Chapter Text
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.4 | 859 Ratings
79% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (859)Terrifying (690)Inspirational (389)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Vivacious-Forefront
Made Lord Dottore sad.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Aged-Cracker: It's Rate MY Harbinger. Not Rate MY HARBINGER'S BOYFRIEND.
Supreme-Quilt: I don't think Lord Dottore could survive another 1-star rating.
Submissive-Cloud: Not sure about the sad part. But Lord Dottore has indeed been a bit quiet lately.
Needless-Formula: 18 is still an asshole.
Submissive-Cloud: Everyone knows that I'm referring to the Omega build. Is this your first day on the job?
Bold-Template: Let me guess. He didn't want to fund another experiment.
Vivacious-Forefront OP: No. Funding's been granted. Lord Pantalone issued a blank check for Lord Dottore. I saw it myself.
Deliberately-Starchy: And all our Lady Sandrone gets is spite. I see how it is. The Regrator is a real piece of work.
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Columbina, the Damselette
Third of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 5 | 157 Ratings
100% Retention Rate | 0 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Negligent (131)Considerate (122)Terrifying (55)
Similar Harbingers: —
Posted by Periodic-Compliment
Comrades, what's the SOP if you randomly walk in on your Harbinger making out with another Harbinger?
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Phobic-Nuisance: Leave the room and exterminate your existence preferably within the next hour. Less if Lady Sandrone saw you. By then, you'll only have five minutes left to live, give or take. Godspeed, comrade.
Sweet-Phrasing: How are you so sure that it was Lady Sandrone making out with Lady Columbina?
Phobic-Nuisance: Pardon my Fontainian, but what kind of bullshit stupidass fucking question is this.
Humongous-Elephant: This is a biiiig fucking elephant to address.
Failing-Announcement: Username checks out.
Familiar-Battling: When everyone is outside the closet, the safest place to be in is inside it.
Periodic-Compliment OP: Word. I entered the first room that was unlocked and hid inside the closet. I'm not gay, though.
—
“You are avoiding me,” Pantalone says once they are now in the privacy of his own office.
Behind him, he hears Dottore close the door. The sound of the lock clicking in place was barely audible, but it was loud enough for Pantalone nonetheless.
He pours them both a drink. “Are you not satisfied with your funding?”
“You gave me a blank check to do as I please, despite your initial protests,” Dottore says. “I am as satisfied as I could be.”
“I suppose it is simpler to turn a profit and offset the loss than having to deal with your glum mood.”
A smile is already present when he faces Dottore, who readily takes the drink and empties it in but a couple of swallows before throwing the glass. It shatters somewhere Pantalone couldn’t be bothered to follow, not when Dottore presses him against the window, licking into the seam of his lips until he gives in.
He draws a shallow breath in between kisses. “Your greed, ah—your greed knows no bounds, Dottore.”
Dottore untucks Pantalone’s dress shirt (courteous and careful, for they had countless arguments beforehand as to how Pantalone took insult when Dottore would ruin his clothes) in favor of splaying his gloved hands onto the skin beneath, likely feeling how Pantalone’s abdomen tenses with each languid glide of their tongues.
“This is not greed,” Dottore corrects him, warm breath ghosting the shell of Pantalone’s ear. “This is me showing my gratitude.”
“Is that so?”
Instead of an answer, Dottore only wordlessly lowers himself to his knees to relieve Pantalone of his constraints. With how he’s already straining, he could only thank Dottore’s impeccable timing—perhaps he truly needed this.
Though, he knew well enough that this was merely a distraction. Dottore was avoiding conversation. Always quick to dismiss when the subject of observation was himself. Pantalone will wring his secrets out of him sooner or later.
With a steady hand carding against the once neatly-combed pale blue locks, he manages a clipped, “Careful.”
Petulantly, he feels the graze of teeth against his sensitive flesh as Dottore takes him into his mouth in full. Spiteful this doctor of his is. But the pleasant wet warmth that follows is more than compensation enough.
—
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.6 | 912 Ratings
80% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (912)Terrifying (732)Inspirational (429)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Periodic-Compliment
Comrades, what's the SOP if you witness a Harbinger getting his soul sucked out of his [redacted] by another Harbinger?
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Arrow-Pouch: You again??? How do you keep getting into these situations???
Evasive-Stanza: The 5-star rating... Are you perhaps enjoying the show, comrade?
Periodic-Compliment OP: I can neither confirm nor deny details of what I'm seeing without insurance that I won't be killed on sight when I leave this closet.
Diplomatic-Grass: So we all agree that we know which Harbingers are involved in this, right?
Junior-Wardrobe: This is a Pantalone rating. Which Harbinger would suck Lord Pantalone's [redacted] if not Lord Dottore?
Brief-Transmitter: If I were a Harbinger, I definitely would.
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Pulcinella, the Rooster
Fifth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.4 | 879 Ratings
89.6% Retention Rate | 2.1 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Professional (552)Considerate (433)Inspirational (401)
Similar Harbingers: Signora, Pantalone
Posted by Basic-Habitation
Most professional Harbinger out there. No rumors, no scandals, no crazy incidents. Nothing.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Snarling-Inevitability: Did you forget that the Captain exists? And also, didn't Lord Pulcinella order an assassination attempt on Lord Pantalone last month? So much for the holier than thou attitude.
Snoopy-Method: I concur. I am Lord Dottore's subordinate and it was my squad who eliminated the assassin.
Somber-Bandit: The implications go crazy on this one
Testy-Audit: Friendship goals.
