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Mona hasn’t been sleeping well. Her sleep schedule is typically erratic, alternating between late nights spent stargazing and early mornings hunched over her desk, quill scribbling rapidly across her parchment as she churns out her column for next month’s issue of The Steambird.
It was one such evening earlier this week that Mona summoned her astrolabe to divine the night’s weather forecast when the starry waters reflecting the heavens above were clouded, indistinct blurs in murky waters rather than the clear pinpricks of light that she is used to.
An omen.
Her attempts to delve deeper into this muddled fate were met with non-answers and ambiguity, the waters of destiny slipping through her fingers. A slap on the wrist, a warning. Do not delve venture further, young seeker, lest you lose your ability to pierce the fog of the unknown.
The following day, the air was thick and foul, sticking to her lungs with each breath taken. Goosebumps sprouted along her skin, hair standing on end. Her intuition has not left her, no. It is shouting at her loud and clear that someone, or something, is prowling Mondstadt and infecting the city with its poisonous aura.
But it will tell her no more.
It’s like walking around without her hat. Mona is left exposed and vulnerable, forced to strain her neck with frequent glances cast over it. Each corner she rounds sends her blood racing, heart pounding in her ears. A chill has stuck to her since that evening, biting at her heels, crawling up her spine.
It’s close.
Standing in line at Good Hunter this evening was a bad idea. There are people all around, chatting, laughing, milling about — all are potential dangers. Mona eyes each person warily, examining them for malicious intent and hidden motives. Most steer clear when they meet her intense gaze.
“Mona? Mona, you’re next in line.”
Sara’s voice interrupts her current glare at Anthony standing by the fountain. Sure, he claims to be worried about his sister, but one can never be sure. Still, the rumbling of Mona’s stomach compels her to step up to the counter.
“What’ll it be today?” asks Sara.
“The usual,” replies Mona.
The waitress nods and smiles. “A salad with two eggs, coming right up!”
Mona stands off to the side while her food is prepared, arms crossed and her pointed golden toe tapping against the cobblestone. The heat from the fire pit behind her is pleasant on this chilly evening. She can feel her stiff shoulders loosening, the near constant crease between her brows from the last few days smoothing out.
This makes it all the more jarring when the ghostly specter of a hand brushes at her earring, a whisper tickling at her ear. Mona whirls around, catalyst out and ready to summon a tidal wave at — nothing but the air.
The tables beside the building are empty. There’s nothing and no one.
Mona nearly misses it, but her keen eyes and intuition painstakingly honed over her years of study catch the tail end of a decorative veil flowing in the gentle wind. One she has unmistakably seen before.
The Harbinger.
“You,” she sneers, hands clenched tight. Now it all makes sense. The sense of foreboding, the muddied waters of fate. Only someone as sinister as that scumbag Harbinger could interfere with her powers so.
“Order up for Mona!”
This time, she does not hear Sara. Mona is already slinking her way around the corner, back pressed against the brick wall.
“Mona? Mona, your salad!”
The astrologist disappears into the night.
There is no trace of the Harbinger in the next alley when Mona peers into it. A few more people are walking around, enjoying what is seemingly another normal and peaceful night in Mondstadt. She has to find him and stop whatever terrible scheme he’s planning. Now that she knows it’s him, fate seems to work in Mona’s favor once more. Her mind is clear as the bright moonlight shining from above. The wind pushes at her back, guiding her forward. Retracing his steps.
Southwest. Up the stairs to the second landing. If he’s heading in this direction, the Harbinger’s destination must be one place: the Knights of Favonius Headquarters.
Mona will be dead on the ground before he ever lays a hand on the protectors of Mondstadt.
Her heels are loud on the cobblestone, but Mona knows well how to hide and move undetected. With naught but a near inaudible splash, her form dissolves into a gentle stream of hydro that glides up the landing. Even in this state, she can detect a presence some hundred meters ahead. It must be him.
