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Dottore’s face distorts into an exasperated grimace for the ninth time that day, and it’s morning still. He’s sitting at the long table the Harbringers usually hold their meetings at, but this time Pierro isn’t standing in the front explaining something, and Dottore is holding a coffee mug instead of a report he has no intentions on drinking from. Being here, at the ‘mandatory team building exercise’ the Tsaritsa had ordered a few days ago, he considers entirely pointless, but it’s not like he can openly revolt against her Majesty's orders.
Also, his options were either a group breakfast or game night, and while he does enjoy the prospect of everyone turning into their worst selves and attacking each other over a game of monopoly, he knows the headaches that would form from being stuck in a room with the other Harbringers going apeshit would spoil the fun. His coffee has cooled down significantly, the scrambled eggs imported from Mondstadt have been ice cold for a long time. He’s never planned to consume anything around the others —wearing a mask would be pretty pointless, after— and the fact that it makes the Rooster look at him in disappointment at the food waste makes going hungry worth it.
Hidden ruby eyes fly over the table chart, noting the presence and absence of others, their facial expressions and body language, should the first be unable to gauge, hoping to find another that despises this breakfast as much as he does. To his dismay, there’s nobody.
Since they aren’t separated by ranks, the Tsaritsa’s orders since this isn’t ‘business’, Arlecchino and Columbina are seated opposite of him, engaged in easy conversation as if the atmosphere allowed it. Well, it’s not really a conversation when all Columbina does is listen and sometimes hum to voice her acknowledgment, but both women look pleased. Dottore is tempted to ruin their morning by slipping something into Arlecchino’s tea. It’s nothing personal, he just has the uncanny suspicion that the Damselette would be able to drink whatever poison he’ll give her and live. He doesn’t act on his impulsive thought for once, eyes still swiftly moving through the room. Had he known he’d be one of the first ones to be here, he’d have prepared something fun for the late arrivers so they’d suffer as much as he does, now.
Because aside from himself, the girlfriends and Pulcinella, nobody is there yet, not even the Jester himself. Though Dottore has a pretty good guess on why that is —he and Capitano are most definitely getting the rest of them to join, with more or less force depending on how willing each Harbringer is to cooperate. Dottore had been smart enough to anticipate this and came ‘of his own free will’ lest he gets embarrassed by being hauled into the room by Pierro. Especially since the man would have had to enter Dottore’s bedroom to come and fetch him which would be unpleasant at best times and considering the last night.. he’d be sentenced to death by either public humiliation or the loans he’d have to pay Pantalone as compensation for embarrassing him by association.
The handle of the coffee mug cracks in his grip at the thought and he snarls at the poor quality, which turns Arlecchino’s attention to him as finally, she stops talking about whatever it is Columbina had been so fascinated with. “What’s up your ass this morning?”, she asks bluntly, not cowering before him even though he has two ranks on her and a kill and torture count towering hers by miles. He wants to return something snarky, something fitting the situation and express his annoyance properly, when at the worst possible timing, the door behind him opens and he can hear a well-known pair of expensive boots making it’s way towards him.
“Good morning, fellow Harbringers.”, Pantalone greets into the room and gets some appreciative nods in return, “And an even better morning to our grumpy doctor who looks like he needs it.” His voice is sly, hinting at something normally, only Dottore would understand, but given the current situation, he doesn’t manage to retort anything, gaze fixed on Arlecchino. Arlecchino, who is staring at both Dottore and the space behind him where Pantalone still stands, clueless, in tandem with Columbina —as far as Columbina can look anywhere. “Ah, nevermind.”, the Knave says with a dangerous glint in her eyes, lips curling into a smirk. The Damselette cocks her head, even more so as Pantalone decides to make everything worse by sitting next to Dottore, closely.
Dottore has never been so glad that his stomach is empty, for if he’d been drinking his damned coffee, he would have spat it right across the table. Though, had he been precise enough, maybe he could’ve burned Arlecchino’s face.. —Ah, right, the liquid has been cold for ages now.
“My, whatever did I do to be silently interrogated by two of my superiors? I thought we were just supposed to eat breakfast together.” Pantalone sing-songs, the chain of his glasses shining in the light of dawn. Dottore distinctively remembers accidentally tearing that chain the night before in the heat of the moment, so he’s a bit surprised to find it intact now, but he remembers that a man like the Regrator probably has a dozen of them in his room. Even though the chain is made of extremely rare crystals imbedded with other almost forgotten materials: The perks of being the richest man in the world. Dottore would be envious of him, if it weren’t for the fact that Pantalone sponsors him rather.. generously.
