#the brainrot is stronk and I am H Y P E D for this about to go down

[inhumanheresy]

@inkbloodcd — for Zhongli

The match between Tartaglia and the Traveler this week is a quick one.

It ends with the tip of a crackling, surging spear against the Traveler’s throat, the golden figure groaning and wincing as they tipped their head back in acceptance of defeat. They’d gotten a few good hits in, Tartaglia admitted as he hauled them up off the floor, but their strength had waned sharply in the latter part of the fight.

“Letting yourself slip, Traveler?” “I’m tired, you ass, it happens sometimes.” “It’d take more than the usual adventurer life to tire you out, Goldie.” “Yeah, well, trekking through the desert kind of sucks. On top of that… have you ever run across an ‘Iniquitous Baptist’ in your experience fighting Abyssal things?” “Heard of them, but haven’t fought one. Are you saying…” “Come along, if the Tsaritsa gives you the leave. Your help’d be great against those pyro shields.”

The thought of a fight against an entirely new kind of opponent lends a spring to Tartaglia’s step even once he shifts back to human, binds up a remaining wound or two that he can feel bleeding, and salutes a jaunty, irreverent two-fingered goodbye to the Traveler as both of them teleport away from the Golden House to their respective destinations.

The one that he ends up at is the gate of an adeptal abode in Jueyun Karst.

He activates the entryway, stepping inside Zhongli’s domain with a wince as he rolls his shoulders. Pain seares with each step. His bones keen a familiar ache, the price of his transformation from a human form to an abyssal one, then back again, but it bothers him only a little more than it usually does. That’s not bad. Manageable, for sure.

A Liyuen-style home sits nestled in a cleft of rock made by two weathered karst spires much like the ones outside, stone steps carved out of the base rock leading up to the entry. Boots slipped off at the threshold and a nice breeze making its way in from the open-roofed courtyard rock garden, he pads inside to find his… friend? More-than-friend? Whatever definition that normal people might give to this thing between them that they’ve rebuilt and grown since the Gnosis Incident?

Zhongli should have tea water boiling by this point. It’s become a near-ritual after his weekly fights with the Traveler: bruised, satisfied, and with the thrill of a good battle still singing through him, he drags himself to Zhongli’s abode — some weeks more literally than others — and accepts a cup of tea as he slumps into a comfortable seat, distracting himself from the residual agony in his body by listening to the former Archon speak on anything and everything.

He finds Zhongli spooning out tea leaves for the pot with meticulous precision, his adeptal form looking more natural and at home in this realm than Tartaglia’s own human one does. Clawed Geo-gold hands act with motions so long-practiced that they have transcended ritual and become art, exacting intent in every movement.

Ajax grins at the sight. Though pain still courses through his body, almost-constantly weathering a new flare everywhere from skin to marrow, there’s an air of relaxation and comfort in a moment like this that he cannot help but succumb to.

“Hey there, you old lizard. What’s the tea you’ve chosen for tonight?”