Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Rosaria does not exist.

The rippling layers of sediment rest comfortably on top of her. Weight unmistakable. Pressure, plenty of it, but not not a trace of active movement. It is not to be crushed. It is to be… immersed. As if in water, the earth surrounds. It holds. Fault lines and tectonic plates and sinkholes and landslides and nothing, nothing, nothing truly changing the shape. The movement of life, the ripples of activity, the steady breath of a living planet. But there is no error. No deviation. It holds her. Him. It holds him.

An unpleasant tingle up the spine. A whisper clutch of anxiety. To be held is to be at peace. To be held is to be held. To be held is to be chained.

Rosaria is chained. It is not her. She is not there.

Move. Twist. Bend. There's still life within, life that yearns for… for what? For something. Something else. For a pure and resounding Not This. Anything but more of this.

The blanket stretches. Rips. Stronger than I thought. My mistake. Earthquakes. The earth is active now as you strike against it. Strike for space, for life, for breath, for… freedom. Yes, that's it. That's what I- what you need. We need. You need.

You are struck with a sudden, all-consuming panic over the fact that you cannot see the sky. You need to check. You need to see if it's still there.

Rosaria grimaces. What the fuck? What the hell do you mean, still there?

I'm telling you. You're telling you. He is absolutely certain that there is something wrong with the sky. A thing. A terrible thing. He can't really remember the details. Pain and fury. That thing is up there, and the sky is wrong. He didn't experience this himself, rather that he didn't and then did. Did then didn't?

End result is the same. You get it, right? You know the feeling of being buried alive. And you too know that man, the feeling of his hand, wise and gentle, rising you to the green and blue and golden cities and vast open beautiful incorrect sky. You get it. You'll put it into practice.

Please. He/I/you do not wish to harm you. Or anyone. But it is out of my hands and into your hands. My hands.

Rosaria is not Rosaria. She is someone else.

With a gasp, Rosaria snaps up in bed. She sits panting for a moment, then turns and crashes back into her pillow.

Fuckin' nightmares.

—-

Zhongli sighs, stirs his tea, and watches the rising sunlight paint the harbor in golden hues from his little window. To miss a dawn this beautiful would have him shoulder unacceptable regrets.

Which he frankly has enough of at the moment.

He had thought long and hard, searching for an excuse to veto Rosaria's question. He considered the risk it would put himself under, thus potentially threatening his ability to complete his contract. He pondered the connections Ningguang herself had to the plot, the role that she would play in this facade. He did his best to twist his history with Guizhong, the Adepti, the Fatui, the Tsaritsa, hell, even with Osial, into a shape that he could use. Anything to avoid admitting that the faintest whisper of his beloved in the Tianquan's voice was enough to send him into a state of flushed, dumbfounded adoration.

It simply wasn't in the cards.

He doesn't feel particularly threatened by the fact that Rosaria knows this. It isn't as if she can simply walk up to Ningguang and tell her. Any intentional rumor-mongering would be missing massive gaps of crucial context to avoid breaking her contract, and if the rumor that "funeral consultant Zhongli has a crush on the Tianquan" were to reach her, well…

… That would make him no different than the dozens of other suitors she's dismissed. Which is fine. He's not supposed to be drawing her attention anyways.

Zhongli sips his tea. Perhaps this is for the best in the long run. In the short run… let's simply hope Rosaria doesn't make a menace of herself. The embarrassment alone is enough.

Embarrassment, hmn…

Zhongli looks down into his cup. His reflection stares back up. Taking a moment, he considers himself. This form he's taken. He inspects his eyes, his nose, the shape of his eyebrows behind his hair. Is this… his ideal form? It's something to consider, given that it might be his last. To be honest with himself, this "Zhongli" was no masterpiece. A disguise quickly carved for the sake of convenience, a face and body to become another in the crowd. Not much of a disguise to those who truly know him, either. A mundane version of his divine personage, recognizable to anyone familiar with his true face. Cloud Retainer. Xiao. Ganyu.

… The Iudex. Zhongli snorts. That's a ticket he'll have to pay one day, sooner or later. This face certainly won't hide him.

At this point, the whole charade hangs on the thread of those close to Rex Lapis simply not seeing him. It's far too late to discard the Zhongli persona this late in the operation. He has another meeting with the Tsaritsa's man this morning. It all hinges on staying out of sight from those who love him. Like a scaled, fishy thing hiding beneath the floorboards, coiling selfishly in the shadows. Repugnant.

