Chapter Text
It was not the Regrator’s intention to come to the youngest of the Fatui Harbingers for advice. He had not intended to do so, and, in reality, he had not. No, rather, he had decided to head to the laboratory of the Zapolyarny Palace. However, and it was really through no fault of the banker’s own, he had been very rudely assaulted by the eleventh for some yet-to-be-disclosed reason. Which had led to many a discussion, though, it had started as plain as any other interaction between them.
The way Pantalone spoke was not informal, no, far from it. In fact, it was too formal. He spoke as though he were on display for the highest of the high. Many had commented on this. He was polite, controlled, and kind in his words but never in his soul. Pantalone did not care about these opinions of him. He was feared as he should be, of course, and he had never acted in a way to disparage himself or the others.
“Pray tell, Childe , why on earth are you running about like a…” he paused, unsure of what to say, sighing slightly before concluding, “Regardless, you best look where you are going, yes? I will remind you that others may not be so forgiving of your more than careless behavior.”
Others. It most likely meant one of those higher-ranked among them, higher-ranked, and not Columbina. That Columbina… But he didn’t have time to dwell on that thought. Returning his attention to the youngest, he gave a look that one might have dared say was parental.
“Did you need something from me of all people?” he questioned, “Or are you just in a rush to be anywhere else now?”
And now that Tartaglia looked almost sheepish as a small boy might. He tried to answer but did take the moment to appear in full as the youth he was rather than putting on a kind of guise. He seemed unsure of how to word this phrase and it was almost funny. The boy was normally quite chipper and outspoken. A secret perhaps? And he did not have faith in the regrator to hold onto such personal ideas?
Well, Pantalone didn’t blame him. No, not at all. He would not trust a person like him either. He was not someone easily accepted, even by coworkers, or peers. He knew that very well from his own lived experiences in both Snezhnaya and Liyue alike. However, this development did not by any stretch mean that Pantalone, for all he was avoidant of unnecessary actions, was not at least somewhat inclined to prod at the young thing. It was, he thought, a bit fun to make Tartaglia squirm.
He was that kind of a person. A calm presence with an underlying darkness, a cruel dark-hearted streak that came to the surface when it was called for or when it was most interesting to do so. That Columbina had once told him that his “moments of quietly meticulous evil” were what had endeared their dear doctor to him. And perhaps she held truth there.
“Now, now, a young man must answer his superiors clearly and without hesitation when ordered,” Pantalone instructed as if teaching a class, with a gentleness that was as teacherly as it was condescending all the same, “Again now, Childe. Why run about in such a way?”
The normal vigor of the young boy seemed to dissipate the more Pantalone said such things to him. Perhaps it was the shock? He was not the type to make fun of Tartaglia, after all. Not in such a setting as this, anyway. No, he was more often the quiet observer to some of the doctor’s less-than-appropriate comments, suggestions, and potential and active experiments alike.
“Well?” he prompted again.
“I was heading out,” Childe said with a certain amount of energy to it, “And I was too focused on where I was headed than where I was and… I lost sight of what was, uh, close ahead of me, Regrator. My apologies.”
That child lost his formality only to regain it slightly as he spoke. The energy of his words, Pantalone could easily identify as nervousness, a bit inappropriate in the banker’s eyes but he also made note that Childe’s anxiety regarding him was probably Il Dottore’s fault not his own. The banker, after all, was of rather fragile health, though with a good mind to his benefit. In sharp contrast, the doctor was inhuman of his own willpower due to surgical intervention, and for all he was a genius he was equal parts unstable and unpredictable on a good day.
Dottore, Pantalone also remembered, was not always so kind to the little one. No, in fact, that strange man had picked on a 14-year-old Tartaglia once until he cried out of pure fear over Dottore’s boldfaced threat (it was a joke, Pantalone could tell though others seemed unaware) to dissect the child in the so-called “name of science” to study the nature of the Abyss. And, Pantalone thought, perhaps that gained anxiety had not gone away in all of the years Tartaglia had spent living within their ranks. Fair enough. Dottore does have a knack for keeping a uniform tone, joke or not.
“And where might you be headed without telling anyone or without an order from the esteemed Tsaritsa, Childe?” Pantalone asked, pleased with the color draining from the boy’s face.
