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“Hello. Can you tell me where I am?” A very sincere voice asks from the entrance of the cave.
Archons, is that– Albedo’s head immediately turns to find Scaramouche standing there, looking very lost. That was definitely his voice, but Albedo has never heard such an earnest and innocent inflection from him. What had happened? He isn’t wearing his hat and even his expression is open with anxiety.
“Scaramouche?”
Scaramouche blinks, brows furrowing in confusion for an instant before smoothening out. “‘Scaramouche’? Isn’t it weird to call a location by a person’s name? and this doesn’t look like Inazuma.”
He doesn’t recognize his own name? Did something happen to him, or is he pulling a prank?
“...I see. No, you’re correct, you’re on Dragonspine; the mountain between Mondstadt and Liyue. Scaramouche is the name of.. Someone I know.”
“Oh.” There is still no recognition or deceit in his demeanor. Rooted to the spot, he keeps examining Albedo’s camp with his eyes.
It’s unlikely that this is some sort of elaborate joke, then. Well, how about… “What is your name?”
Scaramouche (is this still Scaramouche?) doesn’t seem to be expecting such a question, for his eyes stop wandering and meet Albedo’s for the first time.
“My name..? I don’t have one, but people call me Kabukimono, so I’m fine with that.”
Recalling the time when Scaramouche told him of the first moniker he used, Albedo has his guess about what might have caused such a dramatic shift in the person in front of him. But he needs to know more before making a full judgment.
One thing at a time. “Alright. What brings you here, Kabukimono?”
Kabukimono fidgets with his own fingers, pulling at the joints as if trying to pop them but no sound is produced.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I woke up on a cold metal table in a room I didn’t recognize. I was trying to remember how I got there when this man with green hair approached me with a knife. I immediately had a bad feeling about him and then he moved to cut me with no warning, so I teleported home but…” He slowly scans the camp again, “I don’t recognize this place either, or know who you are.”
Albedo takes it all in. That is… a lot to process. From the fragmented recollection that Kabukimono is presenting him, it seems like an experiment session of Dottore’s has led to some form of –hopefully temporary– amnesia. Or, he reconsiders given the choice of name and different personality, perhaps a regression of some kind.
“‘Home’ you say.. Kabukimono, in this moment, do you trust me?”
Though he frowns, his reply is immediate, “yes. But I don’t know why.”
“Alright, because this will undoubtedly sound very strange. Based on what you’ve said, I think you’ve lost a lot of your memories. We know each other, though I am familiar with a different.. temperament of yours. You’re free to stay here as long as you need, it’ll be safer that way and the memory loss is likely temporary and will wear off on its own.”
Kabukimono crosses his arms. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
Albedo thinks for a moment. From his current perspective, he has a point. “Your mother–your creator, she’s the electro archon, isn’t she? The mark she left on you is on the back of your neck.”
His eyes widen in surprise, and he falls silent for a moment. No denial. Then, “who are you? I wouldn’t just tell anyone about those things.”
That gets a chuckle out of Albedo. “I’m Albedo, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius. Although I suspect that you don’t remember nor recognize either of those things.”
Kabukimono’s eyes are distant and he wears a vaguely uncomfortable look. Or maybe “unsettled” is the more apt term for these circumstances. Strangely, it sort of reminds Albedo of a cagey feral cat.
“Regardless, my offer still stands: you can stay here as long as you need. You’ll likely regain your memories in less than a day, and I will look into some possible solutions in the meantime–just in case that doesn’t happen.”
He blinks, returning to himself. “Oh, thanks.” Uncrossing his arms, he continues. “How can I repay you?”
Albedo shakes his head. “There’s no need. Consider it a favor from a friend.”
“But I’ll be taking from your time.”
Kabukimono’s eyes fall to Klee’s torn hat on Albedo’s desk and he points to it. “I can fix that if you have a sewing kit.”
Scaramouche knows how to sew? “You can? I didn’t know you could sew.”
“Didn’t you say we know each other?”
“Yes, but I can’t recall you ever mentioning sewing as a skill of yours.”
“Hm.”
Kabukimono just looks expectantly at him and Albedo remembers the initial question. “Oh the sewing kit–Yes I have one. Just a moment.”
Locating it in the mess of items on his shelves is a bit tricky but he finds it at the top, undoubtedly to keep it away from Klee. Albedo hands it to Kabukimono, who responds with a thanks.
As he sits back at his desk and finds a blank sheet of paper, he says, “it should be me thanking you. I’ve been meaning to mend that but my work keeps demanding my attention.”
“Is this a child’s hat?”
Glancing up briefly from his sketch of a chair, he sees Kabukimono examining said hat. “Yes; my little sister’s. She’s the adventurous and energetic type… perhaps too energetic at times.”
After finishing the structural details of the chair to make sure it doesn’t break at the slightest weight, he finds Kabukimono staring at him, squinting slightly.
Albedo blinks. “Is something wrong?”
“Why do you keep smiling?”
That just causes him to smile again. “That’s an unusual question. It’s just that the demeanor I’m used to from you is very different.”
Kabukimono’s brows furrow in thought. “How so?”
