Chapter Text
the pungent stench of a burning cigarette lingered in the winter air while the gray smoke carved through the snow. Some subordinates huffed within their watch tower and placed down a card. the agent with a cigarette butt hanging lazily from his lips exclaimed loudly at the prospect of winning an idle match of durak.
maybe once this godforsaken meeting was over, he would climb the cobblestone tower and join the agents for a round with a tall bottle of firewater.
he huffed and blinked the snowflakes out of his long eyelashes. ajax had always prided himself on being pretty; his younger sister, one of his shining stars - would always dress him up for their “tea parties”. had the other harbingers found out their youngest, spitfire eleventh dressed up and clinked chipped teacups with his little sister, they would never let him live it down. such is the exception of pulcinella, who had joined him in these childish ideations of grandeur on multiple occasions.
around the home of the ever-frost born archon was layers of hardened snow that had crystallized into the white ground he walked on, looking down were the unmistakable tracks of pantalone’s famed troika pulled by the three bashkir he paid a fortune for, without a blink of worry.
all of this shit with the archons and the tsaritsa’s plan just kept unraveling like the matryoshka dolls his baba collected so obsessively. of course when she put her left foot in the grave and keeled over, she had given her prized grandson the collection of dolls.
she had always braided his hair while they watched the fire crackle within the cobblestone fireplace, while his grandfather fed kindling into the dancing licks of flame.
his little ol’ granny had always called him firefly because of his hair. her wrinkled, nimble fingers would knit the strands together while gently whispering a chilling folk tale. ‘ajax, my sweet. baba will rip the heart out of any kikimora that would try to touch you and feed it to you,” the smile on her face after she would utter those (strangely sweet) appalling words had always slightly put his grandfather on edge. but ajax has always found solace in the threat.
he blinks himself back into the real world when a howl of laughter peels through the land, the doctor, unquestionably, that is his laugh. he is greeted with the utmost respect a lowly guard can manage and the pair open the door for him. but the sight in front of him made him want to turn tail and run back into his baba’s lap.
the captain stood discussing the next plan of action with the jester. pierro turned to glare at the interruption, but raised a silver eyebrow at the perpetrator.
capitano stood with all his glory, left gauntlet on a light teal gnosis that painfully reminded him of xiao- in which turn reminded him of zhongli; that bitch . That bitch who had left ajax for dead after shattering his heart. he had ripped out ajax’s heart, just to toy with the seizing arteries and jerking muscle tissue. It shredded his ego and left him in shambles.
he spotted pulcinella and walked in the opposite direction, catching the attention of the second harbinger. usually, when tartaglia returned, he would theatrically cry and fake sob while screaming “ pops! oh how i missed you! ”. this, whatever the fuck this was, was not normal. the second harbinger didn’t like it in the slightest.
tartagalia walked towards the kitchen, discarded his coat and red scarf, donned an apron, and helped the kitchen staff make more than enough food and pastries to feed a small army. after successfully sharing a shot or seven with the kitchen staff, he walked to his private quarters.
he breathed in the smell of ice and let the cold permeate his skin. It was refreshing in regards to the heavy and dry, blistering heat of liyue, and then the humid and charged air of inazuma. he had missed the snow storms of his homeland. his skin was tanned from the long hours in the sun, and his hair had grown out, he also desperately needed a shower.
unlocking his quarters he turned and locked the door behind him, and discarded his stained white button up. he sat on the frame of his bed and unlaced his boots, rubbing the indentations from his socks and laces out of his ankles. he threw the brown leather to the ground and stood up slowly, moving towards his private bathroom where he drew a cold shower. he groaned at the feeling and leaned back against the freezing tile. his entire body was encased in a chill that he was more than happy to reunite with. cold water in liyue was a luxury, and he always gave said luxury to the children.
he sighed and nodded his head upwards, shaking the water out of his hair and washed himself, scrubbing his arms, hands, thighs and hips raw. trying his hardest to wash zhonglis hands out of his skin. tears welling up in his eyes on the unwanted thought of his beloved’s betrayal.
well;
ex-beloved.
up until now, he had always found a way to distract himself via extreme violence. now that he was caged inside of the tiled walls and a stream of water that pricked his skin like needles, he had no escape. so he sat, and he thought, and he thought, and thought. along the lines of an hour of sitting in the water, he had realized that not only had he gotten used and thrown to the side by the one person he loved the most, but that zhongli had never felt anything for him.
stupid fucking archons and their stupid fucking grandiose egos and their stupid fucking- tartaglia nor childe cried, but ajax might have let out a tiny sob.
taking a razor off the bath shelf and shoving it into the flesh of his outer thigh. missing any arteries or bones, the goal of taking his mind off of the geo archon had been completed; but now he was bleeding profusely from the side of his thigh.
harbingers are not weak, they do not wail and wallow. ajax does not exist among this lot.
he turned off the shower and shoddily stitched the slash together in a way that would make even first timers glow with arrogance. he then dressed the macabre stitches with a roll of bandages he found under his sink, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
‘ harbingers are not weak, ’ he remembered pierros first words to him after he was appointed to the title of “eleventh”. ‘you are not a harbinger. ’ they shot through his skull and splattered his brains on his heart. he sighed for the nth time and straightened up his back, pulling a steely face in the cold bathroom, and walked out.
opening his drawer and pulling on a pair of cotton briefs and thick, wool pants. childe had taken all the pants and brought them to a tailor to get the inside fitted with cotton, the wool scratched his legs and made him want to cry.
he pulled on an older white tank top that was fairly worn out. he tucked it into the pants and pulled on another thick sweater. he put his coat and scarf back on, wanting to look as much a harbinger as everybody else. even sandrone, who was paralyzed from the waist down was stronger than he.
he slumped forward against the pine wood furnishing, he had walked from the docks, to the city, and to the zapolyarny palace. his thighs burned and he desperately craved sleep.
well, pucinella will wake him up should he be late. nevermind, that had been a bad idea, he was already well disliked along the harbingers. being late to the funeral for one of their fallen comrades would make them hate him a lot more than they already did. he shook his head, as if to shake the idea out of his thoughts. he should really leave now.
taking a deep breath as he reached for the silver knob and pulled the door open.