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Flins found himself in a somewhat particular situation.
Physically, he found himself standing in a small room in the Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau. An energy field had been raised behind him, preventing him from leaving.
Hm, he supposed that meant he was presently in a “cell.”
If he was being held prisoner, his captors had been rather polite about it. They had approached him at the cemetery and requested (albeit with a somewhat large group of soldiers) that he accompany them back to the Bureau. When Flins had politely indicated he was just about to go on patrol, the leading captain had simply ordered a subordinate to muster a force and go slaughter anything vaguely Wild Hunt in the surrounding islands. As said subordinate scurried away, the captain (a rather intimidating Thunderblitz Gvardiya) repeated her request.
Well in this situation, who was Flins to refuse?
They had led him in here, allowing him to keep not only his lantern, but his moon wheel and spear as well. Then they had set the energy barrier up and bid him, “Wait here a moment.”
So, very polite, all things considered.
He wasn’t even kept waiting that long, before he heard approaching footsteps. One dainty yet confident, the other heavy and lumbering.
Ah, could it be…?
A small group appeared at the cell room’s entrance. Flins’ face broke into a wide smile. He tucked one hand to his stomach and offered a short bow.
“My lady Sandrone, I am overjoyed to see you doing well.”
And she did appear to be doing well, at least compared to when he had last seen her, with a hole in her stomach, face blank as a doll, and her mechanical parts having ceased to move. Now, she stood once more on her own two feet. There was no trace of damage left on her body. Indeed, the only difference appeared to be a change to her wardrobe. Flins wouldn’t know, but he assumed it was the latest Fontaine fashion.
Sandrone did not seem moved by his announcement. She crossed her arms, scrutinizing him behind the barrier with a tight frown. Beside her, the captain stood at the ready, as did Pulomia. It also appeared spick and span, not a scratch on it. Ah, was that a new top hat, as well?
A silence stretched on between them, long enough for Flins to grow…just a bit concerned.
He liked to believe they had parted on good-- albeit tragic and sudden-- terms. That said, he held no illusions that her loyalty was first and foremost to the Tsaritsa. If, for whatever reason, the Archon had orders relating to him, Sandrone would fulfill them, whether that was his death, or bringing him back to Snezhnaya.
That was all hypothetical, though. After all, what would the Great Cryo Archon want with a simple ratnik out in Nod-Krai?
…He wondered how hard it was to discreetly escape from a fatui vehicle.
“I hope you have been well?” He tried. “I understand that following the battle-” She snapped her hand up to stop him, and he stopped. Then, very deliberately, she leveled a finger at him, gaze steely.
“Prove you’re the real one.”
…Ah, is that what this was about? Given Flins’ history as a victim of identity theft, it did make some sense. In that case…
“Of course,” Flins offered his hand out. “Here you are, my lady.” Sandrone frowned down at the hand, conspicuously empty.
“…What.”
“Will you not take my hand as you did before, and read the writing etched on my soul?”
Flins had never seen an automation blush, but he imagined that’s what Sandrone would be doing right now if she could. It was only for a beautiful split second before her flustered expression turned to one of disgust, lip curling back.
“Ugh!” She turned away and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s the real one, alright. Let him out.”
The captain, looking just a little shaken by what she had just witnessed, used a keycard to disable the energy field. Flins stepped through.
“My gratitude, Lady Sandrone, and may I reiterate that seeing you well again is a joyful occasion.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She flapped her hand at him in a gesture of dismissal. “That’s really all I brought you here to confirm, so you can be on your way…” She paused in a way that was just a little too rehearsed, before bringing her hand to her chin in a thoughtful expression. “Although…I suppose there is something else you could assist me with. And from what I heard, your afternoon is free.” She glanced back at him, the picture of indifference, were it not for her fingers discreetly digging into her palms.
Flins considered declining, but he was not that rude, nor suicidal. Instead, he just smiled.
“I would be happy to assist however I can.”
Sandrone minutely relaxed, then scoffed and turned away from him.
“Very well, then. I’m sure you’re expecting to be served tea-”
“No thank you. I don’t drink it.”
