gacharolls | >> 005 | I’m a soldier, not a plaything

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>> 005 | I’m a soldier, not a plaything

[ Liyue is burning.

It had only been a few hours since the Snezhnayan army had landed on the city’s shores and in that time the soldiers had wasted no time cutting a swath of destruction and violence throughout the safe harbor. Merchant’s stalls were tipped over, their contents ransacked and pillaged. Temples burned on hilltops, shrines to the gods splattered with blood and viscera of their most devout followers. Ornate, gilded residences once home to nobles and elite politicians crumbled by the wayside and bodies of Liyue’s former citizens bled together in red trickles of blood that flowed like rivers through the streets.

Whatever class system that had been put in place before was inconsequential. There was far too much carnage to pick out the robes of a noble from ones of a commoner, and all parties bled the same.

It was uncertain what had prompted the attack. For all extents and purposes negotiations had been fine, with some trade ships conducting business as usual between the two nations as recently as a week ago.

One of the bodies laying in the street was a small figure garbed in Liyuen clothing, clutching a Snezhnayan matryoshka doll. Childe, better known as Tartaglia to his servants and Ajax to his close family, glanced over the grim sight and murmured a soft prayer before continuing on his way through the city. The bottoms of his boots and trousers were soaked with blood, stained until the fabric changed from a dull grey to a red so deep it was practically black.

He’d been pulled from his chambers by one of his men stumbling in, clothes ripped and tattered, blood flowing from a wound in his side. He’d yelled something about a surprise Millelith ambush and how several of his comrades had already been taken out while they were ransacking the Golden House, and then promptly passed out.

As Childe made his way there he took note of the destruction of the city with something like satisfaction and elation in his dark blue eyes. Perhaps it was because of his status as a Harbinger or maybe because his upbringing was less than conventional, but this was the sort of environment that he thrived in.

Bodies of Liyuen citizens littered the ground underfoot in the walk he took to reach the doors of the Golden House, and before stepping within he noted how they were slightly ajar, small handprints of blood standing out on the wood next to larger ones slimmer than his own.

How strange. He wondered if people had tried to take sanctuary here before the Fatui found them, or if they’d been chased here and sought to make their final stand in one of Liyue’s most well-known landmarks.

He sincerely hoped no blood got on the mora. From the last time he’d visited the mint he remembered that the caretakers tended to just leave it laying around in piles.

As he steps inside Childe finds himself staring at a scene of such carnage and violence he can’t help the catch of his breath, the way his pupils dilate while something warm and hot burns under his skin.

His men lay on the floor, clothes ripped and torn with the press of a blade or a spear. It’s a pole arm, he concludes, when he lifts his eyes and catches sight of a few more of his men surrounding a man with long brown hair dipped in gold.

And gods, he thinks. This man is a vision.

He wields the pole arm effortlessly, as though it’s another part of him. Childe watches as his men go flying with the force used against them, the butt of the shaft used in connection with an open palm to force the Fatui into giving the foreigner a wide berth.

Childe thinks he recognizes the uniform as something of similar make to the Millelith, but he’s not sure. There’s too much blood staining down the man’s front to be able to tell, and Childe hopes not all of it is this beautiful foreigner’s. ]

Enough. [ He calls out, voice ringing authoritatively in the open space. His men on the floor groan in reply. Childe keeps his gaze on the man in front of him, desire thrumming through his veins. ]

You’ve given my men quite the work out, haven’t you? [ It comes out teasingly as though there isn’t a Fatui lying limp with his arm missing. ]

My name is Tartaglia, Eleventh of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. But you can call me Childe.

[ And he smiles, the gesture so innocent it’s unfitting for the bloody scene all around them. ]

And what are you called, my lovely?

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[Liyue is burning.

It's a reality that should never have come about, not while he was her protector. It was unprovoked, cruel and ruthless, and it had scarred the land already.

He tries not to think on it - on the bodies, burning and bleeding in his streets, the order once kept so carefully in place now thrashed and overturned by chaos. It's a difficult task, but there are other important parts of his role here.

Namely, having led the way to the Golden House to begin with, he was here as the last line of defense for Liyue's current ruler - and by some miracle, he'd managed that much. Whether the men were too preoccupied with getting through him or just oblivious, she had slipped away. He has no doubt she'll manage, once it's safe to draw back into the light again.

But that leads to now - to the uneven, ragged breaths coming from his chest, body worn and injured. If not for his contract, he could probably have taken them all. Instead he'd focused on making it seem like he was at a disadvantage, until the unyielding forces made that the truth.

