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"What do you say, Master Diluc?" Kaeya's perched artfully on one of the barstools, elbow resting on the polished wood of the bar, chin balanced precisely on his hand. He's got his practiced charming smile on. Not the handsome do-gooder knight sort he uses with old ladies who want to set him up with their granddaughters and, curiously, not quite the smug grin that creeps onto his face when he knows he's properly ticked Diluc off. No — it settles most neatly into the negotiator category of Kaeya Expressions. The sort that suspect strangers and known troublemakers get when Kaeya is trying to pry something out of them. “One month of free drinks for our favourite bard?”
Kaeya leaning a little too far over his bar to bother him is a familiar (and no less annoying for it) sight. What's new is the Deacon of the Church of Favonius, self-proclaimed oracle of Barbatos, leaning in with him.
Diluc scoffs, turning away. "Nice try. I'll pass."
"Come now," Kaeya says. The smile's dropped, a frown audible in his tone. "You won't even consider it?"
For a moment, Diluc idly rearranges the bottles of liquor on the back shelf. "I've considered it," he declares, coming back to face the bar. "And I'll pass."
"Every other tavern owner in Mondstadt has come to an agreement with us," Kaeya says. He's stepped back now, donning an air of nonchalance. Diluc makes a point of exaggeratedly wiping down the section of wood where Kaeya had put his elbow.
"As it happens, I'm not every other tavern owner in Mondstadt," he replies.
Kaeya opens his mouth to retort, before Dahlia raises a placating hand. Diluc is a little surprised that Kaeya does indeed shut his mouth — his deference to Dahlia is rooted in their bond as drinking buddies who occupy themselves with harassing tavern owners rather than the Deacon's favoured position with the divine, but it will always be a strange thing to witness Kaeya mingling with the holy.
"If I may, Master Diluc," Dahlia begins. The mischievous drama-chasing grin on his face has softened into something gentler. Sunday sermon sort of persuasive. "Can you not find it in your heart to spare but a small slice of your great fortune for our dear bard? After all, —" and, here, the mischief returns as a glint in his bright eyes— "he's done so much for you, hasn't he?"
Diluc stiffens a little.
Dahlia, of course, knows. Hesitance, even indignation, had stirred in Diluc when the young man suddenly burst onto the streets declaring himself the Anemo Archon's mouthpiece. Although they did not speak of it, he saw that Jean, too, was skeptical. Diluc only recognised the boy as a semi-frequent patron of the Angel's Share and a meddler in issues too low-profile to concern Diluc's usual nightly activities, while Jean knew him as an occasionally helpful nuisance. His concerns were largely squashed a mere night later, when Venti ordered two drinks and, shockingly, paid with actual Mora. Diluc accepted the coins wide-eyed — the thought struck him that he should check them for authenticity. Before the surprise wore off enough to do so, Venti giggled and retreated to the dark back corner of the tavern, two hulking tankards of beer in tow. When Diluc craned his head to peer after him, he caught the cat-like eyes of the newly appointed Deacon instead.
Spotting him, Dahlia smiled. A small, empty smile, which disappeared behind the brim of his glass as his gaze wandered back to the bard in front of him.
Diluc did not return it.
He charged Charles with serving their table for the rest of night, and never heard the twang of Venti's lyre; only the hushed tones of his endless rambling.
Dahlia knows about Venti, of course. What Diluc isn't sure of is whether Dahlia knows that Diluc knows. Sometimes, he dares to wonder if his name ever slots in between the premonitions and the warnings and the words of wisdom bestowed upon the Deacon. If Barbatos deems him worth mentioning.
He never lets himself wonder for long. Besides, despite Diluc's skill for secret-keeping, he imagines such things are easier to discern for a man as nosy and intelligent and blessèd as Dahlia.
"I mean, he plays so often and so well here, does he not?" Dahlia continues. Diluc doesn't miss the way Dahlia's eyes flit to Kaeya, although he himself keeps his attention trained on the graining of the bartop. The tense silence, however brief, has probably sparked curiosity. A curious Kaeya is a dangerous Kaeya; thankfully, Diluc and Dahlia are both firmly in the interest of protecting this particular secret, so his blade is dulled. "His musical stylings surely bring you plenty of business."
"He drinks twice worth of whatever business he brings me," Diluc says gruffly. He reaches for a couple glasses on the back wall to busy himself. "I hardly need to upset the balance any further."
"So heartless," Kaeya pouts. "Don't you agree there is value in the joy he brings? Even if it can't be quantified in Mora?"
"What impassioned insight, Sir Kaeya!" Dahlia says, placing a solemn hand on the knight's shoulder. Diluc closes his eyes so he doesn't roll them. Barbatos above, they're laying it on thick. "To be able to move a crowd in such a manner, to connect with their innermost emotions, is a skill honed only by a gifted few. More precious than material goods can convey."
"And you are part of a special few to be gifted with such eloquence," Kaeya replies, almost theatrical in his delivery. He returns Dahlia's gesture, placing his own hand on the shorter man's shoulder. They both seem on the edge of dropping the whole act and bursting into laughter; Diluc, aggressively mixing a drink, is nowhere near as amused. "Truly, who wouldn't be moved by the words of our very own noble and wise Deacon of the Church of Favonius?"
"You flatter me, Sir Kaeya," Dahlia preens. His meddling, his mischief, his enthused and elaborate manner of speech, his excessive drinking habits, his impressive skill in the art of irritation — much about Dahlia reminds one uncannily of Venti. It is easy to imagine why they might become friends, and, for Diluc, why Venti might select Dahlia as his spokesperson. Their great difference? Barbatos does not like to be worshipped. Dahlia loves it.