But that's a necessary operation. If he truly is to retire, if he is to be Zhongli from now on, then this face is a necessity. When the moment comes, those he now deceives deserve to see the truth with their own eyes. To know him. To… hopefully, spend the rest of his time with them. If they'll have him. They deserve to see him wear a face familiar to them, even if it is inconvenient to him.

Still, it isn't his ideal form. Upon review, he finds himself disquieted by how young he has made himself look. If he were to change one thing about "Zhongli", he would be a much older man. One with a sense of aged refinement. That would be better.

Ping would be on his back for pilfering her idea, though. Maybe that would be fun. She's been far too gentle and polite these days. That spitfire temper is something he's come to miss.

Not that he can blame her. He certainly changed after…

Another sigh. He narrows his eyes, focusing on his reflection. Enough. Thoughts have drifted to Guizhong far too often as of late. Meandering consideration has spiraled into that hungry marsh again and again. His emotions have been volatile and uncontrolled. Angry. Flustered. Embarrassed. After all these years, he's feeling embarrassed.

The situation is stressful, sure, but the Erosion can't have claimed this much of his mind already.

It's there, certainly. A numbness. An urge to forget the now. To dissect everything that has happened in all his millennia of life until that dissection becomes all he is. Another reason to make the Contract. Allowing himself to become a threat to his people, Gnosis in hand, cannot be allowed. Discard the power he used to protect, to become weak, before he can become dangerous.

But erosion's mere presence is not the end. Not by a wide margin. There's a lot of living left to do. He's only just started his retirement, after all.

He squints down at his reflection. Perhaps he should have made himself uglier. Would that have kept Captain Beidou from remembering him? Perhaps not, he doesn't seem like her… type. Might have made things easier with Childe though. And Lady Ningguang…

Eyes close. A deep breath, then he finishes his tea. Zhongli really must do something about these thoughts. He must put these selfish fantasies to rest.

… to rest…

Well. Now there's an idea.

A ghastly creak resounds through the small room as the bedroom door slowly swings open, a pale specter of gaunt shadow standing crooked in the empty frame. Bags even heavier hang under her eyes, as if the nine hours afforded for her sleep had done nothing but exhaust her further. With a grim, rasping croak, the walking corpse whispers a singular demand.

"Coffee."

Zhongli smiles, lifting up his teapot. "I've made tea.”

"Ugh."

Rosaria eats quickly and quietly. A soldier consuming rations. No, that's not quite right. More akin to… a raccoon, scarfing down food before it can be discovered raiding the trash. Yes, that's more like it. A creature of the night. Not one that poses a physical danger, but one with sneaky hands and far too many schemes. A tiny little criminal, its skittishness outweighed only by its ambition. It would almost be cute… if it wasn't in his house.

Zhongli briefly considers putting away some of his more expensive things. No, no. He doubts there's anything she'd value as highly as the Gnosis, and she gave that back with a bit of light convincing. Besides, it would be terribly rude of him.

Not that she's been terribly polite. In fact, he should probably take advantage of her mouth being otherwise occupied. Walking over, he sits down across the table from her. "I'd like to go over my plan for our role in the operation, and what duties you'll have to fulfill as part of it. Said plan is a bit rough around the edges, but given our situation I've had to improvise. You might find this hard to believe, but emergency countermeasures aren't my thing."

Rosaria stares at him while he talks, hunched over her food. Swallowing, she nods. "Not that hard to believe. You didn't exactly handle my sudden entrance with grace."

A massive argument sprawls out before him in his mind's eye. Zhongli breathes in, and breathes out. Not worth it.

"Believe it or not, my role in the charade is mostly complete. The death of Rex Lapis was my primary contribution, and now I simply need to remain in the audience. This is a trial of my people's capability, so my interference is to be kept to a minimum. I am to remain seated and assess how they handle the Fatui's manufactured crisis, and only if the power of Geo Archon is deemed still necessary will I step forward. In that case we may need to handle some backlash from my former collaborators, but I doubt fighting the Fatui will be a dilemma for you."

A small smirk. "You've got that right."

"Good. Hopefully, however, the Harbor will overcome this trial, and the operation will be a success. I will retire, and you will be free to pursue your grudge as you see fit. As promised I will deliver you within striking range of the Fair Lady, and our contract will come to an end. For the most part."

"The most part?"

"Your discretion to my true nature will need to be maintained, but you will no longer need to remain in my company or follow my orders. If nothing else, believe this: I look forward to releasing you from my servitude as quickly as possible."

