Chapter Text
The moment Childe, the 11th of the Fatui Harbinger, takes his first step off the accursed Fatui boat that has carried him across the ocean, something smacks him, in the face, screaming, and knocks him nearly off the pier with the sheer momentum of its impact.
His right eye locks onto the offending shape. It is mostly white, like the wisp of wind that tends to explode out of anemo slimes, but there are occasional splashes of eye-searing green. The creature has the audacity to look sheepish, before it is whisked away by the sea breeze. Childe has the strongest urge to take after it—give it a good smack in return—but, well, he supposes that would make quite the peculiar first impression on the well-regarded people of Liyue Harbour, and Childe is, of course, an excellent diplomat. And excellent diplomats exercise admirable restraint, even when they are rudely assaulted on arrival and must pick up their crimson Fatui Harbinger masks from the floor to which they had tumbled. The loathesome goblin has even broken the clip that pins it to his scalp.
"What was that?" he mutters, tucking his precious mask into his bag. He'll probably have time to fix the clip later after getting settled in. "By the Tsaritsa, this better not happen again." Liyue is pretty, but not pretty enough to escape unscathed from Childe's wrath if it is overrun with tiny green creatures.
The harbour gates fall behind him as he makes his way into the city. He has a small pack slung over his shoulders. It carries his essentials: a spare standard Fatui uniform, three pairs of underwear, letters from his family, and his fishing tackles. The top of his head feels bare under the sun dappling through the leaves overhead. It's been a fairly calm journey from Snezhnaya. The waves were mellow and welcoming in the harbour. On the other hand, they had been travelling with a batch of new recruits. Fresh from training, and fresh onto the boat, having never stepped off a shoreline. Cue the sea sickness. The ship was cursed by Celestia. Childe, who wouldn't bat an eye at the most grievous of battle wounds, had joined them over the side of the ship whenever he came within even hearing distance of the retching.
Liyue City is a sprawling masterpiece of elegant garnet buildings, both beautiful and sturdy. Her foundations are rooted into proud bedrock on the fringe of vibrant, boisterous waves, singing of the artisans that lined the streets, and the old masters that had carved the bones of the city. There are gingko trees along the sides casting their limbs overhead and their leaves dance away into the water running beneath a crossing connecting two sections of the city.
From the culinary sector, a haze of smoke rises upwards, drifting gradually to whisper over the residential buildings with their corrugated green rooftops, stacked atop each other like play blocks. Between the houses, multitudinous streams of people move around each other, their gathered voices buzzing like a hive at work.
Childe breathes the air in easily and tilts his head upwards. It really is quite unfortunate, the circumstance that brings him here. Really quite unfortunate what he is here to cause. "Mischief for Rex Lapis", as the missive had termed it. And, of course, the most important part: to steal his Gnosis.
"Of course I won't cause any chaos this time," Childe had said to his Not Favourite Co-worker. "No killing, no chaos! You can take me for my completely trustworthy word. That is, if you don't count the hilichurls, or the boars, or the fish. And perhaps a few treasure hoarders."
"Shut up," said Scaramouche, and then he had haughtily whacked Childe on the back of his head with his own letter correspondence, before flouncing off to his own Tsaritsa-approved mission in Inazuma.
The bright glinting off the storefronts gets to him. Childe feels a giddy curiosity, excitement stemming from his desire to buy astounding amounts of souvenirs and gifts to be sent back to Morespoke for his family. His younger siblings especially would be elated. Perhaps he would even send something back to the Tsaritsa—some novelty from a foreign, sunny land from her most favoured and beloved harbinger might even bring a smile to her stoic face. Last time, he'd brought her a jack-in-a-box from Mondstadt, and her Majesty had quickly assigned him away to Liyue with tears (of laughter? or fear?) in her eyes.
"Sir, come have a look at our wares! Freshly crafted in yesterday's batch!"
"Perhaps tomorrow, thanks!" Childe waves at the young lady behind her tables of little golden Rex Lapis dragonic memorabilia.
“Steaming hot chop suey, come and get it!”
“Will you still be open later?” His stomach is rumbling. But he still has to go make his presence known at the Northland Bank.
The lady's hearty smile seems to shine brighter and she nods eagerly. "Of course mister! Until 9 pm!" Childe makes note of the tiny stall, marking its location in the mental map he's made. Suddenly, yet another harking voices cuts through his thoughts.
"This earring would look lovely with your hair, young man!" cajoles the vendor. Cor Lapis gleams in the afternoon sun, the etchings on the silver orb dangling beneath it carefully follows the floral patterns of a glazed. Perhaps he might buy it for his mother. She does love shiny trinkets. But for now, he shakes his head at the vendor and continues to his destination.