Kaeya squeezes Dahlia's shoulder and shakes him a little, the latter giggling as he gets rattled about. "So, Master Diluc," Kaeya says, the corner of his lips curling up. "Having second thoughts after our riveting arguments?"
Diluc says nothing. He only blinks at them; it is dismissive enough, what with his thick furrowed brows and permanent frown.
Kaeya sighs, shoulders dropping. "I think this is a lost cause," he says lowly to Dahlia — still loud enough for Diluc to hear, of course. "Heart of stone, this one."
"Your methods of persuasion may have failed us here," Dahlia stage-whispers back, forlornly, "but you at least are as correct as usual."
"Deacon Dahlia," Kaeya grins, leaning in. "You flatter me."
"I'm willing to provide exactly two drinks free of charge," Diluc announces. His two assailants snap back to attention, evidently intrigued by the proposition. "One for each of you — on the condition you agree to quit harassing me about this."
With that, he brings out two glasses of Death After Noon, crafted with both great care and seething aggravation, and places them atop the bar. Despite his usually guarded expressions, Kaeya can't help the way his eye widens at the sight of them.
Dahlia must see it too — he shrugs and gestures the go-ahead to Kaeya. "Might as well get something out of this, hm?"
"Master Diluc," Kaeya says, taking a glass in each hand faster than Diluc can roll his eyes, "you are truly sometimes a pleasure to work with."
"Just go away," Diluc groans, screwing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. For once, Kaeya accepts his cue to adjourn and dutifully scurries away, probably making a bee-line for Rosaria or a table of knights.
Diluc's slightly surprised that Dahlia, who outdrinks Kaeya on the regular, made no protest to the knight nicking both drinks (tacky, sure, but Kaeya is far from above tacky). He's more surprised that when he opens his eyes, the Deacon is still standing in front of him.
Dahlia tilts his head. A curious little smile crosses his features. He has a youthful, pretty face, not unlike Venti, but where the bard is all soft edges, like a cherub or the gentle currents of a breeze, Dahlia is sharp, sleek. "I thought you a more pious man than this, Master Diluc," he says, teasingly. The weight of the suggestion behind it offsets its lightheartedness.
Diluc feels glad for the default unimpressed look on his face. It means the drop from unbothered to perturbed is closer to a stumble — an involuntary twitch of the lip, clench of the jaw, and then stabilisation.
Two things. The first: Dahlia does know that he knows. Good to have that cleared up. Secondly: if attempting to convince Diluc to provide Venti with free alcohol, pulling the divinity card is the only strategy that can hope to make any headway. You’d think that Dahlia could work out that much — he spends most evenings in the tavern, witnessing first-hand how all the usual haggling techniques fail miserably in the face of Diluc’s stubborn resistance. It makes it all the more surprising that he’d toss the divinity card out of his deck by dragging Kaeya, oblivious to Venti’s identity and better off for it, along.
He certainly won't ask outright, but Diluc can't deny that he's curious how Dahlia roped Kaeya into this campaign in the first place. A favour for their apparently destitute, possibly homeless, bardic drinking buddy? An experiment to keep them entertained, an excuse to trawl through all of Mondstadt's taverns? A request from Barbatos Himself? Probably a mix of all, except for the last; Kaeya is scarcely moved by the desires of the divine. Not to mention, it's a little on the nose, even for the likes of Dahlia and Venti.
Dwelling on a shit-stirrer’s motivations is a fruitless task, but there are a few easy explanations for why Dahlia brought Kaeya to Angel’s Share, despite the fact that it’d force them to dance around the Archon-shaped elephant in the room. He likely didn’t mind his chances being knocked, given that the goal is hardly of utmost importance. Coming up with a reasonable explanation for why they should skip Angel’s Share or why Kaeya should miss out would be more trouble than the potential alcohol is worth. Or, perhaps most likely of all, he knew it would be the exact sort of situation that would get right on Diluc’s nerves.
In that sense, he’s succeeded.
"My faith is in Barbatos, not the Church, so I answer to Him, and... well, not you," Diluc says, curtly. He pauses his absent-minded cleaning of the bar to tilt his head as Dahlia did, though he does not smile. "I'm free to worship that way, aren't I?"
Dahlia laughs — it sounds like the sharp ring of a church bell. "Of course you are," he smiles. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a handful of Mora and deposits it onto the bartop. "Bring us a couple rounds of whatever this covers in a few minutes, if you please. May the Anemo Archon bless you with the swiftness of His winds."
With that, he turns away, sweeping through the tavern until he finds Kaeya. He finally appears to have a retort about that second Death After Noon, which Kaeya responds to by downing what little of it is left in one go. So mature, Diluc internally scoffs. He puts them out of mind and begins to count the Mora.
In truth, the reason why Dahlia didn't care for how this particular negotiation panned out is simple. After all, there is no need to convert a man already devout.
Master Diluc waives every payment, writes off every tab, and even brings out the veritably fine wines on the nights Venti has been marginally less grating on his patience. He grumbles about the bard's lack of coin often enough (and loudly enough) to play it off, but never presses the issue further than muttering complaints. The threads sew themselves together for anyone who takes a close enough look. Venti has never coughed up a single piece of Mora in the Angel's Share; he pays only by performing exceptional, inspired music to its patrons and being a continuous nuisance to its owner. And, for reasons mysterious to some but obvious to Dahlia, Master Diluc will never ask for more.
One of the most reverent men in all of Mondstadt, Dahlia muses. And wealthiest, by a long shot. Seriously, how has Lord Barbatos not drunk him into debt yet?