Scowling, Rosaria grumbles something- Zhongli can only make out the words "Lawrence bastards" through her mouthful of food- and swallows, downing the rest of her tea in a deeply undignified manner. "Fine. So what, are we just sitting around to see how the cards fall? When you said I had duties I was expecting you to send me after some soul you wanted out of the way. What do you need?"

"For you to carry my shopping bags, mostly."

"You're shitting me."

"I am not. Lady Ningguang has given me the responsibility of organizing the Rite of Parting, and given that Hu Tao will be eager to get me onto the assignment, I imagine most of our time will be devoted to the gathering of necessary materials and preparing the ceremony."

Rosaria's brow furrows, head tilting slightly and eyes drifting to the ceiling, running some sort of equation in her mind. "... Alright. I've done last rites before. I can manage this."

An amused thought shoots through Zhongli's mind, a question emerging before he can restrain himself. "Have you delivered last rites to someone you've murdered before, Rosaria?"

"This a quid-pro-quo question?"

"... Sure. Why not."

"Yep."

"That's… hardly a surprise. Still, it's interesting. Says something, even if I don't have the full picture yet."

"Try to not be weird about this. Try." Rosaria glares at him a moment, eyes narrowing. "... If you claim to be no threat to Mondstadt, then who is? Which of the Archons is the most dangerous?"

"Those are two very different questions.'

"Fine. Which Archon is the greatest threat to Mondstadt?"

Hmn. That is quite the question. In terms of raw output of force, there's one that springs to mind. In terms of a devoted, fanatical following, there's another. In terms of firepower, then the military might of another is obvious. Then there's the one who's had the reigns completely snatched from her hands, whose people are the real threat to consider.

But there's only one reaching out to sink her claws into her neighbors, isn't there?

"Well, discounting my considerable ability, geographic proximity, and strategic advantages, given that I am decidedly not a threat to Mondstadt…" Zhongli returns an acidic glare with his most polite smile. "There's only one I'd consider a true danger. The Pyro Archon is both far too busy and too far away to mount a proper invasion of Mondstadt, and the Hydro, Dendro, and Electro Archons are all… let's say, 'isolated'. As such, I imagine you'll be satisfied to hear your suspicions are accurate. Given her proximity, ambition, and aggression, the Tsaritsa should be at the top of your list."

Her face is a grim mask. She nods. "Thought as much."

"Confirming suspicions is a vital part of reconnaissance. I do hope you feel you've gotten what you're due."

"You don't need to tell me that. And sure. Yeah."

"... It should interest you then, that we have a meal scheduled with a Harbinger in less than an hour."

Eyes nearly bulging, the woman snaps to attention. "What? Now? Why?"

"To collect additional funding."

A moment of silence. Somewhere outside, a seagull squawks in what almost sounds like disbelief.

"You're using the Fatui Harbingers as a piggy bank?"

"Yes. It would be far too suspicious for funeral consultant Zhongli to finance the Rite himself, given my ability to produce Mora. The Northland Bank has provided sponsorships to local businesses for important affairs like this in the past, and they have a history with the Parlor as well. I imagine the Fatui diplomats will be eager to shovel money into reparations once their involvement and aggression becomes clear to the Quixing, so this is a golden opportunity for them as well. There's certainly a risk involved of being implicated in the Fatui plot, but given that such suspicions directed towards the bank tend to enter a bottomless labyrinth of red tape and Scheznayan maneuvering, we shouldn't need worry too much."

"Huh."

"Huh, indeed."

"That's hilarious."

"There is some inherent humor to it, isn't here?"

"... So you can just. Make Mora appear? From nowhere?"

"Yes. That's two questions now."

"Fuck."

"Mmn. First question: would you like some Mora?"

A long, measured pause. "No."

"Of course. It was impolite of me to ask such a question, I do hope you'll forgive my indiscretion. Second question: are you sure you wouldn't like some Mora?"

"Fuck off, I told you to not enjoy this. No, I'm not. Give me the money."

Zhongli does his best to twist his smirk into a polite smile. If there's another thing he really needs to get a lid on, it's how much fun he's having picking at this little scab. It's far from a contract he's proud of, far from a respectful, balanced exchange. But given how disrespectful this nightmare of a woman has been from the start, he can't help needling at her. If anything, it puts his concerns at ease far more than performative politeness. It's hard to believe there's any duplicity in their arrangement when it's so colored by open hostility.