Many things come to Albedo’s mind: Scaramouche’s animated expressions and colorful language, how he has no qualms about making the world his enemy, his increasingly far-fetched excuses to visit… Albedo sincerely hopes that this amnesia or regression, whatever it is that Dottore triggered, is temporary.
He doesn’t say any of that, however, and instead settles on, “let’s say you have plenty of mean bones in your body.”
“Oh.” Kabukimono looks troubled at this, but doesn’t dwell on it, looking back at Klee’s hat in his hand. “The more we talk, the more you’re familiar to me, I think.” He glances at Albedo out of the corner of his eye. “But not when you smile.”
Albedo considers this. Is him smiling really such an unusual occurrence, even to Scaramouche?
That line of thought is interrupted when his gaze falls back to the chair sketch on the table. “Oh.” He gets up and goes around his desk to summon the chair. “Here.”
Kabukimono stares stupefied at the now-blank paper. “How did you do that.”
“Alchemy,” Albedo says simply and goes back to his own seat.
But before he can continue his work, he catches Kabukimono eyeing the chair with a suspicious look.
Chuckling, he says, “don’t worry, it won’t fall apart.”
The suspicion doesn’t leave Kabukimono’s face, but he sits down. “If you say so."
There you are , Albedo thinks, and is put at ease. If his usual temperament is already creeping back in, then Albedo is positive that Kabukimono will regain his memories soon.
A sharp stabbing sensation in Scaramouche’s head pulls him roughly from absurd dreams, which is strange since he usually doesn’t fall asleep on Dottore’s cursed table.
He turns on his side, which is his first mistake because there is a light source in the room that only exacerbates the pain. Immediately curling into himself to avoid the light is his second mistake; the sudden movement making the infernal headache even worse and causing a quiet groan of pain to escape him.
“Kabukimono? Are you okay?”
Kabukimono??? He hasn’t heard that name in literal centuries, and what is it doing in Albedo’s voice? And a very out-of-character, concerned one at that.
It occurs to him then that there is no way he’s in Dottore’s lab, and really the blanket over him and soft surface beneath him should have been a dead giveaway, but he has other pressing matters to deal with. Like the light that’s making his life worse by the second.
“The light,” he grits out.
Albedo doesn’t understand right away. “I–”
He tries to take a breath and speak more clearly. “Turn off the damn light.”
“Oh–of course.”
Thankfully, the light blinks out and Scaramouche sighs in relief. The headache doesn’t disappear, but at least it's not being made worse.
It’s quiet for a moment before he hears Albedo’s voice in front of him. “Scaramouche? Is it you?”
What kind of question is that? He opens his eyes to try to get a look at his face, but he’s greeted with Albedo’s knees a small distance away instead.
“Yes…? Who else would I be.”
Albedo is silent for a few seconds. “Hm. So you don’t remember.”
Scaramouche would ask remember what? but just thinking about it too hard summons a fresh wave of pain that screws his eyes shut.
“Oh. Do you have a headache? I think I have something for that. One moment.”
He hears Albedo get up and is very thankful in that moment for his accurate guesswork.
“Here. You’ll need to sit up a little for this, can you do that?” Has Albedo ever been this quiet?
He’s not so weak that he can’t prop himself up on one arm, even if it rocks him with nausea and has him screwing his eyes shut.
“Nausea?”
He tries to nod, but Albedo gets it nevertheless.
“Nausea and sensitivity to light… two pills will likely be needed, then.”
Scaramouche hears him get up and walk a small distance away to fetch a second pill of whatever medicine he brought. He manages to ask, “is this your camp?”
He hears him come closer. “Yes, but save your strength.”
Opening his eyes, he finds Albedo offering him two pills and a cup of water. He takes them both, but before he lies back down, Scaramouche glances up to see Albedo’s face for the first time in this confusing situation, and is greeted with something he has seldom, if ever, seen.
Albedo’s lips are tugged into a slight frown, his brows are drawn together in worry, and his gaze is unfocused. That unfocused look dissipates when he meets Scaramouche’s eyes, and a slight tension he hadn’t noticed leaves his shoulders. Most bafflingly, the barest sliver of a smile replaces the frown.
“There you are.”
This is… a very strong reaction for someone like Albedo. And over what? Him? Although Scaramouche can’t think too deeply on the matter at the moment, he clearly remembers saying some truly insane things that Albedo didn’t even blink at. But some spotty memories and a headache are what drag out his emotions?
He might have been staring for too long because a quiet laugh escapes Albedo and he gently pushes Scaramouche to lie back down, which he concedes to.
Closing his eyes again, he’s expecting to hear him stand back up and walk away. A moment later, however, has Scaramouhce opening his eyes in surprise at an ungloved hand on his forehead.
“No fever. That’s good.”
The hand moves to cup his cheek. “I’ll tell you everything that happened after you recover. Just rest for now.”
For an instant, Scaramouche forgets that his head is trying to kill him and only stares dumbly at Albedo. “Okay,” is all he can say; he would do anything if he was touched that gently, spoken to this softly.
Albedo hums in approval and stands back up. Scaramouche sees him walk back to his desk, though he questions what he could work on when there is no light.
Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. He has a headache to kill and rest to get. Maybe the world will make more sense when he wakes up again.