Caught, he had clearly been caught. The older man almost laughed but withheld.
“Well, Regrator, that is…” Childe trailed off as he tried to think of what to say.
Pantalone, rather than cut him off with an accusation, waited for him to formulate a proper excuse or alibi for this little stunt. Honestly, the man thought, he had gotten a better performance from Miss Columbina when he had caught her gallivanting about with Arlecchino the other day. But that was beside the point.
The polite smile on his face, appearing as a resting expression, must have unsettled the boy. He could feel the nervousness from the boy.
“Now, now, Childe, there isn’t anything that I wouldn’t hide for you,” he assured him softly before his expression darkened slightly, “at the proper price.”
It was out of character to most, he would assume, but Pantalone had always been able to garner some good reactions from this child of theirs.
“So? I have made a very gracious offer to you, little boy,” he added, expression unchanging, “Are you going to take it? Or would you rather leave me to my own devices?”
“Your own devices?” Childe questioned instinctively, sounding a level of unsure that made him want to slap himself across the face.
He was an adult , not the child that everyone except for Scaramouche at the time had treated him as. But still, he waited for his senior’s answer.
“Yes, indeed. If you made an offer I could not refuse, I would surely keep a secret for you, Childe. But.. With no such bargain in place, I worry what might slip when I meet with the Doctor today... Don’t you?”
He feigned worry as he spoke even if it was only a momentary display.
“The Doctor…?” Childe echoed.
“Indeed. While I doubt it will be him, I’m certain Alpha will be quite curious why exactly the banker has run late. And if I were to tell him the obstacle to the desired funds for his most recent project was… you … Well, well then I fear it wouldn’t be Alpha you’d see soon after.”
He watched Childe prickle once more and held back yet another laugh.
“What is the price of your… silence, Regrator?” Childe said, clearly attempting and failing to maintain the formality that should never have disappeared from their conversation.
“Hm. Perhaps you give me the great treasure of holding a secret.”
“The treasure of holding a.. My.. Your what?”
It was almost cute seeing him confused. Not that much of anyone was used to the weird way that Pantalone spoke, about deals or otherwise. He had a certain style of phrase that was often hard to follow if you were inexperienced. And this was an inexperienced fellow.
“I’d like to know why you are sneaking about. In exchange for full transparency, I will keep this away from those ranking above us,” he explained more clearly this time, “As you know regardless of what others say, few question my word. I could very easily fabricate some alibi for you. If you would only enlighten me as to what the truth of your scheme is, dear.”
“And you promise,” Childe began, “not to tell anyone? Not even Il Dottore?”
“I assure you, you have my word. I will not say a word to anyone. Even the Doctor, though you know as well as I do that only Lamda would care about your happenings.”
“Lamda…” Childe grew paler even at the thought.
Lamda was, after all, one of the more unhinged of the segments.
“Yes, but I will not allow him to grow curious. Rather distractible, he is. Now, your explanation? Or should silence be taken as a declination? And I shall find Pierro at once?”
“Pantalone…” it came out like a teenager, even more so than before.
He was fun to pick on, perhaps the banker understood the doctor’s pastime of tormenting the youngest harbinger.
“Yes? Your answer?”
“I will tell you… and you will not tell Il Dottore.”
“Indeed. Go on now, I am most curious what you are up to, child.”
“I was headed to Liyue.”
“To Liyue? What business have we there now?”
“We do not… But.”
“And you do, dear? With whom may I ask?”
A tone overtook him without meaning to. That parental tone he tried to subdue but that he was now too tired to deny. Perhaps he was starting to, after all these years, see this child as their child. Didn’t they all? But that’s not relevant at current. No, no. Who is this person?
“Well, you see, uh…” Childe trailed off.
Pantalone sighed as he instinctually instructed Childe on how to carry himself.
“Speak clearly, it’s unbecoming to do anything else.”
“Oh, sorry…”
The apology came with an equal amount of instinctiveness. After all, Pantalone was the one who critiqued etiquette most often, at least in such a way as this.
“Yes. Continue.”
