Chapter Text
“Fresh Meat is back from his journey,” Sandrone announces to the group at large from her perch on her monstrous puppet’s hand. “He is upset.”
Predictably, Pulcinella perks up like the doting uncle that he is. “Tartaglia is back?” He frowns. “Wait, why is he upset? Wasn’t he out in Liyue wreaking havoc? He should be happy as a clam! You know how much the boy likes his death and destruction.”
“The only thing he wreaked havoc on is my bank’s reserves,” Pantalone grumbles. “Have you seen the bills that the murder goblin has racked up? Why does one need to spend that much Mora on useless trinkets like vases and chopsticks? And they’re all sent as gifts to a Mr. Zhongli from a funeral parlour of all places? I have spent years teaching him about fiscal responsibility and proper budgeting because you do nothing but spoil the boy, Pulcinella, I swear—”
Pulcinella waves away Pantalone’s concerns. “You have plenty of money! Let the boy spend some Mora and have fun with this Mr. Zhongli! What I want to know is why he’s sad. Il Dottore, you were in Liyue. Did you hear anything from one of your clones?”
“As if I’d pay attention to anything outside of the lab let alone what the Zygote is doing,” the good doctor scoffs. “If I were to hazard a guess, it has something to do with La Signora and her scheming ways. She was sent to Liyue to oversee the mission.”
She was the one who had returned alone from her trip to deliver Morax’s Gnosis to the Tsaritsa. At the time, Pulcinella believed that Tartaglia had wanted to stay behind in Liyue for a little while longer to have more fun, fight a few ancient gods or something because goodness knows Liyue is littered with them. He even sent a few care packages to Liyue for the boy, thinking that he would enjoy some sweets from home.
Hm. Perhaps his colleague is right. Pulcinella does like to spoil the young man a tad too much. But in his defence, so do the rest of the Harbingers in their own strange ways. For all of Pantalone’s grumblings, he always approves Tartaglia’s vast budget without delay even if it comes with hour-long lectures on proper money management. Il Capitano spars with the child, teaching him valuable tricks to make him stronger, faster, and deadlier. Sandrone, La Columbina, Arlecchino (and even La Signora) try to train his strategic mind and on guarding oneself against politicking, though their efforts could be interpreted more as bullying for the uninitiated. Il Dottore frequently builds new shiny weapons for the boy, and Scaramouche and Pierrot show their mercy by steering clear from Tartaglia.
It’s hard not to treat Tartaglia with, well, kiddy gloves. Tartaglia had joined their ranks at 16 years old, a mere babe compared to everybody else in the organization who is at least a hundred years old. Though the boy had shot up like a weed and grown to a tall young man, Pulcinella knows that in everybody’s eyes, they still see the same wide-eyed, baby-faced, skinny youth standing before the Jester in his too-large coat and fluffy red scarf as he’s awarded his Harbinger mask.
So when the baby of the group is, apparently, upset, the Harbingers gossip and Pulcinella wants to know what happened.
“Maybe he’s sad because he misses his friend: that Mr. Zhongli, was it?” La Columbina muses. “Poor dear doesn’t have that many friends to begin with.”
“Shut up. I can hear him coming,” Arlecchino announces, and they scatter around the room, pretending to look bored.
The door opens and in pops Tartaglia’s mop of red hair. He blinks his wide blue eyes at the sight of the rest of the Harbingers staring back at him. “Good evening, everybody. I hope I haven’t kept everyone waiting.”
They respond with a round of noncommittal grunts. Except for Pulcinella of course. He strolls over to Tartaglia and gestures for him to bend down a little.
“Look at you,” he says, reaching up and pinching the boy on his cheeks. “You’ve got some colour to you. I see that the Liyue weather has treated you well!”
“Quit it Pulcinella, I’m not a kid!” Tartaglia pulls away with a scowl. “Liyue was fine. Thank you for your care packages.”
Fine? Just fine? Pulcinella shoots a look at his colleagues who no doubt caught that slip of the tongue.
The Jester takes the opportunity to clear his throat. “We should start with our meeting. We are gathered here today to say one last goodbye to our dear Signora.”
