inhumanheresy

[inhumanheresy]

“Thorough?” Bright-eyed, so much as he can be, Tartaglia’s open-mouthed grin evokes nothing so much as a creature that wants to devour, and his hands echo that sentiment as his hands tighten both on nape and navel, insistently working the soft, strong silk knot of the sash loose, jade ornament clinking softly against the floor as the sash falls and Morax’s robes slip open to reveal his torso and the thin ties of his soft, pleated skirts.

“Well then, if there are other forms you favor, such as those that the authors of Rex Incognito tell, then show me that range, and we’ll see how thoroughly my taste extends.”

Ice and love and stars above, but Ajax is thinking in that matter of Zhongli even in a distinctly nonhuman appearance, and cannot deny the fact that he would intimately grapple Morax in the god’s might as his Exuvial form, in whatever heavenly and lordlike power he embodied when presenting as the Archon, in something perhaps even as unknown and alien as his own Abyssal shape, as—

Tartaglia distracts himself from all of those tantalizing, malleable fantasies with the actuality of the divine flesh beneath his fingers.

And with actuality, of course, rise the remembrance of his own limitations.

It’s been… what, over a year? longer? since he’s had sex with anyone, and far, far longer since he’s bedded someone that mattered. Yet despite being woefully out of practice with anyone or anything other than his own hand, he will make this good for Morax. So good, so memorable, so exhilarating that he cannot help but want for more. Want for him.

The god seats himself back upon the bed with an easy grace that belies the eagerness of his grip on Tartaglia’s shirt — loose enough to still appear modest and serene, sure enough that the Harbinger can neither mistake his intent nor the strength that could tear the whole garment from him with barely a tug.

At Morax’s demand, Tartaglia barks out a delighted, grinning laugh. “As you say.” 

He dives in, following the guide of Morax’s pull down to meet him with all the forceful intent of his claymore colliding with that molecule-matrixed shield array. Tartaglia leans in with his weight on one knee between Morax’s warm thighs and he wraps long umber hair around his hand, pulling back to sting the scalp and bare the throat as he kisses Morax with all the fervor and fanaticism that he pours into his self-improvement.

His square-palmed hand splays across Morax’s belly before twisting and sliding down towards his groin and hip, his fingertips parted and mapping over the unblemished skin with a hunger to discover every inch of the Adeptus’ body by touch. When the two of them finally part for breath, Tartaglia’s shudders ever so slightly as his thumb carves through the valley between Morax’s hip and lower torso.

“But what would you say to me kissing you elsewhere, too,” he murmurs between their heated lips, making as if to kiss down Morax’s shapely jaw towards his ear, but instead he deviates to mouth warm and messy at the base of one golden antler, then once more at the tip of its closest prong.

Or, perhaps, kissing you like that as I bend you fit to break and strike deep enough that you call my name. Yes, yes, but no — later. Later. He’ll be damned if he ends up embarrassing himself like an untried teenager, not to mention failing to perform and leaving his xiansheng wanting.

as you are—

to think that such a short statement, deceptively simple, could mean so much, could leave him so desperate for those dark, blue eyes to glance back up and meet his own, could leave him so beautifully, wonderfully speechless.

and it is almost strange to him, how dangerously close to romantic it feels, holding the attention of someone who despite himself and his public facade, here and now, is so utterly genuine, honest.

as you are now—

even without the gentle thumbing at his nipple— rousing, and doubly so when coupled with the brush of his silks against him— the words alone would likely have been enough to draw a still-human growl from his throat. and he allows himself to be pulled down, in slightly, by the hand clinging to his shirt, receives that kiss with an almost relieved exhale.

his eyes close as he listens, then. and he finds himself grinning, forcing an exhale as he briefly imagines his undoing as each respective iteration of himself. how curious it is, he thinks, to be so... wanted, though it is not as if he is unaware that he is beautiful, of course. it is simply that, beneath those words, there's something that he cannot quite name, something else that only heightens that desire, that want.

he is taller, of course, and far more lithe in this form, meant to be a bridge between a proper dragon and the humans he imitates yet neither true, a comfortable balance. as such, he is not necessarily larger, simply sleeker, longer, his features ethereal yet exaggerated. and in ages past, in the time of warring gods, he might have even appeared frightening.

but not here, not now, not with him— this man wants him just as he is, the sincerity in those eyes alone enough to pin morax down and still him completely. when did this happen? when did he become so weak for this man?

the thought is interrupted as he is pulled into a kiss, a gasp of a breath leaving him as that tongue meets his. he searches for something hold then, his long fingers easily finding their way into the man's shirt— just as tartaglia's tongue finds its way into his mouth, forcing its way in.

this time when he is coaxed forward, morax follows readily, the tips of his teeth dragging over his freshly-bitten lips. and his eyes widen, brighten, as his question is then answered a second time. and he listens, watches, this answer with great interest.

it is obvious to him when tartaglia swallows exactly what it is he's picturing, his gaze briefly distant. and in turn, morax takes a moment to do the same, considers it, before his expression shifts into a narrow-eyed, wild grin.

" how thorough. " he replies with a huff of a laugh, low. and this time, he takes the initiative. he gracefully turns them both around, hands still tight to tartaglia's shirt as he guides him... until he is able to sit down at the edge of the bed.

he doesn't let go even once settled, instead choosing to gently tug at his shirt, pulling him closer, his bright, golden eyes moving over him until, at last, he finds tartaglia's gaze again.

i... i still want to know you—

so you shall. " now, kiss me like that again. "

[inhumanheresy]

Childe laughs, warm and soft, and leans down to press a loving kiss to her forehead. “I do, Matinka, I swear. And while I’ll do my big brotherly duty and impress on him the importance of a tidy living space, so long as you drill it into Teucer’s thick head to be responsible and honest as you did for the rest of us, then he will maybe, hopefully, even retain those qualities as he grows up. Stubborn as Papa we all may be, but you are our Mama.

“After all,” he chuckles as he shakes out his heavy coat and hangs it on a peg, all others in the row empty save for his mother’s, “you even managed to wrangle Taras into a habit of keeping things clean, and he was even more prone to daydreams and being scatterbrained back when we were young, if I remember rightly.”

He remembers well the vegetable basics of the family red-meat stew recipe: mushrooms, potatoes, onions, garlic, cabbage — though not in that order, of course. As he rolls up his shirtsleeves and enters the kitchen with her, he can see that much of the potato and carrot peeling is already done; Childe plucks a knife from the wall hanger, tests its edge, and sets about chunking the potatoes into large, rough cubes when he finds the blade acceptably sharp.

“Less rabbits, or less deer and elk?” Neither is good, but one or the other can say something about available food, predators in the area, or both. If the larger animals are dwindling… Ajax doesn’t like the idea of Papa going off into the forest alone, even with a rifle at hand.

( 🌿 ) HER WARM LAUGHTER fills the home while her gaze softens. its not often that her busy boy comes home , especially when little could stop him from entering or vocal dislike of him staying. her heart aches for him to stay but she knows. he's home not because he could possibly stay long but because Her Majesty had called him home.

❝ AT LEAST MY ajik remembers , hm ? you must do the same for teucer , he constantly forgets despite my reminders. ❞ her voice is warm as she returns the hug that her son gives , enveloped by not just his arms but by his height as well. upon the break and his movement more into the house she steps aside , hands still holding the apron she'd been in the middle of putting on before his appearance at the front door.

COMPLETING THE ACTION of tying around her she nods , ❝ YOU SHOULD. I said the same when he left earlier but you know .. can't stop him when he puts his mind to something. most of the men in this family take that from him i suppose but ah .. yes. rabbit would seem more apt than venison --- there's been less of them around lately for some reason. ❞ the woods had felt .. more unwelcome than usual lately and with the families poor record of what lurks within she wanted little to do with it.

OUT OF SIGHT out of mind .. hopefully.

❝ MUCH APPRECIATED. I would appreciate your help --- it'll go so much quicker with an extra pair of hands. ❞

[inhumanheresy]

@visionhcld

Head propped up on his hand, Ajax regards Zhongli with a contemplative, curious air. “You know, you’ve always been willing to indulge me when we’ve been intimate, no matter what it is that I wished to try. But what about you?”

He straightens, leaning forward with an intent look in his eyes as his fingers loosely lace together. “What desires or whims bide their time unspoken in your heart, xiansheng?”

