The Captain.

READ BEFORE ANY SORT OF INTERACTION.

Childe reminds Capitano a lot of him when he was under Rostam’s wing all of those hundreds of years ago with the way Childe seems to have displayed that he holds some admiration towards Capitano. In a way it does get to him to see, though Childe is different than what Capitano was when he was with Rostam, the glow of admiration he catches a sight of every now and then when Childe looks at him makes Capitano see a reflection of his younger self in Childe.

Portrayal’s roots of operation is that Capitano is the Bloodstained Knight with Sandrone ( @starsdescent‘s sandrone to be more specific) being the maiden who fell in love with him from the Maiden Beloved artifact set.

His title of “Captain” is not for show. He is number ONE of the Harbingers.

As per the lore of the Bloodstained Chivalry artifact set, Capitano does have ties to the abyss.

He is proficient in many weapons, prefers to wield a greatsword. 

Before becoming the Bloodstained Knight, he was the “White Knight” of Mondstadt, Rostam was his mentor so Capitano has strong ties to Mondstadt.

          She is quite pleased with the turn of events, whatever damage to her pride it might have cost her. Her enemies were now but lifeless shells of what they once were, slain by her knight’s hand, their life’s blood spilled by the edge of his blade. And she is whisked up and away into his arms, as she ought to be. Like a familiar puzzle piece, falling back into it’s rightful place. A hint of a small smile begins to curve her lips upward, her eyes bright, as she tucks away the pouch within her own coat. She does not deign to look upon the fallen as he takes her away from there, for they are quite literally, beneath her. Wrapping her arms around him, she leans against his shoulder, a wave of exhaustion flowing over her. One could say it was a consequence of the skirmish, though a wiser man would know better. It is a weariness of the heart that appears when one finds themselves separated from their beloved. How she longs to be held in his arms properly, without interruptions. For now, this will simply have to do.

          Sandrone closes her eyes momentarily, pressing her cheek against his shoulder with a content sigh.   ❝ Indeed. This was quite a mess of a battle. Now that it’s over, my ire from it fades away and leaves me exhausted of it. Should I find the little leader of our enemies, however, they will know I am not to be trifled with. That is a promise. ❞   

          Her eyes open once more, her fingers grasping onto the fabric of his cloak. Why must he bring up that child? A flame of annoyance sparks to life in her chest, and she nuzzles into his shoulder, as if that would draw his thoughts back to her, and not the youth who’s fancies himself worthy enough to challenge her knight.  ❝ —— He vexes me. ❞   Such a sweet voice leaves her lips with sharp edges, allowing her feelings about the eleventh to be well known. Make no mistake, should Tartaglia cross her path, he will come to regret such a foolish choice.   ❝ That boy knows not his place. I take offence merely hearing his voice. I would first swallow poison than ask for his assistance. ❞   Sandrone looks up towards his face, answering as truthfully as she might ever.   ❝ —— He thinks your attention is something to compete for. It’s preposterous. ❞   And she, for one, will not entertain such a notion. She is not one who competes.

Capitano pays no mind to Sandrone getting comfortable in his arms, he imagines it would feel different for her since most of the time she’s being carried around like a royal by her favorite automaton that, at this moment, is currently out of commission. As he paces onward a few of his men tend to hers that were wounded as well in the skirmish and the unprecedented encounter. He won’t have the time to analyze the losses, he would be wise to do that later. Though a quick skim of his surroundings tells him the losses aren’t substantial ones. Some of their men even stop what they’re doing to respectfully salute them, but Capitano pays no mind, not when the shift in her mood is quite palpable. His attention shifts back to her and surely enough that little smile from earlier is now gone. Did he say something he should not have? It isn’t uncommon for harbingers to go in pairs so it isn’t like he’s advising her on something she doesn’t know. “Ah,” he nods his head when she expresses that she doesn’t seem to get along with Tartaglia. 

As harbingers... most do not get along with one another, though they try to make do with what they have for her majesty’s sake and for the sake of her mission. At the mention of the younger harbinger not knowing his place, Capitano chuckles lightly. It is something he finds quite... childish, but the boy doesn’t mean harm, they’re stronger than him so even if he did mean harm it would more than likely not go well for him. “Practice some patience with him, Sandrone.” Capitano attempts to offer some sort of wisdom. “He is young, compared to most of us he’s not as wise and not as experienced,” to put it nicely, “but he is strong and loyal to the cause. He is the eleventh perhaps but he was made a harbinger for a reason at the end of the day just like the rest of us. Her majesty must have seen something in him. The thrill of battle is something that seems to bring him utmost joy, his challenges are harmless to me.” Perhaps some insight on his perspective on Tartaglia’s behavior could soften some of that resistance she has against him. Every now and then Capitano entertains a challenge or two, but rare the times regardless. “However as Captain, I’m sure you are well aware that I must look out for most of you.” After what happened to Signora actually, Capitano has been more like a hawk with his fellow harbingers. Though not expressed... in a way he feels like he failed for losing one of their own and in a foreign nation no less. Isolated and all on her own...