Messy-Denomination: Actually, Lord Capitano is the most unproblematic Harbinger, I rest my case. Fortunately, his subordinates are also too preoccupied making a change for the betterment of the world to even bother with the stupid discourse going on in this godsforsaken forum.
—
“Do you need me to lend you more of my idling subordinates?”
Pantalone smiles, unable to hide his amusement at this blatant show of consideration. Blithely, “There is hardly a need. I’ll be gone for two weeks at most, and I’ve brought the more competent ones along with me.”
“Being prepared is never a bad thing,” Dottore replies. It is a losing argument and they both know it.
“People are beginning to talk, Dottore,” Pantalone says, fixing Dottore’s cravat. There is nothing to fix, of course. He simply delights in the way Dottore bristles when touched in public. “And unless you are willing to address the rumors yourself without incriminating either of us, then I see little reason to give them further encouragement.”
Dottore presses his lips into a thin line. “It would seem that you are in the mood to concern yourself with the opinions of others. You would do better to take time away from going through the Fatui forums; there’s a reason Sandrone is prone to anger.”
Pantalone laughs. “There’s nothing to lose if you take a peek yourself. And if I remember correctly, you were supposed to be a co-moderator of the forums alongside her.”
“It is a favor to her that I relinquished that position. She likes being in control, after all.” Dottore shakes his head lightly as though the fact brings him great regret. “A short-sighted trait.”
For all his complaints about Pantalone minding the opinions of others, his doctor has always been remarkably susceptible to them. This dear doctor of his. Pantalone could only bring himself nearer to press a soft kiss upon Dottore’s mask, hoping that he would fare well in his absence.
“I’ll see you in two weeks, my friend.”
Dottore huffs, drawing away. “The doctors in Fontaine are nothing compared to me,” Dottore says, almost like a warning. “I suggest you mind yourself, Feofan.”
Be careful, is what Pantalone hears.
With a wave goodbye, he at last boards the boat bound for Fontaine ten minutes after the scheduled time of sailing.
Pantalone remains on deck as they pull away from the harbor, watching Dottore’s figure linger still upon the docks. It was only when the horizon was swallowed by the cold fog that surrounded Snezhnaya did Pantalone turn away from the railing—his view of Dottore no more—to retreat to the captain’s quarters.
—
Rate My Harbinger
★★★☆☆ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.6 | 955 Ratings
80% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (955)Terrifying (759)Inspirational (443)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Vastly-Disguised
There's someone who's in denial, and then there's Lord Regrator.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Essential-Pudding: "My friend" and he's been eye fucking Lord Dottore the entire time. Just bring him with you for gods' sake.
Cheap-Downside: I don't even have to think to know who this is about
Deceitful-Tavern: My Harbinger can't be this clingy.
Fresh-Tendency: Apparently, he and the Doctor are married.
Permissible-Intruder: This rumor again?
Tendon-Simplicity: Offering a goodbye kiss to a colleague counts as clingy nowadays? Isn't that normal in Snezhnaya?
Deceitful-Tavern: Only if the colleagues are fucking.
Voracious-Computing: Offering a goodbye what
Innate-Calcium: THEY KISSED??!!
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Il Dottore, the Doctor
Second of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 1.1 | 813 Ratings
23.1% Retention Rate | 4.9 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Deranged (808)Negligent (723)Informative (501)
Similar Harbingers: Sandrone
Posted by Grateful-Manifesto
Couldn't shut up about Lord Regrator. It's only been a day. He's acting like Lord Regrator had gone to war and is very likely to die in service.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Potable-Persona: He's always like this. What's the point of this post exactly?
Hopeful-Outpost: The doctors in Fontaine are apparently subpar. How could his dear friend Pantalone survive if he catches a cold, comrades?
Belated-Nobody: His dear friend Pantalone forgot his supplements!
Clammy-Evacuation: One cannot simply sit still when one's husband is out there smoking a whole pack every day. How could our Lord Dottore bear to live without noting down the time of day and the duration of each smoke his dear friend Pantalone takes?
Ruddy-Leopard: They're not married.
Glistening-Oasis: Well, if he's not going to play, then he should get off the damn field! I'd marry Lord Regrator in a heartbeat with or without his money!
—
“Did something happen?”
Dottore had his back turned to him, sat upon the edge of the bed with his head down and seemingly deep in thought. Like this, it gave Pantalone a clear view of the marks he’d dug on the skin.
Nothing about their sex from last night and this morning had been gentle, and Pantalone could scarcely feel anything beyond the waist down. Dottore, for one, is oddly silent.
“I asked you a question.”
“Nothing happened.”.
Pantalone raises an eyebrow as he lies on his side, hearing joints crack as he stretches his legs, bare against the cool sheets of the bed. “Then, am I supposed to believe that you missed me too much while I was gone with how desperate you were?”
He’s going to have to deal with the ache for the entire day. Not to mention, he has seven meetings scheduled and he’s not sure if his collar is high enough to hide the marks on his neck.
Dottore turns to him at last, red eyes startling as ever. The sunlight slipping through the windows does favors for his visage. He’s always been a handsome man in his prime, and even more in old age. Pantalone can’t help but set aside the grievances as he indulges at the sight.
“Don’t say you didn’t enjoy it,” Dottore tells him, his expression strangely unreadable.
“I did enjoy it,” Pantalone admits easily. “I was just wondering if there’s a reason for your sudden vigor.”
Dottore frowns. Finally, something Pantalone could work with. He almost looks offended.
“Sudden?”
“I’m not a fool, Dottore. We’ve done this plenty of times for me to be able to determine your tells.” He runs a hand along Dottore’s forearm as if to coax him into spilling the truth. “Something’s on your mind.”
“Are you concerned?”
