Chapter Text
There were only the heavy sighs of breathing in the facility as Scaramouche eventually won the third consecutive match. The heroes remained exasperated, all worn out after the little show Scaramouche showed off. It was clear that they were no match for the indigo-haired boy. He was either the most gifted or fearsome child they’ve ever met. The situation seemed impossible: Them, losing to a mere child without using their quirk or lack thereof?
What a monster.
Monster…?
No! Why were they thinking like this? Calling him a monster?
They might as well be called a monster themselves.
Nedzu remained quiet, analysing him from a distance. The abilities Scaramouche displayed were immaculate, as if he were trained to do so. To make matters worse, he didn’t even use a quirk to defeat them all. But why would he be trained? Was it hereditary, or was he forced into suffering by training gruesomely? Either way… Nedzu had to figure out what the boy’s true intentions were.
Scaramouche crossed his arms, looking almost bored as he sat on a bench. The heroes and Nedzu eventually began to discuss, away from him. Everything felt unbearably… nauseating. The fights could barely be considered a real fight. From his point of view, the little ‘tests’ were no more than meddling with a bunch of nobodies as it barely impacted with improving himself. Which was sort of true, he’d never met them before, and the only thing he knew about them were the ‘heroes’ of this world (still, it was absurd that he had to label them with such pathetic titles they couldn’t uphold). Watching from afar, one might even assume he bullied the poor heroes.
He let out a sigh of annoyance (ironic as he didn't need to breathe), which goes to show how disappointed he was at this. Everything was going so slowly now, he’d rather listen to Sandrone’s and Childe’s endless rambling than endure… whatever this was. For some reason, this made him recall his moments at Tatarasuna; Where… Everything happened. He shook his head with a shudder. No. He’d rather not remember any of it. He wanted to shove those particular memories down into a six foot hole, never to be seen for the rest of eternity. And yet, those moments were what shaped him into what he was today. Considering the utter hell he’d been through, perhaps this was… just the calm before the storm. Still, everything annoyed him more than usual—was it the recollection of those memories that had dampened his mood? Pathetic. Even in that moment, he couldn’t control his shallow emotions.
But were those ‘shallow emotions’ truly ‘shallow’ if the wounds scarred him ever so deeply?
Scaramouche was so engrossed in thought that his senses dulled. He did not notice that Nedzu had appeared before him. Only when he heard that irritating squeak did Scaramouche finally react.
“What?”
Nedzu used one of their paws to rub their chin. It was clear that the indigo-haired was getting rather agitated. Closer up, Nedzu noticed that his skin was remarkably smooth. As if it were porcelain. Almost doll-like. How intriguing!
“To get to the point, the heroes and I had discussed. And there is no denying that you have an incredible amount of potential.”
“Well? Go on, there’s not a lot of time on my hands.” Lies. It was not like the heroes were going to let him off so easily. Plus, leaving would be the worst possible solution to his problem. Leaving would make him lose the most valuable source of information. But he did want to get this over with.
A brief moment of suspense. Why was the rat stalling? To get on his nerves?
Nedzu cleared their throat, clamping their paws together.
“Welcome to UA! You will be joining the school and learn amongst your new classmates around your age. You mentioned you were 16, no? Therefore your class would be class 1A!”
That was… suspiciously easy. Defeat a bunch of losers (heroes) and open the gates to the vault of information. Perfect—a bit too perfect. But he was not complaining considering now he’d be able to learn more about this world.
“How wonderful.” The indigo-haired’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Harsh and undeniably bitter.
“When do I start?”
The way he said it made him cringe internally. It sounded as if he were eager to begin… school. He’d have to blend in with children who have unrealistic dreams of becoming ‘heroes’. What was the point of being one anyway? Run around with a tag named ‘hero’, saving the day like in those fictional novels he read during his time in Inzauma. It made him want to puke in disgust. He may not have a digestive system, but he would find a way to do so.
“Monday, how about that?’
