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Arguments were rife in Dottore’s lab, a product of his selfish desire to best time. Segments of all ages smacked egos together, pitted their theories and fought to no end. It sometimes surprised him, the Il Dottore, how utterly conflicted one man could be. His thoughts seemed to shift from one year to the next, resulting in a frustrating band of miscreants wholly set on disturbing the peace.
Nevertheless, they had their use. When they were in accord -which happened, sometimes- they were a force no one dared to contest. They could bury half of Snezhnaya without a care, and harvest the remains for future segments.
They were brilliant during those moments, but in the absence of their master the day rolled on, comprised of bickering and banter alike.
“Omega, do shut up. You’ve been ‘alive’ for all of fifteen days and I must say you’re a piece of-”
“V.” Cautioned Lambda, one of the oldest segments in appearance. His palms were clapped to the ears of the youngest segment, Tau, who witnessed the quarrel as if it were a sport, his tiny eyes overblown with intrigue. “Mind your language. I won’t ask twice.”
“Yes, Epsilon.” Omega mocked. “Think of the children, won’t you?”
V seethed in his chair. “I never liked you from the start.”
“Nor I you.” Gloved hands went up in a theatrical display. Omega bore all the pomp of their creator - the real monstrosity amongst the bunch. “The mighty V, defeater of the drake. The curse of Mondstadt and now...” Omega’s boots tapped against the floor. “What are you now, exactly? Besides resembling the dregs of a back-end Fontaine tailor shop and renaming yourself in some silly fashion, I can’t see your purpose beyond ‘palace clown’.”
“The name makes sense.”
Omega despaired. “Ah yes... Epsilon. Five. V. A clever little notion indeed. In that case, if your idea ‘makes sense’, should I call myself XXIV?”
“Overbearing. Lacking in charm. Why yes, it's a perfect fit!”
“How dare you."
“Oh dear. Oh my." V couldn't fake his alarm if he tried. "It appears I’ve upset the feathered carcass.”
“This outfit-” Omega referred to the corvid mantle in particular “-is what the educated refer to as 'style'. You should recall that it is our master’s will I dress this way, and it’s quite fair to say that his tastes have improved.”
V strongly begged to differ. The absence of pink was a heinous crime, and coupled with no waistcoat, no bow tie, and that hair... One would think Il Dottore was falling apart.
“I think you both look good,” said Tau. He grinned and exposed a gap in his teeth. “You’re going to Sumeru soon, right Omega?”
Omega’s chest puffed. “Indeed I am.”
“Iota’s going too,” V added, inspecting his nails for dirt. “Won’t that be lovely? You’re such good friends.”
Omega seemed to think otherwise, his expression twisting beneath his mask. Iota had been upgraded, so to speak, and now bore a likeness to the blunt Omega. Similarities ended there of course, for Iota was civil, agreeable, good; always keen to stop, have a chat, even smile!
Iota was a wretched mirror image, the bane of Omega's fifteen day existence, and he felt no qualms in exclaiming his grief.
“I shall be keeping my distance.” He decided.
“Indeed, you can," said V, “or you can accept that we are all connected, and you are but one piece in this hellish little puzzle. An infuriating piece, mind you. But a part of us nonetheless.”
“I should skin you for your comments.”
“By all means-”
“If I may interrupt.”
Omega’s hand, aiming right for V's throat, hovered in the air as he stared over his shoulder. At the very back of the lab Iota stood, forever patient, and rapped a knuckle to the wall by his head.
“Today’s date.” He signalled to the calendar, chiefly the number circled in red. “I thought you should know.”
“Noted.” V rose from his chair. He brandished a pocket watch, muttered presumed nonsense, then slipped the device away again. “Tau. Iota. Lambda?”
“Understood.”
“How pitiful,” said Omega, witnessing the segments as they hurried about. Some were quick to tidy the mounds of paperwork, Tau dashed back and forth with little arms full of tools. Lambda fetched a fine tea set from nowhere, and to that end Omega scoffed and jeered.
“Does our lordship return at last?”
V’s hand clamped upon his shoulder. Red met red. Mouth split and bared teeth.
“No, XXIV,” V replied. “But keep up that foul attitude, and you’ll certainly wish it was him.”