Ache throbs in his veins, though he's sure he could take down these last few. He has to, especially since he can't reveal that now. It would ruin his whole plan.

... but this is new. A fresh voice, commanding and strong, rings out in the air around his makeshift arena. Men stay their course, and his eyes narrow. Their general then, or whatever amounts to one. Uninjured, compared to the myriad of little cuts and bruises on his own.

Golden eyes watch as Childe introduces himself, fingers gripping his spear a little more firmly. A harbinger. The eleventh - the newest, he thinks, or nearly so. His brow arches at the man's question, the simplicity of his expression compared to the nearly feral curl of his lips and the murder in his gaze.]

Why would I introduce myself to the instigator of this massacre?

[He spits with the word - on the ground, a tinge of worrying red in it - and levels his spear on Childe. A death here won't be permanent, but it would be terribly detrimental.

Still, he's running out of strength, and quickly. Playing mortal is such a burdensome role.]

Me? An instigator? [ It should be noted that he's not denying the allegations against him, merely considering it with that same, infuriating smile. Nevermind the fact that Liyue has been all but destroyed, razed to the ground with fire and blood. The redhead spreads his hands out as though to show that he is completely unarmed, carrying no weapon on him save for his hands.

Steel glints in the door behind him, and it becomes apparent why he doesn't need to. ]

I should like to know your name, pet, to decide on whether or not I will have you keep it.

[ The implications behind his words are all too clear. Despite the shine of the piles of mora laying scattered all about them and the general gilded gold of the House itself, his eyes reflect none of the light and only seem to darken further when he sweeps them over the brunet's battered, bloodied form. The stamp of booted feet herald the arrival of a fresh batch of Fatui recruits, however these are no mere footsoldiers but instead the elite of Her Majesty's vanguard, handpicked and trained by Childe himself. They're large, brutish drones, some wielding hammers crackling with purple electricity, others wielding muskets with frost coiling into the air at the end of their barrels.

Childe knows that if he were to throw himself into battle against this beautiful warrior, he wouldn't be able to hold back. The odds would hardly be fair and, besides that, it was rare that Childe associated himself with the weak.

It would not do for him to break his pretty little plaything beyond repair, after all. Not so soon.

To his men, Childe issues a command in clipped tones of Snezhnayan. His eyes never leave the Liyuen warrior's during this.

As they move to obey, rumbling into action, lumbering ahead to where the beauty stands with spear in hand Childe has the audacity to smile again, as though in greeting to an old friend. ]

Get one last look at your beloved city. You won't be seeing it for a long, long, time.

[ And Childe turns, and he leaves just like that. The men know their orders; incapacitate and capture without killing or else risk the slaughter of the entire group in retaliation. Childe's decision is absolute.

He knows what souvenir he wants most from this trip. He should like it to come home with him to Snezhnaya in one piece. ]

[Ah. It's infuriating, hearing him speak like this. Would that he could tap into his power... but they had long deemed that sealing it was the safest action. Zhongli, thus, is far from weak - but his abilities are much more finite than they might have been.

So, breaths uneven but eyes alert, he looks to his current circumstance. What he sees is nothing good - even before the rhythmic march of feet, the harbinger alone would test his abilities, especially if he gave him no quarter. Still, it isn't like him to just give in. Not after the pointless carnage, the deaths that could have been avoided.]

... not a shred of remorse for the dead. A name requires no keeper, but it is a thing given in faith. You deserve it not.

[It's clear enough - he's no fool, and he knows he'll lose this fight. The odds are stacked too heavily against him, and yet he won't yield. They'll drag their win - and with it Childe's prize - from him kicking and screaming.

He could attack Childe himself, he reasons, but the damage will be more lasting if he just fails with his men. And when he's brought low, it's not without that nearly glittering golden glare still on his face, tempered by exhaustion.]

[ The casualties the Fatui suffer in the Golden House is to be expected, and yet Childe cannot help the held breath when he looks over the bodies dragged onto the ship. When he spies the Liyuen warrior amongst them his relief is palpable, excitement lighting his face like his birthday has come early.

As the boat sails away from the smoldering city, Childe watches from his spot by the railing. He watches the smoke curling into the sky, the few fires continuing to rage on and spreading to the surrounding countryside, a building crumbling under its own weight. He thinks back to his last trips to the harbor and how he imagines he can see the remains of the restaurant he enjoyed his last meals at.