That soon? Scaramouche thought that there would be a ton of paperwork to be completed before he was able to join the school. He assumed that it would be similar to when he was in the Fatui, where the Tsarista had to ensure the agents were loyal, completed paperwork, and weeks of endless discussions.
“Hmph. Fine by me.”
He shrugged it off, the thought of showing his true intentions was not a good idea. If he wanted things to go along his plan, he had to act accordingly. He understood that Nedzu was smart. But he did not know how smart so he had to be careful around them.
“Oh, and one more thing I’d like to add.” Nedzu started.
Of course there was more, nothing ever went this smoothly.
Nedzu’s smile widened at the sight of Scaramouche’s immediate frown.
“You will need a place to stay, so we have rented an apartment for you to live in. Which is also in the same building as Eraserhead.”
That was somewhat… nice of them. ‘Nice’, a feeling never directed toward him in a while. Ever since he wiped out the Raiden Gokaden—he’d long believed he’d erased every memory attached to them, especially their ‘kindness’. Scaramouche stared at him carefully, looking for any hints that the rat was fooling around. But there weren’t any. It was so foreign to him. Having kindness shoved to him. It was repulsive. Everything about these heroes were vile. It made him create the image of the Traveller in his mind: The last person he wanted to think about.
There weren’t any strings attached, were there? Hopefully not—
Hope?
When did he ever cling onto a false sense of security? The fragility in the belief of ‘hope’ simply cannot amount to everything he had ever lost. The memories gnawing at the back of his mind. He would do anything to get rid of the filth still inside of his head.
Oh, so great Celestia. Was there a way to change the past?
Funnily enough, he was never one to try and converse with the heavens. In fact, he despised anything associated with them. The duality is a stark contrast to what he truly feels. Hating them whilst longing for mercy.
The things one would do for something they desperately want.
…
Archons, if the heroes wanted to watch the little interaction between him and the principal, they could have been at least a bit discreet. Them staring so openly made him tempted to punch them all again but with a little more force… Instead, he held back, calming his emotions.
Still his mind. Through everything, his mind remained chaotic to an extent of no return. Even a moment of peace seemed nearly impossible.
It was laughable how the indigo-haired sought for control, and he couldn’t even control himself to his own intrusive thoughts (which he was definitely serious in executing even if it weren’t necessary).
So, rather than beating them all up to a pulp, he addressed them all.
“Is there a reason why you all are observing me as if I were some wild animal at a zoo? Begone, I would rather have a trashcan than all you pitiful heroes stare at me.”
When that was said, the heroes all scattered away like cockroaches being sprayed by bug spray. Their grotesquely pusillanimous display extinguished and repulsed him past the point of speech. No matter, they do not deserve a place in his mind.
“Now then, shall we head over to your new apartment you will be residing in?”
No answer, but Nedzu took it as an agreement.
In reality, Scaramouche could not care less. He simply followed Nedzu out of the facility. He could finally leave this boring place. When they were out in the streets, Scaramouche glanced around, memorising this place. It might be useful in the future to understand the dynamics and terrain of the world he was forced into.
Then, at the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw a humanoid dragon-like figure. It did not take long for that dragon to come running toward Scaramouche as if they were like those long lost families that had finally been reunited after twenty years. The way the dragon began rambling about some stupid things (“Hat Guy”, why was he addressing him like that?) that he didn’t bother to listen to. Nedzu had wandered off somewhere. Is this how fate decided what to do with him?
That was until he mentioned something about Teyvat.
“Excuse me? What do you know about Teyvat?”
The boy stopped speaking and blinked in utter confusion. “That’s where we’re from, right? Hat Guy, what do you mean? And what’s with your outfit?”
“So first you answer the obvious, and next you decide to judge my style? Who do you think you are?”
“Are you telling me that you’re not ‘Hat Guy’? But you do look like him…”
Scaramouche was in a state of both confusion and intrigue. Someone similar to him with the name ‘Hat Guy’? The two of them stood in awkward silence until the dragon broke it.