[inhumanheresy]

“I’ll leave that to you then!” he calls after Teucer as his brother sprints off as fast as seven-year-old legs can carry him. All of the items he’d named would be kept specifically as fishing items, and so in one place that Teucer would likely know even if he hadn’t gone on an ice-fishing trip before.

Ajax, on the other hand, goes to retrieve those things that he hadn’t listed for his brother, such as food, which they’d want to bring along on principle but especially because Teucer was still a growing boy. His stomach would be growling around breakfast, no matter how early they set out.

Ajax putters around the kitchen collecting a few snacks — rye bread, a lump of cheese, tough salted meat, and a generous double handful of dried mushrooms — before searching out the pyro heater. It’s a piece much like a cylindrical lantern, one that lit when a person twisted the top and pulled it up to a locked position, both revealing the heating coils that warmed the immediate area and bringing the pyro crystal into contact with whatever machinations activated it in the first place.

For all that Snezhnayans are used to the cold, none living now is stupid enough to underestimate its danger.

Teucer comes back into the room with tackle box in hand and awkwardly lugging the big manual augur on his shoulder. More than once, Ajax had offered to bring back one of the new augur tools powered by an electro crystal, but their father had refused — ostensibly due to tradition, but probably because he steadfastly refused to have anything to do with items bought by his middle son’s ‘lavish’ sendings back to his family.

Even the medicine that Ajax’s salary pays for are only accepted because Ilya’s wife and the rest of his children insist.

And so, a manual augur he and Teucer are saddled with, the wide flute of the drill shape both sharp and heavy on Teucer’s shoulder as he hefts it off alongside the other tools that Ajax sent him to collect.

This is one of the idiosyncrasies of Snezhnaya: even Dragonspine’s ice didn’t grow so quickly. Where a Mondstadter might cut a fishing hole on a mountain lake that could last the length of a month or even the whole winter, in Snezhnaya, any drilled hole through the ice here would seal itself in a week, if even that. Such is the basic, rudimentary influence of the Cryo Archon on their nation.

There will always be ice.

Ajax smiles, taking the tackle box and shoving it into the bottom of his bag, a foundation for everything that would sit atop it. “All right, Teucer; tell me what you know of ice fishing. Father must have taught you, even if he hasn’t taken you out on the morning fish runs yet. I’m trusting you on this fishing trip, so tell me: what do we need to do to set up the fishing hole?”

( 🎠 ) IT NEAR APPEARED that stars shone in the young ginger haired boy's eyes from the amount of sheer excitement as he holds fast on his older brother's sleeve as he jumped up and down , laughter like music to ones ears. ❝ YAY ! YOU'RE THE best big brother ever ! i promise to stay awake the the entire time and help with fishing and catch sooooo many fish , just you wait ! ❞ he refuses to believe that he'll fall asleep ( again ) like the last time he and ajax or his papa had gone out ice fishing so early in the morning. if he goes to sleep super early and then wakes up when he should .. he shouldn't be sleepy even after sawing into all the ice.

( TRUTHFULLY HE HAD really wanted his big brother to be the one to take him on an adventure such as this. papa was fun and all but .. his seriousness was not as fun and he couldn't mess around. )

THE YOUNGEST NODS at speed as his brother stood up , moving like a young fox excited to continue a source of play or ready to chase something uniquely fascinating. the child smiles wide as his gloved hand reached out to take his elder brother's and shaking it in agreement.

❝ YEAH ! I'LL GET the tackle box and the rods and the augur ! ❞ he'd only be able to carry the first two but .. the attempt to get all three was a sure genuine attempt --- the boy already turning to trot off to get tackle box first as that was one of the more easiest things to grab.

[inhumanheresy]

Tartaglia flashes his teeth. “For the sake of plausible deniability, Iudex, I will neither confirm nor deny the contents of my upcoming week’s schedule.” Which contains nothing at all save travel back home, given both his injuries and still-vacationing status, but he gleefully takes the opportunity to rib Neuvillette just because. Anything else, including the upcoming Project… that is Need To Know information.

He believes Neuvillette when the judge says that he honestly does wish to ascertain how well the Harbinger’s recuperation is progressing. To have the only instance where the Iudex disagreed with the judgement of the Oratrice turn out like this—

Well. The repercussions of his fight with the star-whale are hardly Neuvillette’s doing, but the man’s lack of intercession during the determination of that farce of a trial did eventually lead to this—

Really, he should thank him.

But.

If you make a mistake, you apologize.

Yes, actions speak louder than words, but sometimes words are necessary. There have been moments in Ajax’s life where his temper and emotions combined overrode his acceptance of an apology, but this is not one of them. Neuvillette offers this admission with official — but more importantly, genuine — remorse, and there is a not immeasurable sense of validation that washes over Tartaglia as he breathes out, tracing the condensation on his cup.

His memory courses back as his eyes shutter — not to the moment when Fontaine’s justice machine declared him guilty, not to the moment when the overwhelming flashfire pain of his transformation was interrupted by a blow too swift for even him to react to, but to the stilled air of his holding cell when the Chief Justice’s composure broke to reveal his repressed, honest frustration.

Baited frustration, certainly, but only what was already roiling within the judge to begin with.

“Your apology is accepted.” His dark eyes flick open. “But understand; I do not offer any apology in return for my actions or behaviour, disruptive as they may have been. If you need an official statement from a foreign national on record, we can work that out, but, affording you this honesty as myself—”

His chin rises and head tilts with an expression that screams nothing so much as arrogance, and the intensity in his gaze would sharpen even the remotest light if it could. “—you will either earn it at the end of our fight, or not.”

Etienne's curiosity piques at Tartaglia's mention of his upcoming schedule. Outside of recovering - and perhaps that is what he is speaking of - he cannot imagine what else could be in his very near future. Or is the Tsaritsa so demanding that she intends to put Tartaglia to work with injuries that should demand rest?

"I should hope your schedule is blocked in for the next week at least to say 'healing'. However, your time is your business." And Etienne won't pry where his concern is not needed. Unless Tartaglia's schedule directly affects Fontaine, he cannot imagine that the Harbinger wants the Chief Justice digging into his affairs, even out of polite curiosity. "I trust you will recover, for your duties to Her Majesty, and for our duel.

The soft smile he has worn thus far shifts back into neutrality as Tartaglia changes the subject, the title firmly settling the air into something more serious. They have had their lighter conversation, they have agreed upon the duel that Tartaglia wants, Etienne has checked on his condition.

Etienne leans back slightly in his chair, fingers clasped around his knee, gaze locked upon the other man. Oh, but there is much he could say, things he does not understand and seeks clarity on, things he does not think are appropriate for people such as them - not friends, not enemies, intertwined deeper than acquaintances if only for the wrongdoing enacted upon Tartaglia while in Fontaine.

The things that Etienne has thought about but does not think he could bring up to anyone.

His lips press into a thin line as he considers the other man. Of course he knows why he is here. It is something he should have done sooner, truth be told, even if the weight of everything happening in Fontaine - including Tartaglia's strange disappearance - had kept him from doing so.

"I did, truly, want to make sure you are alright. You were injured within Fontaine's borders, I could not in good conscience allow anything to keep myself from checking in.

"And I owe you an apology. My actions with the Oratrice should not have been delayed as they were. Had they not been, you would not have wound up where you did." That may have been a part of Focalors' plan: Provide a false charge against one who could fight against the narwhal, placing them in a place to do just that. It does not matter if it was destined or faulty equipment or Focarlors; the fact is, Tartaglia received a guilty verdict and was injured because of it.

"So. I apologize."

[inhumanheresy]

Ajax grins all the way back to his molars at his brother’s visible enthusiasm, the vibrant energy and desire to prove himself. He’ll be a fine warrior one day.

“I believe you, and I’ll hold you to it.” Well, he’ll hold Teucer to that promise to a certain extent — waking early, amongst all the rest, but after that, he’ll push his little brother only to a point, fully anticipating that Teucer’ll tip against his side completely asleep not too long after they’ve gotten through the rigorous activity of sawing through the thick lake ice.

Ajax himself did much the same when Papa first took him out ice fishing. By striding out before sunrise tomorrow with his brother, he steals that first fishing trip of Teucer’s from their father. The very thought of such theft pains him. Even so, he cannot regret taking this experience for himself. It will be the only time he does so, and both his reward and his penance will be in the form of a memory that he carries dear.