Mona surges forward, determined to restrain him with all the might of the stars and pull the truth straight from his lips. When she can feel his shadow mere centimeters away, Mona drops her magic and lands on the ground.
“Stop, Harbinger, you—”
No one is there. The Harbinger is gone.
“What? How? There’s no way—”
A pair of hands seizes her by the collar and shoves her backwards. She barely has time to register what’s going on before her back slams into the nearest wall.
“So, stalking me, are you?” says a chillingly familiar voice. “I should have known someone like you couldn’t keep their nose out of other people’s business.”
The face that swims into focus before her is one she recognizes all too well, twisted into a triumphant sneer at the fact he’s caught her red-handed.
But Mona is determined not to let him have his fun. Gritting her teeth, she tears away his hands, ducks beneath his arm and slips behind him before he can grab at her again.
“I’m not stalking you,” she says indignantly. “You’re the one creeping around Mondstadt like some kind of alley cat. I want to know why.”
The Harbinger turns to face her, adjusts his hat where it’s fallen askew during their brief altercation. He’s just as arrogant as Mona remembers from last time - and, she grudgingly admits to herself, just as handsome. She has to force herself to look at the wall behind him, lest her gaze lingers a second too long on his sharp cheekbones, those dark, red-lined eyes that stare at her with an intensity that makes her feel like she’s two inches tall.
Focus, Mona, she tells herself. He’s a Harbinger. He could probably k… Well, she doubts he’d do anything this close to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to let her guard down.
Besides, she’s already let him slip away once. This time, she’s going to find out exactly what he’s up to.
“There’s nothing to tell you,” he says sweetly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Can’t a man do a little sightseeing in his spare time?”
Mona narrows her eyes. Of course he’s going to make this hard for her.
“You really think I’m going to believe you’re here as a tourist?”
“Naturally,” says the Harbinger, waving a hand ceremoniously. “I thought I’d drop by and see your wonderful cathedral.”
Mona glances up at the cathedral towering above them and back again. He’s lying. Of course he is. And yet she has no reason to stop him from going about whatever it is he’s doing. She knows that the Fatui are devious, but to regular people, they’re still plain old diplomats, and so far, the Harbinger hasn’t broken any laws.
That doesn’t mean she’s just going to let him walk away, though.
She surges forward, grabs him by the collar and pushes him back into the wall, just like he did to her minutes ago. The Harbinger doesn’t fight, just continues to look at her with that self-confident smile that makes her bristle with irritation. Clearly, she poses no threat to him in his eyes.
“All right, Harbinger,” she snarls. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but I’m not going to stand idly by while you slink around this city. If you so much as touch any of the people here—”
“Oh. Now I understand,” the Harbinger cuts in. He looks like he’s just cracked a puzzle. “You think I pose a danger to the city, don’t you? Well, I’ll bite. I have no intention of harming anyone here in Mondstadt. I actually came to meet you.”
Mona sucks in a breath. “What?”
“Mm.” The Harbinger reaches up and wraps a hand around Mona’s wrist, fingers cold against her bare skin. “This probably comes as no surprise to you, but you’ve interested me since our last meeting. I thought I’d find a way to meet you again, but under, well, less urgent circumstances this time.”
Mona thinks back to when she was waiting outside Good Hunter, the hand that brushed her ear, luring her out of the crowd to follow him. But it goes back further than that. The blurred light in her readings, the sleepless nights, the persistent bad feeling she’s had these past few days that something was reaching out to her.
And all along, it was him.
She loosens her grip on his collar, and it’s only as she does so that she realizes just how close their faces are. The Harbinger’s breath tickles her nose, his gaze so sharp it feels like it’s cutting through her. Mona pulls back quickly, a hint of color rising to her cheeks.
“Well, I’m here now. Tell me what you want to say to me, then get out of this city.”