The gaping jaws of the lab welcomed shadows; brilliance and cunning wrapped neat in a smile. Long robes filtered through akin to smoke, whilst crescent eyes found the best chair primed and waiting, alongside his favourite tea.
“Gentlemen. Young sir.” Raven hair tipped and bounced to the tune of a nod. Pantalone knelt down to greet young Tau. “You look well.”
Tau nodded fast. “It’s been so long!”
“That is has, little one. Forgive me.”
“Regrator.” V’s hand extended. He helped Pantalone stand and pressed a chaste kiss to rings. “It’s good to see you.”
“Indeed-”
“Really.” Omega cut through the pleasantries. “All this fuss and ceremony for the banker?”
Given the choice of a Snezhnayan blizzard, and whatever Omega had just done to the lab, V would put money on the former being warmer. Pantalone flexed bejewelled talons and breathed in deep, digesting the assertion with a honeyed laugh.
“You must be Omega,” he surmised. “How bold you are, and lacking in manners.”
“Speak for yourself,” Omega challenged, paying no mind to their stunned audience. Iota and Lambda were shocked to say the least, poor Tau likewise horrified, whereas V began to settle and slouch in his amusement, running a tongue across pointed teeth. “You come to the workplace of the Second Harbinger,” Omega announced as if it weren’t obvious, “and you play these imbeciles to your own selfish beat.”
“I think you’ll find they’re most willing,” Pantalone replied. “Much unlike you.”
Omega turned up his nose. “I won’t bow to lower ranks.”
“Oh? You won’t?”
Heels clacked upon the tiles. Pantalone bridged the gap, backed Omega to the wall, and appeared to relish the blatant insult.
“I think we need a chat.” Pantalone proposed. He regarded the other segments in turn. “Would you all be so kind as to give us a moment?”
Omega couldn’t pinpoint when the world had turned, nor when the sharp pain cut through his head. He spat and growled around the barrel of a pistol, and frothed some more when a heel pinned his gut. Papers once organised had fallen to the floor, sat redundant not far from his body, whilst remnants of test tubes -victims of a short-lived clash- had smashed and scattered like wayward stars.
“Omega." Pantalone closed in. Silver chains hung just above the segment’s face. “So new to the world, and so stupid with it.”
A protest of sorts worked around the pistol. No doubt a curse word or two in the mix.
“How very precious.” Pantalone sighed. “I thought Dottore might add some sense to your incompetent build. An oversight on his part, don’t you think?”
More spit. Less dignity. Omega clenched both fists and knew better than to fight. Pantalone made his argument alarmingly clear, straddled Omega’s waist and riled up in a laugh. He feasted on struggles, got drunk on the rage, and so Omega learnt to cease his complaints.
“That’s a good boy.”
The pistol withdrew. Pantalone wiped the end against Omega’s cheek, another barb which the segment endured.
“Shall we try this again?”
“... Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Omega bit down on his shame. The heat stung his cheeks and- curse it all, why did their master even programme such a thing? What sadist gave his creatures an unnecessary pulse, the force of which worsened under Pantalone’s stare, and why did Omega feel the rising urge to obey when gloved fingertips danced along his jaw?
“Yes sir,” he replied in due course. “Forgive my impertinence.”
“All is forgiven.” Pantalone showed as much by retiring his weapon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“And you.”
“You learn fast. Keep that up.”
Omega huffed under praise and the hand in his hair, which struck a balance between care and control. Pantalone nursed the spot where his head hit the floor, and surveyed his mask in quiet intrigue.
“May I?” Fingertips hooked the section which looped an ear. “I’m curious.”
“Yes sir.”
“Remember: you’re here because of me." Pantalone began to pry the mask away. “My money created all of you, and that is why I command respect.”
“Understood.”
“I’m glad. Now let’s see what he’s done under- oh.” A sudden pause. A staggered breath. The mask met the floor with a muffled tap. Pantalone searched mechanics now exposed to the air; the careful network of wires, the deep blue glow, and the odd star-like gem at the centre of it all. “Well I never. He didn’t...”
“Give me eyes?” Omega finished. “I can see through other means. It’s no loss of mine.”
