Chapter Text
♡
“do you not have a dad?”
yes. no. sometimes. diona doesn’t know what to say.
“what do you mean…” she says quietly. adhering to the rules of the library are not exactly something she’s passionate about, but she would prefer to not get lectured about her behaviour. again.
her skin crawls, but she doesn’t feel bad. annoyed, rather, like an ugly ant hill had formed right by her favourite morning flower. her fingers curl round the spine of a book she can’t see the title of, and flicks it open.
“well, just,” the boy leans in a little, “i’ve never seen him around. dads are always out doin’ things. unless they’re like, old, right?”
“that’s, uh .. the question is .. kinda broad, if .. if you think about it, so,” she puts pauses in her speech to pretend she is immersed in the book so that the boy takes a hint, which he doesn’t. take it, that is. he makes a sound of understanding.
“oh! sorry, lemme say it better - did your dad die, or something? or did he leave?”
diona fixes him with a look of disbelief. “what.”
“i said, ‘did your dad -’”
“you don’t ask people things like that,” diona hisses, and abandons her fake reading to jam the book back on the shelf upside down. she storms off to the opposite side of the favonius library, only to hear another pair of footsteps following after her own.
“wait, diona! i’m sorry, i didn’t mean t-”
“sage and diona!” the teacher’s head snaps so quickly to the both of them, looking between them. they freeze. “this is a library - of the knights of favonius, no less, and we are very, very privileged to be here right now. do you understand?”
they nod.
“now, i’m sure that the only reason miss minci doesn’t lecture you two herself is that you are my responsibility. but that also means that if she does have to come from her desk to speak with you, and we are asked to leave, that falls on my record, and there may be other places that won’t accept the class in the future. do you hear me?”
they nod a second time. teacher jilliana grabs them by their uniform sleeves and points to a mostly empty table, where another student is reading quietly.
“find a book and sit down. you are not to stand nor speak until we leave, and if i see this from either of you, both of you will be punished. now go.”
diona does just that, taking a random book and bringing it to the table where she sits and buries her face in her arms. she can feel the girl next to her boring a hole into the side of her head, but frankly she doesn’t care. who must be sage sits across from her, dragging his chair as close as possible to the table. it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. diona glares at his feet.
a few moments pass in silence before something is tucked under her arm, quietly scraping her skin. a piece of paper. with the opposite hand, diona takes it and unrolls it.
in messy, 13-year-old handwriting reads, i like that book. diona blinks, lifting her head slightly. the book she picked is called, ‘a drunkard’s tale.’
she holds her hand out for the girl’s pen and scribbles a message back.
i don’t.
♡
she sees him once, when it’s raining.
a man with red eyes and even redder hair, like long fields of berries or a queen’s painted roses in an old storybook. he’s an adult, definitely, but probably not as old as daddy. they are both outside in the storm with their only bit of shelter: the slight overhanging roof. the ground is wet.
diona looks at him sideways, narrowing her eyes. “you like alcohol, don’t you?”
“me?” something flashes in his eyes - pain, diona thinks, but it’s gone as quickly as it had come. a raindrop falls and skates down the slope of his nose. he closes his eyes. “i don’t, no. i don’t like the way it makes me feel. or how it smells. or anything about it, really.”
“all adults like alcohol,” says diona, “even my teacher - she’s a nun, and i saw her drink wine with mushroom pizza, and smile at her husband after, like it made her happy. that doesn’t even sound good.”
after a quiet breath where he seemingly waits to see if she’d finished talking, he agrees, “i don’t think it sounds good, either.”
hmph. diona crosses her arms over her chest. even if he’s an adult who doesn’t drink, she won’t give in. adults lie about the worst things, and make promises they never keep. she can’t trust him but at least he won’t get drunk in front of her. if he’s telling the truth, that is.
he fumbles for something in the breast pocket of his coat, and diona has only just realised how cold it is - a shiver racks up her spine and she makes a shuddering noise, teeth gritted. the man looks at her, looks out at the city bathed in evening storm blue-green and the soft orange streetlights, and takes off his coat.
protests of i don’t need your stupid coat die out when she sees his arms. raised, puffy pink and orange skin all over his forearms, and possibly his biceps and even hands, too, if he took his gloves off. scars. diona holds her tongue. doesn’t know what she’d say, anyway. she doesn’t know him. she looks at his face instead. sticks her arms through the armholes of his coat and flips the hood up.
“…you know, we can go in, if you’d like.” he gestures to the building behind him that diona knows all too well: angel’s share.
“i .. you want me to go into a bar?” diona doesn’t mean to sound rude, but she does anyway.
