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When Elzer returned with the good news, Diluc knew there had to be bad news hiding behind it. Snezhnaya, known for its harsh fire water, loving his dandelion wine sounded too good to be true. And yet, the report Elzer brought proved otherwise.
Diluc is in a dilemma. On one hand, he’s pleased that his business is reaching the far edges of Snezhnaya. On the other, none of his men know the geography of Morepesok, as none of them grew up there. That leaves him with two choices: give up the chance to grow his business steadily, or ask a certain Fatui scum for help.
Under most circumstances, he would rather be crushed by a meteorite than join forces with the Fatui.
But when he sees the glint of hope in his workers’ eyes, Diluc finally gives in.
"So, you need my help expanding your wine business to Morepesok. Did I get that right?"
Tartaglia takes a sip of his wine, then sets the glass down on the bar counter. His expression lingers, reflected in the clear dandelion liquid.
Diluc nods, choosing to clean the wine glass in his hand to keep himself occupied.
"Name your price," he says, not wanting to waste any more time on idle conversation.
Being a well known businessman has earned him plenty of wealth. He has mora, jewels, land, connections—anything.
But the bad news is, Tartaglia already has everything.
"Anything?" he asks, raising a brow.
"Yes. How much mora do you need?"
Tartaglia lets out a low, sinister laugh, shaking his head as he downs the rest of his drink in one swift gulp.
"Master Diluc, Snezhnaya is the second richest nation in Teyvat, and you're offering mora? To me? The Eleventh Harbinger?" Tartaglia snorts, then rests his chin against the heel of his palm. "Surely you're smart enough to think of a better price."
Fucking Fatui scum, Diluc hisses under his breath. Still, he has to maintain his composure. He's the one in need, after all.
"Tell me what you want. If it's within my power, I'll try to grant it. But no funny business with Mondstadt, or I'll kill you."
Tartaglia chuckles.
"Who knew you were so feisty, Master Diluc? And don’t worry, the price I’ll ask for my assistance is simple. No mora, no funny business with Mondstadt."
The ginger rises from his seat, grabbing his coat.
"What is it?" Diluc asks, already growing impatient.
Tartaglia drops a few mora on the counter, then leans in, closing the distance between them.
"A kiss. Give me a kiss for every deal you score in Morepesok."
This man is crazy, Diluc thinks.
"I’m not joking, Firefly. Take it or leave it. If you’re interested in the offer, send word to Anastasia at the Grand Goth Hotel. I’ll be here."
He winks.
"Can’t wait to hear good news from you, Firefly."
And with that, Tartaglia walks out, leaving a flustered Diluc behind the bar.
Thankfully, the place is quiet enough that no one notices how his cheeks are nearly the same color as his hair.