Pantalone sighs. “I am curious.”
Neither of them are getting the answers that they want from each other, it seems. Pantalone is more than inclined to mirror the treatment. Dottore, on the other hand, chooses to retreat by extricating Pantalone’s hand away and letting it fall limp upon the bed. Then, he goes to get dressed.
Pantalone watches him. There’s no need to school his dismay for Dottore is not even facing him. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes,” Dottore answers as he buttons up his rumpled dress shirt. “65 and I are going to evaluate the newly arrived procurements.”
The procurements had arrived five days ago when Pantalone was still in Fontaine. His doctor was lying to him, but Pantalone saw it fit not to point that out.
“Very well.”
“I’ll see you tonight,” Dottore says as he walks briskly to the door, mask already in place.
Pantalone lights a cigarette. “Don’t bother.”
—
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Il Dottore, the Doctor
Second of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 1.1 | 847 Ratings
23.1% Retention Rate | 4.9 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Deranged (831)Negligent (729)Informative (515)
Similar Harbingers: Sandrone
Posted by Dim-Allegory
Just straight up an asshole today. I'm transferring to Lady Signora.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Impractical-Bedtime: You are not ready.
Dim-Allegory OP: Lady Signora with her mood swings is at least hot. Lord Dottore's makes you want to kill yourself in front of him.
Chunky-Misery: Twin. I'm transferring to Lord Scaramouche when he comes back from the Abyss.
Submissive-Scissors: I JUST got transferred to Lord Dottore. It's my first day. Am I gonna die?
Volatile-Delegation: Why would you want to get transferred to Lord Dottore?????
Submissive-Scissors: Because you get to see Lord Pantalone naked.
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Sandrone, the Marionette
Seventh of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 3.8 | 635 Ratings
58% Retention Rate | 4.8 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Informative (577)Terrifying (390)Inspirational (301)
Similar Harbingers: Dottore
Posted by Complicit-Socks
I have no clue what's going on in the Dottore side of the laboratories but it is NOT a happy party. So glad I chose Lady Sandrone.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Droopy-Certification: Just vague posting for no reason.
Droopy-Certification: I heard the Doctor (Omega) has come up with a brand new experiment. Even the other segments are pissed with him. They all left and went to take a walk.
Endurable-Lodging: It's been five fucking hours. Are they taking a walk around Teyvat?
Uneven-Spoon: He's only targeting married subordinates.
Droopy-Certification: This has no business being this funny.
Alienated-Stuffing: You make it sound like he's going to kill them. He's just... making everyone annoyed and potentially divorced.
Different-Nexus: Heavy on the divorced because I had to find out from my BOSS that my spouse is cheating on me because he conducted an investigation on everyone's marriages. And he had the audacity to ask me if "loving someone is arbitrary." I DONT FUCKING KNOW, SIR. IM GOING HOME TO HAVE A NICE LONG TALK WITH MY HUSBAND.
—
“Should I get you a wife?”
“Excuse me?”
Pantalone sighs. “There’s a system in keeping our ranks orderly. Filing transfer applications requires vacancies and accounting for potential replacements. Resignations entail settling pension obligations, particularly if they’ve been in service for long enough. And there’s also the matter of having to deal with the legal issues that surface along the way.”
He takes a slow sip of his drink before making a show of flipping through the thick ledger in his hand. Sat across from him with his legs crossed, Dottore seems willing enough to let Pantalone continue with the dress down.
“The Jester asked me to triple the payments for our in-house lawyers. Apparently, hush money is no longer enough to stop your former subordinates from suing you for a breach of privacy.”
Dottore’s lips twitch in displeasure. “Please, of all the actions I have committed in the past, this is what angers them the most? Unearthing marital affairs? It’s hardly even notable to be worth fussing over.”
Pantalone is not even surprised at this point. “Feel free to have your own opinions on the matter. It doesn’t affect me from being compelled to let you know of the amount of mora I am told to cough up on such a short notice—it’s almost on par with your periodic allocation that I’m debating whether or not I should simply use that money for it and leave you with nothing for the next quarter.”
Dottore only scoffs. Contrary to what Pantalone had initially expected, Dottore doesn’t make a point of arguing this time. Pantalone liked it better when the man would talk his ears off just to justify himself. His silence is most unbecoming, as of late.
“Which is why I am asking you, Dottore: should I find you a wife?”
It is not Pantalone’s job to stop Dottore, after all, and it is a fruitless endeavor. He’s only here to provide alternative solutions to make everyone least inconvenienced.
Dottore crosses his arms. “How sure are you that it is a wife my experiment needs? I don’t recall informing you of the parameters of what I’m studying.”
“The systems encompassing marital union, love and loyalty as common points of binding, among other things.” Pantalone smiles. “A good investor keeps tabs on what they spend their money on. And I have spent an exorbitant amount on you alone, Dottore.”
Dottore could only stay silent.
Pantalone leans back. “I have a few candidates in mind I can recommend. Being straight with you, I’m not going to pretend that you’re not going to owe me significantly for making me take the time out of my busy day just to find you a woman.”
“I don’t need a woman.”
“A man, then.” Pantalone nods. “So, what will it be? A miner, a hunter, a peasant—?”
Dottore bolts up from his seat, poised to leave. He didn’t even touch his drink.
“And where do you think you are going?”
“A new experiment has come to mind,” Dottore says, walking towards the door in hasty and pointed strides. “Understand why Pantalone is inordinately insufferable.”
—
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.6 | 987 Ratings
80% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (987)Terrifying (760)Inspirational (467)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Arctic-Insurer
Gave everyone a day off.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Baked-Biography: A much nicer way of saying he essentially told everyone in his vicinity to fuck off and kill themselves
Unused-Republic: Lowkey it was hot. Got bricked up for it.