“We are in agreement.” Ajax stands and holds his hand out for Teucer to shake. “Then let's start getting the equipment ready, shall we? We’ll need the rods and tackle box, an auger, a saw, and the portable pyro crystal heater.”

( 🎠 ) THE EXCITEMENT WAS plain on the younger's face with the big grin and shine in his eyes growing even brighter as he all but bounced in place and tugged at his brother's sleeve. he wasn't rough by any means , if anything he was rather playful as he progressed his spirited actions -- no doubt a far cry from the energy he'd likely have in a few hours against what he promised.

❝ I CAN HANDLE it i swear ! i'll prove it to you ! i'll stay awake the whole time , honest ! ❞ a voiced truth that no doubt would be broken later on ; thankfully nothing too serious that a failure of truth would pose no harm. his desperation upon his face sat clear as day upon his face 'fore perking at the acceptance of him coming along.

THE YOUNGER'S NOSE scrunched up at the mention of him having to go to bed early tonight . . but if it meant he could go with ajax in the morning ( early early as he says ) and spend time with him but also help with the fishing . . then it was something he would have to do. ❝ UM . . YEAH. it sounds fair ! as long as i get to spend time with you and help tomorrow then i'll do whatever ! ❞

[inhumanheresy]

“I’ve known this place though winter cold and summer mud, Mama; you know that the only reason I’d care about its cleanliness is because someone was terribly strict about her children keeping the home tidy.”

Ajax hugs her tight, sinking into the warmth and her love and the simple closeness of an embrace. The part of him that remembers these hugs always forgets that he’s long been an adult, and is always surprised at how easily he can sling his arms around her. He supposes he'll always feel that way.

“Leaving at this time? Should I lay my bet on venison then, or rabbit?” His tone and smile are cheerful but he doubts that he’ll still be around whenever Papa hauls back the day’s dinner. Midday is the worst time for ice fishing — Papa taught him as much years ago — so Childe bets that he’s gone to walk the snare route. 

It’s for the best, really.

“Either way, sounds like hearty stew’s on the menu.” Childe steps inside as she welcomes him in, kicking excess snow from his boots on the outside of the doorframe before scuffing them acceptably clean on the bristly entryway rug. He looks over at his mother as he bends and kicks up a heel to take them off. “Did you want some help with the vegetables?”

@inhumanheresy \ mother mother.

( 🌿 ) CONCERN CONTINUED TO hang heavy on the matriarch as she took silent note of the hint that plagued her third son , as much as he did his utmost to hide it from the world around him. a mother knows , especially after a long hiatus of being a proper present mother figure in the lives of most of her children. it's been complicated , especially with ajax himself but they've come so far that all is well in the end.

NATALYA LETS OUT a soft chuckle while rolling her eyes as the shorter of the two accepts the hug , giving her third eldest a gentle squeeze 'fore she looked up to him and shook her head. ❝ NO NEED TO apologize , my boy .. i simply would've cleaned up a little more if I knew you were coming by --- but no , your father left but ten minutes ago to catch us some dinner. teucer and tonia went out to play with their friends .. you'll find him before you go off again hm ? he'll be upset if he misses you, ❞ she's relieved that the air in the home would not become stifling with her husband's distrust of ajax's appearance , already moving out of the front door's entryway to allow her boy entry inside.

[inhumanheresy]

" is .. everything alright ? you usually write ahead to say that you'd be visiting -- what's the surprise visit about ? " dumps mamajax on your lap.

Childe smiles, bright enough to fool anyone into thinking that nothing is amiss. Natalya, perhaps, might catch a hint of fatigue mixed with restlessness in her third son’s bearing, but nothing more. Besides, he’s recovered from his long battle with the whale by this point — the palace’s own medical staff and his innate healing saw well enough to that.

So off again he goes, but this time, Project Stuzha creeps rime-like over the horizon.

The long winter approaches.

“Sorry, Mama.” His smile tilts wry even as he holds his arms open wide for a hug. “I’m just passing through this time, and didn’t want to get any of the little ones’ hopes up in case they were still at school. Is this a bad time? Anyone here that doesn’t want to see me?”

[inhumanheresy]

Another night, strikingly cold, colder than they have yet to experience this winter, falls deeper as the hour grows later, biting st every edge of Zapolyarny Palace. Yana had lit one of the hearths before Tartaglia was able to answer her call, and now she walks with him from the entrance of the throne room towards the firelight, hand curled around his forearm, knowing he must slow his stride so as not to outpace her leisurely steps.

"Most other nations have begun their celebrations," she says with a soft smile, eyes glancing up to gaze at his profile. Snezhnaya dornet begun their own celebrations for a few more weeks yet, but she's not against a moment with her Eleventh before that time - even if she knows he would rather be with another on this evening. Most evenings, perhaps. "I have something for you, so I hope you will indulge me a bit of your time before you leave again. I will not keep you long."

As they take seats beside the fire, she recalls a few years prior, when they sat in these same seats while she gifted him the earring that still adorns his ear now.

"Schastlivogo Rozhdestva. A little early, yes, but I have a job that will keep you busy in the coming weeks, and I hope the holiday will be spent with your family." He may only have a day or two of free time at that point, and she knows how important his family is to him, so she will not keep him from them. She picks up a box from the small table between the chairs and the fire, and hands it to him. Inside, nestled within white tissue paper, is a new red scarf with the barest hint of silver woven into the threads that may just resemble flecks of snow when catching the light. This scarf is thicker than his usual one, not meant to replace it but to be used when it is especially cold, perhaps on this night as he leaves.

The chill of Her touch seeps through his coat and thick leather gloves where She tucks her arm through his, but the temperature She maintains at the moment is not so cold as to be terribly uncomfortable — not for a Snezhnayan-born, at least, and not for any like him who have spent extended time in Her presence.

Her heels click with each step, a feathering rime crackling out over rug and stone even as the two of them approach the radiating warmth of the hearth fire. Its heat does nothing to diminish the icy aura of the Archon by his side, though he himself appreciates both the comfort of the hearth as well as the delicate touch of Her hand. He finds the cushions of his chair, too, pleasantly warm when he relaxes down against it after keeping his arm steady for Her Majesty as She takes her own seat across from him first.

“Shchaslyvoho Rizdva,” he replies, dark eyes crinkling alongside his smile as he easily falls back into the dialect and accent of his home region, so often set aside by necessity when he’s in the capital city. “I’ve heard that Sumeru and Natlan celebrate the solstice in particular, and that Mondstadt keeps the midwinter celebrations going for… well, as long as they can. To hear the tale of it told, it sounds as if they retained their traditions from times before the Archons, back when Mondstadt froze nearly as cold as we do.”

Tradition in Snezhnaya tells that the Tsaritsa ascended to her throne on the coldest day of the year, not the longest. Either time is a prime excuse to both bond with family, he thinks, huddled together against the cold and dark, or to celebrate as vigorously as possible for much the same reason.

“You may keep me for as long as You wish,” he says with a touch of both mischief and affection in his face and the warmth of his voice. “I come late and stay late when it comes to family gatherings, and so must make what excuses I can to linger elsewhere for a while. I would much rather spend this time with Your Majesty than list about aimlessly.”

His own gift for Her is not ready yet, and he feels a twinge of guilt at not having it ready at hand. A silly sentiment, of course, and he knows this, guesses that She gifts him before the holiday so as not to infringe upon time with his family. Ajax smothers that immediate contrition of his in order to truly, properly appreciate the gift She presents to him.

“Oh,” he breathes as the warmth and exquisite softness of the scarf reveals itself from the first touch of his fingertips, and then as it settles against the back of his neck, gentle as a newborn snowfall and yet warm as Snezhnaya’s summer sun.

"Thank you."

Blood-on-snow, home and heartbeat, are the associations that lie against him with the downy comfort of safety amidst winter’s might. Leave it to Her Majesty to understand, to present him a gift both practical and luxurious. Hints of silver gleam in the dancing firelight as he thumbs across the fabric, appreciating the weave, the warmth, and the thoughtfulness for a long moment before slinging it overtop of the one he now wears. The bulk infringes on the wolf-fur of his collar, but oh, he is warm.

And once again, his favorite color. She remembers.