By the time the backs of his knees begin to sweat, the headache swelling behind his eyes threatens to overtake him. Liyue really is magnificent. It's almost too much. The sounds and the sights and the vibrant hues cloud his line of sight. His right eye can only see so much, and his left, beneath its cloth patch, is of no use. His face feels warm, and as he raises his arm to his forehead, burdened under the weight of the thick Snezhnayan coat he'd slung over his shoulder, he finds a thin sheen of sweat dripping over his brow.
The green creature is quickly forgotten as he makes his way to the bank, carefully walking up a maze-like arrangement of red-painted stairs, their handrails so low that a single stumble would send him tumbling off all five flights.
“Whoever designed this complex should be force fed pyro slimes,” Childe gripes, hand squeezing the wooden handle until it crunches.
Without asking around and only a vague map in hand, Childe circles the labyrinth about five times, shuffling through the canopy of scarlet stairs and bridges. He peers through the delicate frames of intricately crafted windows. Soon thereafter, he begins sprinting back and forth. The bank continues to evade him. His sanity is on the verge of doing so.
There is a bookstore nearby, and it looks like a great place to take a breather. So Childe takes a breather in front of the bookstore and listens casually and innocuously to the conversation of two children who are also parked outside of the bookstore.
"Like I was saying, Fei," says one, "if we want structural reconfigurability, we'll need an unbelievably…"
"Chen, metal fatigue is a fact you can't work around, though…"
"...granted, the design ethos is for this to serve as the ultimate defensive superweapon…"
"The only way this is ever going to act as a deterrent against invaders from other nations is if it's capable of reaching every corner of Teyvat!"
Childe ceases listening to the conversation, and begins wondering what the hell is wrong with Liyuean children. He glances at the bookstore owner, carefully sipping her cup of tea nearby and listening in on the conversation as if it were the most casual thing she might ever hear. Is it legal to recruit Liyuean children into the Fatui? Is it unethical to ask whether they'd ever want to pursue careers in military strategising and become Harbingers? They don't really need La Signora or Il Dottore. He could totally try assassinating them so that these two kids would take their place. Now that's an idea.
Childe vacates the bookstore, and at long last, he spots a man in thick Snezhnayan garb waiting at a doorway that he presumes is the entrance to the Northland Bank.
"Holy shi—alright, I'm never doing that again."
He groans as he reaches the top, waving to the guard at the front of the bank.
"My name is Vlad. How can the Northland Bank be of service, sir?"
The other man's masked eyes travel over his body, scrutinising him for weapons before landing on the pack slung across Childe's back. Vlad moves on unfazed. There is no recognition of him as a Harbinger. There isn't even a hint of cowering. After the hell-ride with the recruits on the ship, Childe thinks he could get used to this. Sadly:
"I'm Childe," he offers, vaguely mourning Vlad's refreshing lack of kowtowing and flinching. "Your boss?"
"She's inside, sir. She's quite busy. Are you sure that you're a child?"
Ah, Vlad must be referring Ekaterina, the Northland's receptionist, the final boss of the bank after Andrei, and additionally, the only Fatui member in the vicinity to have had contact with him.
"No, Vlad. I mean—I'm your boss. My name is Childe. Tartaglia." He gestures to his face and to the place where his mask would be pinned if it…if the pin hadn't broken.
Vlad's shoulders seem to tense. He shifts around his spot almost defensively, eyeing Childe as if looking at a madman. "I'm not sure I understand you, sir."
…Has this guy been living under a rock? He doesn't even know Tartaglia? The infamous name that Childe has wrought for himself over a decade of battles and struggles to rise through the Fatui rank?
Childe blinks. There's—he's not sure what to say. That's when the bank doors open and a petite woman strides out to tug fiercely at Vlad's ear.
"Ow! Nadia! What was that for?"
The woman sighs. She turns to Childe and bows to him shallowly. "I apologise, Lord Harbinger. I was supposed to be the one receiving you today." There is the slightest hint of a smile curling on her lips as Vlad does a very subtle double-take.
"Him? A Harbinger? Nadia, are you sure?"
Childe assumes that it is his youthful look and gangly physique that makes Vlad so incredibly doubtful that he could be the murderous Tartaglia.
"A Harbinger?" says Vlad again. He gapes at him, then turns back to Nadia. And then back to him. And then back to Nadia. And then back to him. And then his knees give out and he collapses to the ground, weeping profusely, with his hands clasped in front of his prostrate form.
