Chapter Text
The sound of the containers striking each other graciously as they are taken in resistant and competent fingers in their actions; the sonorities was almost unnoticed throughout that tavern, in which, people with their ears totally drunk and sleepy bodies were sunk in the hidden interests of their hearts, only to savor each piece of the dancing and signing of the bards that that nation provides, to have their visions filled with pleasures in an ideal illusion. However, the orbs that resembles drain pots with ships inward noticed the crystal butterflies and their suspicious behavior, consequently, its luminescence seemed, more and more, dazzling — that exceeded the elementary particles of the streetlights in the square and emptied highways; its heavier wings, or its orbs that gradually become more exhausted in the City of Freedom, and fewer clouds of butterflies in more forested areas. On this unusual night, in front of a very dubious merchant tormented with his own orders, desperately begging to be escorted to Liyue, trying his best to buy… or convince the Harbinger with such orange palettes, like an unforeseen autumn in certain nations and their times.
"I promise to pay you in advance! Just please... I want your help." The merchant slapped his hands on his clothes, searching for a bag full of mora; probably, it was all the resources that would keep him for another week in Mondstadt. The wooden floor table at which he sat was the most separated from the rest of the people, at the merchant's request and his unexpected commission to him. In the foul air of that tavern, executing the idea of moving away from the tearful heroics, who drink in this dusk to alleviate the existentialist emptiness, would speak the most frequent customer or bard in that place. With a credulous smile and the gloved hands on the bag, the seller positioned all his mora without hesitation for the Harbinger. "You appear to be a person with impressive strength, sir. Believing that you saved me in a situation as critical as that. I am grateful for your action since then, however, I wanted to know if I could ask for a favor. Thus, I also feel that this commission would be fascinating and even appropriate for you. Please, accept it!"
Although a part of the merchant's exterior wanting to show Fatui a carefree image, determined of himself and grateful for his help in escaping death, as he made his own route to deliver his orders to the famous The City of Contracts, the individual gave an opposite appearance, still not noticing how detonated he is. Despise his location was intentionally scarce in illumination, and the merchant possessed a striking cloak that covered his entire body in constant shades of blue and violet during frequent gatherings, blending into the fabric's descent as a homage to the darkness and its self-aware constellations from the northern regions of Teyvat; Tartaglia noticed the details and biggest problems in his physiognomy, like: the lower, dark bags in the orbs, as if he rarely kept his health in good condition; a kind of scar on his throat; the hair that was pulled at full speed to contain his emotions, sowing knots that challenged any comb or brush, and his insistence on the request to the point of giving his only sustenance to a stranger is at the very least curious — he himself didn’t even seem to be interested in his image, only wanting to push that huge stone out of his way, no matter who or what it was.
"Give me some alms, sir" implored, his fingers intertwined to shape a prayer, while his voice served more despair and tearfulness in the request, the merchant in front looked like a hungry cat meowing at the door or ridge of a house, after knowing the aroma and taste of its nine lives. The Fatui held the drink full of the good alcohol that the City of Wine and Freedom could offer, getting his thoughts drunk to temporize his shoulders and the rest of his mind in the face of this comical scenario. His recent and stressful travels, or as said, his long missions in foreign lands, made him no longer have time to appreciate anything around him. Therefore, his perfectly built body missed a good drink made by professional hands, and this was the best place to find himself in his moment of “rest”, that is to remember the mortals who opened Pandora's box and, thus, releasing all the evils of the world, with its long-lasting and lung-burning winter, naming the ‘consequence that killed this false world’ as his own home, sheltering everyone he loved. His lips twitched silly. The poems and stories were shared by everyone, like a song that regardless of who told it, the words would always capture the attention of residents and outsiders who passed through the region; thus, moving, inspiring or changing. This was the power of the bards, or words. This time, giving a nostalgic touch to your palate, the glass once again captured that hydrangea flower, which studied its entire reflection of intense colors in the liquid. Tartaglia moved the mechanisms in his unnerving head to reach a decision.
