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The first time Tartaglia met the Damselette, she was walking with Dottore. How she was the third of the eleven Fatui harbingers, he had not an inkling. He understood Capitano, with his sheer prowess and the way he conducted himself. Dottore, too, emanated a powerful aura in an unsettling way. Columbina, however, was simply unsettling.
She did not qualify any of the scarce qualities he had fit the ranking of the harbingers into. Often, she would linger in Zapolyarny Palace’s garden, singing melodies that he’d grown accustomed to over the months. When the harbingers gathered, she would often be lost in her thoughts, choosing to play with cups of water at the table or simply resting her head on the surface. She would occasionally nod sometimes, but that’s the best they would get out of her. The only person she seemed to converse with was Dottore.
To put it simply, Columbina confused him. That is to say, he didn’t entirely dislike her. She would remind him of Tonia, sometimes. In the way she chose to wear her hair in the same updo she would ask Dottore to make for her. In some ways, she, too, humanised the Doctor.
Things remained the same, stationary way, until the Damselette started distancing herself from the Doctor. She would spend a growing amount of time in the garden now, often singing one of her lullabies or looking at the moon some nights with a longing expression.
One day, he was annoying Sandrone after one of the harbingers' formal gatherings. To his credit, he really wanted to have a go at Pulonia. ‘But Mari, please.’ He had resorted to calling the Marionette Mari for short, since it was easier to say (much to her distaste). ‘I’ve been itching to fight someone, or something,’ He offers, wiggling his eyebrows as if that would help his case. ‘Besides, won’t you get data points or whatever from Pulonia?’
‘Pulonia,’ Sandrone grits her teeth, ‘has all your moves memorised already because of the ridiculous number of times you’ve fought him.’
Ajax grins, ‘And won, mind you.’
‘You certainly won’t now.’ Sandrone counters, before realising her mistake.
‘We should test that out–’
‘No.’ Sandrone immediately cuts the ginger off, who has the audacity to pout at her. Her resolve starts to waver nonetheless. Wait, why am I considering this? Why is his stupid expression working?!–
‘I’ll fight you.’ A mellifluous voice interjects. Thank the Tsaritsa Sandrone was saved from this situation by…the Damselette?
Tartaglia, equally surprised as his compatriot, turns around to see the Damselette. She was waving at them, a smile adorning her features. It was eerily different from the usual, foggy expression she wore on her face. Most likely, she had overheard their conversation. But then again, Tartaglia and Sandrone together tended to make a ruckus wherever they went.
He gives an awkward smile, since when was he awkward? ‘N-no thanks.’ He mumbles, deciding yet again, to stay away from his incredibly bewildering colleague.
‘Oh,’ the feather-like ribbons in the Damselette’s hair twitch downward, her smile shifting to a dejected expression instead. For someone whose eyes remained closed all the time, her expressions sure were animated.
He yelped when he felt Sandrone kick his shin, giving him a look that screamed do something. Before he could feel any remorse and apologise, the Damselette had already turned her back to them and started walking away, the sound of hydro dripping from her footsteps. Huh. You could use hydro visions to do something like that too?
‘Okay, what was that?’ Sandrone asks, cutting his train of thought. A very intriguing train of thought with all the things he could make with hydro. Maybe he should try making hydro blades–
‘Ajax.’ Sandrone snaps her fingers in front of his face. ‘Archons, you’re acting weird.’
‘I am not.’ He denies.
‘You have never once been awkward in your life. Except, maybe when you try to impress Capitano. You have some weird father complex going there.’
‘Hey!’ Tartaglia does take offense to that but chooses to ignore the comment about Capitano instead. ‘That was not awkward.’
‘And I’m not a sarcastic puppet.’ Sandrone retorts, ‘The first time we met you wouldn’t stop bothering me for a week, to let me borrow one of your gadgets.’ She mimics his voice, using air quotations with her fingers for emphasis.
‘Well, whatever, alright. I don’t know why she asked me.’
‘You never turn down a fight.’ Sandrone narrows her eyes.
‘She looks like one of the dolls Tonia plays with! I’m not fighting her. Whatever, Sandrone. Leave it.’
Ajax really thought that it would have been the end of things. A one-off accident. It was, in fact, not.
[~]
Tartaglia was animatedly conversing with Il Capitano, who occasionally nodded along with what the ginger had to say. Turns out, the ginger had a lot to say, with the idea of using dual hydro blades to duel striking a chord with him. Of course, Capitano knew he would ask him to spar later. And he would, like most times, politely refuse. There were a few days, however, that the Captain decided to humor him. This was entirely because Tartaglia’s sheer determination reminded him of when he too was a young Kha’enriahn soldier, excited to enlist in the army with his comrades.