“Well… if you’re not Hat Guy, then allow me to introduce myself. My name’s Durin. What about you?”
A part of Scaramouche did not want to answer. But the other told himself that Durin might be an important part to this whole situation. Either the dragon would be totally useless, or he would contribute.
“I could care less what you call me. But in this world I go under the name ‘Scaramouche’.” He crossed his arms, watching how Durin began to jump around him like a child that was given too much candy. Honestly, what in Teyvat was he doing?
“So… Scaramouche, what were you doing before you arrived here?”
Silence. What was he doing before he ended up here? He was struggling to take something that was never his to begin with. Desperately wanting to prove a point to the world. That he was worth something. Worth enough to be fit to be a ruler. But no. The universe opted to strip what he worked hard for. The gnosis. His heart.
Heart.
The one true thing he yearned for.
Other than recognition and power. A heart was something irreplaceable with humans. He wanted it too. No, he needed it.
The Traveller made things difficult. And Buer placed the power of dreams upon him before the battle truly began. What a sly trick.
“Scaramouche? Hello? You’re zoning out.”
…
“Nothing that was particularly important.” He replied to the previous question. “ I was tending to my duties (a white lie: he was technically doing his ‘duties’ as he was battling to become the new God of Wisdom. He viewed it as his ‘duties’.) before I appeared here. Though, I am curious about this ‘Hat Guy’ person. Do enlighten me, who is he?”
A quick way to switch subjects. And it seemed that Durin was a bit more oblivious than he thought. Almost like when he was ‘Kabukimono’.
The innocence was repulsive.
“Hat Guy? He… he is my best friend! And he knows everything about me. On the contrary… I don’t know much about him.”
Not knowing much about his best friend was odd to say the least.
“And you said he was similar to me? How so?”
Durin lit up, almost excited to describe his friend. Especially since Hat Guy was his first ever friend, too. “He looks almost identical to you! And… The way both of you speak is strikingly similar. Also… you both have the same voice. Which confuses me because how can someone have the same voice?—”
Hat Guy. Was he another one of Ei’s puppets? A failed one similar to him? One discarded because of his ingenuousness of harbouring emotions? A creation designed and deemed useless?
Interesting. He wondered if he’d ever have an interaction with him.
“Whatever, let’s not dwell on the topic anymore.”
The dragon nodded. Now, they were simply standing on the pavements whilst the world around them continued on their own lives. Durin looked as if he wanted to say something. But he never did. Then, Nedzu appeared behind him, which Scaramouche seemed unfazed by as Durin jumped at the sight of a walking… bear? Mouse? Squirrel…?
“Scaramouche, who are you talking to? Would you care to introduce him to me?”
Who was he talking to? Because at the end of the day, the two of them were nothing more than strangers that happened to be from the same world transported to a different world. So, he decided to go for a simpler way of introducing him.
“He’s a… friend of mine. We met here by coincidence.”
Friend? When did the Balladeer have any friends? It hurt his dignity to say it, so the dragon better play along, otherwise he would amputate those wings of his.
Durin could feel Scaramouche’s gaze upon him, sending a shiver down his spine. Despite Scaramouche claiming he was not Hat Guy, the two were strikingly similar.
“Oh! Yes, I was just passing by and saw him… My name is Durin, I did not expect to see him here.”
Scaramouche was impressed with the dragon’s acting skills. A few pauses here and there but still rather good nevertheless. At least Nedzu was not questioning Scaramouche about anything. “Enough idle chit-chat, how about you bring me to the apartment already?”
Nedzu let out an amused hum as they looked over to Durin, then back at the indigo-haired. “Yes, though… leaving your friend here would be quite rude. Does your friend want to accompany us?”
Durin’s eyes were practically shining at the idea. If Scaramouche said no, he’d eliminate something that could be either highly beneficial or the most worthless to him. “Fine. But don’t get in my way.”