Her head snapped back around frighteningly fast.
“Excuse me?”
“Coffee neither,” Flins answered, “I never developed a taste for it. Any of the quality blends you’ve collected would be wasted on a humble ratnik like me.”
She just stared at him in disbelief.
“What, so you just drink…juice?? All the time??”
“Mm, I’m afraid I never took to juice, either.”
The expression she was giving him now was positively withering.
“…Alcohol,” she stated, more of a conclusion than a question.
“I do occasionally partake in that.”
“Well I don’t have any.” She turned forward again. “Come on.”
They arrived in a small room with an elegant table set up in the middle. Sandrone settled down into one chair, so Flins took the other. After some deliberation, Flins decided to place his lantern down on the floor, so it didn’t clink against the seat. Ordinarily he may have put it on the table, but didn’t want to push his luck.
Pulomia got to work setting up a quaint spread of tea and snacks. Despite Flins’ prior declination, it set a steaming cup down in front of him as well. Sandrone looked at Flins pointedly, and Flins could practically hear her words in his mind.
It’s not like one sip would kill you.
It probably wouldn’t, one sip at least, but rather than put that to the test he instead lifted the cup and breathed in the faint trail of steam wafting from its surface. He smiled faintly.
“Ah…” He set the cup down, then crossed his arms and sat back. “This is a ‘mixed-spice tea,’ or ‘chai masala’ as they call it, from Sumeru, is it not? You show your worldly background, Miss Sandrone.”
Sandrone raised an eyebrow at him.
“For someone who doesn’t drink tea, you seem quite familiar with it.”
“I have many companions who drink it, each to their own tastes.” Flins tilted his head to one side. “In a way, I suppose that is how I enjoy tea: Watching others partake and learning what each of them prefers, as well as the stories that come with each blend.” He tapped his nose. “Our memories are strongest with aromas, I’ve heard, so it seems I’ve picked up some familiarity on different types.”
He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling in reminiscence.
“If I had to name a favorite, it would be the occasion I was exposed to a blend of lapsang souchong with some travelers from Liyue. It had a unique, smoky scent to it.” He then lowered his chin to face Sandrone again, and his smile widened. “But really, good company is what truly brings out the taste in any food or drink. I imagine I will come to associate this blend with your own elegance and poise.”
Sandrone scowled.
“I’ve half a mind to rip out that silver tongue of yours.”
“Were it you asking, I would offer it up wrapped in silk,” he answered without missing a beat. Sandrone wrinkled her nose, but before she could call him out he continued. “It would be a negligible price to pay, given all that you sacrificed in our fight against Dottore.” He waved a hand at her. “A single body part, compared to the destruction of your being? Even Lady Nefer, who nearly lost her eyes, would agree that it wouldn’t be too much for you to ask."
Again Sandrone was taken aback. Pivoting so suddenly from vapid flirtation to an earnest acknowledgement of her sacrifice, it appeared to have not been in her calculations. Flins simply continued to meet her gaze with a polite expression, serene as moonlight on a lake.
“…Ugh!” She looked away to glare at the floor. “I’m not actually asking for it, you know. The heck would I do with your tongue??”
Flins eyes crinkled in amusement. “It would be a poor replacement, after all. If my tongue is silver, yours must be the finest gold, to be so sharp and full of wit.”
“You-! Honestly!” Sandrone huffed and thumped back in her chair, her own teacup pinched in her fingers. “I cannot even begin to plumb the depths of your audacity. To act coy in the face of a Fatui Harbinger, one who answers directly to Her Eminence the Tsaritsa!”
Flins answered with an easy smile. His head, propped up on one hand, tilted just so.
“Ah yes, and how is the Царицушка these days?”
Sandrone’s teacup shattered in her hand.
“The fuck did you just say?”
“Ah, my apologies.” He turned to look off into the middle-ground as his expression turned theatrically wistful. He made no indication of noticing Sandrone appeared to be trying to punch a fist-sized hole through his head with her gaze alone. “I suppose she’s grown up into a capable young lady now, hasn’t she?”