“A job?” He notes what She said belatedly, his words partly smothered by his enfolding layers of scarves. Tartaglia hooks a finger into the high-piled cowl of red fabric and yanks it down enough that he can be understood clearly. Perhaps I’ll see about going home early— But no, Sashko and Tetyanka and Tarasik will still be there, along with their families…

“Rest assured, I will spend all the time I can with them.” Every second he can manage. He’ll count every moment a blessing. “But that is for the upcoming days.”

To lift her hand and kiss it is audaciousness beyond belief for any normal person, much less any citizen of Snezhnaya, but since he was fourteen, unbridled audaciousness has been a norm for the man now named Tartaglia. His breath rimes on his lips as he lifts away from Her skin.

“I would accompany you for a while, if you wish it.”

[inhumanheresy]

Ajax raises his teacup in response to the condition appended to his ‘threat’ of slipping into Zhongli’s workplace all unnoticed, his ‘hmpf’ befittingly haughty. “The point is to not be noticed at all in the first place, much less distracting. Still, since you’ve set that parameter, then I’ll leave a plum blossom on the esteemed Director’s desk as well as sneaking whatever gift I scheme up as appropriate into your office. A paper plum for her, if I decide to execute this plan outside of its blossoming season, but enough to mystify and mollify her in equal measure, even if she doesn’t recognize the need of it in the first place.”

He does not fault Morax’s surprise at his career training track. The assumption aligns directly with his personal preference, after all, but ‘less suited’ is… a conundrum. Fresh out of the Abyss, he was wont to pick at tempers like loose threads, intentionally or otherwise, and find a way, any way, to confront others with a blatant intent to fight, as little else at the time satisfied the battle-lust that his time down in the Abyss unleashed from his heart.

Within the Abyss, and at first the least of all creatures within it, he’d ingrained down to his bones the necessity of hiding, learning, stalking, and ambushing his… prey? target? that which will die — even though as his skills and capability grew, so did his thirst for open, unrestrained combat.

Along with his penchant for creating chaos, some keen-eyed assessors within the Fatui saw the young Ajax’s aptitude for such quiet precision lying unutilized beneath his talent for both picking fights and sheer annihilation and decided to pluck him from the mass of new blood into a more focused discipline.

Truly, he should thank them. Had they not extracted him from the sea of recruits, he might well have ended up lauded amongst the top of the infantry, a general in his own right, but he never would have achieved the rank of Harbinger without the patience and self-control taught with difficulty by his master but reinforced further by Fatui specialization training.

And perhaps this does constitute a measure of underestimation from Zhongli, but not in a way that matters. He is not wrong, after all, in believing Ajax more fitting in places other than the shadows, no matter how broadly his skills range.

Zhongli’s hand slips from his, gentle and unhurried, much the same as his demeanor during the prolonged silence of Ajax’s contemplation. The adeptus’ index knuckle brushes against his lips before Zhongli guides him up to meet his gaze with a firm steadiness that brooks no refusal.

Warm. That smile, the affection in his eyes, his stroking thumb, even the self-conscious dip of his chin and flicker of his gaze. Honest.

‘I am grateful that I did.’

Well, what is a man to say to such a confession?

“While it’s reassuring to know that I wasn’t completely incorrect in my expectation of how you might react, the fact still stands that for a good long while now I had assumed that, eventually, even your tolerance would grow thin. And I was wrong.”

He lets his head rest more heavily on the support of Morax’s curved fingers as he looks up at him, exhaling with a quiet little hmmmm.

“You really are a strange one, aren’t you… Befriending the handpicked villain of your play, tossing your empty shell into a crowd almost as much for your own amusement as to start an uproar, seeking out and contradicting pridefully incorrect historians for sport—”

Ajax drifts the back of a single knuckle against the inside of Zhongli’s wrist. “And now, not only knowingly accepting but welcoming such a beloathed creature into your abode.

“But I suppose we’re well-matched in that regard.” A chuckle accompanies the half-smile that still doesn’t feel quite believing of the situation he finds himself in. “Strangeness. Though you will call me predictable for my disappointment that I cannot now surprise you in the heat of battle with the sudden manifestation of a strength long-dreaded for its full release yet previously unknown in form.”

the sight of a particularly flustered ajax is, of course, entirely expected. and in truth, it only serves to heighten zhongli's sense of amusement— and a certain fondness— in that moment. he makes no attempt to hide the smile that settles on his face then, even as ajax visibly attempts to compose himself. such a vivid response could never have been elicited were his words not wholly true... and they both know well this fact.

a conveniently timed sip of tea then allows ajax a moment to fully recover. and in the next, the man shoots his own grin toward zhongli, stilling him with its sharpness, deadly, predatory... even when half-hidden. yes, human or something else— that smile is, indeed, the very same. perhaps that is why— apart from his own curiosity, his affection— that he can so easily chase away any innate repulsion.

there is no line where one ends and the other begins. there never has been.

flatterer— at the pointed tease, zhongli relaxes again, huffing quietly to himself, under his breath. but the threat that follows draws a true laugh from him, eyes alight as he meets ajax's again. " so long as you can manage it without drawing the director's ire by proving too distracting, i fully welcome the challenge.

" and for the record, it isn't that i believe you incapable, simply less suited when compared to other things. " whether or not ajax could be considered a master of spy-craft or no, his truest talents— at least in zhongli's opinion— centered around his insatiable desire to better himself, his notable resourcefulness and unending perseverance. his current station suited him.

a vanguard, after all, needed to be seen to properly lead an advance.

their conversation continues then with a wonderfully familiar, well-practiced ease. and zhongli nods along as he listens, huffing a quiet laugh to himself as ajax finishes off the last of that hastily-prepared meal. then suddenly, he remembers that he had, in fact, not simply wished it into being but actually made it.

did he enjoy it that much or was he truly that hungry? his eyes follow the empty bowl as it is, at last, set aside. and for a brief moment, there is a touch of surprise clear across his face. his attention, however, quickly returns to ajax, feeling his gaze. and struck by the intensity in those eyes, the thought is discarded before he can properly decide either way.

and for a time, they simply sit there in a comfortable yet weighted silence, zhongli as steady as any mountain and just as patient. and when, at last, ajax does reach out and take his hand, his eyes follow the gesture all the way up, his own lips parting at sheer honesty of it.

i should have known better— the words clearly surprise him. and though ajax's gaze is downward, as quickly as he can manage, zhongli hurries to shake his head. " hardly. " he replies, breathy. he then pulls his hand free just enough to turn it, shift it to force ajax to look back up at him by a thumb placed at his chin.

and as he continues, he gently traces his thumb along the man's skin. " i'm uncertain even i could have predicted that evening's outcome. " the assumption was perfectly logical, after all. how could he ever take offense from that? he smiles then, expression soft. and his head dips, a touch sheepishly then.

" i suppose i surprised myself a bit. and i am grateful that i did. "

[inhumanheresy]

heading down to the harbor

‘Casual’, Morax suggests for an eatery, and Tartaglia agrees. Wanmin and Third-Round Knockout, two of the less-formal standards on their spread of restaurant choices, might be the sort of place where they could show up in such disarray and not be chastised for doing so, but neither of them would wish to bring the criticism to those establishments that would follow their showing up in such states unlike their usual.

That, and they both have public faces to upkeep. Zhongli-xiansheng still remains untouched enough — if a bit dusty, especially around the hems — that he can still show his face in ‘polite society’, but Childe in anything less than his full summer uniform, even when he’s known for leaving it open to alleviate the muggy Liyuen heat? Perish the thought.

They head towards the southern end of Chihu Rock instead, where seafood and noodle vendors loudly ply their trade from stalls, and everything from mora meat to saucy grilled eel to quail skewers is available to purchase and then eat on the go.

Tartaglia gets a paper-full of boiled shallow-water crustaceans before they find a lonely place along the pier to sit with their food. His coat and scarf he casts behind him for the moment as he dangles one leg casually off the side of the dock and pulls out one of his crawfish, deftly twisting head from body and sucking out the juices before chucking the now-drained upper portion into the harbor waters.

The gentle waves and cries of gulls cover the sound of their voices along with being a relaxing background noise. The long dock provides them a modicum of privacy despite the open air. Should anyone attempt to approach from underwater, Tartaglia will know of their presence a league before they can surface within hearing distance.