Heroic-Train: I think we should have at least one of us to keep an eye on him. I don't think he's left the office since yesterday.
Viable-Break: Not me. I'm his personal cigarette buyer. Been on the clock since he stepped foot in that office. That was more than 24 hours ago. What the genuine fuck
Austere-Conductor: Has the Lord Regrator eaten anything? I'm getting worried.
Viable-Break: Good question. Also, don't be worried. I can hear him cough in there. He's alive for now
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Il Dottore, the Doctor
Second of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 1.1 | 890 Ratings
22.2% Retention Rate | 4.9 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Deranged (885)Negligent (752)Informative (547)
Similar Harbingers: Sandrone
Posted by Internal-Tendency
Stole my fucking candy.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Neglected-Logic: I'll just let it slide. 8 is just a kid after all.
Internal-Tendency OP: It was not 8. It was a grown ass man.
Neglected-Logic: Oh!
Possible-Workman: Cry about it.
Internal-Tendency OP: Full name: Vladimir Vasilyovich Dobrynin
Rank: Junior Lieutenant Skirmisher
Age: 27
Height: 177 cm
Weight: 71.2 kg
Approx. FDLC: 1°20'14.175"N 103°44'25.09"E
Possible-Workman: Comrade, why.
—
The door bursts open.
“Mayor, I am afraid I am not in the mood to entertain unscheduled meetings.”
A figure taller than the Rooster strides past his desk without so much as a word, heading straight for the window. With a sharp tug, the uninvited visitor throws the window open, allowing a sharp gust of winter air to sweep into the room and disperse the cigarette smoke that has long since settled into the enclosed space.
Pantalone could do little more than shiver slightly as the cold finds its way beneath his clothes. He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Dottore, it’s freezing.”
“Of course it’s freezing,” Dottore retorts sardonically. “When was the last time someone tended to your fireplace?”
Dottore turns his attention to the unlit hearth. From somewhere beneath his coat, he produces a peculiar contraption resembling a gun. He raises it toward the grate and pulls the trigger. A brilliant blue beam shoots out from the barrel. Within moments, the fireplace was ignited without so much as a need for firewood or kindling.
Satisfied, Dottore lowers the weapon before directing his masked gaze toward Pantalone. “What in Teyvat is it that you think you are doing?”
Pantalone raises an eyebrow. “I am working?”
Dottore saunters to his desk and plucks the cigarette held in between Pantalone’s fingers.
“Enough of this.”
“You are being rude, Dottore.”
The half-empty pack of cigarettes was not spared from Dottore’s thievery. In the end, both the pack and the still-smoldering cigarette stick were unceremoniously thrown into the flames.
As a form of self-regulation, Pantalone forces his eyes shut and counts to fifty in his head. He could hear Dottore moving about in the office. The footsteps eventually draw nearer, until they come to a stop directly beside his chair.
Pantalone ignores him. 16, 17, 18—
“I have something for you.”
Pantalone interrupts his counting in favor of formulating a sufficiently scathing response. “It had better be a replacement for the perfectly respectable pack of cigarettes that you just threw into my fireplace. Otherwise, do me the courtesy of getting lost.”
“Look at me.”
21, 22, 23—
A gloved hand closes around his chin. Before Pantalone could so much as protest, a thumb suddenly forces something into his mouth. His eyes fly open, swathing the hand away, a string of choice words at the ready.
Before he could act out on his displeasure, however, his tongue tastes something pleasantly sweet coming from the unwelcome obtrusion that it dissipates the resentment altogether.
Pantalone gives Dottore a withering stare as he sucks on the candy. “Should’ve bit your finger when I had the chance.”
“Testy,” Dottore simpers. “But you must remind yourself not to bite the hand that once fed you.”
Returning his attention back to the paperwork upon his desk, Pantalone makes no effort whatsoever at concealing his disdain. “Can I help you?”
“Certainly. I require company to go with me to the cafeteria. I heard you are the only one around who is presently available.”
Flatly, “I haven’t been truly available since four centuries ago. Find someone else to inflict your presence upon. 25 should be able to tolerate your poor personality.”
Dottore laughs. “Dinner? Look out of the window, Pantalone. The sun is rising. It’s time for breakfast.”
Pantalone pointedly refuses to look. He does, however, allow Dottore to drag him out of his office and into the desolate corridor, yammering without pause about the inevitable consequences of chronic smoking, the dangers of skipping meals, and the rather appalling state of his hydration.
—
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.5 | 996 Ratings
80% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (996)Terrifying (765)Inspirational (471)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Paltry-Barrister
Cut Lord Pulcinella's budget in half because apparently there are just too many losses to pay for. What fucking losses. I never hear him cutting that mad doctor's budget in half like this!
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Costly-Domination: Damn that sucks.
- Lord Dottore's subordinate
Paltry-Barrister OP: Suck a gun barrel and pull the trigger.
Costly-Domination: Joke's on you. I'm into dying.
Vivid-Mover: 0 days since another Harbinger's subordinate rates Lord Regrator with a 1-star. Should just change the forum name to 'Rate the Next Door Harbinger' or something
Unwritten-Shame: He does cut Lord Dottore's budget. You just don't notice it because, one way or another, Lord Pantalone compensates for it with his own money from his own pocket.
Paltry-Barrister OP: IS THIS TRUE??? WHAT THE FUCK!