He wonders if the children he'd seen playing in the streets back then had managed to escape unscathed. The memory of the small figure in the street with the Matryoshka dolls flashes, unbidden, in his head, and he turns away from what remains of Liyue to face the horizon and their destination.

The boat ride to Snezhnaya does not take long. The wind is in their favor, and they return with a few less men than they'd arrived with. It was surprising how capable the Millelith were, but Childe knew that they were not solely responsible for the deaths of a few of the Fatui.

During the trip he attends to the golden-eyed beauty, who remains shackled and bound below deck and given scraps for meals in order to keep him weakened. Childe does not spend more time than he ought, not wanting to draw the attention of his crew; better that they think the Liyuen prisoner as only a prisoner, and not become party to the extent of his beauty with prolonged exposure.

By the time they dock and make their way to Zapolyarny Palace proper in a long, somber procession, the chilly air upon reaching Snezhnayan waters has intensified to frosty, biting winds that nip and freeze at every exposed bit of skin. The foreigner will probably note that there is hardly any way to tell the time of day; with the constant blizzards whipping around Snezhnayan lands, it's hard to see much of anything aside from an endless expanse of shifting white.

Childe requests the man to be taken to his personal chambers while he goes to report to his queen. The room the foreigner is let into is decked out in neutral, muted colors of grey and white. The floors are cold marble beneath high coffered ceilings edged in gold and a chaise lounge takes up residence beside a wide bay window draped with sheer curtains in shades of grey to let the light in.

Given that the weather outside is a perpetual howling snowstorm that blankets everything in a sea of white, there's a lot of light reflecting into the room.

Off to the side there's a fancy desk with ornate designs carved into it piled high with books that look as though they've never been touched and a few writing utensils. A curved entryway draped in more sheer curtains of grey and white leads into the bedroom, where a magnificent bed piled high with luxurious furs and thick goosefeather blankets sits against another wide bay window spanning the length of the room and also framed with curtains.

To a trained warrior, there's a lot in this room that could be used as a weapon. The Liyuen foreigner is unshackled, yelled at in Snezhnayan, and then left alone with the door locked behind him.

Childe will not come for a few minutes, but he will eventually come. His footsteps herald his arrival and he doesn't even bother knocking before he lets himself in. The only question is, what will he see when he enters? ]

[The boat ride feels quiet, somehow relentless. Zhongli doesn't really remember in the moment whether he cries for his lost city, but he suspects it's a likely circumstance. After all, he spent so long protecting it, watching it grow.

But... he's handed over the reins now. Perhaps it isn't what he wanted, but there is no end to the bodies reminding him that life itself is seldom played to one's whims. Death is an incontrovertible fact of life, strewn across the land in the indelible inks of disaster, sickness, and time. He supposes he should be thankful that he was left at least partially alive, though there are negatives to that as well.

It's worth noting that Childe is the one who sees to him personally. It's worth noting that Zhongli has no reaction to it, and that he doesn't refuse the scraps he's given. He's not giving up, despite the desolate place they're approaching.

How long has it been? Zapolyarny Palace has changed relatively little, he thinks. Cold bites at his skin, but it soothes his aches somewhat in the interim. It's hard to say, in the heart of her home, if this is her design or if the carnage was largely this man's. In the end, it doesn't matter.

Left to his own devices, likely with a warning to behave, Zhongli takes in the state of the room. He may not have been able to understand their conversation, but he can guess whose room he's in. Being called pet hadn't exactly been subtle. He still needs a good bath and new clothes...

There's plenty of items to defend himself with, true. He doesn't feel the need to arm himself too much - just something small and easily hidden, perhaps a pen or a quill or some such. After that, it's just a case of waiting. In the silence, there's time to consider his situation more fully. Escaping will be a long task, especially considering the location itself. Snezhnaya isn't somewhere he can just blend in, either, even at the best of times. As footsteps approach, he straightens up some, cold gaze turning toward the door.

As such, what he sees when he enters is a chamber that's been largely undisturbed, his prize settled on the corner of the chaise lounge. He sits, silent and glaring, in the scraps of what cloth he was left with and blood streaked across skin. Outside of this stare, he asked no acknowledgement of the harbinger.]

[ Admittedly, he is a little surprised to see the man sitting and waiting in his room for him. Childe hadn't stationed a guard outside, tempting as the idea was, thinking he hadn't really needed to since he was sure that the Liyuen native knew where they were. Even if he were to escape Childe's bedchambers he would still have to deal with a palace swarming with Fatui and Harbingers and, if by some miracle he managed to escape undetected, the cold winds of Snezhnaya were lethal to all who were unused to it.