He cracks open the crawfish’s tail and pops the meat into his mouth with a hum of appreciation. “So,” he says after he finishes the tender bite, going back to their conversation that they’d begun and not really continued since ending their spar in that isolated mountain meadow, “I’ll not ask you to share your secrets, bribery of food notwithstanding. But I will ask: what surprised you?”

what happens next is far from formal. morax smiles, dipping his head at the words, an acknowledgment but also a promise. if not fated, it is certainly logical at least and entirely natural in hindsight. after all, there is no need for either of them to play pretend any longer. and there is a certain charm to be found in being so acknowledged.

it only occurs to morax in the afterward— standing there, opposite that pointed smugness— that he'd very nearly forgotten what it felt like to be faced with the unknown, the wonderfully unpredictable... and whole-heartedly enjoy it.

and so, they will return here, sooner rather than later were he to hazard a guess. he'd been genuinely surprised by the man's sheer force of will in their bout, so-very-human, the absurdity of his persistence. perhaps he, too, can learn something when next they find time to meet for a physical contest.

" that would be wise. " he replies, eyes alight to match his gentle teasing, the faint laughter in his voice. " and i can recommend you another tailor should you choose to give your current one a well-deserved respite. "

the mention of food that follows elicits a noticeable reaction; morax pauses, eyes widening, clearly surprised by the suggestion. it had been an easy thing to ignore given the circumstances, but he is hungry, he realizes then. and though he pretends to consider the offer for a brief moment, truthfully, he could not think of a reason to decline the offer. he wants to go, to return to another taste of normalcy between them. and just before he answers, he seems to grin.

" that seems a fair trade, though you won't be able to pry all of my secrets from me with food alone. " he concedes. and after taking a moment to look the man over from head-to-toe, he continues. " somewhere casual then? "

they were hardly dressed for anything else, really. and though most would be too polite to question why exactly the lord harbinger was so... disheveled, they would certainly notice it.

[inhumanheresy]

The thrust hits the back of his throat, shoves past, and for a moment Ajax has to stifle his gag reflex, throat constricting hard as tears forced out from the exertion shine at the corners of his eyes. He forcibly keeps himself from biting down in reaction to the intrusion. His watery claws twitch and break skin in a line of pinprick perforations, but he holds steady, his pulse throbbing against the warm cradle of Morax’s long-fingered hand.

Tight. Hot. Sweet.

He’s missed this; he’s missed Morax. Zhongli. He’s missed the look on that beloved face as the god’s eyes grow distant and his body draws taut, the rumble of his voice as pleasure begins to override sense, the aching stretch of lips and throat from that long, familiar cock in his own mouth, the burning in his chest that accompanies it.

His pull back to extract Morax’s shaft from his throat is long, languid, and laced with the cold, hard hint of enamel against silken meat in an extended drag of sensation before he catches his breath. The stumble in Morax’s own voice is gratifying, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

“No,” Ajax rasps, the sound and air grating forth like a serrated blade as he breathes in deep through his nose. His eyes close for a moment, lips pulling back from his teeth in a savage, smiling h a h. “You didn’t say, did you? You could have chosen to ramble on about irrelevant, inconsequential things so you could simply keep talking while your attention drew elsewhere, or you might have spoken seriously to maintain your composure. All I asked was for you to talk.”

His hydro-clawed thumb brushes up and down Morax’s thigh almost absently — almost, save that it finds the softer flesh at the junction with his pelvis on an upstroke, and there finds a tender spot to press as his gaze falls back down to the god’s erection. “Instead, you speak of your want for me, but in the bare minimum. How… impersonal. This is how you would welcome me home?”

Ajax snaps forward to catch the head of Morax’s cock firmly but delicately between his teeth, the ridge of the glans caught right behind his incisors, and proceeds to bully the slit at the tip with his tongue. Up with the flat, soft, flick, down with the back, point to force the tip as far as it will go, pressing undulations that provide a constant, minute friction-

But at the same time, he lets go of Morax’s thigh in favor of settling his hand at the base of Morax’s cock, thumb below and index alongside, hydro claws splayed against his lower belly and the odd one out tucked into his groin between his thigh and balls. 

Ajax’s initial plan when he sank to his knees and sprung Morax’s erection out of its confines may have been to let the man fuck his throat to both of their contentment, but now- now that idea is flipped on its head, because damn completion, he’s going to let him agonize there on the edge of orgasm til dawn, pleading until his velvet-rich voice draws thin and reedy with desperation, and then he’ll cut him off unless he gives him what he wants, what he wants—

Beautiful.

Magnificent.

Mine.

To ask for praise and poetry would inherently undermine the receiving, and he cannot, will not, demand them. The hollowness would scour him as bare as the northernmost icefields. Insinuate, yes. Hint, as directly as he is able. He will not ask.

But he will demand pleasure. He demands it from Morax with each stroke of his touch that might cradle flesh or gouge it, each breathless clench that sets his throat bulging into the warm skin of his lover’s hand, each sweetly relieving bite and interminably agonizing caress that he carves against Morax’s invulnerable body. 

His mouth closes fully around the head of Morax’s cock and plies it with a force of suction enough to send even a god rolling their eyes back with intoxicated bliss. The tip of his tongue writhes against that cockslit with all the fervent intent of dragging Morax as close to orgasm as he possibly can. 

Ajax holds there, plying that suction, as he works his other hand further down, sliding over the curve of Morax's ass until he can hook the tip of one finger against and into the man’s hole. It is a shallow friction, pulling the sphincter muscle open as another fingertip teases at the sensitive edge, but only just, grazing back and forth against the wrinkled outer skin as the other curls into Morax’s soft and silken insides. 

That fingertip doesn’t delve nearly deep enough to reach Morax’s prostate, but teases and torments him with the promise of pleasure while withholding fulfillment. Sensation to boil that molten gold blood. Goading to barrel though any modicum of restraint.

Ajax releases Morax’s erection and blows a gentle, solitary puff of air across the overstimulated skin as his thumb grazes the patch of thigh he’d so viciously bit before. Leaning in, he mouths against the heated shaft, then the base, then sucks one testicle into his mouth to roll against his tongue, seeking whines and tension beneath his hands as he releases that grasp with a wet drag and slices his tongue across the divot of Morax’s pelvis.

“Beg all you like.” The grating from Ajax’s abused throat is not enough noise to be called a snarl, but the threat is as undeniable as the tremble of his jaws as he drags a shuddering breath down the inside of Zhongli’s thigh. “We’ll see if it gets you anywhere.”

as soon as ajax's mouth is around his cock, morax draws a slow, steadying breath and his head shifts backward, eyes narrowing as his focus shifts to settle out, on nothing, the whole of attention on the sensation of that soft, wet warmth around him. his pulse quickens, though likely imperceptibly, by the third of these advances.

he sighs, pleased as the warmth moving through him, lower, the growing hardness of his cock. he could get so very used to this, the gentle coaxing of that tongue. however, he is suddenly denied this and his eyes widen as soon as ajax releases him, pulling away with an audible, intentional pop.

he glances down, blinking, forgetting for the briefest moment just exactly what it was they had been talking about. until finally—

" you flatter me. " he answers gracefully, his usual poise returned despite how keen his focus remains, eyes unblinking on ajax as considers him, as the man strokes him gently and makes a point to delay the meeting of their eyes with a pointedly placed flick of that damned tongue of his.

and at last, when ajax looks up to meet his gaze, practically smirking, beaming with excitement— and well-deserved confidence— it occurs to him... this man wants nothing simply given. and so, it is only natural that, though his words are certainly true enough, the compliments are perfectly, far-too-plainly given.

the change his passive tone invokes is almost instant, a sharpness flooding into those beautiful blue eyes, ever dark and now darker somehow.

no.

even before he feels the coming bruise, the weight behind that solitary word is enough to send a chill straight through him, anticipation— and no small amount of adrenaline— coursing through him as readily as his too-thick blood. h feels himself swell further. and he hisses, jaw clenching as he is suddenly forced to keep still, balanced against the pain at the side of his knee, straight into the well-honed muscle.

of course, he does not complain. he's all but asked for this, after all.

that's all?

immediately, wide-eyed, he tries and fails to explain. " i never said- " he begins. but, his counterpoint is purposely muted, unsure and almost playful; he knows full-well the man will not be listening, after all.