Frosty-Resentment: Mid tier bait, I'll bite. Lord Pantalone essentially supplies the Fatui with money from his own pocket because he is the Fatui's sole financier, but he is NOT Lord Dottore's personal benefactor to be doing what you're claiming. There is no evidence establishing that Lord Pantalone secretly reimburses Lord Dottore whenever his funding gets cut. He has no reason for it.
Unwritten-Shame: He does have a reason: reject funding = husband sad.
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★☆ • Il Dottore, the Doctor
Second of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 1.1 | 912 Ratings
21.7% Retention Rate | 4.9 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Deranged (893)Negligent (761)Informative (560)
Similar Harbingers: Sandrone
Posted by Deficient-Bear
Hello, comrades. Are home visitations normal? The Lord Harbinger just wanted to see how my relationship with my wife and children are... It's sort of weird, I guess. 4 stars because he brought us food and Kresnik Kristalls. Not 5 stars because... well, like I said it's weird.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Utopian-Conduit: At least he didn't ruin your marriage like what he did to some people serving under him.
Upward-Realism: He's still doing that stupid experiment?
Deficient-Bear OP: What experiment? Sorry, I'm not really in the loop. I serve Lady Sandrone. Are there any new collaborative experiments I haven't been briefed on?
MODERATOR Marionette: Oh my fucking gods. Are we serious.
—
“Pantalone!”
Pantalone takes a leisurely sip of his tea. It’s good.
“Pantalone, open this fucking door!”
The door rattles in its frame.
“Pulonia, kick this door down—”
Pantalone opens it with the most pleasant smile he could muster. “Miss Sandrone, it’s late.”
Sandrone was evidently already in her sleepwear, decently covered by a coat issued to all Harbingers to uphold some semblance of modesty. And here Pantalone thought his colleague had lost all sense of time, propriety, and manners altogether.
“Is he in there?” Sandrone demands.
“This is the room provided to me by the Tsaritsa for my personal use. Who else would be here but me?”
Sandrone visibly grits her teeth. “I don’t have time for this! Where is Dottore?!”
Dottore was currently in the middle of taking a bath. Within Pantalone’s chambers, of course. But he’s not about to disclose that to Sandrone of all people.
“Whatever disagreement you two have, I implore you to leave me out of it. Must I remind you that neither of you has yet reimbursed me for the damages incurred in my office the other day, when your disagreement escalated into what I can only describe as a structural concern?”
Sandrone was practically shaking. “He is using my subordinates for his experiments! Where the fuck is he so I may give him a really huge piece of my mind, assuming he hasn’t already lost his!”
Upon hearing that, Pantalone’s smile falters. “Has there been a casualty?”
If there has, then there’s no point in trying to shield Dottore from the consequences of his actions. It is one thing to enable a man, but it is another to let him run around unchecked.
“No,” Sandrone answers, eyes narrowed. “But there’s about to be one if you don’t tell me where he is.”
The relief is replaced by sheer amusement in an instant. Pantalone is well-aware that he couldn’t hold against the Seventh in a fair fight, but the implications that the ladylike Miss Sandrone would be willing to stoop so low as to assault a mere banker is a novel notion to entertain nonetheless.
“Is that a threat?”
Sandrone crosses her arms. “Do you want it to be?”
Pantalone laughs. “Goodness. Miss Sandrone, it is Dottore you’re after and not me—I am not your enemy. And if my memory serves me well, he should still be in his laboratory. I reckon you could pick someone your own size to tussle with if you pay a visit.”
“I don’t want to see his other freak segments!” Sandrone snaps. “I need to beat up the Omega build, specifically!”
“Well—”
“Sandrone?”
A distinctly mellifluous voice drifts from the darkness of the corridor. Columbina emerges, her footsteps light and soundless. No wonder Pantalone hadn’t noticed her approach. Sandrone wouldn’t have either way, she’s completely lost her wits.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Sandrone recoils. “C-Columbina?!”
“The tea is getting cold,” Columbina says cryptically.
Some kind of code? Pantalone thinks to himself. Knowing the mysterious nature surrounding the Third, it wouldn’t be strange if she communicated in riddles. Even Dottore, who claimed to understand her more than anyone, didn’t seem entirely convinced of his own assertation. And it didn’t take long for their fallout to happen. Pantalone had expected as much.
Only he could exist within the same space as Dottore and gain something out of it.
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Sandrone hisses to Columbina, pulling Pantalone out of his reverie.
Nonetheless, Columbina doesn’t seem to care much as she drags Sandrone away—who, in turn, allows herself to be dragged. Pantalone could only watch them disappear into the darkness of the corridor before retreating into his room with a sigh.
“For you to be covering for me so willingly, I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of payment you’ll demand this time.”
Pantalone turns around to find Dottore finally out of the bath, wearing nothing but a towel that kept him modest enough. His skin and hair were still wet, and his red eyes gleamed with muted amusement.
Feigning distress, Pantalone says, “You best be ready when I come knocking to collect debts, Dottore. It’ll come with interest.”
—
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Scaramouche, the Balladeer
Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 2.9 | 421 Ratings
38.9% Retention Rate | 4.7 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Terrifying (397)Demanding (321)Rude (320)
Similar Harbingers: Capitano, Tartaglia
Posted by Healthy-Mechanics
Returned from the Abyss and told me to kill myself when I sneezed. Should I be worried that my Harbinger has been affected by Abyssal energy?
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Assured-Frown: No. Your Harbinger is perfectly fine. He returned as he was before going to the Abyss: an asshole.
Squalid-Quantity: That's the nicest thing he could say to you. Maybe he was in a good mood.
Closely-Morose: Abyssal energy is afraid of your Harbinger. It wants nothing to do with all that.