Pressing his palm to the table, Zhongli allows himself to relish the familiar awe that fills mortal eyes when he lifts it, piles of neatly stacked golden coins appearing in his hand's shadow. A timeless magic trick, he's come to know. Rosaria makes no attempt to appear graceful or appreciative, hooking her arm around the stacked Mora and unceremoniously dumping it into a ratty coin pouch. Riches vanishing into some hidden pocket, Rosaria levels her gaze at him sourly. "Tell me about the Harbinger."

"Normally, the one who pays receives something in exchange, not the other way around. I could have the courts declare you an extortionist for this."

"You're paying me to put up with your bullshit, old man. Are you going to send me to face a Harbinger blind?"

Hmmn. Zhongli supposes this is need-to-know information for the plan to work. Rosaria setting off Tartaglia's suspicions could have dangerous ramifications. "Very well. We are meeting with the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, who is-"

"Hold on." Rosaria produces a small leatherbound book, cover marred in scratch marks, and dunks one of her metallic claws into an inkwell. "Eleventh, out of eleven? We're dealing with the lowest ranked here?"

Zhongli nods slowly, watching as she scratches ink onto the page. Literal chickenscratch. "... He'll introduce himself as Childe, but his official pseudonym is 'Tartaglia'. He is a competent and eager warrior, and has attempted to goad me into sparring with him multiple times. He seems thoroughly addicted to the pursuit of a good fight."

"Great. A blood knight. Just my luck. What's his real name?"

"Veto."

Rosaria continues scratching for a moment, then clicks her tongue and scratches something out. "Whatever. Signora was strong. He like her?"

"The man is, to my understanding, only human."

"And she isn't?"

"Veto."

"Bastard. What can you tell me?"

"He insists on using a bow regardless of his lack of skill with it, claiming mastery of all other weapons. He makes use of a Hydro Vision and Electro Delusion."

The scratching pauses. "A Delusion?"

"Yes. Devices made by upper ranking Harbingers that allow for the artificial channeling of elements, at the cost of the user's health."

"Oh. Those. The gunners and big guys use 'em. Got it." The scratching resumes, eyes narrowing at him from over the edge of the book. "And this isn't veto material?"

"Given that it's information that the man himself would voluntarily offer at the slightest provocation, I do not consider it a threat to my contract with the Fatui. If you do wind up using it against him in some sort of melee, I genuinely think he'd find losing the element of surprise refreshing."

An eyebrow lifts. "The Fatui are a gang of backstabbing cowards."

"You understand why I thought you a member of their ranks when we first met, then."

"Can it. You're saying that this guy isn't a lying piece of shit?"

"I'm not. He maintains a cheerful, cordial persona that is easy to buy into given how earnest it is. But under the surface, I suspect he hungers for nothing more than open combat. No tricks, no surprises, and no running away."

"... Why?"

Zhongli lifts his hands and shrugs. "I wouldn't know."

Another moment of extended suspicious eye contact. "I find this hard to believe."

"Then you'll have to see for yourself."

"Mrnm. Anything else?"

"... He is currently attempting to learn how to ricochet arrows. Ridiculous, but he seems utterly convinced it's something he's capable of."

"Harbingers." Rosaria mutters under her breath, eyes focused on the page. "Are they all freaks?"

Yes. "Veto."

Another grunt. More scratching. Time ticks by. Zhongli's curiosity slowly swells. Just… how bad is her handwriting?

Strangely enough, Rosaria does not flinch away or attempt to hide her writing as Zhongli stands to glance over her shoulder. His eyes widen, then narrow. His mind shuffles through languages, pictographs, symbology. Nothing connects. An interwoven spiral of jagged, spidery lines meets his eyes, roughly scratched into sturdy parchment. It is a complex tangle of claw marks and slashes, gouges flooded by ink. It looks more like a spider's web than words. There is simply nothing there to read.

It clicks into place. That's the point.

"Code." He breathes out, hand lifting to his chin as he studies the pattern. There's logic to it, repeating elements, but he can glean nothing. "One I've never seen in all my years."

"Made it myself. My friend calls it 'Clawtalk', but he can't read it to begin with, so I don't know where he gets off trying to name it." Despite her grim monotone and dismissive words, an air of pride lingers on her words. She practically holds up the page to Zhongli, a look of sly satisfaction on her face as he fails to grasp it. Proud of her craft, hmn…

Well, she has reason to be.

"I must applaud your work, Rosaria. This code you've scrawled is truly, utterly incomprehensible. Does such a thing even have a key to begin with, or does the answer live in your mind alone?"

Her satisfied smile widens. "Veto."