“She…Her Majesty…ascended five hundred years ago.”
“Is that right?” Flins turned back to her, all smiles again. “My, how time flies.”
A tense quiet fell between them. Out of the corner of his vision, Flins could see the two guards looking frantically between each other. Still, the silence stretched agonizingly on, neither speaking.
Pulomia came lumbering over, depositing another teacup in front of Sandrone. The sound of pouring liquid filled the room.
Sandrone’s eyes narrowed, then she raised a hand over her shoulder. “Leave us,” she ordered to the guards, who gave hasty nods and an even hastier retreat. Flins actually found the gesture comforting; he saw no reason why Sandrone would be self-conscious murdering someone in front of an audience.
She was studying him now, like a bug under a microscope. Perhaps, she was once again examining him through that mechanical vision that could see what others could not. Still, it seemed insufficient, because no sudden gleam of discovery lit up on her face, and instead her eyebrows just furrowed deeper and deeper.
He knew she had too much pride to just out and ask, so instead he excitedly waited for whatever question she would voice instead, to get her a little closer to the truth.
Sandrone scooped up one of the biscuits that had been served with the tea. She took a bite, dusted her fingers off, then sipped her tea. Flins idly wondered how a mechanical being was able to consume food in this manner, though he didn’t dare ask, and knew better than to consult Aino and risk an entire lecture on the topic. Sandrone set the cup down carefully, using her pinky to cushion the clatter of it returning to the saucer. Then, she fixed her gaze back on him.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Flins, my lady.”
“Your full name.”
Flins’ smile widened.
“Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, my lady.”
“Chudomirovich…” She turned the patronym over on her tongue. “Chudomirovich Flins…”
“Yes, my Lady?”
She shot him a glare, then rolled her eyes before going contemplative again.
“…‘Flins’ was the name of an old Snezhnayan noble household,” she commented.
“So I’ve heard. A delightful little coincidence. Ah-” He snapped his fingers. “I recently bought a gem that was said to have originally been owned by that family…if the seller is to be believed. Well, he seemed like an honest sort, and the accompanying tale on it is really what sold me. Would you like to hear it? It has to do with an ancient noble ball and a wager-”
“No, thank you,” Sandrone cut in. She grimaced and rubbed at her temple. “This is…far from the topic that I was actually interested in discussing.”
“Of course,” Flins nodded. “Pray tell, what is it that I can assist you with, then?”
Here, Sandrone hesitated. She chewed at her bottom lip, eyes on her tea. “I just…had some questions,” she started, slowly. “About the state of the area, in my absence.”
“Of course, the Lightkeepers are always happy to share the latest information on Wild Hunt patterns-”
“Oh no,” she waved him off. “My people have that covered, thank you very much.”
“Ah, I see.”
Silence returned. After a few seconds, Sandrone grabbed her cup and took a quick sip, then set it down again, her movements deliberate and somewhat forced. A few more seconds passed, and she still didn’t speak, instead glaring down at the table, thoughts stewing in her head.
“…Begging your pardon, Lady Sandrone,” Flins finally decided to attempt a conversational rescue. “I am as honored as I am confused.” Her head jerked up to glare at him, and he in return gestured to the table between them. “I would have expected the first guest upon your return would be someone you were close to, such as Lady Columbina or…”
At the name, Sandrone’s face tightened, and Flins led off.
“Have you…informed Lady Columbina of your return?”
“Look, I just got back, ok??” She snapped, then turned away to glower at some offensive thing on the far wall, one hand braced against her jaw. “I can’t immediately go running off into frivolous things. I had to ensure the Bureau was secure, and part of that meant addressing the shadowy figure that skulks around here all the time.” She sniffed. “I simply thought to kill two birds with one stone, and see what you knew about the situation.”
“Of course,” Flins answered easily, even if both of them knew that wasn’t true.
Sandrone pursed her lips, focusing down on the cup of tea in front of her.
“…How is she?” She asked softly. “Columbina, I mean.”