"He's the HARBINGER? Why did no one tell me?! Oh my archons. How was I supposed to know it was him? Oh my Tsaritsa. Oh, Tsaritsa help me. Oh, Tsaritsa curse me—Nadia, please help me, Nadia, I'm going to die—Sir, I'm so, so sorry, please forgive me!"
There's a moment of silence. Well, a moment of silence accompanied by Vlad's weeping. Childe breaks it when he bursts out laughing. Hell, he's even giggling. There are tears dampening the edge of his eye patch as he doubles over and clutches his stomach.
"Pfft, has La Bitc—Signora terrified you that much? Hahaha, get up, Vlad. It's quite alright, haha!"
There's really no blaming the man for not recognising him, really. Ginger hair isn't extremely rare in the homeland, after all, and he isn't wearing his Harbinger uniform or his mask, thanks to a certain Cicin mage throwing up on him on the last leg of the journey which had prompted him to throw up over himself too which had prompted him to send his uniform to the local laundromat. Then of course the clip to his mask was broken only earlier by that horrible green creature.
Vlad doesn't quite stop crying, but he does look up, hope entering his eyes. Childe pats him kindly on the shoulder and nods to Nadia before entering the bank. Poor foolish man. It wouldn't hurt to give him a bonus payment or a holiday, perhaps. As a reward for being so funny.
"Ms Ekaterina! Hello, hello! It's me, your favourite Har—person!"
Indignant cries rise up from the people already lined up as Childe makes his rightful way to the front. However, Ekaterina ignores him with practiced ease. Silently, she places a set of keys on the countertop and her eyes hone in on Childe's face. Well. That's a conversation he knows to expect later. So much for annoying her. She's already passed him off to another bank worker.
"T-this way, sir. I'm… um, I'm Vasily, and I'll be looking after you this afternoon?"
Childe beams at him. "Thanks Vasily!" The worker seems taken aback, strangely. As if he'd been expecting to be thrown out a window instead of being thanked. Goodness.
Vasily, who seems to enjoy skittering over to the left and a whole 1.5 meters safely behind Childe's line of sight, has blond hair and generally unrecognisable and unremarkable facial features, and it is very difficult for Childe to look at him.
They step into the pristine office. It's decorated with a crimson glazed Cuihua bookshelf and a matching work desk, neatly embellished with a star-conch shell set ascending in size. A lavish couch embroidered with exquisite patterns found inside native Liyuean’s rocks sits against the wall, and sunlight skims through the gossamer material that line the geometric window pane.
"Uh, your work will start at 9 AM, but the bank is—it's technically open from 8 AM, though you only have to come at 9. Your keys are marked: the green one is for your apartment and the blue one is for your office, which is, um, where you'll be working. Uh, the red for the storerooms of the bank and the yellow for the bank's side door just in case you need to access it when no one else is—"
"Vasily, sorry. Would you mind moving to my right a little bit? Yeah, a little more to the right? No, no, don't—in front of me. Yes. Good. Stay there."
"Sir?"
"Hm? No, you're alright. Please continue. Wait, actually. Just a bit closer to my right, so I can see you. Yeah, okay, that's much better."
Their conversation becomes smoother as they keep talking. After a few awkward coughs and a couple of twiddled thumbs (from Vasily) Childe begins asking him more questions about himself and his co-workers, as well as the job they're responsible for in the Northland Bank. Well, actually, Vasily looks like he's about to pass away as he hangs onto life by a tiny thread. But he's answering questions! The guy should probably get out of his shell more, honestly. Eventually, though, Childe runs out of questions to ask.
"Lord Harbinger," he exhales. "If you have any more questions, please hesitate to ask me."
"Vasily?"
"Shit. Oh fuck. Sorry! Ah, I didn't mean to swear! Sorry, I meant DON'T hesitate to ask me! DON'T hesitate to ask me any questions!"
Childe pinpoints the moment where Vasily's consciousness slips away. His eyes begin to roll back and his joints immediately loosen, and Childe only just manages to catch him before his head smashes against the sharp corner of the desk. After a moment of contemplation, he decides to deposit the body on the couch.
Hm. Maybe Vasily would like to go fishing someday. Poor guy could do with some stress relief. And perhaps he might ask Vlad and Nadia along too. Always good to get along with your co-workers!
"Signora really did a number on him, huh," he sighs aloud. "That blonde witch."
Just as Vasily had informed him, the yellow-marked key does indeed unlock the bank's side entrance, and Childe slips through so as not to disturb the bank tellers and Ekaterina at the front.
His residency was already designated to him and its position was vaguely marked on another piece of paper, its inky scrawls smudged from the sea sprays as he studied the map on his way here. Refusing to go through the pain of being lost and encountering strange mastermind children once again, Childe implores a shopkeeper to lead him to the area of interest.