and so, he cuts his own words off, the thought lost at the suddenly contrast he feels— such gentleness meant to serve as some false sense of security, surely. still, he allows himself to enjoy the soothing brushes, up and down his skin. then, as expected, there comes a sharp shift in the air, familiar; tartaglia's hydro vision, he knows, has certainly begun to glow.

it happens too quickly, however, that practiced augmentation. and morax hisses, eyes shutting sharply as those perfectly-formed claw tips easily shred through his clothes. the threat of moving, drawing his own blood against those unforgiven tips forces him to tense, sharply, and stand a little firmer, straighter, his pulse— still inhumanly even— quickens yet again.

you can do better, morax— of course he can.

ordinarily, such words might have been a tease. but there is no playfulness here. morax, it seems, has awakened a predator. and at the thought, he swallows, hungry for that wildness. it is only as he opens his mouth to draw a breath he realizes that his mouth's gone dry. and that clawed hand still lingers, clinging too tightly to him, too close to his ass. he cannot help that his mind wanders.

ah, this is what he wants to hear, the full-breadth of the power he commands.

admittedly, morax is caught off-guard, surprised, when ajax roughly grabs his wrist, pulling morax's hand not to his hair or in some attempt to drag him down to the floor but to his own throat. and while the pointed teasing of that tongue against such sensitive skin certainly distracts him for a good measure, even without such a blatant display of authority, he would not have expected what would follow.

the sheer speed, fluidity, at which his cock is taken in— completely— leaves his eyes blown wide, leaves them equally breathless. his sigh is audible, a half-hiss, half groan escaping him in a futile attempt to contain the sound, genuinely stolen by the firm resistance of ajax's throat.

well played... as if there had ever been any reason to doubt who would win.

it is as strange as it is maddening, slowly-but-surely intoxicating, to feel the bulk of himself twitching, fully-hard and pressing outward from the inside of ajax's throat... with his own hand. at first, he is held in place in order to ensure that he doesn't miss anything, not a single shift of ajax's tongue or his own cock's firm twitch. and he certainly feels all of it.

as ajax pulls back, then swallows him again, he manages to draw a breath, muted but sharp. and this time, he needs no encouragement to keep his hand still, fingers held gently to the base of ajax's jaw. his breath hitches with every break and his teeth clench each time the man pulls him in again.

his focus is so wonderfully singular— fixed to the bulge he himself produces over and over and over again— that he does not notice ajax's own hand moving over him, pulling him at the hip slightly before sliding his fingers down the small of his back, toward his ass, all in a bid to tease him more. and it works; his back bows slightly at the touch, the hand at ajax's throat holding a little more tightly, then.

the timing of those steady fingers does not escape him. and he silently curses to himself as a low growl leaves him.

ajax swallows. and morax breathes... and finds himself shifting forward seeking the warmth, the pressure of that beautiful mouth this time as he pulls away again. " you would— " he begins, his sentence broken by a more intentional thrust, a test of his boundaries, from him. " —have me beg you, then? "

the question is rhetorical. and so, he chooses to elaborate just as he'd wanted. you can do better, he'd said. morax's brows are knitted in forced focus as he glances down to take in the sight of ajax's nose once again raking up against his skin.

" i have— many times— even when you are not there to hear it— begged you, i mean. "

[inhumanheresy]

Childe’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline when Dehya speaks of surviving on Dragonspine without any ‘extra protection’.

“None? Your Vision must be the reason for that, surely.” He hadn’t missed the gleam of the sleek Sumeran case of the Pyro Vision hanging from her belt when he’d sized her up on her initial approach. Pyro wielders tend to take longer to grow cold than nearly anyone else, save those with Cryo visions, but a pervasive, unending icy climate does not care — one does not win an endurance competition against prolonged low temperatures.

To withstand the cold of Dragonspine without aid, Dehya’s Pyro control — both unconscious and practiced — must be highly skilled.

The mask behind his eyes flickers thin for a brief moment, a mere hint of his thirst for a fight shining through, the thunder of his blood rising— but this is not the time.

“Whatever the case may be, I do advocate for the use of a coat. The chill is… permeating. If you freeze, well,” he shrugs, a smile both humored and dangerous crossing his face as they step up to Wanmin’s counter, “you’ve now been warned.”

He raises his arm to wave as they approach the counter, and between height and familiarity manages to catch Chef Mao’s eye, the man making eye contact and giving a quick nod before returning to the customers he’d been attending. A pot of tea will accompany him when he approaches for their order, a variety either new, appropriate for the season and weather, or both.

“I’ll take you up on your offer at some point! I’ve never been to Sumeru, though I’ve met with traveling scholars, merchants, and warriors many a time, especially when they’re traveling through the commerce hub that is Liyue.”

He laughs, then heaves an exaggerated sigh as his gaze drifts to the distance. “Alas, duty calls. It may be some time before my schedule is freed up for personal time off aside from the usual evenings. Such is the life of the terrible Fatui.” At that last part, he tilts his head towards her with a long-suffering yet conspiratorial little expression, the mask on the side of his head bright in the lanternlight.

Drawing someone into confidence, whether in a lighthearted or serious manner, is a disarming tactic that’s worked well for him in Liyue. This time, he treads the line of saying only the truth while revealing nothing with practiced ease, yet with a spark of humor that he thinks will hit well with Dehya; she seems the sort to respond well to both the lightheartedness and the honesty.

“I’d say it might give me some time to acclimate to heat beyond what Liyue summers offer, but unlike your own tolerance, I’m not sure I’ll ever adapt to the sort of temperatures that I’ve heard of in Sumeru. The forest a little better, perhaps — summer in Liyue often feels like you’re swimming through the air like it’s harbor water, and I imagine the rainforest suffers much the same — but for a Snezhnayan-born like me, I fear that I’d crisp in the desert.

“And speaking of crisp—” He points to a dish with a sheen of golden-red oil currently making its way out of the kitchen. “If you want spice, heat, and something I think is altogether Liyue, ask for ‘chef’s choice, with moderate Jueyun chili’. As for ale, they don’t serve it here, but you can wander across the street, bring back alcohol, and the owner here won’t mind. Otherwise, I’m afraid that I can’t offer any recommendations on that account. Not much of an ale connoisseur myself.”

The wistful look in his eyes, the soft smile, the nostalgic way he talks about his homeland, all serves to only make her want to go even more. Hearing the passion for a place from someone who loves it, rather than the disdain from someone who's had a terrible time, will always be a better selling point, and now she's damn determined to get there one day.

"North is fine by me," she says with a small flick of her hair back over her shoulder. "Way I figure it, since I can survive on the Dragonspine without anything extra to keep me warm, I can survive in Snezhnaya. I might still bring a jacket anyway." There's the rumor about her family that's taken up space in the back of her mind when she thinks about going back to the Dragonspine, but she always tells people she's just warm-blooded or something, and that's why she doesn't need more clothing and a torch and to stay near the lights along the way.

The desert isn't as terrible, mostly just disgustingly hot to the people that aren't accustomed to it. But its heat hasn't got the same depth as the cold on the Dragonspine. That mountain can kill any who aren't prepared for it, and Dehya had gone in prepared only to find out it didn't affect her like it did others.

"Oh, you're talking my language even more now, I can't wait to try some. Sumeru has some really vibrant kinds of pickling, usually in vinegar, so it smells a lot when doing it. Some restaurants and shops serve primarily pickled vegetables, but it isn't overly common outside of that. We have plenty of dehydrated fruits, vegetables, and meats if you're going through the desert, and the forests are full of plants and animals.

"Have you been to Sumeru before? If not, you're in for a treat. I can show you some of the best places for spice and heat, get that snowy mouth of your sizzling in a different way than the peppers here."

At Childe's gesture, Dehya moves around the sailors and follows him to the shop where a chef works in front of an open counter. The streets had already smelled good from all of the cooked food being put out in time for dinner, but, getting closer, she feels her mouth watering. "Anything meat and spicy sounds incredible. And a hearty ale, if they have it. Any recommendations? She turns her head towards Childe, eyebrows raised slightly in question. "Or should I just pick anything and see how it goes down?"