“you don’t have to, i just thought you’d wanna get out of the cold. and, ah - the rain.”
diona balls her fists in the sleeves. “why do you think i don’t like the rain? ‘cuz i’m kätzlein? what if .. if i asked if you like strawberries, ‘cuz your hair’s red?” he scrunches up his nose and turns his head. his shoulders shake a little. did he just .. laugh at me...?
diona’s going to get him.
♡
there is a time, one day, when diona’s father is crumpled and limp against her side, going on about someone who likely is only a product of his drunken haze, that diona wonders if he even lives in the real world anymore.
he likely doesn’t, because he forgets everything. he’s more drunk than he is sober, and sometimes he gets so loud it’s like the bass of his voice in drilling a hole into diona’s skull and the vibrations, the throbbing, it makes her want to scream back. scream even louder. break her own voice and his, next.
she has nightmares, sometimes, where he stumbles down stairs and falls in just the wrong way, or he leaves for a hunt and doesn’t come back, or she wakes up and finds him in a pool of his own vomit.
sometimes, she would rather not sleep at all.
♡
after that day in the rain, diona doesn’t see the man for a while. here and there, just fleeting, when he doesn’t even notice her. her thoughts of vengeance have slowly dwindled down to none, replaced by the same empty she feels when daddy says he’ll be home for supper and she has to peel him from one of angel’s share’s booths the next morning.
daddy’s drinking habits cause him so much pain some days he can’t go out to hunt. diona doesn’t mind nursing him to health when he is bedridden (it secretly makes her happy, because at least he isn’t out drinking his organs to shit), though it also means they need an extra source of income. mondstadt is the city of freedom, yes, and springvale a quaint town of kind folk, but living is not free.
by some stroke of luck, margaret hired her on a whim. it was under the ruse of letting her stay at the cat’s tail bar after closing time to clean up, which diona found easy considering the place isn’t too big, and now she’s got her working the counter. which, again, isn’t too bad, but diona is contributing to other adults’ despicable alcoholism. and expected to smile all whilst doing it, even when intoxicated men lean in a little too close for her liking, and when they have their gross little conversations about their wives between drinking buddies.
it’ll be fine, margaret promised. you’re cute, and sweet, and young - you’ll draw in only the best customers!
diona would fight her, too, if she wasn’t her boss.
♡
today is the same as any other: she gets off of school, drops her school books off at home, cleans the house and checks on her dad. he wasn’t feeling well that morning, so she expects him to be in bed. he isn’t, though, and diona knows where he’s gone.
she still sets supper out for him just before she leaves on the dining table in case he comes back in time - some fisherman’s toast she got from good hunter. says goodbye to some of the springvale folk on her way into the city for her shift.
when she walks in, diona sighs at a sniff of fresh calla lily, the gentle floral scent added into the cleaning products they use. the bells ding and alert the woman who works in the afternoon of her presence. she is cleaning off the counter, but looks up and waves at diona with a smile.
“just in time! i’ve gotta go, hun, but i saved a little extra somethin’ for you,” she says, reaching into her pocket, “my husband made it for his niece. she’ll be off to school in liyue next month .. they grow so fast.”
she reveals a treat wrapped in a thin paper towel. diona’s stomach growls; she hasn’t eaten today. she thanks the woman and takes it, holding it preciously in her palms.
“have a good night!” the woman calls.
diona nods. “you too.” as soon as the door closes, she rips open the treat and pops a generous chunk into her mouth.
it’s fruitcake, she thinks. it has a rich flavour to the bread unlike any she’s had before, but she’s too hungry to think too much about it. maybe she’ll ask when she sees that other bartender again. the last bite of bread gets tucked back into its paper, and stuffed into the little pack at her hip.
diona prepares for her shift, now, going behind the counter to organise the bottles again. she puts them so every label is easy to see, and counts the glasses to be sure none are missing. she takes a smooth towel and stuffs it into her vest pocket for wiping out the glasses, and takes the small section of hair out of its mini pony at the top of her head. tries best she can to pat at her messy curls, hoping they lay down enough and she doesn’t look crazy.
there shouldn’t be many people to worry about considering it’s a weekday, but diona knows that calm will change once the regulars come in. maybe she’ll see jean (who still annoys her, by the way) and she’ll order a pizza and talk with diona. something to distract her with.
her shift is fine. someone drops a glass and diona has to grab it and she cuts her pinky, but she sucks the blood out, washes her hands and puts a plaster on it. a woman comes in stumbling and laughing with her friend, and they fall asleep under one of the tabbies that likes to climb into the potted hanging plants. margaret wakes them up at midnight and gives them some water before sending them out.
diona is nodding off. she won’t have to be here for much longer, thankfully.
“diiiiooooona!”
margaret’s singsong call has diona sitting straight up. she’s coming from the backrooms, wine glass in hand, and her cheeks are red. diona wrinkles her nose. she must be having that pink stuff she likes. it’s sweet, judging by how it makes her breath smell.
