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Inazuma’s streets were both familiar and unfamiliar to him as his sandals fell upon them. It was bustling with commerce and friendly banter, something that tastes sour on his tongue. He tilted his hat down to hide his eyes.
He was here to tie up loose ends, nothing more, nothing less. He wanted nothing to do with his mother nor her lackeys. And he wasn’t there to make friends. He was there as a harbinger of truths and nothing more.
But even he, tainted with sin, could allow himself a small indulgence every now and then. Buer had granted him a small sum of mora for his trip to his homeland, and while he had no need to eat, a part of him wanted to experience that food again, the food he’d eaten during his stay in Tatarasuna; the simple meals his friends had once made for him, inviting him to sit at their table.
He kept his head low as he approached the counter of a roadside restaurant. He glanced from side to side before speaking, “I’d like one bowl of spicy shrimp ramen.” He didn’t bother with pleasantries; no greetings nor ‘please’s.
The older man behind the counter offered a smile, his wrinkles contorting to form the friendly shape. As he worked to prepare the food, the wanderer sat himself on one of the stools at the counter, the furthest one from the center, closest to the small notice board next to the restaurant.
He reached into his pocket to pull out his coin purse, only to halt his motions as he felt a presence lean against the counter next to him. He grit his teeth, seems he’d have to charm his way out of a social encounter—
“Hey there,” oh gods. He knew that voice, that fake tone, “you sitting all by yourself?”
He grit his teeth together before taking in a deep breath and turning to meet dead blue eyes, a porcelain face dotted with freckles and framed by ginger hair. “I’d like to, yes.” Hopefully that would get rid of him—
Instead, the Harbinger chuckled and sat himself down on the stool next to him. Fuck. Tartaglia leaned one arm on the counter, turning to face him and pressing his fist into his cheek, “Hmmm, well, I’m gonna sit here. How about this— I’ll cover your meal, too.”
How fucking insufferable— “What do you actually want, Tar—” wait. He couldn’t say Tartaglia; that would be suspicious. The ginger raised an eyebrow as he cleared his throat, “Far-traveler?” There, that was good enough, now to cover it, “You’re not from Inazuma.”
Tartaglia shrugged, “I thought you looked interesting. Not often you see someone dressed like you in Inazuma’s city streets.” He rolled his eyes. Thankfully, the old man came back to where he was sitting, placing a bowl of noodles in front of him. He gave a small, curt nod to the elder before picking up the chopsticks.
Tartaglia, ever the nuisance, reached into his jacket’s pocket and took out a small pile of mora, setting it on the counter between them. After he ignored Tartaglia to begin eating, the Snezhnayan continued running his mouth, “And if you really wanna know… I’m here on business. Boring trade deals and the such.”
He gave a non-committal hum, picking up some of the noodles as well as a piece of shrimp. It had been quite some time since he’d tasted something as savory and spicy as this. In fact, he’d barely eaten anything during his stay in Sumeru; he’d never had a need to. And whenever he was in Snezhnaya… Ugh, the food just wasn’t great. It wasn’t like he needed to eat, anyway.
Tartaglia continued to speak despite his clear disinterest, “Hmm. Yanno, I thought you’d be a bit more talkative. Shame someone as beautiful as you doesn’t use that soft voice very much.”
Oh gods. This was the worst realization possible. Tartaglia was trying to hit on him. He snapped, “It’s dangerous to make presumptions, outlander. If I were you, I’d keep your nose out of other people’s business, lest it get severed from your face.” He punctuated his threat with a fist against the counter, his ramen sloshing in the bowl.
He glared over at Tartaglia to see a surprised look on his face. A nervous chuckle drifted over to him as he turned his attention back to his food, taking a large bite. The pestilence spoke, still, “Wow, uh. You’re pretty aggressive for someone so cute. Might make me think you’re looking for a fight.”
Ah, yes. The bloodlust. Everything was a fight to Tartaglia.
“Save your breath, Fatui Dog.” He spat. He spared a glance over to see Tartaglia’s eyes widen. “I know what that mask in your hair means.” He elaborated. Really, how stupid could Tartaglia really be? To wear such a give-away at all times.