[inhumanheresy]

‘Only I,’ and even if it’s only a tease, Ajax sucks his lips back tight against his teeth as Zhongli says it, his eyes taking on a glint of wild, ravening emotion when Morax calls him brilliant, though a flush spreads hot across his face and down his neck all the same. His shoulders had straightened, too, but he manages to wrestle himself back into a more relaxed posture, letting that unintentional moment of intensity seep away with a breath and a sip of warm tea.

“Oh, but who says the myths aren’t true, even if they might be laughed off as exaggeration, mm?” The smile showing over the rim of his teacup calls to mind the moment his ‘mask’ cracked open to reveal his mouth, sharp-edged and fearsome. 

Perhaps that smile is what gives Zhongli pause as the god reverts for a moment to stone’s stillness.

“Flatterer.” Did that remind him on a deeper level just now of what I am? Of what he’s learned of me? “Only half, yes. I’m a monster, Morax, but I’m not feral, and wasn’t even back then. Well. Mostly.” It’s an admission he gives with a tilt of the head, an acknowledgement that yeah, as a kid fresh out of the Abyss, he was a prime candidate to be branded as such given his behaviour.

It is the comment on his training path that gets a properly offended noise from the back of his throat. “Hey now, I can do delicate. Subtle. Invisible, even. Do you not believe that I can be subtle?” He scowls, eyes narrowing as he shakes the chopsticks in his other hand at Morax like he’s a Barbatos monk with a far too enthusiastic flick on the holy water. “Just because of that, I’m going to leave something on your work desk. Something really obvious. While you’re in the room. And you’ll never see me.”

Ajax grumbles as he lifts his teacup for another sip, “‘never have guessed’, h a h,” and never mind that the estimation is a compliment, given what they’d been talking about. ‘Better to be underestimated—’ His own words, but of course he means far more than what he said.

“Mmm, better to be underestimated,” he cants his head in acknowledgement, “to a certain extent. In the great variety of duties that an Agent might be assigned, absolutely. In battle, generally so — you yourself know well that to be misjudged in such a situation invites a lack of caution, or even laziness, on the part of your opponent. 

“In foreign diplomacy, well,” he barks out a laugh, “if the officials and people don’t underestimate me, they’d never stand my presence within their borders in the first place.”

Resting his chopsticks overtop of his now-empty bowl, Ajax sits back with his teacup, gently tilting it back and forth to swirl its contents as he watches Zhongli. “I’d suspect it of you, if I didn’t know you better than that by now,” he murmurs. “Underestimation.”

Ajax holds that golden gaze long past the point of politeness, not so much searching Zhongli’s face for a reaction as thinking back on — what was for him — last night. Such an immense paradigm shift, one that feels as if it has changed everything and yet nothing at all.

Distantly, he wonders what happened to the bloodied tea towel.

The two of them sit close enough that Ajax can reach down to take Zhongli’s hand, slipping beneath to lift it to where he can lean in and bump the bridge and arch of his nose against those elegant fingers, then lay a chaste kiss against Zhongli’s knuckles, soft and lingering. “I should have known better than to do so myself.”

it should have changed things: the sudden knowledge that the man at his side had been so touched by the very force that he, as morax, and so many others— most, long come and gone— had continually fought against. logically, he knew this. and in the hours he'd spent alone, he'd had much time to think, duly consider this.

and yet—

over his long years, morax had felled more enemies— both abyssal and otherwise— than even he himself could have counted. and not once had the creature that he had beheld at his tea table felt like a danger, something wrong... wholly, truly.

strange? certainly. still, the burning he'd felt when coming into contact with ajax's tainted blood and the spark, faint prickle, that had settled along his skin as he'd run his hands over and carefully examined those brilliant, smooth carapace plates had not been warnings.

perhaps he had, at last, entrenched himself into at least one aspect of what it meant to be human... not once had he doubted that the creature was, indeed, ajax. and thus, any natural aversion that had begun to bloom in him was quickly cast aside in lieu of pure, simple fascination.

damn logic.

and as the man's chopsticks quietly clink once more against the ceramic bowl, zhongli finds himself nothing but grateful that, despite the freshness of so personal a reveal, they remain much as they always are, settled between easy conversation and easier banter with ajax eternally proud— and with reason— for all that it's taken to bring him here.

it's hardly surprising to hear that the man's abyssal transformation is not often used and not simply to keep it hidden. his prowess in combat is, understandably, more than enough for most situations. and it is, indeed, typically better to be a touch underestimated.

the side-eye zhongli receives then draws a pointed, breathy laugh from him. and in turn, he lifts his head and eyes the man back, as playful too. what follows is a topic he knows all-too well. " hmm... " he begins, instantly shifting his expression to something more purposely pensive, a hand even moving up to rest at his chin.

" myths are only worth entertaining up to a point; that's true. and while it is most assuredly a shame that only i will ever be able to properly acknowledge your brilliance, it isn't all bad. i am quite fond of tianheng as it is, aren't you? "

in an instant, that teasing side-eye shifts into a smile as sharp as a dagger, a familiar-look though one that still manages to make zhongli pause, breath stilled in his chest. " only half? " he asks, though the question is only partly teasing in nature. and his follow-up comment is entirely serious. " remarkable restraint. "

the next comment, though, does reveal something decidedly new and zhongli latches onto it immediately, eyes widening as he listens. there is a moment, though brief, where the sharpness of his gaze falters— his thoughts pulled inward as he pictures the man in an entirely different-yet-still-familiar uniform with marked ease— before he shakes his head gently and straightens, drawing a breath.

" low-light vision is certainly a valuable— and rare— skill, i imagine. ah, i'm not certain i would have guessed they'd saddle someone with your constitution and presence with such delicate work.

" of course, 'better to be underestimated'... hmm? "

[inhumanheresy]

“Who knows, I might toss you on your rear sooner than you anticipate, perhaps even before I break through your shield.” Tartaglia cocks his head, looking up and down Zhongli’s ever-solid posture, the genuine deliberation in his gaze offset by humor. “Though by the time either of those happen, I imagine I’ll have grown even more proficient at rebounding from a fall.”

He’s missed this kind of easy banter between them. Before, neither of them had shied away from gentle teasing, though it was almost always superficial — poking fun at Zhongli forgetting his wallet, or Childe’s lack of chopstick skills, or the difference in their taste in seafood, for instance.

Now, the teasing returns, but both of them know each other on a deeper level than they ever had in the year before, ever since consultant first met Fatuus over a spread of the finest Li-style cuisine. Now the teasing, while just as honest, hits more true.

As does the compliment he gives Morax, apparently. Breaking eye contact, that quiet, low huff of a laugh — Ajax believed he was correct in assuming that Morax was long used to such praise, but apparently that was not entirely the case.

Well, he meant what he’d said, and that’s all that matters.

When the list of titles that he rattled off afterwards only serves to dull Morax’s eyes and stiffen his shoulders, though, Tartaglia knows that his quick attempt to downplay his moment of unguarded emotion had fallen far, far askew of its mark. He tucks that observation away even as the former Archon perks back up at his bold, assured declaration.

‘I will enjoy seeing you try’, Morax says, laced with amusement, yes, but also a coiled hint of anticipation. ‘I’ll hold you to it, then’, and oh, if Tartaglia wasn’t already certain that his new opponent nursed a desire for further matches, then this smile and reply would convince him.

Morax, Zhongli, grinning to match the sun’s brilliance, an expression beyond any he’d brought to or seen on that countenance before he’d forcibly dragged the man across a table and snarled in his face. To know that Zhongli is looking forward to their next bout with some sort of feeling akin to his own—

It is strange, yet almost euphoric in its own right.

“And so you shall have it.” Ajax manages to wrestle back a smidgen of his smug pride, his certainty that he will, one day, come hell and high water given that the power of both trembles beneath his fingertips, both break Morax’s diamond-tough shield array and see the quiver of his jugular as he surrenders victory to Ajax. Even so, his face is alight, assured, more than ready to show Zhongli that passion and confidence… but the pain and ache of his body states that such a showing must wait for another day.

“For now, though, I suppose I can contain myself until another opportunity arises for us to meet for a fight like this.” In a motion only partly accentuated for the drama, Tartaglia stretches his shoulders and unbuttons the remaining closures of his now-bloodied jacket, scuffed and dirtied from their fight along with the open, gaping slices both from near-misses and from strikes that hit true.