Childlike, the dragon jumped around Scaramouche in circles. Honestly, Hat Guy, how does he handle the dragon without getting an absolute headache?
The walk to the apartment felt as if it took decades as Durin began his circuitous of talking. The dragon was like a walking, speaking ball of both dizziness and sickeningly bright sunshine. Scaramouche walked with a neutrally deadpanned expression, arms crossed and all.
Nedzu listened to the interaction between Scaramouche and Durin in quiet amusement. Nedzu wanted to know more about the two of them. Interesting pair, aren’t they?
By the time they’ve reached apartments. Scaramouche fortunately fought the urge to rip his ears out and replace them with ear plugs. Archons, Durin doesn’t stop talking, does he?
“Wow. How grand. Am I supposed to be impressed by this tall building?” Scaramouche scoffed at the thought of living here.
“Nope! But if you want, we can get you a castle if you think this ‘grand’ apartment is not to your fancy!” Nedzu squeaked. Though his words carried a subtle tinge of sarcasm.
“Ha-ha, spare me the theatrics. Is there any tape to seal your mouths once and for all?” Even watching paint dry felt better than dealing with the principal’s words. The principal was just like Sandrone, but maybe sprinkled with a tad bit more intelligence.
As they arrived at the door, Nedzu handed Scaramouche the keys as if it were some trophy he’d earned. Which theoretically it was as it could be seen as his achievement of defeating the heroes.
Inside the apartment was nothing special nor out of the ordinary. But Durin’s eyes glimmered like those plays in Fontaine as if he’d never seen anything like it.
“What, why are you reacting so overly ecstatic to everything?”
“No reason! It’s just that… It looks super cool! Can I stay here too?”
Before Scaramouche could protest Nedzu chimed in. “Oh yes, Durin. If you want, you can. This apartment has two bedrooms. So you two can share the apartment!”
Oh, Archons. Of course, he now had to deal with the gleeful dragon. But looking at how giddy Durin looked made him scoff and turn his head away. Whatever, Durin was just a minor, loud inconvenience he had to handle. He could handle it, considering he had to deal with Childe and Sandrone’s constant yapping for years.
“I don’t care. As long as he doesn’t meddle in my business, I have no problem whether he stays here or not.”
And there was that. Durin looked overjoyed with Scaramouche’s agreement. Nedzu eventually bade the two of them goodbye as the sun dipped below the horizon. Durin glanced at Scaramouche for just a moment and then he looked away quickly. He wanted to say something before, but never seemed to be able to say it.
“What? If you have got something to say, spit it out.”
Durin fiddled with his fingers and seemed very interested on the wooden floor.
“If you are going to go quiet on me, fine, but I am not going to sit here waiting.”
Scaramouche let out an annoyed sigh and he turned to go into the room he chose (which Durin spent a long time contemplating which room he wanted to sleep in). That was when Durin spoke.
“Are you sure you’re not Hat Guy?” He murmured in a soft, nervous tone.
Scaramouche wanted to snap at the dragon for speaking in such a low, uneasy voice. But no, he’d rather not start an argument there and then.
Durin was really insistent on him being Hat Guy, huh?
“No. I have already told you that I have no ties with whoever you’re calling ‘Hat Guy’. Why are you so relentless with naming me someone I don’t even know?”
“Do you know Nahida?” Durin said. It was a random question, but he wanted to see how he answered it.
“The God of Wisdom? Buer? Anyone would know the names of archons in Teyvat. Why would you ask such a dense question?”
There it was. Durin noticed the way Scaramouche's eye slightly looked over to the side. A habit that Hay Guy does whenever mentioning the Dendro Archon, like they had some background that nobody knows of—almost as if they were twins or rather… the same person?
Because twins would have the same habits, sure, but they wouldn’t have the same life, or the exact same way of living their life.
“Right, sorry. Good night then, Scaramouche. I’ll go to bed.”