Today, however, would not be one of those days.
‘Boo!’ The Damselette uttered softly, her voice beside Tartaglia’s ear. He flinched, and watched in horror as his drink spilled all over the Captain’s robes. There were exactly three moments of silence where neither party uttered a singular word.
‘Columbina,’ he hissed before turning to the Captain, muttering ten different apologies as he grabbed tissues to help clean Capitano’s robes.
‘I guess you can’t ask me to spar this time.’ Capitano notes, making the ginger turn a shade of red. How had he read him? ‘It’s alright, I can take care of this myself.’ He says before walking away.
Tartaglia pinches the bridge of his nose, turning to face Columbina. ‘What were you thinking?’
Columbina had her pointer finger pressing to her cheek, head tilted in confusion. ‘I heard some of the children of Snezhnograd’s nobility say scaring their friends was funny.’ She scrunches her eyebrows, ‘I believe they called it a ‘prank’.’
Friends…? Pranks…? What is she talking about?
‘Wasn’t it funny?’ Columbina leans her head forward and asks.
‘No!’ Tartaglia says on instinct, ‘I embarrassed myself in front of the Captain. You know what? I- I should go apologise to him again.’
‘But…’ Columbina murmurs, reaching her hand out. However, the ginger had already started making his way through the crowd to apologise.
[~]
Now that his plans to ask the Captain to spar had been thwarted by a certain Damselette with a baffling sense of humor, Tartaglia was looking for a new target to be a menace to. Sadly, Pantalone had thrown a mora coin on his forehead the moment he walked into his quarters, muttering something about him ‘being up to no good’.
That, unfortunately, ruled the Regrator off his list too. He liked it better when they were troopers who had just registered to be part of the Fatui. At least, Pantalone had fewer opportunities to say ‘no’ back then.
Naturally, this meant aggravating the Balladeer into battle next. ‘You know,' He teases, 'you’re kind of short for being so aggressive.’ Calling him short seems to do the trick most times.
‘Piss off, Childe.’ Scaramouche answers, positively not having any of the ginger’s bullshit today. When Scaramouche turns to look at him, he realises something. ‘What happened to your forehead?’ His eyes narrow, zooming in on the very visible mora imprinted on his skin.
‘Pantalone happened.’ Childe shrugs, ‘Fight me.’
‘No.’
‘Why?’ Childe pouts, making the balladeer twitch his eye.
‘I have better things to do with my time.’
‘Like what? You just got your ass beat in Monstadt by some blonde girl. You look free to me.’
‘You little shi–’ Scaramouche starts to say until he realises this is exactly what Childe wants. And guess what? He’s not getting it today.
Childe leans closer, ‘You look cute when you’re angry.’ The ginger grins, and now he’s successfully pissed Scaramouche off.
‘Well then, I’m about to get real fuckin’ adorable.’ Electricity crackles as the balladeer’s electro vision begins to glow. He is this close to electrocuting Tartaglia when someone flicks their finger against his temple. Hard.
‘Ow.’ He rubs his temple, the accumulating electro around him beginning to dissipate as Childe’s laughter fills the veranda.
‘You just got beat by Mari–’ his laughter dies down as he sees the threatening look the Marionette has in her eyes. He raises his hands in a placating gesture. ‘I already got assaulted by Pantalone today.’ He gestures to the blooming mora imprint on his forehead.
Sandrone scoffs and folds her arms, ‘Quit acting like children, you two.’
Scaramouche opens his mouth in protest before Sandrone cuts him off, ‘Don’t even think about it. For someone who’s lived a hundred years you act like you’re twelve.’
‘If I’m twelve, what does that make him?’ Scaramouche asks, jabbing a finger at Childe.
‘Five.’ She answers without hesitation.
Tartaglia doesn’t even bother to be offended about it. ‘Why are you here, Mari?’
‘You screwed up.’ She says simply.
Tartaglia pauses in thought. What had he done this time? He may have taken Pulonia for a test run without telling Sandrone, but that couldn’t possibly be it. If she had realised, he wouldn’t be standing here till now. Could it be that he had pissed off Rosalyne or Arlecchino? But Rosalyne hadn’t stepped over his foot with her heels today, and surely Arlecchino would…
‘Dude, are you seriously having to think about it for that long?’ Scaramouche interrupts Childe’s thoughts, effectively earning a scowl from him.
‘What did I do wrong?’ He asks.