The bridge of his nose wrinkles as he thumbs over one rip too messy to be the cut of a spearpoint — the result of getting snagged on a rock when he’d tumbled once, though the bruise on his side from the impact was only light.  “Tch. I think the tailor might call this one a lost cause at this point…” He sighs and flips his jacket over one shoulder, his shirt luckily both spared from the more superficial damage and by the nature of its colour less revealing of the blood from his wounds.

“Let’s head down to the harbor. You fought me; I’ll treat you to lunch. I want to dissect these bouts with input from your point of view, if you’re amenable.”

tartaglia beams, clearly delighted. morax would have needed to be blind not to notice the way the tips of the man's teeth show as though he's grinning with each and every word. and it is an interesting reaction... though not necessarily an unexpected one, he realizes a moment later as, beneath the humor, tartaglia carries an ever-present, very real commitment to self-mastery.

perhaps that is why the way tartaglia gloats despite his defeat seems to suit him so well.

and in the next moment, his glee shifts into contentment, far truer than any of his earlier teasing. ah, there it is— morax thinks... and he quickly finds himself smiling at the brief flicker of this new person, perfectly overlayed with the afterimage of the man he'd already come to know so well.

he closes his eyes for a moment then, committing it to memory before drawing a deep breath and trying his hand at a tease of his own. he huffs a quiet laugh as his eyes flick back open to see tartaglia, still seemingly satisfied, flexing his hands. " seeing as you are so determined to end up on your backside again and again and again, i suppose i will be happy to oblige from time to time... though at least see that you are well-rested beforehand. "

his golden eyes remain bright and fixed on tartaglia as he patiently waits for the man's gaze to return to him. and when it does, the unexpected wink he receives catches him briefly, visibly off-guard. it is another moment before he realizes the tease has turned into another, very real compliment. and the sudden gentleness that crosses the man's face forces his gaze to lower as though he might have seen something unintended. and he laughs to himself at the thought, quiet.

" so you do. " he replies, giving the man a nod, half-bow. and without a doubt, he believes that now. after all, they are no longer held back by secrets or obligations; they are no longer bound.

and just as that hint of softness on tartaglia's face is gone in the blink of an eye, so too is morax's blatant curiosity, his gaze lingering downward as he hears a few of the titles he's carried yet no longer wears. it is a strange feeling to hear such words from a foreigner, someone entirely unbeholden to liyue or its history, and to hear each given with only a casual sense of awareness toward the very real weight behind each of them.

but, just as morax becomes dangerously close to getting lost in his own thoughts about ages long-past, tartaglia continues, a sudden excitement creeping into his expression, his eyes almost, almost coming alight, hungry... wild. morax's curiosity returns in an instant, his own following that expression, that curling fist before narrowing at the man's words, a promise—

he would know.

" i wonder... " he breathes, considering for a moment. and before he continues, he meets the man's eyes, his own bright, almost playful... and half-snorts. " i will enjoy seeing you try if nothing else. in general, discretion may indeed be the greater part of valor; however, i admire your passion... and your confidence. " it's been far, far-too long since he's been really, truly pressed. and in a space like this? with no war at his back?

yes, he really could enjoy it. and lo and behold, he actually grins.

" 'i'll have you'— hmph, we'll see. i'll hold you to it, then. "

[inhumanheresy]

“You’ve deigned to accept my challenge, and done so with grace at that,” Tartaglia chuckles, though the ache in his chest ensures that the sound is short. “Despite whatever preconceptions you might have gathered about me from Arlecchino or my actions in the courthouse, I am not so mannerless as to refuse your request.

"I’ll send a letter in the hands of someone who can confirm its delivery and also relay back your response. As you said, after all, you’ve just become an even busier man than before.”

Tartaglia still has very little idea of what the actuality of the whole ‘Furina situation’ boiled down to in the end. Recuperating in the hospital and often unconscious, his information has come from the Steambird and other newspapers — incomplete by nature, possibly propagandized — and Fatui who’ve filled in some of the more sensitive information. Even so, it seems that no one other than Furina herself knows the whole of the story save for Neuvillette and perhaps the Traveler.

That the Iudex has taken up the responsibilities that previously fell to the Archon is not a surprise to him. However, given that from an outside perspective Furina didn’t seem to be handing much of anything, he’s just not sure how much extra work that that means transferred to Neuvillette’s unbowed shoulders.

“It may be a while before I return, though not through any failure of mine to recover.” Tartaglia refills his glass, raises it with an acknowledging tilt to Neuvillette, and takes a healthy swig. “Haaah. You’re not the only one whose schedule is already spoken for in the upcoming days.”

He’s already been informed that the Hydro Gnosis has changed hands. Now, only one remains. The cold, cold winter lies on the looming horizon.

Tartaglia will have much to occupy his time.

“Our eventual fight aside,” he says, resting back against the pillows, his glass of water sweating condensation through the sheet overtop his thigh, “why are you here, Your Honor?”

The title is spoken with a hint of tightness not present in their conversation since Neuvillette strode into his hospital room. Though the hostility comes nowhere close to the level of vitriol and mockery that Tartaglia used the last and only other time he’d called Fontaine’s judge by his proper manner of address, a light but chilling pressure still settles over the previous ease between them.

It is not an entirely intangible feeling.

Neuvillette emits an abrupt "Hah!" in response to the mention of within-city brawls. As if brawls would be brought to his attention when guards can deal with it. Clorinde might even see fit to handle them herself if the desire truly arose, but spats that result in little more than injuries that are hardly life threatening don't usually make their way before Neuvillette unless there is a more egregious underlying reason.

"There are many fights, quarrels, and spats that happen in Fontaine that I do not hear about. Unless there is other legal recourse or death, they do not make their way up to me. Your honesty is appreciated, however, particularly that they started it." A small smile lifts his lips and remains there. Tartaglia had ensured the humor would be able to be read by him, which he also appreciates. Too often does he miss the social cues others would understand, and Tartaglia does not seem to condescend to Neuvillette in the process in ensuring his understanding.

Of course, he may simply not see that that is the case, but he thinks it is.

"I have no doubt that you will return," he says, his smile falling back into his usual neutral expression, if, perhaps, his eyes remain a touch amused. Truthfully, he does not want him to travel with such injuries, but it is not his call to make, nor does he have any jurisdiction to make such a demand. Only the request, which has been politely declined. Neuvillette understands. Being home when one is vulnerable will always be preferable. There, he will be with the other Fatui, the Tsaritsa perhaps, and any family if he has one.

"I will be ready for it." As ready as a man leading a nation and doing his regular duties can be, that is. But he will not use that as an excuse, but will ensure that he is given enough time to clear a day for such an event. "I do request that you send word beforehand if you are able. You understand that my schedule will be much fuller now that Furina is no longer Archon, yes?"

He doesn't acknowledge the pain he feels over that truth, not now. He has been living with it since her mortality had been confirmed, more so since she packed her bags and moved out. The rain has come at night more frequently now, when he cannot distract himself, and brief daytime showers have not been unheard of. He will be alright, though today is not that day, even if he doesn't allow his expression to waver while speaking of the ex-Archon.

[inhumanheresy]

Ajax’s smile broadens as Teucer, expression morphing from desperately imploring to stars in his eyes, all but bounces his heels right off the ground as he tugs repeatedly at his older brother’s sleeve. Utterly adorable.

“If you’re sure you can handle this…” he trails off, raising an eyebrow as he looks over Teucer with feigned hesitation and a thin veneer of sternness, “then I guess you’ll just have to prove it.

"All right, Teucer, you can come fishing, but remember this: you’ll have to help me get everything ready today, so that we can leave for the lake when it’s early, early in the morning, and you have to go to bed early too so that we’ll both be ready to head out tomorrow. Sound fair?”

( 🎠 ) THE HOPE AND excitement was palpable on the youngest sibling, especially how he barely could keep still. a hand tugged at the sleeve of ajax's uniform, expression still one of pleading hopefulness that he'd get to SPEND TIME WITH him.

HE PERKS UP as everything that they would need to do ( and when ) was laid out all in front of him. the hopeful look on teucer's face grew, a large grin accompanying it AS HE NODS.

❝ UH HUH ! I'M BIG enough t'help ! pleeeeeaaaase ? ❞ more tugging ensues - even if the both of them know that teucer would no doubt fall asleep in the middle of ONE OF THE jobs.