Something brushes Mona’s waist, and she looks down to see the Harbinger’s hand snaking around her middle. She’s about to slap it away, when he grabs her chin with the other and turns her head to look around at him. In just a matter of moments, he’s managed to trap her against him.
But there’s a surprising lack of violence in the motions. Even when he slips his first hand around to the small of her back, pinning her in place, it doesn’t feel forceful. It’s not gentle, by any means — Mona doubts he has the capabilities for that — but for some reason she can’t say, she doesn’t feel threatened by his touch.
In fact, it’s almost… loving.
“It’s simple, really,” he tells her, and the words drip from his tongue like molasses — warm, sweet, enticing. His breath comes in hot puffs against her lips, nearly close enough to taste, as he murmurs, “I have a proposition for you.”
Mona brings her hands up, palms pressing flat against his chest as though to push him away, but her attempt to do so is half-hearted, weak; she’s entranced by the mysterious depths of his eyes, the mischievous twinkle that flickers across them when he realizes that she isn’t trying .
The hand that had been holding her chin firm slips away, and he presses his knuckles to her skin, tracing up along the curve of her jaw. His fingers twist in the lock of hair that frames her face, tucking it behind her air.
The gesture is so tender that her breath catches in her throat. But she refuses to let him win by merely pretending to be kind; she jerks her head away from his touch, steeling herself.
“Well, spit it out,” she manages, trying to maintain a firm tone despite the way her resolve is quickly crumbling beneath his touch. “You’re wasting my time.”
Scaramouche’s laughter dances at her lips. “Impatience is unbecoming of a woman, Mona; where are your manners?”
“ My —” Mona’s voice rises with indignation, and she blinks at him a few times in disbelief as the words settle; her blood is boiling with irritation, a prickle of annoyance crawling up her neck as her face flushes. “ My manners? When you followed me all the way to Mondstadt, like a—”
A finger is quickly pressed to her lips, effectively silencing what would surely have become a long-winded insult. The smile that he offers when she stares at him through narrowed eyes is a proud one, as though he’s amused that she seems to be losing her bite — even if only slightly.
“I’d like to have your help.”
Mona raises a brow at him skeptically; she clearly doesn’t believe a word of it. She rolls her eyes.
“Funny,” she says dryly. “You don’t seem like the type to work with others.”
He laughs again, and the subtle upward tilt of his chin brings his face close to her own once more. His one hand had never left her waist, holding her with just enough strength to prevent her from pulling free if she had decided to try — he uses it now to draw her in, and Mona bunches her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
She’s lost to his eyes, paralyzed in place. Her hands tremble as she briefly considers giving him a firm shove backward, but he’s speaking before she can act on the thought.
“Because I’m not,” he whispers against her lips, threads of electricity lingering in the breaths between them. His voice is low, a sultry drawl. “And I wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of a business partner who fails to pull her own weight.”
A shiver runs down her spine at the threat spoken so casually, and her heart stutters in her chest. She inhales slowly, lips tingling under the electric threat that seems to be flickering through his breath. “And if I refuse to work with a Harbinger?”
“You won’t,” Scaramouche says, without a moment of hesitation.
“What makes you so sure?”
The harbinger clicks his tongue, and his sigh of annoyance fans across her lips. But when he answers, his voice is just as tantalizing as it had been, with no trace of lingering irritation — a manipulation tactic of his, one of which Mona is more than aware. He’s trying to tempt her, to leave her curious and craving more.
And Mona doesn’t want to admit that it’s working.
“Do we not have similar goals?” he asks. Scaramouche has busied himself with her hair again, twisting a finger through her silken locks; though she seems mildly displeased by the attention, she doesn’t speak against it. “We could work well together, you and I.”
“Similar goals?” she echoes with a scoff. “My goals do not align with those of a scumbag Harbinger. Especially not one who made an attempt on the lives of my friends.”