Unintentionally his hold on Sandrone tightens, holding her much smaller form closer to him as if he needs to shield her from incoming harm even though he’s aware that there’s no threat at all anymore. “We can not afford another loss.” He says and though his face is concealed by his helmet he turns his attention ahead once more. “It is why I encourage that we go in pairs and not alone. Losing you is out of the question,” and something, he finds, he would prefer not to happen. “We go in pairs for a reason. Promise me you will not go on your own on any sort of mission again... please.” In the end it isn’t the fact that she disobeyed the conditions or that she doesn’t like Tartaglia that gets to him. It’s the looming reality that she could be next that gets to him.

          He releases her too soon for her liking, starved for more of his touch. But the only indication of her displeasure is a soft and quiet sigh, one that could be interpreted in various ways. Sandrone watches is movements, curious as to his intended actions now, something normally hidden underneath his cloak ensnaring her attention. The flower. The flower that had exchanged hands that fateful day where time stood still, and belonged to him now. It remains upon his person still, though the memory of herself has faded. Or perhaps not faded, rather it was taken, stolen away, a consequence of this renewed life.

          There’s a delicate wrinkle of her nose to the ointment, she recognizes it though she does not make a habit of having it on hand. It is not pleasant, no, but she will survive it. Sandrone hums in response, allowing him to tend to her cut as if it were a far worse wound that demanded such attention. He is attentive. Gentle, even. Something that others within the organization would simply not comprehend to witness between the two. And that was fine, she claims this moment for themselves, and only themselves.   ❝ Thank you. —— But what of yourself? ❞   The question nearly comes out like a demand, the pouch now cradled between her two hands.   ❝ If I’m to take this, then you will be left without. ❞   Something he can no doubt fix easily enough, yet it weighs heavily upon her.

          Frowning, she turns to her favored automaton, the poor thing in desperate need of repairs. The palm of her hand is placed upon it, and she shakes her head.   ❝ I will need to send men to retrieve this. It can not move in this state. ❞   And her hand moves, a gentle touch to the captain’s chest as she looks up at him as she makes her request.   ❝ Will you assist me in its stead? ❞      

“I will acquire myself another.” He informs her, he always carries one on his person should he ever find the need to use it after all. He is no stranger to injury but Capitano has noted in the past that Sandrone seems to concern herself with what becomes of him in the middle of battle and if he does or does not get injured. He’s never questioned it before, he doesn’t now, but it is still peculiar of her, since she doesn’t seem to bother to wonder about their other fellow harbingers. At first Capitano believed that perhaps she found him weak or some sort of liability which he took great offense to, but he learned that not to be the case. It may simply be because they get deployed out to the field as a duo very often, he concluded.

Like her, Capitano turns his attention to her automaton who’s not in good shape at all. This enemy definitely gave her a run for her mora, but he’s no doubt she can fix it to what it used to be and more than likely even give it a couple of more upgrades now that she’s been made aware that there is room to make it stronger. “I can see that.” He nods his head in agreement. That thing is no shape to move on its lonesome or by her command, it would have to be carried back by something much larger and then she will no doubt start to engross herself in her research as per usual. 

The gentle palm of her hand upon his chest makes Capitano look down at her before she speaks her request. An actual request for her tone had an absence of demand she usually spoke. So she wants him to carry her back? “Very well,” he nods his head and scoops her up in his arms without another word or question... for now. With Sandrone securely in his hold he turns around and paces off, mentally tracing his steps as to not to forget the location of her automaton. “Too tired to walk?” He inquires, not bothered by her request since she doesn’t weight anything to him. He also has another question though that has nothing to do with their current situation.

“I was told... that Tartaglia was meant to accompany you in this task, but you protested,” rather passionately he was told when he was briefed of what was happening before he came to assist her. “Perhaps his added assistance would have aided your cause. I understand he is young and the eleventh,” by definition the weakest among them all, “but an added head would have made this easier for you.”

          She is methodical in her approach, gaze scanning his head to his shoulders, only for her efforts to be interrupted, inexplicably so. Confusion shifts her features from focused to somewhat lost. What is he…? Gloved hand takes a hold of her chin, a small intimacy that would have had her slapping the hand that would dare to touch her away had it been anyone else. But he is granted the privilege, the scabbed over and monstrous heart within her chest feeling a familiar lightness to it, as it did many years ago. A maiden’s blush faintly colors her cheeks as she shifts her gaze from his wrist to the mask that shrouds his features in darkness and shadows. It’s for a mere moment, for he turns her face just so, summoning a tiny furrow in her brow. Was it not she who was the one to be tending to him?   ❝ Our enemies had fate favor them by mere chance. It will not happen again.❞   She closes her eyes to the caress, soaking it in as a wilting flower does water.   ❝ Yes. ❞   A simple answer; though she does not specify to which degree. He did not ask that of her, after all.