Debonair-Plurality: That's because you startled him! What is wrong with you! Poor Lord Scaramouche...
Healthy-Mechanics OP: You need help.
Rate My Harbinger
★★★☆☆ • Arlecchino, the Knave
Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.1 | 509 Ratings
68.2% Retention Rate | 3.8 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Terrifying (487)Attractive (450)Professional (421)
Similar Harbingers: Capitano, Signora
Posted by Batty-Iceberg
One of the orphans she looks after socked me in the balls after losing a round of rock paper scissors. Fuck. Why did she have to bring these kids to Snezhnaya for a Harbinger meeting?
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Maniacal-Eater: And that's why our best soldiers comes from the House of the Hearth.
Sulky-Means: Oh so you were the comrade who collapsed on the floor and blocked the foot traffic earlier for a solid hour?
Batty-Iceberg OP: How about I kick your balls with approximately 2,500 joules of kinetic energy? See how quick you stand after that.
Sulky-Means: I don't have balls.
Chunky-Accreditation: Who's the kid? They got potential.
Harebrained-Collection: You seem knowledgeable. The Doctor is looking for more subordinates if you're willing to die before the age of 30.
—
A small gathering of sorts was held amongst the Harbingers—strained given that they had spent the better part of their meeting failing to agree on anything and on the verge of being at each other’s throats. It’s perhaps a comfort that the burden of compromise had fallen upon them all the same.
“—know it’s a steep ask but Sandrone was more than willing to engineer the weapon for me. All that’s left is to discuss the fundi—”
Pantalone sets his drink down upon the nearest available surface. He had scarcely been listening to Childe for the better part of the conversation, having noticed Dottore slip away without so much as a word.
“Excuse me, Tartaglia.”
Childe stammers, interrupting himself in the process. “But— Hey, w-wait!”
Pantalone leaves the pretentious air of the drawing room only to find Dottore nowhere to be seen. Not that Pantalone had any particular desire to stay, either. He might as well look for his doctor—it would make for a convenient excuse.
As he stalked the frigid halls of the Zapolyarny Palace, his search proves mercifully brief when a soft melody winds its way through the corridors, echoes lingering faintly amongst the walls. He follows the sound, eventually arriving in front of a room with its doors left slightly open.
Within, he finds Dottore seated at the piano. He didn’t seem to notice Pantalone’s presence until the melody had reached its final note. And when it did, Pantalone was more than inclined to offer a gracious round of applause.
Dottore’s masked gaze turns to him. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Does it matter?” Pantalone asks in turn, leaning leisurely against the doorway with his arms crossed. “You left early.”
“I find it more mentally sustainable to indulge in solitude than be in the midst of company.”
Pantalone laughs. “You sound like 45.” Then, “Should I leave?”
Dottore huffs as he turns away, idly pressing upon keys that seemed random yet complemented nicely with effortless harmony. “If I say no, it would do your ego no good into thinking that you’re an exception.”
“But I am,” Pantalone says, crossing the room at last to lean against the piano. From there, he takes the opportunity to regard Dottore’s masked visage properly, framed by the dim interior and the pale moonlight slipping through the windows. “You’ve made it clear that I am.”
Defensively, “And so what if I do? You have your uses and I have benefited from them. There’s nothing wrong in showing gratitude by making you an exception in many things.” His lips curl in a smile. “And isn’t fairness something you strive to gain? You should commend me for playing by your rules.”
“If fairness is considered a rule, then the world as we know it wouldn’t exist,” Pantalone says. “One of its fundamental truths, after all, is that it is inherently unfair. We both know that to an extraordinary degree.”
He reaches for Dottore’s discarded gloves placed upon the empty music desk and brings it against his cheek, lightly nuzzling the fabric and relishing in the lingering scent. Dottore notices and presses a key by mistake. The resulting dissonance is most startling as it is funny.
Pantalone doesn’t laugh. “But Dottore, fairness does not account for exceptions. Must you divert the subject so obviously?”
There’s a tinge of redness high upon Dottore’s cheek when Pantalone makes a show of entangling his fingers with the gloves—as if to hold the hands that so often occupied them.
The piano vibrates when Dottore settles on a low note. “There was no subject to begin with. I merely wished to play a tune in solitude when you showed up.”
A terrible liar when it matters. Or perhaps it’s because Dottore cannot conceal the truth to someone who already knows it.
“Then by all means, continue.”
Dottore plays a couple of chords that evokes no particular emotion. A most uncharacteristic performance. Eventually, as if to put an end to the unspoken tension that had gathered between them, Dottore tries.
“Is there a particular arrangement you’d like to request?”
Pantalone pretends to think it over. “Play me something honest.”
—
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Tartaglia, Childe
Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.5 | 782 Ratings
88.3% Retention Rate | 3.5 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Dangerous (693)Considerate (551)Inspirational (413)
Similar Harbingers: Capitano, Scaramouche
Posted by Ignorant-Paradox
Gave me tips on how to improve my hand to hand combat
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Dead-Sunsettia: How many bones did the Lord Harbinger break in the process?
Ignorant-Paradox OP: Paralyzed beneath the waist down for life. But I at least know how to beat 80% of the Fatui if they come at me.
Cheeky-Swimmer: Son.
Wonderfully-Grumpy: Good for you, comrade.
Noteworthy-Laurels: This deserves to be cross-posted to the Dumb Ways to Die forum.
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Il Dottore, the Doctor
Second of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 1.1 | 935 Ratings
21.2% Retention Rate | 4.9 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Deranged (904)Negligent (788)Informative (589)
Similar Harbingers: Sandrone
Posted by Frequent-Skipping
Officiated my wedding (HE WASN'T EVEN INVITED!!!) and traumatized half the guests.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Crushing-Delegation: The Lord Harbinger truly is a jack of all trades.