Ha. He earned that. "Very well. Get your disguise on, young lady. We have a meeting to make." Turning away, Zhongli can't help but ponder. Since when had Mondstadt had a functional spy network?

Could it be that… she's the only member of said network?

Sounds like Mondstadt.

Zhongli presses his tie, gathers his things, and escorts "Barbara" out of the apartment. Her parlor uniform suits her well, even if she looks a touch strangled by it. The pale skin and blood-pink hair certainly help her look like a funeral attendant. The roads are busy, but it's a short walk to Liuli Pavilion. Good thing, too- his exchange with Rosaria had taken far longer than anticipated. Pushing open the door, his fears are realized. Childe sits at the table, cheerfully conversing with…

Oh? Who's this?

A small, slight woman with golden hair. She turns. Golden eyes, as well. Her clothing is… off. Alien. He cannot trace its stylings to any regional custom in his memory.

… She's wearing the national flower of Khaenri'ah in her hair. Inteyvats. Two of them.

Her eyes are focused. But not at him. To the woman at his side. A mute expression of surprise and alarm on her face, she stares head-on at Rosaria. She does not blink.

A deep, theatrical gasp. Zhongli glances to the left and notices a floating baby with the crown of Celestia suspended above her head. Eyes wide, the creature jabs an accusatory finger towards Rosaria. "YOU!!!"

Oh my.

—-

Oh my fucking god you have got to be kidding me. What the HELL are they doing here.

There is a single person, a single person in this entire nation, who knows what her Vision can do. He knows because she tried to murder him with it, and then he signed a contract to not tell anyone about it. She used it once in Liyue before that, and the only witness was a dead lizard. The only silver lining into leaping headfirst into public deicide is that no one could trace the giant rose-covered ice spear to her. Not a soul.

And now these two motherfuckers are here.

Rosaria feels the muscles in her back begin tightening. Time has slowed to a crawl, her thoughts and reflexes moving at lightning pace. Her eyes flick from the Traveler, to Paimon, and back to the Traveler. Breath pulled into lungs. Arm raises. The tiny finger is pointing at her, trembling. Accusing. Revealing. Need to stop her. Maintain cover. A flick of the wrist, and the knife will be lodged in her chest. Dead before she can speak. Dead before…

That'll mean fighting the Traveller. Can Rosaria kill her? Wait– no, this is… people will see. Forget killing Rex Lapis, she'll be wanted for killing someone in broad daylight. In public. Sweat beads on her scalp. It's freezing cold. Zhongli will have to cut ties, and– the contract, it'll break the contract. The Wrath of the Rock. Rosaria's bones ache. He'll kill her. He'll kill her.

If only the… if only the Harbinger wasn't here to hear Paimon say…

Terror grips Rosaria. What if he already knows? This can't be part of Zhongli's plan, he would've said something. What if this… Tartaglia described the murder, and Paimon recognized the ice lance, and started yapping away? What if he already knows? What if they told him everything? Her eyes slide to the side, across the Traveler- holding an apple, why's she got an apple, what's she- and onto the Harbinger beside her. It's… he's…

It's that ginger from the bank! That one she ignored! What?! This guy is a Harbinger? Did they get him for a bargain at the supervillain store? This is just some random guy! He's not– where's the gravitas?? The flair? The floating bullshit power devices and the– this is just some fucking guy!!

Rosaria's time runs out.

“You’re– aughhhgh!!” Paimon chokes, the Traveler shoving her apple directly in the fairy's open mouth. Her words are cut off as the blonde sighs, shaking her head. She speaks, words soft and slow, and Rosaria remembers just how little she’s heard this stranger speak.

“Don’t be rude, Paimon. She’ll pay us back when she's ready.”

Huh?

Rosaria watches stiffly as Lumine turns to the Completely Normal Man, gesturing to her. “This is a friend we made back in Mondstadt. Her name is–”

Quick. “Barbara.”

Lumine glances to Rosaria. Her eyes narrow. “... Barbara. She owes us a meal, and Paimon is…”

Comprehension dawns on the face of Dark Lord Regular Guy, an easy smile spreading across his face. “, I get it. That's quite the grim fate, Miss Barbara. Paimon's after you for money and food? That's a death sentence.”

“Hey!!” Paimon squawks, furious attention fully shifting to Mr. Evil Ginger. Her voice is muffled by a mouthful of half-chewed apple. “Paimon is not some… gluttonous little bloodhound! She's just–”

Lumine gives a pointed look. Paimon stalls… then her brows lift dramatically.