He is not blind to the blush that suddenly arises, but Capitano does not comment on it. He merely settles with assuming that it’s a form of reaction to his unannounced physical contact. What a sight it was to behold however... it brought some sort of familiarity for some reason. “It seemed so,” he agrees, releasing his hold on her when she lets him know that it does hurt. He holds out his cloak slightly to retrieve a pouch he’s got attached to his belt. He is careful withs his movements, as to not allow the flower that holds itself steady by his plated chest to fall. He draws out some sort of ointment, medicine manufactured by their organization, the claim being that it can heal. Capitano has tried it many times himself on his injuries and it does just that. “This will sting,” he warns her, coating his thumb with a thin layer of the healing ointment and then again caressing the wound, coating it with its substance. Once satisfied with his work he pulls away again, putting the ointment away back into the pouch. “Here,” he offers, holding it out to her, fully expecting her to take it from him “carry it with you. It will be of good use for you in the future should you incur another injury.” 

Stares right into the void obscuring features that may or may not exist on his face, keeping her arms crossed. ❝……..❞

          ❝ Once upon a time, perhaps. In a different time I may have held them in higher esteem. ❞   They fail to address the tragedies that are written, and yes, she knows better now. Even so, perhaps she holds onto echoes that adoration of such tales where he is involved. The brush of her hand wipes away at the crimson blood marring her cheek, registering it is her own. Strange. A rare cut to her features, it’s faint sting inconsequential.   ❝ I however, remain a maiden at heart. This ought not surprise you.❞   An elegant arch of her brow, and she beckons him forward, keen eyes searching for injuries of his own. Unlikely, but she is ever diligent. She must be.   ❝ No, you would not, would you? Yet the truth remains that you have my thanks.❞

His eyes focus on the crimson red on her cheek, having disregard it as the blood of the foe she was struggling with until he appeared to lend a helping hand. This is now shown to be his mistake, for the blood was not theirs, but hers. It must be an off day for her, very rarely does she ever get injured. “I suppose so.” He responds mindlessly and approaches her when she beckons him to, but not for what she more than likely intended. Capitano cups her chin, his thumb pressing right underneath the injury on her cheek, turning her face slightly to have the smear of blood glare right at him for his inspection. It is not a deep cut, thankfully, which may explain why he initially thought it to be the blood of another and not hers. “Try to be more careful.” He says, the gloved pad of his thumb wiping off more blood that slowly continues to ooze out of the freshly acquired flesh wound. “Does it hurt?”

@nomertri​ said: 

she's humming while sharpening his weapons * for him *

It is not his need for a weapon that beckons the Captain to thread down towards the chamber of his armory connected to his private quarters, but the sinister all-too-familiar humming that echoed from down within. He need not see her to know who it is, he already knows, he can feel her power and, according to many, unsettling aura as he continues to pace down the stairs. Columbina is an interesting woman, peculiar, strange in her own right, but Capitano is not one to pass judgment, truth be told he’s the last one who should be doing that. As he nears the chamber to his armory the humming becomes less and less of an echo and the distinct sound of steel gliding against steel is one that makes him alert. He feels no maliciously savage or violent intent, but, like many of the harbingers know, one never knows with Columbina. Regardless, the senior harbinger doesn’t take too kindly to her sneaking into his private quarters and then heading straight downstairs to his private armory chamber while he’s gone on a mission. How she even figured out how to open his door is beyond him and he has the full intention of having a good talk with her about this. “Columbina,” as he opens the door he regards her, swinging it slowly, seeing that she’s sitting atop of the wooden table at the center of the chamber with her back facing him. He practices minimally courtesy and awaits for her to respond, but she does not, instead she continues to hum her usual hymn with an uncanny joy and sharpening, what seems to be, two daggers that belong to him. The fine and sharp blade gliding against the other, proof of their sharpness displayed by the sparks they elicit per their motion against each other.

“Columbina,” Capitano says with a more stern and firm voice, his patience for some sort of acknowledgement from her part has ran dry. “What are you doing here?” He asks, pacing deeper into his armory until he is standing before her. He could ask her how she got in here but really that question will prove to be a meaningless one. “I’m positive you have not mistaken my chambers for yours.” Should she attempt to bluff, he gets that out of the way immediately, he’s not here to humor it. “You can not simply waltz in here uninvited and without my permission. I am sure you are well aware of that, correct?”