Scaramouche crossed his arms and said not another word as Durin went off to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
It would be a long, long time before Scaramouche would ever warm up to Durin. The odds of it were close to none. Even a hilichurl gaining intelligence and defeating all of Teyvat’s civilisation was higher than it.
Now, Scaramouche pondered whether he did have any connections with Hat Guy at all. He already discerned that Hat Guy could be a part of the discarded puppets that Ei created. But he couldn’t make quick assumptions.
…
Durin had already changed into the given clothes to go to bed. His nightstand had a little lamp that glowed softly in the dark. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t help but think about Scaramouche being Hat Guy.
Both of them are identical. Both have the same way they speak.
He wanted to find out more about Scaramouche. That way, it would stop him from continuously hitting the indigo-haired with his overwhelming questions.
Maybe at the same time, he’d be able to understand Hat Guy a bit better, too.
…
Scaramouche sat on the bed, lost in deep thought.
Durin and this… mysterious Hat Guy. Archons, why did so many people decide to enter this situation? The next thing he knew, he would meet the Heavenly Principles themselves at this rate.
But nevertheless, he managed to lay and enter a deep slumber, curling onto himself and covering himself with a thick blanket. He looked almost peaceful without that fearsome scowl plastered onto his face. Scaramouche appeared as if he were drowning in the blanket.
A cat finding a warm place in the winter to rest.
…
Puppets don’t dream.
Their ultimate dream would be to be able to live.
Why should they dream?
They’re nothing but inanimate objects to be used by a marionette either for malice or for the greater good of the world.
Even if they do something good, it will never be their deeds but the person who created that puppet. No matter what they do, they don’t get credit. After all, they don’t have consciousness.
Puppets ever gaining their own sense of consciousness was absurd.
The thought of it was too absurd.
Too unbelievable.
And once they are deemed useless, they’d be discarded and thrown away.
Puppets don’t have futures.
They don’t deserve one.
They’re so utterly undeserving of things, it’s laughable, really.
And to see how helpless they are against it.
It’s pitiful.
They can’t bear one, a future.
Only humans and living beings can have a future.
A life.
But puppets aren’t alive, no, but they aren’t dead either.
Because how can one die if they've never had a life in the first place?
Inanimate objects with no purpose.
Simply to only be used for other peoples’ desires.
They’re all mere stepping stones to achieve goals.
…
Scaramouche’s eyes snapped open. Blinking up at the ceiling. Maybe sleeping wasn’t the most viable option. He did not need sleep, anyway. Perhaps he should take a walk and memorise the surroundings of the world. That feeling still dawned upon him—what was it that humans called it? Goosebumps? Whatever it was called.
Because deep within him, he knew that whatever he was thinking about within his mind previously was true.
Puppets are unworthy of everything and anything.
As he sat up on the edge of the mattress, he felt his surroundings shift, warming up to a heat that would burn a human’s skin. There on the ground laid the nameless child.
No, no no…
Why was he hallucinating the memory of the child’s death now? Out of every time he could remember, why was he imagining the experience of helplessness he had to endure during that time? He wanted to move toward the child, and wanted to check if he was still alive. He wanted to see the child just once more even if they weren’t living anymore. He knew the child was already dead—then why did his legs that were once rooted to the ground tremble forward to the body? His trembling hands reached to the boy, but as his finger contacted the body, the child disintegrated into the air. Another wave of powerlessness washed over him―
What was this vicious world planning for him?
Scaramouche’s hands then wrapped around his neck, it felt as though something (similar to a vice but Scaramouche was too restless to figure out exactly what) were wrapping tightly around it. Despite not having to breathe, at that very moment, it was as if he were gasping for air. The pain was too much to bear. Why must he face the death of someone he held dear once again?
He could have sworn he disassociated himself with his past betrayals. So why did this affect him so much? Was it because he couldn’t push them away no matter what he did?
