Standing Drinks and Cutting Deals
When Gin first heard that Glenlivet—the Wanderer—had booted his former colleague Venti, he hadn't thought much of it at all. He'd filed the man away as some small-time nobody, and only found it mildly odd that a fellow who had just been beaten could turn around and grin so brilliantly at the very person responsible.
But then came Glenlivet's supplementary explanation, and even Gin—a man who never let joy or anger touch his face—caught himself looking at Venti again in genuine astonishment. He gave the boy a careful second once-over: slender frame, immaculate dress. However you sliced it, he looked like nothing so much as a rich young heir out slumming it for the experience.
This little brat was one of the Teyvat Syndicate's division heads—one of the men whose true depths even Gin couldn't fathom?! Don't tell me the fellow had climbed to the post on sheer brains. Though he certainly didn't look all that bright.
The same question had flashed through Kir's mind. The difference between her and Gin, however, was that she and Glenlivet stood in one extra relationship—that of collaborators—and she knew perfectly well that he was the Teyvat Syndicate's mole.
So where Gin was merely astonished, Kir was genuinely curious: just what kind of leadership could tolerate a subordinate as unruly as Glenlivet, and then send him out to go undercover besides—were they truly not afraid he'd simply defect one day? Come to think of it, Kir didn't even know which division of the Teyvat Syndicate he actually belonged to.
"Ehe~, don't say it like that." By then, Venti had already tripped lightly across the floor to stand before the group.
He had heard Glenlivet's words too, and took not the slightest offense at the thorn-studded introduction, answering with a smile: "I'd almost forgotten that ever happened. How come you remember it better than I do?"
Glenlivet's eyes rolled skyward in a long, theatrical arc. "Of course you don't care. The Lady is already dead—where exactly are you supposed to go and hold it against anyone?!"
"Mm-hm, quite right." Venti nodded along with the utmost gravity. "She was hacked to death by your mother."
Then he sighed. "And for the record, I never cared in the first place, okay? Look—the Lady stole something that important straight out from under me, and I never even dreamed of revenge."
He went on, a cloud of genuine melancholy settling over him: "That was the all-important proof of my standing as head of the Mondstadt division. Ah, well... my division-head title is an empty shell these days—all name, no substance."
"Don't talk about that old woman!" Glenlivet's face darkened as he bit the words out in a low snarl.
Gin's gaze slid sideways. He noted that for all his impatience, Glenlivet had not denied a word of it—which meant everything Venti had just said was true.
So Glenlivet's mother really was that formidable, able to casually dispose of someone who could overpower a division head? No wonder nobody had come asking questions when Glenlivet walked out on the Teyvat Syndicate. Then again—was the gap between that organization's division heads truly so vast? Or was this Venti simply exceptional in his uselessness, unable even to protect the proof of his own rank?
"Fine, fine, fine—I won't bring it up, I won't." Venti shrugged with perfect indifference and finally swung around to the real reason he had come looking for the Wanderer in the first place.
His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the people standing around them, the ones who had been listening to his exchange with the Wanderer in silence all this while. "These folks beside you would be your new colleagues from that little distillery of yours? To be perfectly honest, I rather like the codenames your new organization gives its people. Think you could have them help me order a few drinks? Don't worry—I do have money. Mm..." Something seemed to occur to him, and he tacked on, "...not very much of it, though."
"So what if they are? I'm hardly close with them. If you want a drink, ask them yourself—I'm not putting in a word for you." Glenlivet answered, his face a wall of indifference.
Hearing him deny outright the camaraderie of all the joint missions the two of them had been running lately, Kir—prepared as she'd thought herself to be—couldn't help rolling her eyes in the privacy of her own skull.
Yet the moment Venti turned his expectant gaze on Gin and the others, Glenlivet—who not ten seconds ago had refused to say a word in his favor—let a sly, faintly malicious smile creep across his face.
His eyes narrowed to slits, and fixing Gin with a look that was neither quite smile nor sneer, he drawled: "Hey, Gin. You know, this could be your people's golden opportunity to cut a deal with His Excellency the Division Head here! Just promise to buy him drinks, and in exchange his lordship will answer every question you care to ask—obediently, even. What you may not know is that this Division Head of ours is a drunk through and through!"
Gin turned the proposal over in his mind—and did not refuse. It wouldn't cost more than pocket change, and whatever else he was, Venti was a division head of the Teyvat Syndicate; a man like that was bound to know plenty of inside information. Even if every word out of his mouth proved to be a lie, the lies themselves would reveal something—no loss to Gin either way. And with Glenlivet standing right there, Venti could hardly let his fabrications stray too far from the truth.
They found a secluded spot away from the crowd and sat down, and at Venti's request, Gin ordered several drinks and set them in front of him. A bar couldn't sell alcohol to a minor—but once an adult had placed the order, whom he chose to hand his drinks to afterward was, quite simply, none of the bar's business.