“She is doing well, as far as I know,” Flins answered. “Though as you are aware, I spend most of my time on my duties. The only time I am on Hiisi island is during patrols.”
“S…Surely you see her sometimes though, don’t you?” She flicked a hand at him. “You’re both a pair of night owls. I bet you’ve seen her just…wandering around on her own, or…singing somewhere?”
“The last I spoke to her was a few weeks ago,” he answered. “She and some children from the Frostmoon Scions appeared to be playing a game of some kind, using brightly colored stones from the shore.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “As I am an outsider, when I approached, the children were unnerved by my presence, and all at once deigned to hide behind Lady Columbina.”
Sandrone nodded along, suddenly focused intently on his words. Flins suppressed a smile as he continued with his story.
“Lady Columbina, in her kindness, attempted to assure the children that I meant them no harm.” He leaned back and tapped his fingers on the table. “I believe her exact words were: ‘That’s Flins. He looks scary and animals are afraid of him, but he’s nice.’” He gave a rueful grimace and rubbed at his chin. “I have been described in worse ways, but to hear the Lady Moon Goddess’s impression of me…it was a very humbling experience.”
“What happened next?” She demanded, unmoved by his pitiful tale of character assassination. Flins, practiced storyteller that he was, drew out a pause as he pretended to be recollecting his thoughts.
“Sensing I was intruding on their fun, I bid them farewell, reminding them to return home by nightfall, then continued on my way.” He tilted his head to one side. “By the time I had crested the next hill, they had returned to their game. I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you who won, but they all seemed to be enjoying themselves, Lady Columbina included.”
“I see…” Sandrone murmured, eyes cast down at the table. She twisted her fingers together, lost in her thoughts.
“…My lady,” Flins began, “I must say, it would be far more effective to speak with her directly, or at least someone closer to her such as Lauma or the Traveler.”
Sandrone’s face screwed up in annoyance and she lifted her head to give him a harsh glare.
“Like I said, this just happened to be convenient for me.”
“Ah, yes.” Flins nodded along. “Of course. I beg your forgiveness for my lapse in memory.”
Sandrone just sniffed and took another sip of tea. Internally, Flins had an inkling of an idea why she had called on him. Not quite a stranger, but distant enough.
Lauma would have given excellent insight into Columbina’s current state, and offer advice that Sandrone’s pride would never allow her to follow. Not to mention, with how close she was to Columbina, there was no guarantee things wouldn’t get back to her. The Moonchanter could hardly be bribed, nor threatened, into silence, after all.
With Nefer, everything came at a price, and she was likely to come away with more knowledge that she had given. Varka was passionate, but forceful and lacking tact. Aino and Ineffa, likewise, would be completely unable to read between any lines. The rest of their comrades, Albedo, Durin, and that fellow with the hat, they had all since departed Nod-Krai.
And then there was the Traveler. Given the current political situation, meeting with them could be…complicated. A shame, because they might have been the one person who could really bridge the gap between these two. That said, like Lauma, their closeness to Columbina, and their inability to leave anything alone, would have likely created more of a force than Sandrone preferred.
So this was how she had come to be here, seated at a tea table with an acquaintance who had little skin in this game. Someone who knew how to keep a secret, and held no real reason to use it against her.
“Goodness,” Flins said. “Could I be the first person outside this facility to be made aware of your revival?”
“No,” Sandrone snapped. “Don’t go getting a big head over this, of course you aren’t!”
There was a beat of silence.
“…Arlecchino knows,” she muttered. “I mean, obviously her Majesty and the other Harbingers are aware.” She shot him an icy look. “But other than that, my appearance here is confidential. It does not leave this room, and no one else is to know.”
“Of course,” Flins answered. After that, another silence fell.
“…Lady Nefer most likely knows,” Flins commented. “Should that come to light, please do not blame me for it.”
Sandrone groaned.
“Yes, yes, I know.”
Another silence.
“…Ughhhhhh!!” Sandrone braced her elbows on the table and clutched at her head. “This is ridiculous! How do you go meet and talk to someone after dying??”
Well, Flins certainly didn’t have any advice on that. He drummed his fingers against the table, thinking.