He chuckles, as though the memory of his attempt to ambush them in the past is a fond one. As the quiet rumble of his laughter drifts off into silence, he leans forward, and her eyelids flutter — but he dodges her lips, instead bringing his mouth up to her ear.
For a fleeting moment, she can’t breathe; her throat is tight, heart hammering so loudly that she distantly wonders if he might be able to hear it, too.
“I would like to know the truth , Mona,” he whispers, his breath warm against her skin. “I know you’re after the same. And I also know,” he adds, teeth briefly catching the lobe of her ear, “that your hydromancy is an ability some might kill for .”
The touch is nearly enough to make her tremble; her voice feels small when she asks, “Are you threatening me?”
“Am I?”
“You are,” she concludes, and the snort of laughter that follows is right against her ear, unsettling; goosebumps rise across her skin. “You want me to think you’re giving me a choice, but you aren’t.”
It’s then that Scaramouche finally pulls back, meeting her gaze with a glint of mischief behind his own. He flashes his teeth in a wide smirk, one that’s just as proud of her realization as it is dangerous. He catches her chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting her head.
Mona tries to maintain herself, to remain firm and defiant even as he handles her in a way she’s never experienced before. She tries to remind herself that his gentle touch and honeyed words are only part of his game. He’s a master of manipulation, charming and easy to underestimate, if one were unaware of his title or past.
Before she can sort out her thoughts and come to her senses, Scaramouche brushes his lips against her own.
“Clever girl,” he praises, and then he’s kissing her.
There’s a certain, unexpected tenderness behind his kiss that catches Mona entirely off guard. His lips fit too perfectly against her own, and he moves slowly, uncharacteristically gentle; it’s chaste, a few fleeting touches that lull her into a false sense of security, before he withdraws. Mona sighs out a wistful breath when they part, and she almost leans in for more.
But she doesn’t need to — Scaramouche swoops in again, just as suddenly as he had kissed her moments before. While the first had held the care and attention of a shy lover, this one is fierce; it’s possessive, hungry, simmering with electro energy that he can’t seem to contain.
He catches her bottom lip in his teeth, huffs out a snicker when she mewls a protest. As he eagerly delves into her mouth, strings of violet electricity tingle against her tongue. She trembles against him, but she meets every movement with a vigor of her own.
And Mona is the one to reluctantly bring this moment to an end, as though she knows she is waking up from a dream only to tumble down into the violent depths of an inescapable nightmare.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, the words whispered against his lips.
“Because we both want the same thing,” he tells her again. “It would be foolish of me to proceed alone when I now know of your capabilities. And it would be foolish of you, Mona, to turn down such a generous offer that’s being handed to you on a silver platter.”
The Harbinger finally releases her from his grasp, taking a step back to give her space. He folds his arms across his chest, cocking his head to the side, and the bells dangling from his hat jingle under the subtle movement.
Mona keeps him fixed with narrowed eyes as she stubbornly grabs the brim of her own hat, readjusting its position atop her head. She makes a point to run her fingers through her hair and brush off from her clothes, as though his touch alone had dirtied her outfit.
Scaramouche, amused, allows his lips to curve into a smirk. “Your final answer, then?”
The offer — it is tempting.
He may be able to help her uncover secrets she has yet to decipher, truths that remain hidden in the depths of Teyvat’s history. As irritating as she’s found him to be, with unorthodox and cruel methods of getting the information he’s seeking, she knows he is just as intelligent as she.
As she teeters on accepting his proposition, the bad omen from before flits across her mind once more. Could it, perhaps, not only have been a warning that the Harbinger was active in the area — had it also been a warning that he would be trying to coerce her into working at his side?
Against her better judgment, Mona shakes the thoughts out of her head. She extends her hand, a formality. Scaramouche takes it.
“I suppose, Balladeer, that I’ll have to accept your proposition.”
It would be a dangerous game, but if it means inching closer to the world’s truth, then it’s a risk she’s willing to take.