“O-oh. Right, uh—” Tartaglia cleared his throat, “I meant what I said about business, though. Who cares if it’s for the Fatui?”
He rolled his eyes, going back to eating. He was granted a merciful two minutes of silence before the impatient child of a man next to him decided he was bored again. “Yanno. Didn’t think someone as gorgeous as you would be such a brat. Lucky for you, I’m into that.”
That got on his nerves, and he felt his teeth grit together. That was it. He turned and grabbed Tartaglia by his shirt, pulling him toward him until their faces were inches apart. Tartaglia gripped the counter to keep himself steady. “Listen here. I’m not going to take shit from you, and I’m not going to say it again. Leave me alone before you regret it.”
A smirk spread across Tartaglia’s face and he cocked his head, “And here I thought you were going to kiss me, Pretty Boy.”
Repulsive. Absolutely repulsive. He stood from his stool and in a swift motion tossed Tartaglia into the street with his inhuman strength. He pulled his hat back down over his eyes to cover them as people jumped out of the way and scurried past or turned down alleys and other streets to avoid the commotion. Others, yet, stopped to watch.
Tartaglia quickly righted himself, picking himself up, “Hah, so it’s a fight you want, then? Sure, I’ll play along. And don’t worry, I won’t kill you.” Two blades of hydro energy manifested in Tartaglia’s hands which he flipped around almost idly as he weighed them in his hands.
Amateur. Tartaglia rushed toward him and he quickly jumped up, boosting himself with his Anemo powers to land behind him. He didn’t want to fight, not actually. While he wouldn’t mind getting to put Tartaglia down, he didn’t want to make an enemy of the fatui.
“Give up now and I might only leave a scar on your pretty face.” Wait, why had he said that? Damn his mouth, moving faster than his brain could think. Whatever.
He focused his energy in front of him, the air swirling around before it pressurized around Tartaglia. Except the man was quicker than he remembered, and darted out of the way, attempting to slash his flank as he raised his arm.
He pivoted his body, sending that unused momentum the other had into the wall of the building on the other side of the street. As Tartaglia made a swift maneuver to once again right himself, he used the air around him to form a strong gust of wind, pushing him flat against the wall, forcing him to dissipate his weapons lest they cut himself.
He walked toward him, still keeping him pinned with pressure against his whole body. “You underestimated me. But I’ll be honorable,” He lifted himself into the air with a small burst of Anemo so he could look down at Tartaglia as he put two fingers under his chin, lifting his face to look into those dead eyes that sparkled with something unreadable.
With his other hand, he flicked his wrist, a tiny blade of wind slicing at Tartaglia’s cheek deep enough to send blood flowing in a thick streak down his jaw. “I’ll leave a reminder to you to never talk to me again. To leave me alone.”
Tartaglia hissed as he was cut, but still forced out a chuckle, his voice strained from the pressure on his chest, “You know. The fatui could use someone like you.”
‘Use.’ Yes, that was probably the best word to describe what had been done to him by the fatui. He had been used.
He snarled, “Shut up.” He didn’t know what came over him. Something about seeing Tartaglia finally submit to him, to look up at him with that oddly wild look in his eyes, his stupid pink lips slightly parted. It drove him mad. It boiled his blood. And so he did the only thing his instincts told him to do in that moment.
He kissed him. Hard, rough, violent. And yet, the fucker kissed back. He didn’t let him drink in the moment for too long, though, as much as he was parched for it himself. He pulled away and finally let him go completely, dropping from the wall.
He turned to walk back to his food, “Leave,” he spoke to the man behind him, “Before I toss you out myself.” He sat back in his stool and sighed.
He listened and heard as Tartaglia’s footsteps faded into the background, quick at first but soon slowing down. He sighed. His food was cold, but he ate it anyway.
A couple minutes passed before the elderly man behind the counter came back from inside the building. He sighed, pulling out his mora pouch and adding a few extra to what Tartaglia had offered before. “For the trouble…”
The elderly man chuckled and took the mora, “You’re far too kind, Sir.”
He closed his eyes before shaking his head. One deep breath later and he returned to himself, finishing his ramen within the hour.
Sin attracts sin, he supposed.