Childe makes sure to close the door behind him, sliding a hidden compartment into place to lock it. In his hands is what looks like silk and some jewelry, and he beams innocently at his new houseguest as he strides over, still dressed in his Fatui uniform.

It's worth noting the bottom of his pants are still edged in blood. ]

You're still here. [ He chirps, as though his guest had any choice in whether or not he got to stay. ] I'm glad. I'm not sure if these will fit you, but I imagine that doesn't matter. We can get you dressed after you have a bath.

[ Childe makes his way over to where his desk is and sets everything down after a pause. A smile curls his lips when he turns back and strides over to the man sitting on his chaise lounger, pulling off his gloves and heavy coat along the way. ]

You still won't give me your name, I expect. Perhaps you would like for me to name you myself? How about... [ His gaze lingers over the brunet's own, taking in their appearance. A beat later, and he follows up with: ] Zolotse? I think that's a fitting name.

[ Childe's close enough to touch, and he does - reaching bare fingers out to curl into the ends of the Liyuen warrior's hair, twining the locks in his hand with a hum. ] It suits you. My little gold.

I'm uncertain where you thought I would go.

[Zhongli's voice is flat, and his gaze turns to the... are those scraps of silk? They certainly don't seem to be much more than that. Is... he's really planning on forcing him to wear that.]

I can bathe and clothe myself just fine. [His scowl grows a little longer as Childe approaches, attention sliding back to the harbinger properly. He doesn't acknowledge the first comment, doesn't even bother to stop him from moving on.

After all, he doubts the other would bother paying him any attention. Any protests are solely for his own benefit, then. He's not planning on reacting at all, really, as the other rambles on.

And then he curles fingers into his hair, and Zhongli's immediate reaction is to smack his hand away.]

... Don't touch me. I am not your anything.

[It's funny. Once, he wouldn't have endured half this much. Childe would have known his folly instants after he'd made it - but here and now, he doesn't have that strength. Not yet.]

[ Rather than be offended or even outraged that the brunet had actually slapped his hand away instead of being grateful or prostrating himself before Childe, the Harbinger was... elated.

His status as Her Majesty's Harbinger, coupled with his own violent reputation that oft preceded him on the battlefield, made it so that there were few except his own fellow comrades who could even stomach looking him in the eye. While he did enjoy the squabbles he got into with his fellow Harbingers, they never quite looked at him like the Liyuen was looking at him now.

Zolotse looks simply divine like this, as though he were an inch away from sinking a blade into his neck. Like a cornered animal who still was willing to claw and bite and rip to the death, baring its fangs at him with hackles raised.

Childe curls his fingers, feeling the back of his hand thrum a little from the smack. ]

You are mine, Zolotse. Until such time that you give me your name, you will only ever be what I want you to be.

[ His gaze rakes over the Liyuen's form. Even under the tattered cloth and blood, the brunet sports a warrior's physique. Childe can't wait to feast on every bare inch of skin. ]

Undress. Then we will see about that bath.

And what do I become should you have my name, then? I rather doubt it will change what you believe you're owed.

[The very idea is so asynchronous to everything Childe has said and done to this point that it's almost laughable. It's assuredly enough to earn a scoff from the soldier, and Zhongli is hardly about to just follow orders like a good little pet.]

I will undress when it is necessary. I do not need your assistance.

[Another ultimately pointless repetition, and this time he does at least rise up. His body still aches and it shows in his stance - strong as he is, there's still a tilt to it, favouring uninjured areas considerably. They both know he's got no strength to really fight this man.

The only question, of course, is what Childe plans to do about it. Will he reward that stubbornness in part, knowing that forcing the issue is likely to have no real change moving forward, or press him into compliance expressly to cut off even a sliver of defiance down the road? Either way, Zhongli has no intention of trying to force his way out of this situation - even the item he'd grabbed is really only there for the moment Childe gets a little too close, a little too aggressive.

He's lived far, far too long to like the connotations of being immediately thought of as a pet. Childe may be a slightly less reproachable sort than an actual bandit or slaver, but he won't be throwing his chips in guessing how much less.]

Maybe I'll grant you your freedom, Zolotse. [ The Harbinger says, so flippantly it would be hard to believe at face value. They both know that there is no escape for the Liyuen now; if Childe were charmed enough to keep him alive and drag him all the way back to Snezhnaya for goodness knows what, he definitely wasn't going to give him up so easily. Not least because the foreigner had been snuck in under the Tsaritsa's nose and being set loose around the Palace probably wouldn't bode well for either of them.