“Hm, I just realised something.”, Arlecchino says, and by now, her expression resembles that of a predatory animal. Dottore is not a man who would ever become the prey in any situation, and yet the feeling that something uncomfortable is going to happen sneaks it’s way into his mind. Next to him, Pantalone too, tenses, but his outwardly demeanour gives nothing away, even without a mask. The only reason Dottore knows is because they’re close enough for their shoulders to be brushing. That’s more contact than they usually allow themselves when others are near. However the vigilant eyes on him make Dottore doubt if hiding anything will be needed from now on. “Would you enlighten the rest of us—”, Pantalone starts, but can’t even finish his sentence properly before Arlecchino answers, clipped.
“Your neck, Regrator. It looks a bit irritated. Were you perhaps.. bitten by something? Judging by how deep the imprints are, it must’ve been a pretty aggressive fight, so maybe go and see the doctor for some assistance with that.” She even has the audacity to blink at the two men with fake naivety, and it’s then that the first real sound of the day leaves Columbina’s lips. She’s chuckling, which quickly turns into a real, high-pitched laugh. She’s laughing at them. Dottore doesn’t know if his face flushes from anger, embarrassment or some twisted form of pride deriving from the still-lasting marks designed by razor sharp teeth, but he’s glad for his mask covering it either way.
Pantalone next to him keeps his cool way better, merely his fingers clench under the table, burying themselves in the lab coat Dottore wears even at breakfast. The smile he flashes the two women is steady and inviting, not an ounce of shame shining through despite being so shamelessly exposed. On the other side of the table, the Rooster is watching the four Harbringers with pursed lips, but keeps himself from the discussion like he always does, as long as they don’t get physically violent. Dottore certainly doesn’t think of the man as a father figure like Tartaglia does, but the extra pair of eyes doesn’t help his stress. Maybe he should tear them out of their sockets the next chance he gets. It would certainly keep his hands occupied where they fiddle with the broken remains of his mugs.
Pantalone speaks for him, which is a good thing, for Dottore would’ve either just insulted the Knave childishly or spewn death threats that —if meant seriously— would have him fight Columbina which he really does not look forward to, since she’d obviously defend her girlfriend. Dottore is hypocritical enough to taunt her about that in his thoughts, as if he wouldn't jump anyone daring to threaten the Regrator if the roles were reversed. “Hm, it seems I’ve missed a spot when applying concealer previously. My apologies for causing a distraction, the Captain was rather insistent on me joining you as soon as possible, so my morning routine had to be cut short.”
The way he so shamelessly admits to it has Dottore’s blood boil— that, or the fact that Pantalone, too, seems so proud of his partner’s handiwork. It’s not a vocal admission, nothing along the lines of: “We had sex and this is the aftermath of it.” because sly business men like Pantalone never agree or deny anything outright, but it’s also obvious enough for even the dumbest Harbringer to get it, but Tartaglia isn’t in the room yet. “I thank you for being concerned for my well-being, though. Even if it wasn’t necessary.” The threat of tension between Pantalone and Arlecchino is visible in the air, spanning over the table and threatening to snap at the slightest nudge, regardless in which direction.
Expectedly, Arlecchino turns away first, aware that in a battle of sweet-talking, no Harbringer can rival the Regrator. She has the wits for it, sure, but neither the patience nor the charm needed to keep this civil. The only thing that makes her stepping down marginally less obvious, is the arrival of another Harbinger, this time from the other side so Dottore can see the newcomer before the two woman across him can. Though the unmistakable and annoying: “Good morning, comrades!”, from a guy way too happy to eat with people that could and would kill him if it weren’t for the Tsarita’s will, gives his identity away before he even reaches the table.
Before Tartaglia has the chance to sit down, Dottore has already grabbed Pantalone —in the process of elegantly cutting open a croissant— by one of his satin sleeves and stood up. “There. We showed up at breakfast, so nobody can fault us for that. Actually, it’s Pierro’s fault for not showing up on time and checking. So, if you’ll excuse us, we won’t be back.” Dottore can feel five pairs of eyes staring into him, and he didn’t even know Columbina had eyes. He pays this new development no mind, for now, bracing himself for the various theories his fellow coworkers will come up with now that he and the Regrator —undoubtedly involved with each other in one way or another— are leaving so hastily together.
At least there are no verbal comments accompanying their definetly-not-walk-of-shame… until the plague he tried so desperately to avoid because his lack of filter is even worse than the doctor’s own, decides to open his mouth. “Dottore, you’re limping! Are you okay?! Do you need—”, Trataglia starts with the tone of a naive, concerned virgin, only interrupted by Columbina’s melodic laughter, and Dottore bolts.