Frequent-Skipping OP: He's a JACKass that's what he is. (I don't care. I'm filing my transfer to Lady Sandrone. I can't stand his bullshit anymore)
Minty-Infamy: Did he at least let you exchange your vows?
Frequent-Skipping OP: Yes, he did.
Minty-Infamy: I'd say W officiant.
Dismal-Tolerance: What happened to the actual officiant of the wedding?
Informed-Ignition: Probably dead. We know how Lord Dottore works.
Adhesive-Grappling: Misinformation. The officiant was paid to take a day off at Mondstadt.
—
Dottore was ignoring him again. For the better part of two weeks, at that.
The man had even gone as far as to have the other segments submit his daily expenditures in his stead, as though Pantalone were some particularly tedious creditor whose presence could be avoided through intermediaries.
It’s not surprising given that their last conversation hadn’t exactly ended well because apparently, Pantalone was in the wrong for saying, “No, Dottore. You can’t simply officiate a subordinate’s wedding without asking her for permission. You were not even invited.”
Dottore had responded in kind with a, “How did you even know that? And for the record, I was wearing a disguise.”
“Your disguise being the removal of your mask? Gods forbid no one recognizes Il Dottore without his customary attire. Did you honestly think the entire nation possessed your same wardrobe? Removing your mask was definitely a stroke of unparalleled brilliance, Dottore. Truly, how can you be any different from the Volkodlak down the street, downing pints of beer and singing merry songs of yore?”
“I had no time to procure a change in costume! Must I remind you, Pantalone? You rejected my budget for it.”
“Well, if I would’ve known that giving you five thousand mora would prevent me from having to pay quadruple the amount for emotional damage fees of a very angry bride, then I would’ve personally gone and bought you that priest costume myself!”
“He’s sulking about something,” 45 tells Pantalone one afternoon. Perhaps likely the only segment patient enough to handle 35’s whims these days. “Did you have an argument, Feofan?”
Pantalone shrugs and answers honestly. “Not that I’m aware of.”
45 doesn’t push the matter further, leaving Pantalone to his work. Pantalone wished he would stay for tea, at least. But Zandik had only ever truly softened around him in his twilight years: when age eroded pride with it, and vulnerability became something to co-exist with rather than something to fear.
It is a pity that 65 is out of town.
Pantalone takes a leisurely drag from his cigarette as he skims through Dottore’s list of expenditures. Modest, which likely means his doctor has accomplished very little today. The same has been true for the better part of the week.
Before he could add it to the pile of reviewed documents, a note slips free from between the papers. Written in a script so distinct, Pantalone reads the note 8 had left for him: ‘I’m’ hiding in the wilderness northeast of Glupov. Fix ‘me.’
Pantalone could only laugh softly to himself. He extinguishes his cigarette and rises from his seat, grabbing his coat before heading out.
—
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.3 | 1,032 Ratings
80.5% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (1,032)Terrifying (789)Inspirational (502)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Ornate-Viewpoint
Got yelled at by a client because the Lord Harbinger missed his meeting. Where the fuck even is he. I'm so sick of this job.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Edible-Hammer: Saw him leave his office some time after lunch.
Ornate-Viewpoint OP: Would it have killed him to notify me beforehand?
Ringed-Ferocity: The audacity of some of these clients honestly. No wonder Lord Pantalone hates putting up with them.
Abrupt-Victory: Congratulations, you just landed yourself a massive compensation fee. You should change your rating to 5 stars
Ornate-Viewpoint OP: ARE YOU FOR REAL? I LOVE LORD PANTALONE BEST HARBINGER EVER
Ornate-Viewpoint OP: For some reason I cannot edit my rating. Oh well.
Rate My Harbinger
★☆☆☆☆ • Pulcinella, the Rooster
Fifth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.3 | 920 Ratings
89.7% Retention Rate | 2.1 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Professional (606)Considerate (473)Inspirational (458)
Similar Harbingers: Signora, Pantalone
Posted by Separately-Premium
Made me walk into the wilderness to track down Lord Pantalone. I am fucking freezing my ass off and I can't even find him.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Damaging-Interval: Skill issue
Pitched-Permission: Wear a coat.
Separately-Premium OP: Genius! Why didn't I think of that? Kill yourself.
Pungent-Aggression: I am right behind you, comrade.
Separately-Premium OP: Why the fuck are you following me? (Did you bring a Mini Kresnik Torch?)
Pungent-Aggression: I am Lord Dottore's subordinate. I will kill you if you attempt to harm Lord Pantalone. (Yes, I brought a Mini Kresnik Torch with me. We can share it if you want.)
—
“I had an inkling that I’d find you here.”
Dottore doesn’t turn to address him. “I am aware that 8 has told you where I’d be.”
“Ah.”
Pantalone stops just beside Dottore’s elbow. The weather is mercifully clear today, though the cold is no less biting for it, and the two of them are afforded an unobstructed view of the peaceful snow-laded landscape.
“Did you need me for something?” Dottore finally asks after a beat of silence.
“On the contrary,” Pantalone replies. “I thought that you might need me for something.”
Dottore huffs. “You would know if that were the case.”
“Naturally. You never run out of things to ask of me and my money, after all.”
Perhaps it is the fact that Dottore has been in such an unpleasant mood as of late that it has become remarkably easy to get a rise out of him.
“My requests can be justified,” Dottore says pointedly. “You make it sound as though I am unreasonably demanding.”