“hi,” she says.
“diona, darling, there’s someone - someone i’d like you to meet.”
this again?
“is it another one of your ‘boyfriends’?” mumbles diona, to which margaret laughs. she sips her drink, coughs, and giggles some more, leaning onto the counter on her elbows.
“no, no, none of that. he’s a very special person, though. it might do you good to talk with him, perhaps he can give you a few pointers in business,” she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and does a little wink, “or maybe you could teach him something instead.”
“i don’t have anything, though,” diona furrows her brows.
margaret does an over-dramatic sigh like she’s offended. “of course, you do! how else do you think we draw in all this business?!”
“drunk people like to drink. and .. soft things, i guess.” she looks at the possibly invasive touches of the customers, some nuzzling into the cats that are clearly displeased by their smell, other cats just looking plain lost with all the poking and cooing.
“and our lovely, lovely diona! isn’t that right? aww, who’s a good kitty, huh? who’s a -”
“stop, stop, ew!” squeaks diona, grabbing margaret’s wrists when she tries to pull and squeeze diona’s cheeks. “if - if you don’t stop, i swear to barbatos i’ll bite you.”
margaret aww’s, laughing, “aren’t you just a cute little thing? i just can’t take you seriously!!” and opens and closes her hands. diona hisses at her, fully prepared to bite when a tall figure comes into view off to her side. she turns her head.
what’s he doing here?
“apologies, margaret, i took a bit longer than expected. here’s a chilled bottle for you,” he says, handing her something. alcohol. diona closes her mouth, sucking her canines back into her mouth and crossing her arms. he looks over at diona. it takes a couple seconds, but recognition flashes in his eyes.
“master diluc! not a worry at all, is it, diona?” she just glares. margaret hums. “she’s a little grumpy today.”
“that’s quite alright. i won’t hold it against her.” diluc looks at diona directly and she busies herself with some invisible stains.
she zones out, remembering where she’s heard that title before. master diluc. owner of dawn winery, and of angel’s share, where daddy goes to drink. the acting grandmaster, jean, talks about him sometimes. so does klee, and donna at the corner just inside the gates, and the cavalry captain, and - oh, why didn’t she figure this out sooner? why didn’t she ask his name?
and all that about wanting nothing to do with alcohol - he didn’t mean a thing. maybe he just saw diona as another stupid kid he lies to just because he can, just like daddy. empty promises and words and - and -
“i wanna go home,” says diona. she blurts it out, more like, even though it’s fragile. she doesn’t want to, really - usually she’ll sleep an hour or two in margaret’s empty apartment before heading back home, since it isn’t safe so late.
“oh?” margaret stops whatever she was saying, looking between her and diluc. “well, i most certainly can take over. you need to sleep, sweetie?”
“no, i’m - i don’t need to sleep,” diona’s going to start crying if she doesn’t get out, so she pats herself to be sure she’s got everything. takes out the cleaning cloth and folds it. nods in margaret’s direction. “bye.”
she’s out the door in a blur, collapsing against the stone wall outside. the alleyway is empty save for one of margaret’s personal cats that glances over at her and then looks away. it doesn’t take long for the door to open again. diona listens to the chatter grow louder and drown out as it shuts, and footsteps approaching. he stands the length of two arms away.
“why are you here?” asks diona, a lump in her throat. she doesn’t know why she feels hurt. she wraps her arms a bit tighter around herself.
“at the cat’s tail?”
“just .. here.” diona chews on her cheek again. a bit of a metallic taste registers in her mouth. “you should’ve stayed away. wherever you went.”
diluc doesn’t say anything for a while. when he does, he sighs first. “i’m sorry, diona.”
“how do you know -”
“margaret said it,” he answers before she can even ask. hmph. “well. that, and you’ve gained popularity around mond, so it wasn’t difficult to figure out. i haven’t heard anyone say a single ill thing about you.”
they should, diona almost says. i can’t even make a bad drink that’ll convince people to stop drinking. i can’t even make daddy wanna stay home. i ..
“diona?”
“what,” she spits, and realises she’s crying.
“i’m .. sorry.”
him? sorry? “for what?”
diluc sighs. “if i made you uncomfortable in any way. and for not telling you about my profession. but, i never lied to you. i really don’t drink. i make drinks, like you.”
diona shakes her head. “you’re just saying that.”
“okay,” diluc grunts, putting a hand on his knee and helping himself up, “come on.”
“what?”
“i’ll make something you like, and i’ll share with you my drink of choice.”
he holds a hand out to diona the way daddy used to. when he would pick her up after she scraped her knee really badly, and diona would cry more than she needed just so he would hold her tighter. feel safer in his arms.
diona takes it.