Pantalone pursed his lips. He inspected what he could through touch, wary of damaging the segment, and found himself shifting between wonder and pity.
“They say that one’s eyes are the window to their soul.”
Omega hummed. A wry smile followed. “In that case, consider me soulless.”
“No, I don't think you're that,” Pantalone murmured. “And yet I-... no. Never mind.” The mask clicked back in place and weight shifted. Pantalone stood in the lab -silent, pensive- greeting the looming figure by the open door.
“I believe thanks are in order.” Dottore announced, pouring Fire-Water into two cups. Shadows danced hand in hand where blue lamps cast their light, and silver frames reflected that hue. “Omega is new, he needed to learn. I only hope his tongue hasn’t caused lasting damage.”
“Not at all,” Pantalone found a cup pressed into his palm. He swirled the liquid but didn’t drink yet. “He’s interesting.”
“His discourteous thoughts are not shared.” Dottore relinquished all sense of duty within a great sigh, filling the chair set beside Pantalone’s. “I don't understand why he spoke of our ranks."
“It’s forgiven.”
“Even so,” Dottore looked his way, wholly sincere in his regret. “I would’ve thought it got easier the more I made.”
“You refer to the segments?”
A nod. A break to drink. Dottore promptly set the empty cup aside. “The process rarely changes, and if it does it’s for the sake of aesthetics.” Arms crossed and his gaze wandered skywards. “Why do their inner workings betray me so? There must be a fault somewhere.”
“They are you,” said Pantalone. “You seek a perfection, cold obedience, which can only be found in those ancient contraptions you adore.”
“You imply that my personality is to blame?”
“Yes and no.” Pantalone’s features softened. He took a slow sip of Fire-Water, savouring the taste upon his tongue. “I like that most about your segments. There’s no telling how they’ll behave, nor what part of you they’ll adopt the most. Omega’s quite the character in that respect.”
Dottore grimaced. “Dare I ask what you mean?”
“You can,” Pantalone considered, “but let me pose you a new question. Two, in fact.”
“So greedy.”
“First of all-” an index finger raised “-I know you can connect to your segments. You must have overheard our discussion.”
“That I did.”
The response answered everything and more. Pantalone pulled at the skin of his brow. “You let the poor thing hang himself.”
"Yes, and what of it?" Shoulders bunched in a half-hearted shrug. “As I said, he needed to learn.”
Very well, they’d reached a dead end. Pantalone observed the now-clean floor, the glass swept away and paperwork stored safe. “My second question, then.”
“Go on.”
Echoes of wires came to mind. Pantalone met Dottore’s heavy stare. “Why doesn’t Omega have eyes? All the other segments have them, save for Iota who you’ve changed as well... What makes them so different?”
Dottore cocked his head. “Does it bother you so?”
“No, I-... I only wondered. And since I’m funding this project I deserve a reason.”
Calloused fingers came to claim a pale jaw, always mindful not to bruise. “I think it bothers you,” said Dottore, grazing his thumb over stubborn lips. “To which I must ask: why hide your own eyes behind that guise? They’re quite the marvel. Beautiful, even.”
“That’s not the same. Not at all.”
The thumb withdrew. Pantalone’s jaw was freed. The remains of The Doctor’s warmth lingered over his skin, coming to grasp his inner thigh instead.
“We both know that’s not true,” Dottore husked, claiming pliant lips between his words. “But I digress. It’s how things should be.”
“What do you mean?”
Dottore’s tongue achieved what his thumb could not, conveying honesty in an open-mouthed kiss. He found his arms occupied, Pantalone in his lap, the best welcome back from a long day’s work.
“I’m a selfish man,” Dottore remarked. “I don’t want others to see you as I do.”
“I'm not your possession.”
“Duly noted.” A grin emerged. “Though I would gladly be yours, should you ask.”
Pantalone leant back to stare. Bewilderment nestled in startled whites. “For a moment I imagined I was back with Omega. He too is prone to strange assertions.”
“Is that what you’d prefer? To be with him?”
“I fear you don’t know me.” Pantalone feigned shock. Dottore's jealousy was strange yet sweet; a terrible mix for a terrible man. “Why would I settle for mere copies, when the original is worth so much more?”