“If your requests can be justified, Dottore, what is it that makes you hesitate for months to just tell me what you truly want?”
Dottore crosses his arms. “I have submitted quite a number of proposals complete with the appropriate paperwork. It is you who rejects them with an infuriating ease.”
This dear, stubborn man.
“The proposal I want does come with paperwork, yes. But only after I’ve accepted it.” Pantalone reaches out to flick the loose bits of snow off of Dottore’s head. “Perhaps it would encourage you to try again if I express my inclination for it.”
Ask me, Pantalone thinks. It is almost laughable how the voice in his head sounds too desperate for his liking. As though he’s chasing after the first promising gain that emerges after suffering through a long succession of losses. Ask me, Zandik. Enough of this madness and just ask me.
“How generous,” is all that Dottore says.
Pantalone withdraws his hand. He is not a man of patience; he is a man of pride.
“If it is truly something you want, you have a week to make up your mind.” He turns away, already poised to leave. There’s no point in continuing this conversation. “Worry not, there will be no hard feelings between us no matter the outcome—if there is feeling between us at all.”
—
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★★★★★ • Sandrone, the Marionette
Seventh of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4 | 686 Ratings
59.4% Retention Rate | 4.8 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Informative (625)Terrifying (433)Inspirational (329)
Similar Harbingers: Dottore
Posted by Curly-Prisoner
Argued with the 8-year-old segment of Lord Dottore. It was absolute cinema. I don't even care who won, I'm not smart enough for that.
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Unhappy-Windfall: Look at my Lady Harbinger, comrades. She picks fights with children (I would do the same).
Mindless-Adventuring: Except the child is Lord Dottore and now you're cooked if you're not Lady Sandrone.
Unhappy-Windfall: Fair enough.
Bruised-Collaborator: I would argue with the 8-year-old segment, too. The boy's the only sane one in that band of Dottores. There's no point in arguing with the others
Nautical-Honesty: You haven't spoken to 65 and it shows. That man is like a whole different person /pos.
Rate My Harbinger
★★★★★ • Il Dottore, the Doctor
Second of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 1.2 | 956 Ratings
21.2% Retention Rate | 4.9 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Deranged (912)Negligent (791)Informative (593)
Similar Harbingers: Sandrone
Posted by Deficient-Birthplace
I think my Harbinger is broken. He (M35) hasn't said a word all week. I hope he stays that way
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Subsequent-Formality: He's much nicer when he's quiet.
Cooing-Touchdown: Honestly? I find this behavior worrying. The Lord Harbinger seems sad.
Subsequent-Formality: Honestly? I don't give a fuck.
Ablaze-Snowflake: He also hasn't gone to see Lord Pantalone... Comrades, did they have a divorce?!
Flippant-Actuality: You know that the Lord Harbingers being married was just an inside joke, right? They're not actually married.
Ablaze-Snowflake: A break-up, then.
—
Five minutes before the week is up, Pantalone hears a knock at his office door. The hour is late, and he has received no notice of a visitor; his secretary had likely gone home for the day.
It is out of habit that he takes note of where his pistol is hidden.
“Come in.”
Dottore steps inside. They haven’t seen nor spoken with each other since their conversation in the wilderness. Pantalone had given him a week, and it seems that his doctor had utilized the time to its very fullest.
Pantalone smiles cordially. “Can I help you?”
Dottore stood still across from him. Wordlessly, he reaches into his coat and procures a small velvet box, which he sets on the desk amongst the messy array of documents that Pantalone had been reviewing.
Pantalone eyes the box. Despite how recent his lung transplant had just been, it has grown quite difficult to breathe. He hadn’t even smoked his usual average today.
“What is this? A gift?”
“Open it,” Dottore tells him.
Pantalone sighs. “My, you really have a penchant of making me do all the work.”
Dottore uncharacteristically doesn’t respond with his usual snarky quips, opting to stay silent as Pantalone reaches for the box and opens it. Inside were two interlocked silver rings that formed a single band, and for some reason, all manner of fight had left Pantalone’s body.
His hand is steady as he deftly takes the ring out of the box to examine the workmanship closely. The design is a far cry from what’s practiced in traditional Snezhnayan customs—three intertwined rings is expected rather than two, but Pantalone could only feel fond attachment to it despite the unconventionality.
Zandik has never been one to conform, and neither is Feofan, who is most entranced by the silver sheen and modest gemstones. It is a stark contrast to the collection of other meaningless rings he chooses to adore his other hand with.
“Dottore, this is—”
Zandik had already left.
From the distance, the midnight bell in the plaza begins to toll.
—
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★★★★★ • Pantalone, the Regrator
Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers
Average Rating: 4.5 | 1,064 Ratings
80.5% Retention Rate | 3.3 Level of Difficulty
Top Tags for this Harbinger:
Attractive (1,064)Terrifying (823)Inspirational (544)
Similar Harbingers: Pulcinella, Signora
Posted by Cooked-Gallery
ARE MY EYES DECIEVING ME???!!?!? IS THAT A FUCKING RING ON HIS RIGHT RING FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DISCUSSION:
MOST RELIABLE Plant-Hierarchy: OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING! EVERYBODY STAY CALM!
Elastic-Constable: WAIT WAIIIIITTTT WHEN DID THEY GET MARRIED?!!!?!?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK
Stylish-Custard: The Regrator got married? Congratulations! -from the Captain's subordinate )))
Abnormal-Catch: Maybe it's just cosmetic! Can everyone calm down!
Whispered-Polling: There's no way he actually married Lord Dottore. Big if true.
Vision-Lighter: Oh man, does this mean I missed my chance?
MODERATOR The Doctor: Yes.