‘The Damselette.’ She replies. ‘She’s been singing outside of my quarters at night for a few days now. The last time, I had to escort her to her own room. My hair was a mess. I had to light a candle, Childe.’
‘How tiresome.’ He quips, and that finally earns a flick of the Marionette’s fingers on his temple too. As he yelps in pain, he can hear Scaramouche pointing a finger and laughing at him. He gives the balladeer a look. She sure hits hard. He complains to himself before getting blamed, yet again.
‘This is all your fault.’
Childe takes a deep breath before speaking, ‘Wait, so hold on. The Damselette has been singing outside your room for the past few days and that’s somehow… my problem?’
‘Yes.’ Marionette nods with complete conviction. For someone who is a student of science, Tartaglia found his friend’s logic terrifyingly inadequate. Of course, telling this to her outright would warrant more violence, and not the kind that he enjoyed.
He blinks at her in confusion. ‘It very obviously is your fault.’ Scaramouche adds unhelpfully.
Childe snaps his head in Scaramouche’s direction, ‘You don’t even know what happened.’
Before Scaramouche can think of a convincing reply, however, Sandrone decides she’s done with their antics. ‘This all started since she asked you to fight.’
Scaramouche raises his eyebrows, ‘She asked you to fight?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Childe shrugs him off.
‘Yeah.’ Sandrone agrees, ‘Now go fix it.’
‘I can’t just–’
‘Fix. It.’
Tartaglia sighs before raising his hands in defeat, walking off to find the Damselette, wherever she may be.
[~]
On the walk to the Tsaritsa’s garden of roses. Ajax realises something very important. Friends. The Damselette had referred to them as friends. He thought she was trying to pull his leg, imitating some silly prank.
But friends.
Suddenly it all made sense to him. His epiphany may or may not have made him walk into one of the marble pillars but that was besides the point. No one saw that anyway. This was not only about Sandrone.
Which means that…he had been an absolute dickhead to Columbina the past few days. Paulina had raised her son to be better than a dickhead. So, of course, this was something he had to fix.
The invigorating scent of roses offers a gentle embrace to his lungs against the harsh frost of Snezhnograd. The sunrays feel otherworldly, basking the blossoms in a false sunlight – illuminating, yet lacking in warmth. They contrast pleasantly against the silhouette of the Damselette walking amongst the drifts of red, her fingertips gently grazing a few inflorescences.
‘Is that your favorite?’ He calls out, referring to the lullaby she always sang in Latin. He had picked up a few words from his father’s travels to Nod-Krai, the cadence of the language faintly familiar to him.
The Damselette hums, turning her head to look back at him. ‘Tartaglia.’ She says surprised, to which he offers an amicable wave. She ponders a moment before answering his question, the two choosing to sit besides one of the patios. ‘It’s the lullaby that was sung when I was born.’
‘And you remember that?’ He asks surprised, earning a shrug from the Damselette. Sometimes, he forgets that she was Kuutar before she joined the Fatui, the Moon Goddess.
‘I’m happy you came here.’ Columbina nods and smiles, before her eyebrows gather in a pensive expression. ‘Unless…you need something…’
Tartaglia raises his hands in a placating gesture before realising she can’t see. Embarrassed, he quickly interjects. ‘No, no. I just wanted to talk to you. And, ah,’ He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, ‘I wanted to apologise.’
The Damselette tilts her head slightly at that, and Childe takes it as encouragement to keep going. ‘I shouldn’t have left you like that earlier. I’m sorry. I know you had the best intentions. And pranks are funny.’
The wings of her tiara flick upward at that, ‘They are?’ She asks, faint excitement bleeding into her tone.
‘Yeah.’ This is his opportunity, he decides. ‘Is that why you’ve been singing outside Sandrone’s room…?’
Columbina’s lips form a silent ‘o’ as she leans back. After a moment of silence, she admits, ‘No. Not really.’ If he didn’t know better, he would think that she’s embarrassed.
Seeing as the ginger doesn’t utter a reply, she continues. ‘I just… I heard some of the Oprichniki in the Marionette’s squadron talking about tea parties.’
Tea parties? Where did that come from now? Columbina might be the most confusing person he’s ever met.
‘She invites La Signora and the Knave, and they get together for some tea and delicious sweets… I thought that if I sang to her, she would invite me too.’
Oh. Tartaglia abruptly bursts into laughter, earning a concerned look from the moon maiden. That’s what this is about. It was true, Columbina’s logic might even be worse than Sandrone’s, but her actions were starting to make sense to him. Knowingly or unknowingly, the Damselette could be incredibly funny.
