chance."
"I'm just saying--"
"I'm not fighting the Qixing."
"I didn't say fight."
Scara rolled his eyes. He licked his thumb and turned the page as noisily as possible. Childe wasn't sure what more Scara was going to try and drag out of him, but he was rescued by a sound--one that sounded an awful lot like a knock at their door.
Childe asked Scara, "Were you expecting somebody?"
"Yeah, I brought a date to the hotel room I'm sharing with my coworker," Scara snipped.
"A 'no,' would have done it," Childe reminded him. "If I get murdered, avenge me?"
"You wish."
Childe grabbed his bow from the top of the doorstep and strung it with Hydro, propping it on one shoulder as he moved toward the door. He opened it with his free hand, his gloved fingers automatically returning to the bowstring as soon as the knob was turned.
A long brown jacket, a gold-tipped ponytail. No weapon, but he wouldn't need one anyway. A twinkle in his amber eyes.
"I'm here about some forged visas?" Zhongli said.