Lumine: "Who's getting spoofed today? I'm half-dreading it," she typed.
Bennett: "Not me, please—I'd never live it down with the ladies," he pleaded.
Lisa: "Oh, fame might find you a bride yet," she teased.
Paimon: "I've dodged twice, but I'd bet I'd be emergency food again," she groaned.
Arataki Itto: "Emergency food? Hilarious—who'd carry that title?" he roared.
Paimon: "Grr, you'll see, you loudmouth—you're next!" she snapped.
The chat buzzed, anticipation swelling among Teyvat's onlookers.
The big screen flared, unveiling the title: "Tartaglia's Tavern Dance".
A dance?
Tartaglia?
Hu Tao: "Tartaglia? Dancing? What's this twist?" she puzzled.
Diona: "Is it really about a duck that dances?" she mewed.
Klee: "Yay! Klee wants to see a dancing duck!" she cheered.
Xiangling: "Ingredients spoofed? That's a new one," she marveled.
Tartaglia: "Why do I feel a chill creeping up?" he muttered.
The video sprang to life, confirming his dread.
There stood Tartaglia, eyes mismatched, tongue lolling, swaying like a fool.
Philosophical, discordant notes underscored his absurd jig.
Tartaglia: "What in the Abyss is this?!" he choked, mortified.
Teucer: "Big brother? That's you?!" he gaped.
Tartaglia: "Teucer, I'm done for," he moaned.
Hu Tao: "Oh, Tartaglia, the dancing duck—perfect fit!" she giggled.
Rosaria: "I'm dying—this is peak idiocy," she cackled.
Arlecchino: "Disgraceful," she sneered.
Ningguang: "A Fatui executive, so entertaining?" she mused.
Xander: "Phew, I'm safe this round," he sighed.
Onscreen, Tartaglia's flailing was mere prelude to the madness.
The scene shifted—a tavern's dim glow framed his next act.
He struck a dramatic pose, exuding misplaced bravado.
Music swelled, a Snezhnayan beat thrumming with icy vigor.
Ding-ding-dong, ding-dong-ding, it pulsed, sharp and relentless.
Tartaglia fished two bottles of 96-proof vodka from his coat.
"Up we go!" he bellowed, voice thick with faux zeal.
"Come on, faith and fury—kick it, Snezhnaya style!" he chanted.
He danced, bottles aloft, legs twitching to the rhythm.
A side-to-side shuffle, vodka sloshing in his grip.
"Where's my foe?" he cried, crossing arms with theatrical flair.
His right foot stomped, a thud echoing through the tavern.
"Interesting," he smirked, kicks and crosses quickening.
He raised the bottles high, shaking them, sipping mid-stride.
The tempo surged, a crescendo of chaotic glee.
"Here comes the storm!" he roared, dance turning frenzied.
Legs flailed wildly, vodka pouring down his throat in gulps.
The chat froze, then erupted, jaws dropping across Teyvat.
Eula: "Is this… Snezhnaya's dance tradition?" she wondered.
Kujou Sara: "A style unlike any I've seen," she noted.
Keqing: "So the Fatui's finest has this side—eye-opening," she remarked.
Xinyan: "That beat's got soul—I'm inspired!" she rocked.
Arataki Itto: "Epic! I'd duel him in dance any day!" he boasted.
Qiqi: "Not like my stretches," she mumbled.
Xander: "Tartaglia, warrior and dancer—bravo!" he grinned.
Tartaglia: "It's a spoof—I don't dance like that!" he wailed.
The harbinger's spirit cracked—why him, why this?
Liyue's streets hummed beyond, blind to his broadcast plight.
Xander savored his wine, Wanmin's warmth fueling his mirth.
Tartaglia's spoof was gold, a jest born of their quarry clash.
The Shadowfang Blade thrummed, delighting in the chaos sown.
Teyvat laughed, a world united by this absurd reel.
The broadcast's next draw loomed, a prize for his wicked craft.
***
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