"Well, mister, I could show you the exact place," says the young lady earnestly. "But I have to look after this shop for my father." At this, her expression turns glum, gazing at the empty tables. It seems to be a slow night for them.
"Hm. What if I were to place a very large order and have it delivered to my place. Would you accompany me?"
She scratches her navy hair thoughtfully, then turns to the small bear at her right, with whom she seems to contemplate. Childe has stopped questioning everything in Liyue ever, so he takes this in stride and simply stares at the chef bear. Please agree, chef bear.
The young lady suddenly nods. "Guoba senses good vibes from you. Let me take your order, then, Mister…?"
"Call me Childe. That's my name. Yours?"
"Very good, Mister Childe! I'm Xiangling! How can I serve you today?"
Oh, damn. That chop suey lady from earlier whose stand he'd promised to eat dinner at is right next-door. Childe pretends not to see her. She's on his eyepatch side. He's totally blind on that side. He can't see her at all.
From Wanmin, Childe opts to order every dish on the dinner menu (sorry, chop suey lady). This accumulates to ten main dishes and five side dishes of various rices and desserts. Xiangling goggles at him as she hesitates to take down the huge order, but he assures her that he has an appetite aptly named the "Devouring Deep". Everything costs no more than 50, 000 mora, which is pretty cheap, honestly, especially considering the delicious scent wafting around the restaurant.
After Xiangling has packed everything away into a small crate to carry (Childe takes this off of her to carry for himself despite her protests) she turns to Guoba. "I'll be back in 20 minutes, so please look after these customers. See ya soon, buddy!"
She's right, because it takes them no more than 10 minutes to reach the front of his residency: a large penthouse overlooking the harbour with perfect escape routes from all directions. From here, he can really observe everything. Thank you, Ekaterina and Ekaterina's insight! It really was good to have her in on his position and his role in the Gnosis Heist.
He ends up breathing rather heavily after ten flights of dangerous stairs, holding the heavy crate. ("By the archons, I'm going to personally hunt down the architect and feed them pyro slimes." "Oh, don't feed them pyro slimes. Those are actually very tasty, so you should feed them dendro slimes instead because those are so bitter and horrible." "Oh, why, thank you Miss Xiangling!" "No problemo!") Xiangling bids him farewell at the top, before bouncing back down the stairs with his promise to return for more food in the morning at Wanmin's restaurant.
Placing the crate down, Childe slides the green key into the lock and watches it turn smoothly. The door is heavy, like the entrance to the Northland Bank, and is decorated in the same elegant style: graceful geometric lines lacing into each other against the golden wood. He shuffles through the door and closes it with a click, and turns towards the centre of the main room. Then he freezes.
It's there.
The sprite. The little demon from earlier.
Childe's right eye widens. "YOU LITTLE GREEN PUNK."
The loathsome creature that had the nerve to blight his arrival in Liyue darts away from his haphazard grab at the air (the stairs really are very tiring) and flutters its loathsome little wings, sending small cyclones that ruffle Childe's already messy hair and serve only to anger him further.
"Get back here," Childe hisses.
The goblin yelps. "Wait, wait, wait, hang on! Hear me out! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that!" Tsaritsa, it speaks. Damn. Its nasty little voice sounds like tinkling bells. Childe feels both incensed and vaguely delirious. Was this was Vasily felt like before passing out? Maybe he should pass out too, from tiredness. Liyue really is a lot to take in. Childe suddenly feels exhausted.
The creature floats around and blabbers on. Childe has bid farewell to his coherence.
"What?"
"I have a teeny, tiny favour to ask you," says the goblin. Its green eyes blink, doe-like.
Childe has hunted deer before. He reflexively reaches out to grab it again. Just because. Just because it's that annoying. "Yeah? And why should I help you?"
It darts out of reach again, stuttering. Damn. "Because! Because I'm, um, I'm… friends with the Anemo Archon! Also, I can grant you a wish!"
At this revelation, Childe briefly stops trying to grab it. Hm. A friend of an Archon. That's really no joke. That is, if the thing speaks truthfully.
"...A wish?"
Perhaps he could wish to make himself stronger. Or he could wish for some fascinating gift from the Anemo Archon for Tonia and Anthon and Teucer.
"Alright," he says with acceptance. "I'll listen to what you have to say."
The sprite beams.
"Great! We have a deal, yes?" it says cheerfully. "My name is Venti. And you must be Tartaglia, 11th of the Fatui Harbingers, codename Childe!"
Childe narrows his eyes. But of course the wind has ears. Some things just can't be hidden entirely.
"Right? Childe?"