The continued display of rebelliousness has the redhead's eyes darkening with interest, and the smile on his face turns sharp, calculating. Without another word he turns, making his way to the window. There's the sound of something rattling and then, quite suddenly, it's thrown wide open.

Violent, biting winds immediately swirl into the room and bring with them a flurry of frost and snow. Childe is still dressed warmly enough he isn't affected, but the exposed parts of his face begin to pink in response to the sudden drop in temperature.

Even with the howling winds made louder by the open window, he still talks loud enough to be heard. ]

Is it necessary now, my lovely Zolotse?

[ The Vision glowing at his hip, blue with his gifted element, says all it needs to. ]

If you won't undress willingly and take your bath like a good little boy, I have no issues with bathing you right here and now. Though I should warn you - the cold does tend to freeze.

[All he gets is a scoff in return to that first comment, with Zhongli's gaze still staying on Childe. What is he--

Wind whips through the room and all the warmth he'd regained up til now is replaced by its chill. He can feel it settling into his bones, biting at skin and turning every sensation almost malicious. Even if he doesn't feel it as strongly as most, with this many injuries...

His eyes narrow as Childe speaks, and the sound that escapes him is a beleaguered, breathy sigh. It already curls in the rapidly cooling air, and he glances toward the window.]

If you plan to be ruthless about it, I suppose I have no choice.

[Irritation threads through his voice, heavy and dangerous though he has no apparent weapons. And indeed, what he'd grabbed is largely useless when Zhongli starts to slip his clothes off without even waiting for the window to close.

It's clear almost immediately how much he must have been overworking himself - even accounting for the Fatui's heavy hits with hammers and their ilk, he'd probably been fighting outside the Golden House as well as in. Scrapes and cuts litter his skin overlaying bruises at varying stages. It would be worrisome were he not so steady on his feet, but perhaps it leaves a curiosity to how that is a fact.

As expected, he's built like a warrior; he's built like someone who's spent most of his life fighting, in fact. It shows even under the bruises, his torso sculpted with rigor. The rest of him is no less - though he certainly has more of an ass than one might expect of such a fighter. He even crosses his arms afterward, just staring at Childe.]

Are you happy now?

[ Childe of course isn't terribly cruel; the moment he sees the Liyuen beauty start to strip he makes motions to close the windows, pulling it shut and locking it. He turns around and folds his arms over his chest, making no attempt to hide the way his eyes wander appreciatively over the other's nude form, lingering on the bruises and cuts he'd sustained from his earlier battles.

There's no ounce of fat wasted. Truly, this is warrior's build.

Absently, Childe makes a mental note to ferret out some salves and bandages to tend to his new prize. It would be a shame if that pretty skin stayed marred any longer than it needed to. ]

You're beautiful. [ It comes out without an ounce of mockery or teasing; it's simply earnest and genuine, truthful. His gaze rests appreciatively on the brunet's face and a soft smile makes its way onto his face, and surprisingly enough Childe does not move to touch. Whether it was because he took the earlier slap on the hand as a denial of any kind of gratification or because he did not trust himself to stop at only touching, it was uncertain. ]

Won't you give me your name, Zolotse? I'll give you anything else you want in exchange. Well. [ His eyes flicker with something dark, smile turning sharp in that moment. ] Almost anything.

[ With the window closed the chill in the air is starting to dissipate a little at a time, but he can only imagine how the foreigner in front of him is suffering. Snezhnaya is not friendly to those underdressed, no matter how accustomed one might be to her frigid temperatures. He imagines that stubbornness is not nearly enough to ignore the cold. ]

[Beautiful. It shouldn't be surprising - but maybe it's that it's said so purely, without the salaciousness he might expect. Childe may be cruel, but he is at least cruel with purpose. It still pulls a faint frown to Zhongli's face, his expression so subtly different that some might not have noticed it.

Despite it all, though he appreciates the resistance to touching and the offer, he can't find himself impressed. Not so soon after everything, and not in his current predicament.]

... And if I were to tell you that those... scraps of yours are hardly acceptable for the clothing you doubtless expect them to be?

[He's no fool, of course - even if Childe hadn't clarified, he's more dignified than to demand his own freedom for a name. If it was that simple, he wouldn't be here.

As to stubbornness... well, no. Ultimately, there's an ache starting in the tips of his extremities, and the way they've begun to curl in a bid of protection says as much. Still, he'll dance this dangerous dance as long as he can.]

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