“I suppose some people are prone to shock, when they are suddenly greeted by a familiar face they thought departed.” Flins rubbed at his chin. “Perhaps…you could send her a message beforehand?” Sandrone’s eyebrows furrowed together.
“A message…?”
“Perhaps even with a gift?” He waved a hand at her. “It’s clear you know Lady Columbina quite well. I imagine you also possess great insight to her likes and dislikes.”
Sandrone’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t cut him off, so Flins continued.
“I imagine you possess great insight not only into Columbina herself, but decorum and cultural taste as well. For someone such as yourself, crafting a suitable missive would be well within your abilities.”
Sandrone grimaced, then propped a hand on her cheek.
“One of these days that silver tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble.”
Flins smiled.
“While my manner of speech can be overly courteous at times, I still consider myself sincere.”
“Uh-huh.” She sat back and crossed her arms, her brow furrowed together in thought.
“…Those Frostmoon Scions have absolutely no taste,” she muttered. “Given that, it shouldn’t be hard at all to find something to impress her.” Flins, knowing full-well she did not wish for a response, kept silent. Sandrone nodded to herself a bit, then after a minute or so, seemed to remember he was there.
“Well, this teatime has gone on long enough,” she declared and stood. “I’m sure you’re awfully busy with your Lightkeeper job, so I shan’t keep you. My people will escort you out.”
“No need to bother,” Flins stood, lantern in hand. “I believe I can let myself-”
“Ohhh no!” She snapped one finger up at him to silence him. “I am well aware of your little vanishing act tendencies. My people are going to escort you out and if you disappear for even a second we’re raising the alarm.”
“…Very well.” Flins nodded. “I am honored by your…hospitality.”
She clapped her hands, and the guards returned. They seemed somewhat surprised to find Flins still standing there, but were more than happy to usher him out at Sandrone’s orders.
They accompanied him not only through the front gate, but all the way back to the lighthouse. Once there, the captain then wordlessly slipped a flask of fire-water into his hand. He tried to protest but she just shook her head.
“Take it,” she grunted. “Consider it as payment for your time.”
“Please, I cannot.” He raised a hand to decline. “How can I possibly accept when your brave soldiers have already gone out to risk their lives fighting the Wild Hunt in my stead?”
“Just take the damn fire-water, ratnik.”
“…My deepest gratitude, then.”
They let him be after that, and Flins, of course, continued with his usual routine. That is to say, he went on patrol. It wasn’t as if he distrusted the capabilities of his neighbors over in the bureau, but he was a ratnik, and this was his duty. Also, even if every fatuus in Teyvat swept the area clean, the Wild Hunt could return a heartbeat later.
Also, he was a ratnik, and this was his duty.
One week later, he observed a stunning sight. A comet of light flying about over the skies of Hiisi Island. It swirled and spun and looped through the air in a way no natural phenomenon would. He later heard through the grapevine that something had been delivered to the Moon Goddess, and the contents, while unknown, prompted her to dance through the sky in unbridled joy for quite some time.
Flins smiled faintly, sharing some of his friend’s happiness. He did not know what gift had been chosen, nor did he believe it really mattered; Sandrone could have sent her the final result of a dog’s meal and Columbina would still be soaring through the skies all the same.
The next day, he found a box outside his door. Inside was a tin of lapsang souchong tea, and a short note.
I actually hate this stuff. It tastes like a chimney. It’s been lying around in my collection for ages. Drink it, give it to your friends, or eat it raw for all I care.
-S
The Lady Harbinger certainly did have a unique way of communicating her feelings, didn’t she? Flins tucked the letter away into his coat. He then turned his attention to the box. It had a lovely fragrance; He imagined it was high quality. It would be a shame for it to go to waste. Perhaps Illuga would like to try it when he next visited? Or if the Traveler and Paimon happened to stop by. Still, one should at least sample something before offering it to guests.
And well, she did say to eat it raw, didn’t she?
That evening, he made his rounds throughout the islands, his lantern giving off a pleasantly smoky scent.