Maybe, listening a little won’t hurt…
"What kind of commission is this?" he asked, crossing his arms. — I’m not one to accept things from strangers, especially without knowing what they are about.
"Oh." In the blink of an eye, the man’s posture changed, straightening up in the chair, ready to smile sweetly; together, with a new and genuine shining in the orbs, which like the mantle they were a cluster of abandoned jewels and stars. — I have important orders in Mondstadt. They urgently need to be exported for the Liyue festival. But, there have been some irregularities on my delivery route, which meant that no one wanted my commission. I can pay a lot more than that, sir! So, for the love of the Archons, accept it.
"irregularities?"
"Last week" he clarified, his hand rested on his chin; seriousness colored his entire appearance, that in an instant, a feeling of strangeness touched his spine. The flood of coincidences clouded man's consciousness. "An intense rain happened and damaged the only merchants' bridge; our only bridge. In his view, as a fighter with such experience, this does not seem to be a problem classified as “unusual”." And his praises began. All his sculpted harshness in his voice and face being softened, or as he would say, by his perspective as a Harbinger who has to put up with his co-workers, the man subtly hid in the sick shadow of his cynical mask. That attracted him.
"It appears that the Abyss Order has been accumulating in an unusual way in Dragonspine, so all entrances are being temporarily closed. The Knights of Favonius didn't give any more information, it's not like they seemed to have one. Luckily for us, or just for me, there was only one route left, but as no one accepted my commission, I had decided to go alone." He refocused his eyes to any corner that didn't match his, embarrassment taking over. Possibly, the merchant was ashamed of himself for choosing that this was the best decision, making him more pathetic in the eyes of anyone who knew or even saw him from the other side of the table. But, he was still very grateful to the Eleventh, who wandered about in the snow as if he had known it for a long time; It was notable that he was extremely acquainted with the depth of the white and deserted landscape, whereas, his movements on the battlefield were an overwhelming masterpiece for his inexperienced soul. "Do you accept it or not?"
His head went away to think about it. It was more than obvious, as a member of the Fatuis, that it was your duty not to waste your time on nonsense — and that it wasn't even your responsibility — like that, but, there is an exception to the current condition of the contrary; the abyss. Meeting the merchant was a simple coincidence of his exploration in the snowy mountain, now, it could be a good opportunity to expand his knowledge about the Abyss Order. Something favored Tartaglia! In return, a disadvantage was exposed. Childe drank some more of the alcohol in his hands, which luckily didn't knock him down, even though it burned his throat. He rolled his eyes as the merchant surrounded him once again with his exaggerated and theatrical pleas, inhaling the familiar scent that framed his battlefields and even his life. He noticed this a while ago, that uncomfortable odor of blood that the man in front of him emanated; making him wonder who exactly he was. Here comes his con. His head was divided in an internal debate between curiosity and his thirst for fighting, which went hand in hand, against his rationality — which was evidently very little. As the course of that night with the northern astro-asterism is covered by clouds, the Eleventh Harbinger, who despite his impulsive attitudes and eccentric personality, did not want to be the new annoyance in his Majesty's plans. Was this worth it?
Another advantage was that their future plans were the main point in western of Teyvat, luckily for both of them. With this news of the abyss brewing on the mountain and the remarkable recency of the obituary, hammering out this cruel decision made his appetite even greater. There would be no next chance like this, which was delivered on a rusty platter and an articulated smile. Tartaglia was cautious in his response.
"Fine. I’m accepting your commission." After so much flattery, the Fatui gave in. A new expression appeared, the surprise and gratitude of a merchant who would no longer be afraid of starvation. The windmills, which are so symbolic of the springs of the land cultivated by Cecilias, or the illustrious children of their Anemo Archon, detonated in a chaotic force. Was it just his impression or did it mean a bad omen?