[ At Zhongli's invitation, how could he refuse? With only a brief look thrown out over the harbor and the sea beyond, Childe will move into the chair indicated and sits himself down with the air of someone that's not at all thrown off by their surroundings and who seems surprisingly well-adjusted despite being a newcomer to this land. Never let it be said that Tartaglia was not averse to adapting in most situations, despite the embarrassing faux pas he'd committed earlier. If Zhongli doesn't mention it, neither will he.
The restaurant is loud, and it would probably be more jarring if not for the fact that he's been around a number of his subordinates in the cold Snezhnayan winters, when one of the more recreational ways of keeping warm was huddling around a fire passing around a bottle of fire-water. He's used to the raucous comaraderie of his peers - and it can get rather raucous, when he thinks about it, the sort that's befitting an organization whose members could have their lives ruthlessly cut short without warning in their service to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa - so a place like this wasn't really much different.
Recalling to mind Zhongli's earlier order, he glances at the man out of the corners of his eyes before turning his full attention to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor consultant. Idly, he wonders if Zhongli plans on removing his jacket or if he intends to sit and tuck in dressed as though he's ready to perform last rites at any given moment. ]
So, Mr. Zhongli. [ They have some time before the food arrives, he imagines. Childe will set his elbows on the table, mindful of the cutlery (though there doesn't seem to be any save a pair of decorative sticks? How strange, but who is he to dictate Liyue's sense of interior design) and regards his companion with an interested glint in his eye. ]
Tell me about yourself. What made you decide to get into the business of being a ... mortician?
[ There's really no nicer way to say it. Consultant seems like it's dressing it up when it really doesn't need to be dressed up. At the end of the day he imagines Zhongli will still handle the burial and ceremonies of the dead. ]
no subject
The restaurant is loud, and it would probably be more jarring if not for the fact that he's been around a number of his subordinates in the cold Snezhnayan winters, when one of the more recreational ways of keeping warm was huddling around a fire passing around a bottle of fire-water. He's used to the raucous comaraderie of his peers - and it can get rather raucous, when he thinks about it, the sort that's befitting an organization whose members could have their lives ruthlessly cut short without warning in their service to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa - so a place like this wasn't really much different.
Recalling to mind Zhongli's earlier order, he glances at the man out of the corners of his eyes before turning his full attention to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor consultant. Idly, he wonders if Zhongli plans on removing his jacket or if he intends to sit and tuck in dressed as though he's ready to perform last rites at any given moment. ]
So, Mr. Zhongli. [ They have some time before the food arrives, he imagines. Childe will set his elbows on the table, mindful of the cutlery (though there doesn't seem to be any save a pair of decorative sticks? How strange, but who is he to dictate Liyue's sense of interior design) and regards his companion with an interested glint in his eye. ]
Tell me about yourself. What made you decide to get into the business of being a ... mortician?
[ There's really no nicer way to say it. Consultant seems like it's dressing it up when it really doesn't need to be dressed up. At the end of the day he imagines Zhongli will still handle the burial and ceremonies of the dead. ]