“Yes.” Pulcinella steps forward and raises his voice so that he may be heard loud and clear. “We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade. In honour of her sacrifice, all work should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing.”
Pantalone chuckles. “Merely half a day? People say the Northland Bank’s true currencies are blood and tears, but Mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable.”
“Rosalyne died in a foreign land,” Arlecchino adds, her tone frosty. “But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries, always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland…you couldn’t hope to understand. So, why don’t you keep your mouths shut? We don’t want to make the children cry.”
A surprisingly kind comment considering the reality that Tartaglia is one of the Harbingers that is sent out to the front line in foreign nations the most. Yes, Pulcinella supposes that his offer to have the nation mourn for half a day may seem callous to the boy since there is a high chance that he too would end up in that casket and receive a similar paltry thanks for his services.
Although that comment, which openly implies that Tartaglia is a child, will surely distract him by riling him up, right?
But, Tartaglia merely huffs out a sigh. “Hey, come on now, even I don’t think this is the right time or place for a fight.”
Now that has the rest of the Harbingers freeze. Not a right time or place for a fight? Since when would Tartaglia say something so uncharacteristic?
Pulcinella shoots another look at his colleagues. Even Il Dottore is paying attention now.
“Utterly risible,” Sandrone mutters. Indeed. Who would have thought they would see something so laughably ridiculous as Tartaglia not wanting to fight?
Il Capitano coughs lightly and steers the conversation back on track. “Though her methods tarnished her honour, Lohefalter’s sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress, but Dottore, what of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?”
“Conventional wisdom holds that Divine Knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended,” Il Dottore muses. “After conquering the Divine Gaze, he will make his next move.”
They pause and wait for Tartaglia to say something along the lines of looking forward to fighting the Balladeer. After all, he was sent to Inazuma to track the missing Harbinger after his disappearance act.
But Tartaglia remains silent. He merely crosses his arms over his chest and stares sullenly at the floor.
He is upset, Pulcinella mouths to his equally lost-looking brethren with increasing alarm. Why is he upset?!
“It’s time to end tonight’s foolish theatrics,” the Jester interrupts. “Right now, you have no captive audience.”
They gather around the casket and the Jester continues, “Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and with this nation endure for all time.”
They bow.
“In the name of her Imperial Majesty, the Tsaritsa, we will seize authority from the gods. Absolute Peace. Such is the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is her Imperial Majesty’s benevolence. Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice. But Rosalyne, I promise you, your final resting place will be the entirety of the ‘Old World’.”
With that prayer finished and the vow made, the Harbingers lift their heads.
“Tartaglia,” the Jester says, “Welcome back to Snezhnaya. You have been travelling far and wide. Take some time off to train and spend time with your family until your next mission.”
“If you are up for it, we can resume our sparring sessions,” Il Capitano offers not akin to a man offering their beloved pet cat a gourmet treat. “I would be interested to see just much our youngest has improved since we’ve last fought. See how much Liyue has taught you.”
But Tartaglia merely shakes his head. “Another time, Captain. I’m just not in the mood. If there’s nothing else then I’ll be off. Have a good rest of your evening, everybody.”
He leaves without another word, his steps soft and his shoulders almost slumped, making him look smaller under his voluminous fur coat. The door shuts quietly behind him and in the next breath, Tartaglia's footsteps fade into nothing.
The Harbingers look at each other trying to process the impossible scene they have just witnessed.
Tartaglia turned down a sparring session. From the Captain.
Something is terribly, terribly wrong.
The Jester clears his throat once more. “It appears that the young one is upset,” he notes. Then, his voice turns chilly and his expression hardens. “Find out what made him upset. If it’s caused by someone, return the favour by threefold.”
The Harbingers nod. Everybody is probably thinking the same thing: let’s start the investigation by looking up this mysterious Mr. Zhongli from the funeral parlour.
Across the ocean in Liyue, Zhongli drops his cup of tea as a cold shiver runs up his spine. Why is he getting such a strong sense of dread all of a sudden?