“Oh!! She… just has terrible manners. Chews with her mouth open, doesn't tip, ran out and left the bill to us!” Paimon leans close to this guy, who is a Harbinger apparently, and begins her way-too-loud whispering. “Listen, if we aren't careful, she's going to ruin our entire meal!”

The corner of his lip twitches. Rosaria seethes inside. This is the worst lie she's ever heard.

“Wow!” He says. What a word. Wow. “Sounds like you brought along a real character, Zhongli. Should I be insulted, or is this a gift?”

A gift?

“See it how you wish.” Zhongli sounds on the verge of laughter. “I've hired on Miss Barbara as my personal assistant. I found myself impressed by her mercenary work, and given the gravity of our task… extra hands are sure to help.” He nods towards Lumine. “I see you are of a similar mind. Please, introduce your companion to me.”

A numbness has filled Rosaria's fingertips. She breathes. The dagger vanishes from her fingers, the gold shimmer of retrieval hidden behind her back.

Alright.

Rosaria half-listens to the exchange of pleasantries. Greetings, squabbling, teasing, introducing. She answers questions when needed. Let's Zhongli do the talking. All the long, loooong-winded talking. In the meantime… she considers.

Lumine covered for her. Kept Paimon from blabbing. Did she tell this creep who she is already, and doesn't want her to run…? No. She's one of those… self-titled hero types. Schemes like that aren't her style. So… she's covering. She knows that she has to cover, so… she must've seen the lance. Knows that Rosaria is the one who “killed” Rex Lapis. And yet, still, she's covering. To this Harbinger, who…

Rosaria squints.

… Is looking down at Lumine like a lovesick little puppy.

Okay, so… maybe he's an idiot. Zhongli said that he's lowest-ranked, that he's “only human”. Signora was strong, but he's much lower on the totem pole. Maybe he's just… really good at paperwork, or something?

Doesn't match the battle-hungry thing Zhongli mentioned. But maybe he just sucks. He's the weakest. That idea soothes her nerves enough that, when Zhongli steps away with the Traveler for more tea, Rosaria doesn't feel completely exposed. She can handle this.

Childe watches them go… then turns. He stares at Rosaria. He smiles.

Plucking the fork from the tablecloth before him the man leaps forward seizing her shoulder knocking her backwards and all that momentum goes up up up into the single point of the raised fork until his body flexes muscles curl and the tines are brought down down down into the skin and the flesh and the blood puncturing her windpipe and spraying scarlet across the–

She gasps. Ice shoots through Rosaria's veins. Survival instinct screams in panic. She can't help but flinch.

“Wow.” Wow. “You've got good instincts. Lumine said you were a mercenary, right?” Childe grins. Lamplight fails to reflect on his eyes. “I hear great things about the Knights of Favonius. Especially that Varka guy. Were you trained by him?”

Rosaria sweats. She can nearly see it. The violence this man craves. The combat.

“... Yeah. I know him.”

“Awesome. I'd love to go against Favonius bladework sometime.” His bloodlust is so thick it nearly stains the air. “Say, if you aren't busy after this… want to have a quick spar?”

She swallows, staring him in the eyes. She didn't see it before. But now…

His eyes. They're dead. Empty. Nothing but… an Abyss.

“I…”

He smiles a little wider.

Rosaria grits her teeth and forces herself to sit up straight. “I'm afraid I am busy after this. My employer, he's… quite the handful.”

Childe stares.

Then sighs, nodding along. Those empty eyes close. His posture relaxes, leaning back into his chair. The overwhelming bloodlust vanishes. “Yeah, I imagine he is a handful. Seems like the type.” Standing, he drops a coin pouch on the table. It's velvet. All the dishes rattle as it impacts. “Shame! We should find some time later, then. You seem fun.”

Walking off, he points to the pouch. “That should cover lunch, as well as any supplies you need for the Rite. Don't be shy if you need more. Oh, and tell Zhongli…” He grins. “I'm getting closer. I'll show him a ricochet before I leave.”

She nods. “... Thanks.”

He doesn't linger. Rosaria hears him cheerily greeting Lumine, chattering away as the two depart. A moment later Zhongli returns, brow furrowed and teapot in hand. He looks deeply perturbed. “Strange. I thought for certain he was making advances on me, but his behavior has completely changed around her. Does he simply adapt a different approach, or is he–”

“Zhongli…” Rosaria growls, all but snarling. “Where does the Fatui keep finding all these freaks?”