‘Did something happen?’ Columbina calls out, her concern now evident. ‘Are tea parties an occasion that brings laughter to everyone?’
‘No, no.’ He waves his hand, wiping off a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘I’m sorry. It’s very earnest. You’re very earnest.’
‘Thank you.’ Columbina nods, as if he had awarded her an official title.
‘You know,’ Childe starts, ‘I once asked if I could join her tea parties too. But she kicked me out the moment I stepped in, complaining that I only wanted her refreshments.’
‘Well,’ Columbina enquires, ‘was that the reason?’
Childe is surprised Columbina asked that, but answers shamelessly nonetheless, ‘Absolutely. She makes the best cookies when she puts her mind to it. Never gives it to me though, I’ve had to steal my fair share.’
‘Oh,’ is all the maiden says, her face dropping a little.
‘Don’t worry.’ Childe reassures her, ‘I’m sure Sandrone would love to have you over.’ But not before he had his fun with this.
‘Really?’ Columbina asks, to which the ginger-haired harbinger nods affirmatively.
‘But you should keep pranking her,’ he says sincerely, ‘with your singing, I mean. It’s what friends do, right?’ This earns a smile from the Damselette, which Childe takes as a victory in his strides.
‘How about this, tonight, I’ll come with you, and we’ll both sing in front of her quarters.’
[~]
The aforementioned events were exactly how Ajax found himself messing with Sandrone. Columbina was singing a new melody as they walked towards Sandrone’s quarters, asking for Ajax’s opinion on it.
‘I really like it.’ He hums thoughtfully, ‘It feels familiar in a comforting way. ’
Columbina tilts her head before deciding, ‘We’ll call it ‘A letter from Ajax.’ ’
Tartaglia pauses in surprise, looking at Columbina with an undecipherable expression. ‘Oh. Is that not your name? I heard Sandrone call you by it a couple of times after the Harbingers’ meetings.’
Childe shakes his head before smiling, ‘You’re right. It’s perfect.’
‘I’m glad.’ Columbina notes. The pair walk in silence before Tartaglia speaks again.
‘Is there a reason you sing all the time?’ Childe asks before adding on, ‘Not that I’m complaining.’
‘I don’t sing for anyone in particular. Still, if someone stops to listen, I hope it provides a moment of peace all the same.’
They stop when they reach the hallway outside Sandrone’s door. Tartaglia gestures to Columbina to start singing her newfound melody. Sure enough, there’s a muffled yell from inside Sandrone’s quarters.
‘COLUMBINAAAAAAAAAAA.’
The door does nothing to quiet Sandrone’s yell. This delights Childe, who now follows Columbina's melody, choosing to accompany her singing himself. Childe is pretty sure he’s going to die when Sandrone slams the door open, but if he were to die today? He would be a man who died of laughter.
Specifically because melted candlewax is stuck to an exasperated Sandrone’s hair. She narrows her eyes at Childe, ‘I am going to throw this candle at your face right now.’ She threatens Childe.
‘That wouldn’t be very nice.’ Columbina interjects, hoping to resolve the conflict.
Sandrone snaps her head to Columbina, ‘You’re next if you keep singing.’
Columbina frowns before Childe whispers that Sandrone insults all her friends, making the moon maiden relieved.
‘I can hear you both.’ Sandrone snaps.
‘And we speak the truth, Mari. We demand to be invited to your tea party.’ Ajax proclaims.
Columbina nods, ‘Yes.’
‘What?’ Sandrone asks, her voice coming out more groggy than confused.
‘I want your food.’ Childe says sincerely.
‘I would like your food too.’ Columbina agrees.
Sandrone goes silent before sighing and turning around, ‘It’s too late for this.’
‘Wait, Mari,’ Childe gestures, ‘Call Arlecchino and Signora too.’
The Marionette narrows her eyes. She may be half asleep, but she also understands that Childe may be hinting at something here. ‘Fine,’ she concedes, ‘but only Columbina can come. After breakfast tomorrow should be fine.’
Before Childe can protest any further, the door is slammed shut in his face. ‘There is no justice.’ He mutters, feigning hurt before looking at his companion’s content expression.
‘It’s alright.’ Columbina looks at Childe, ‘I’ll get you some of her cookies after.’
Gratefulness washes over Childe’s features. If he knew that doing this would get him Mari’s baking for free, he would have befriended Columbina much sooner.
Columbina places a hand on her torso, ‘Thank you for this, Ajax.’
He grins, ‘No problem, comrade.’