#uhhhhhh ask to tag riga does a lotta shit here

[dikiyvter]

Continuation from [X] w/ @cynicalartisan​:

They have grown comfortable. What a terrible mistake–

At first, they attribute their current state to simply… drinking a bit too much. Perhaps the exhaustion of the day is finally hitting them. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened.

Still… it is growing worse. Lio rubs at their eyes, getting up and deciding the best thing for them is to go out and get some air. Yes, fresh air always does wonders for their mood and how they physically feel. A deep inhale is taken as they stretch their arms and take deep breaths in an effort to calm down. Perhaps a walk will help more. Yes… That will settle their head and help clear their thoughts.

And it is due to their current state that they fail to realize they are being followed. [...]

       HE HAD GONE OUT FOR A WALK. Something to ease the mind of the worries that often prevailed this time of night; It always seemed that as the sun began to go down so too did Rigatello’s ability to focus. Mind slipped eager from the letters he’d spent the bulk of the day reading and writing; Correspondence to and from Snezhnaya, Agents in Fontaine that claimed to hold intelligence on the location of the younger of two automatons, a letter from Pulcinella that he was far too anxious to open. So much to do, and yet, so little mental energy to complete such tasks. Fresh air was needed. A stretch of legs that ached from sitting all day long-- And as he stepped into the night air and felt the static thrum of his vision on his belt, the twitch of fingers eager to clasp tight around the hilt of an oversized blade, Rigatello decides that perhaps some hunting might be in order. Boar always led to a good run, though the kill was ultimately unsatisfactory. Hilichurls were a bit more FUN but never quite gave the chase he currently longed for. Trails of thought dulling observation as he wanders along, debating what it is he should do, wondering what will satiate that longing desire for VIOLENCE.

       A scream stops him short. Alarmed at the sound as he peers wide eyed at a heavy dark that falls between trees shortly off the path. A... fox, perhaps? No. As human as the things screams could sound, this was nothing like the cry of a fox. Something about it was far too... familiar. Static builds as he clenches his hands into fists, jaw set as he creeps cautious off the trail, towards the bushes, towards the trees. Were it not for the lingering nervousness the familiarity of the scream had given him, Rigatello may very well have continued on. Playing savior when one wore the Fatui emblem in a place such as Mondstadt was often a rather thankless job-- and wasting his time killing petty criminals was often more trouble than it would ever be fun.

       A stick snaps under the metal claw of his boot as he steps into a small clearing between the trees and the bushes, blinking through the light of the moon at what appears to be several figures-- That snap to attention as Rigatello’s presence becomes noticed. Nigh disinterested is the sigh that automaton lets out, well prepared to throw a few men around if it means rescuing some damsel from whatever it is they intend to do, voice spoken firm and clear as he utters “What’s going on...”

       Eyes catch movement; A man that rises off a figure pushed into the dirt, moonlight glinting off a blade, off blood-- And off ink-black horns that contrast sharp against blond locks that Rigatello recalls with clarity having run his fingers through just that morning. Words trail into nothing, eyes widened as he stares at the familiar figure on the ground. A mind blank in it’s processing as shock begins to give way to anger, the familiar clench of his fists at his side and the growing static that raises the hair on the back of his neck. An artificial heart that pulses in his ears so loud he does not hear the words spoken to him by the man closest.

             “This isn’t any of your--”

       CONCERN, even through the pale moonlight, is what Rigatello sees in the eyes of one of the other assailants as his hand shoot out and clamps down in a harsh grip on the mans face. For a moment, all is still. And then the calm before the storm gives way to the violence of anger-fueled predation, electro jumping forth with eagerness to burn at flesh beneath the gloved hand as Rigatello turns, grip tight enough to drag the pathetic creature with by the head, and with EASE does the construct lift him from his feet and though there should be GLEE as he CRUSHES HIS HEAD AGAINST THE TREE HARD ENOUGH TO SPLINTER WOOD AND BONE AND MAKE LIMP THE BODY THAT ONCE DARED HARM HIS DEAREST, all Rigatello feels instead is the beat of rage, the feral impulse, the hands that shoot forth as another assailant lunges for him; Blade meets cloth meets flesh of arm and dings off the metal beneath, fragile circuits cut that Rigatello does not notice in the rush of warmth that greets him when his teeth meet their neck and PULL the muscle clean from the bone and leave in its stead a gaping hole.

       Rigatello spits gore from his mouth as he snarls, vibrant gaze turned now to the one he dimly recognizes as having been atop his love, and in the moment their eyes meet does Rigatello watch in beastly glee that look of FEAR. The cogs of a human mind turning as he languishes for too long between FIGHT and FLIGHT and is forced into the FORMER. The saw bites down against the flesh of his shoulder at the same time his hand comes down against the assailants throat, gripping with a strength unrestrained until finally does he, too, STILL like the others.

       Not all the others.

       The beasts eyes catch the coward on the ground; clutching an arm already injured as he scrambles backwards blindly, further and further as the blood-stained Fatui executioner grows closer and closer. The gloves that he grips the cowards shirt with are now stained rich in blood and static, and with ease does he lift the fool off of the ground and dangle him at eye-level. 

       “Remember this,”  Rigatello speaks through a mouth that feels clumsy, words that fall gracelessly with the rumble of a growl still deep within his throat, “He is mine, and mine alone. Take that message to whoever needs to hear it.”

       He does not watch for the nod of agreement, of acknowledgement, of ANYTHING-- For the adrenaline begins to wear, and exhaustion and pain begin to cut deep. Without care does he drop the fool, turning in exhausted movements towards where his love lies still against the ground. Rigatello’s steps fall heavy as he approaches, stopping only to gather the vision that lays on the ground, rubbing it’s bloodied face against the fabric of his coat as he comes to kneel quietly beside Lio.

       “My love,” a whisper spoken soft through bloodied lips in comparison to all that he has done in the past few moments and gingerly does he ease Lio onto his back-- pressing the cleaned off vision against his chest and then cautiously taking much smaller hands into his own to press against the source of power, and though he longs to kiss his dearests forehead he refrains in want of not staining them further in blood-- least of all that which came from such a vile beast. Even as he reaches to brush hair from Lio’s face must he pause at the sight of bloodied gloves, flexing his fingers for a moment before sighing soft his resignation and moving on in hopes that merely being held will help to provide the comfort he longs to give.

       Arms hook behind their back and beneath their legs, a small warning of “I’m going to pick you up,” spoken before the automaton lifts them as though they weigh nothing-- and to him, they truly do not. The difference in size all the more obvious with them laying in his arms, and it reignites the anger he feels that someone could DARE do them harm-- ( followed quick by the rush of guilt that he had not arrived sooner, something he works to push far away knowing it will do nothing to help what is happening now )

       But it is not something he can spend the time focusing on, not while Lio is still injured. The cathedral is the best place to go, surely, and with that goal in mind does he quickly begin the walk back to Mondstadt-- the city seeming so far away, now, though he knows it is only a minutes walk until they are safely beyond the gates once more. He devotes that energy instead to holding them close, to keeping them safe, eyes peeled for any more threats as he begins the walk back, wincing every time that ( despite his best efforts ) he feels the small vision user in his arms be jostled as he navigates the rather rough path.

       “Lio,” a soft utterance, though he’s not entirely sure his love can hear him, “I’m sorry, please bear with me. We’ll be back in the city soon enough.”