“Alright,” Childe said, “I have grown closer to someone and I wanted to visit them. But… I knew that Pierro would say ‘no’ and everyone would, um, disapprove so…”
“And sneaking out is any a way better to earn the dissatisfaction of others?”
So he’s found someone he likes. He really is a child, but he’s growing up all the same.
“Well, no, but I need to go. I don’t know. Have you ever been in love, Mr. Pantalone?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Have you ever been-”
“Perhaps at one time, Childe.”
“Then, you should… understand. Right?”
“Understand what?”
“Needing to see that person.”
“I suppose.”
“I think if Mr. Pantalone has someone he likes, he should also want the same things I do.”
Pantalone cut him off with a certain level of dramatics to his annoyance, per usual. It wasn’t as if Tartaglia was wrong about him and his own whatever he was going to call it. Relationship was a fickle word for it, these days. Regardless, he had had enough of the boy’s yapping about feelings and somehow trying to teach him something.
“No, not at all. Now. This, this will just not do.”
“Pantalone, I-” Childe tried again to soothe his senior to no avail.
“ Enough, Tartaglia ,” Pantalone silenced him.
“But-” the younger made a final attempt but it was once again unhelpful to his cause.
This time Childe was cut off abruptly by Pantalone slapping a slip of embellished paper into his hands and sighing deeply. When did he have time to write this? Where did it come from? A perfectly pressed piece of paper? He carried no case. From his pocket? No. Childe was utterly confused on the matter of where the item had come from. Too distracted to notice what it was.
Having handed this paper to the younger man, Pantalone’s arms returned to their position crossed over his chest. He sighed once more and gave a pointed look at the boy.
“Such documents are made for reading, perhaps exchanging, not ogling like a schoolboy. Come on now, child, I’m a very busy man and I haven’t got all day. Have I?”
“No, sir.”
“Go on,” Pantalone instructed him again.
“Right,” Childe took the paper in his hands to read, “Pantalone, Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers, grant Tartaglia, the Eleventh, permission to venture to Liyue under the agreement that he will retrieve a necessary item for my own use from Dr. Baizhu of Bubu Pharmacy. Until the materials and information are justly gathered and safely delivered to Snezhnaya, Tartaglia is permitted to remain within the borders of the nation of Liyue without a physical watcher.”
Childe looked from the paper to Pantalone’s knowing smile and back again. Without a watcher? Go to Liyue? Orders? He didn’t have to lie? How long did this exist? When had Pantalone made this? Did he already know ? That part drove the boy a bit mad, honestly.
“Don’t look so surprised by it. Now we both get what we need, yes?”
“Right… What does the Regrator need from the doctor in Liyue?”
“Ah?” Pantalone hummed.
“I would have thought that one doctor would be enough for you, Mr. Pantalone.”
“There are things here and there that I require outside help for, Childe.”
“I see. Anyways…” he paused for a moment, “Thank you.”
“Indeed. Please do be sure to deliver said goods to me, it isn’t a false slip, I assure you. This is a task that I do need completed with a certain amount of precision.”
“I understand.”
Childe agreed without much thought, happy to have an opportunity at all. He hardly noticed that through the interaction, Pantalone had hardly looked at him, always giving a close-eyed smile or looking around at the walls of Zapolyarny instead. He might have found it strange if he were more observant of his seniors, but he was not.
For all they fought and distrusted, on a normal day, a day not wrought with difficulty and meetings pertaining to the very future of Snezhnaya, they were more or less separate people, a family who was rarely home together, if he had to choose some kind of word to describe it.
“On your way then,” Pantalone told him.
“Yes, right away. Thank you, Regrator.”
That was all Tartaglia managed to say before he scampered off towards the borderlines.
“What a strange Childe, he is,” Pantalone mused, turning to continue his walk.
The meeting he had mentioned was not a lie, after all. However, his need to be there within a certain limit of time may have been a falsehood to aid his little game with the boy. He supposed that so long as Childe retrieved the goods, it was not an issue to have a fuss over.
He sighed softly. It’s good that he did not comment on such things, he thought, adjusting his glasses as if it would somehow serve to help the pain in his left eye and continuing onwards towards the doctor’s laboratory. It wasn’t as though it really mattered anymore.