He clutched his chest and for a split second, there was a heartbeat. But in the next second, it was gone. Did he endure so much pain in that episode of his that he managed to imagine a pulse in his heartless body?
Archons, everything burned.
He wanted to rip his porcelain skin off his body. It clung onto him like a vice, restrictive and he felt utterly trapped. Like a bird in a cage with no way to escape. Tears were prickling at the corner of his eyes as the image of the child dying kept replaying in his mind.
No. He can’t cry. Not now.
Not after he vowed to never cry again.
Scaramouche slumped onto the ground as the pain reduced in volume but still being forced upon him wave after wave.
His vision grew more and more blurry as he attempted to steady himself. Though his efforts allowed him to remain conscious, his body gave up on him and he collapsed onto the ground. The cold floor contrasted with his burning skin.
In the darkness, his mind remained awake even though he was ‘unconscious’. He heard his door had opened and Durn’s frantic voice calling for him.
Was this where he died? Was that finally the time for him to pass?
But even if he died, where would he go?
Did he finally have a place he could rest?
…
His answer was ‘no’, because when he opened his eyes the following morning, the sunlight (Archons, who doesn’t close the blinds in their room? Because he definitely closed them before heading to bed.) forced him to close them back again. He heard Durin rush back to his room, he must have heard Scaramouche stir when he awoke. Being a dragon must have their perks in enhanced senses, he supposed. A shift in the air of a tea scent filled the room.
“Scaramouche! You’re awake, how are you feeling?”
Durin glanced nervously at Scaramouche’s disorientated form. Scaramouche opened his eyes, still slightly blurred but considering how he felt the night before, it was better.
“I’m… fine.”
The dragon breathed a sigh of relief when he said that.
“I also made you tea! I made it bitter—if you don’t mind, of course!”
Odd. How did Durin know what type of tea he enjoyed to drink? Was it out of pure coincidence or was it something more?
Scaramouche eyed Durin carefully, taking the tea from the dragon’s hands. As he took a sip, he blinked. He didn’t expect the tea to really be bitter, let alone satisfy his tastebuds. It was good, but not enough to make Scaramouche compliment him. Maybe next time.
Durin started to fiddle with his fingers again, a telltale sign he wanted to say something. Wow, Scaramouche barely met him for a day and already knew the dragon like the back of his hand.
“What do you want to say?”
Durin blinked then rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I wanted to know if you’re… feeling better… since you know…”
The dragon was too compassionate for his own good. The world of Teyvat would have eaten him alive without the guidance of others. The fact that Durin had survived for this long never failed to fascinate the indigo-haired.
“There’s no point in dwelling about the past. But if you really want to know, the feeling is… passable.”
“That’s good. Though I hope you get better.”
At least Durin knew when to stop talking (referring to when he was being interrogated by the heroes). Scaramouche sat up, while Durin tried to stop him from doing so but did it anyway, and scanned his surroundings. He was still in his room. Did Durin get him on the mattress?
“What time is it?”
Durin stepped backwards towards the door, there was a clock nearby the kitchen. “Around three o’clock. You were unconscious for a long time…”
“Hmph. Whatever. Has anyone visited? Namely Nedzu.”
“Oh… yes. Nedzu did come by and mentioned that I could also join this… U.A school alongside you. I told them I would think about it and thought that I should ask you first.”
Scaramouche was unsure of how to reply. The same school as him? That was sudden and a bit unprecedented. But he couldn't care whether or not the dragon did join him.
“I… don’t care. Do as you wish.”
Durin took the response as an agreement (sharp words were what he grew familiarised with with Hat Guy) and quickly exited the room, leaving Scaramouche in the room alone.
…
He wanted to rest again. So he did.
Scaramouche closed his eyes again. It did not take long for him to drift into a deep slumber. His mind was occupied terribly by the most evil thoughts. But eventually the scattered thoughts dispersed from his mind.
At that moment, he loved the silent peace more than ever.