#wow. a whole new level of signature weapon drip

[genshin-impact-updates]

Version 4.6 "Two Worlds Aflame, the Crimson Night Fades" New Weapon Overview

Hello, Traveler~! Today, Paimon wants to introduce you to the brand-new weapon that will be appearing in Version 4.6! Come on, let's take a look~

(Examples based on Level 90 and Refinement Rank 1)

[kingotabek]

For requests (take your time if you need) I'd like otayuri and literally the first thing that comes to your mind. Can be whatever you think of

{I’ll start by saying WOW, this is like the first thing I’ve written in almost a month now. and then I’ll say that i MAY be able to be persuaded to continue this. With like a lot of persuading.} 

Warning: Some Violence. Yeah. Mafia AU….

Otabek carefully observes the man before him. A vision of deathly gold, alarmingly not-dressed, with a mane of pale hair wisp-ing past his shoulders, and the smirk of a devil caressing his lips. Beautiful, is the first thought that comes to Otabek’s mind. Dangerous, is the next.The silk sheet spilling across the man’s chest is only comparable to the thin blood dripping from the mouth of the man lying at his feet. Red, if only just so, and alluring where it parts to reveal stark white skin. His stained hands are resting delicately on the arms of the ornate chair he sits in, like a king on a tainted throne, and his bare, thin legs are propped crudely on the body below him like a footrest. His whole demeanor oozes something akin to death.

He meets Otabek’s observing gaze with stoic green eyes that hold no mercy, no remorse. “I suspect you have some business here,” he says in a voice that’s heavy and Russian, much too deep for his delicate features, “and if not, you do now.” “Nikiforov sends his regards,” Otabek is careful not to waiver or shift his eyes as he answers. “And I’m his regards.” That earns a twitch of the smirk and a raised eyebrow from the blonde. “Victor is never displeased with me enough to kill me, and he fancies himself to be too high class to send a call boy, so, am I to assume you’re cleanup?” “Yes,” Otabek nods and gestures to the roll of plastic under his arm, then to the body between. The blonde tracks the movement like a cat tracks it’s prey. “Unless this is just an interesting choice in furniture.” The statement, and his unwavering calm, has its desired effect and the other’s amusement is evident. It’s a good sign Otabek’s job might go smoothly this time, unlike a few have before. “Do you have a name? Or should I just call you Victor’s Regards?” “Names are sensitive things, I suspect you know that.” Otabek replies, stepping closer and releasing the tension from his shoulders as he stretches his fingers inside his leather gloves, and prepares the plastic. “You can call me whatever you want.” “Hmm. That’s no good.” The blonde hums, lifting his feet from the body and shifting the sheet draped over his own. “Even this goon gave me a name, and he was trying to kill me in my sleep.” He laughs, a hollow sound, like faltering bells. “Though, the name wasn’t precisely his, and I suppose I did give him a bit of urging.” There’s a pause where he clicks his tongue then drops his voice, and Otabek can feel the predatory gaze grind over him once more, “I don’t think I’d mind urging you, albeit a bit differently.” Otabek pauses his cleanup at the insinuation, he absorbs it, but doesn’t rebuke it. The word beautiful edging across his thoughts again before he stamps it back down.

Instead, he focuses on the new information, letting the situation around him come into clearer focus. 

A self defense kill, or rather a foiled assassination from the look of it.The bed sitting to the right of the room is rumpled, one post skewed slightly to the side and the headboard dented rather deeply; indications that quite the struggle occurred. The dead guy isn’t someone Otabek knows from the hitman lists he’s privy to, and there aren’t any identifying marks or association tattoos that he can see without stripping him. Otabek assumes he brought the gun that has been placed on the window table right beside where the blonde sits. There’s no signs it was even used. Otabek can’t visibly locate another weapon to explain the kill, but the holes in the dead guy’s torso added with the blood on the blonde’s hands– and several feet of the room–suggests he may not have needed one. It looks as though he tore into the man with his bare hands. Quite a feat, but not the most improbable kill Otabek has seen, though perhaps one of the more gruesome. “If it helps,” The blonde continues suddenly, jarring Otabek from his analysis, “you can call me Yura.” Otabek stays silent, going back to the task at hand and allowing something else to click into place at the back of his mind. Yura is not a common name in the circles Otabek runs in, but that makes it a recognizable one:

 Yura, Yurio, Yuratchka, all levels of diminutives for the same man, Yuri Plisetsky; The Ice Tiger.  A title earned through a cold demeanor and a signature kill, and one Victor Nikiforov often uses fondly.

So, it was with his bare hands then, Otabek thinks lightly as he finishes wrapping the body. The knowledge should make fear rise to his chest, or perhaps a bit of awe, but Otabek’s been doing this for far too long and he has far too many nasty tricks of his own. Instead, it brings a twisted smirk to his lips, and more than a few improper thoughts to his forebrain. Those of course, he’ll have to sort out later, perhaps after asking Victor a few pointed questions.

“Otabek.” He says finally, securing the last corner of plastic over the body. “You may call me Otabek.”

 [Part Two]