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Swords, specifically the blades, are cold to the skin. One is currently pressing onto his neck. It’s not enough pressure to draw blood, but with one swift move, his existence can be brought to an end. The golden-haired woman's eyes are locked on him, her hard amber meeting his pitifully soft sky blue.
Scaramouche’s body aches with the urge to squirm, to scramble away like a terrified slime. He knows he should listen. It’s his body–it knows better than he does, yet he still doesn’t move. He continues to hold Lumine’s gaze, the bitterness lingering in her eyes leaving a foul taste in his mouth.
He chuckles, although it’s dry and so clearly fraudulent. What else is he supposed to do? He can’t tuck his tail and hide, not in front of the woman he’s tried to kill on many occasions. Scaramouche, the former Fatui Harbinger, is not weak. “So, do you plan to kill me, or simply admire my beauty while pretending your sword poses even a minor threat?”
“I’m not allowed to kill you,” she says, almost irritably. His curiosity, that deadly thing, is piqued. Who’s stopping her from killing him? Nahida? Beelzebub? Possibly herself? Those questions reveal too much about himself, however, so he settles for a safe, petty response.
“So, you’d kill me if you were allowed?” Scaramouche smirks, even as something in her face twitches and steel presses deeper into his skin. He feels a prick and moves his hand to wipe at the spot. Unsurprisingly, a vibrant red stains his fingers. She isn’t as stoic as she’s forcing herself to seem. His smirk nearly morphs into a smile.
“No.” Lumine pulls back her blade, slicing it through the air and splattering his blood on the ground. In a blink of an eye, it vanishes, only a few yellow particles drifting away from where it once was. A wave of disappointment washes over him.
“Too weak to end my life, hm?” But he knows that’s not why. She’s too… kind. She spared Childe’s life even after he nearly wiped out Liyue Harbor. She spared his “mother’s” life as well, and she ruined her nation and isolated and neglected her people. Hell, Lumine might even believe that “peace is the answer” mess. Scaramouche lip curls at the thought. Peace provokes people to kill.
Lumine gestures for him to stand up. He’s not a pet, obviously, but he rises anyway, scowling at the blonde. “If I were weak, would I have held my sword to your throat and drawn blood? Would you have been continuously talking like a broken toy, jabbering to defend yourself?” She smiles at him, and although it’s blatantly strained, the resentment has left her eyes. In its stead, there’s a twinkle of amusement, as if they’re close friends and just teasing.
The hair on the back of his neck stands to attention, and he almost reaches to smooth it back down. Then his body takes a step backward. Traitorous. He growls at her. He isn’t afraid of her. She’s weak.
“Scaramouche, or, should I say Kunikuzushi? Maybe Kabukimono?” She cocks her head, mouth twisted to the side. It’s like she’s a child, pushing buttons on a little controller to trigger his emotions.
“Don’t call me either of those wretched names,” he spits, anger coursing through his veins, boiling his blood. Those identities; he doesn’t need them anymore. They’re not him, and the fact that they were him nearly makes him sick.
“Then what would you like me to call you?” Lumine’s brows furrow. Is she seriously contemplating? Scaramouche parts his lips, his response on the tip of his tongue when she speaks next. “You aren’t Scaramouche. He’s gone, wiped from the world. But, you know that, don’t you?” Her voice is low, her little show over.
However, Scaramouche… no. His chest tightens, but he has to admit she’s correct. He’s not Scaramouche. Not anymore. He was supposed to be a god, and he clenches his jaw again. He was supposed to rule Sumeru, to have all the Divine Knowledge in the world of Teyvat, yet someone took it away from him. He’s sacrificed such a powerful position, just to fail in the end. Because of her.
Fury and hatred envelop his body like armor, and he lurches at her, gripping her wrists and yanking her closer. Lumine gasps and attempts to pull from his grasp, but he digs his fingers into her skin, and she hisses. He grins at her reaction, teeth gleaming in the dim light of the Sanctuary.
“Tsk.” Her palm glows and a gust of wind bursts forth, launching him across the room. He slides to a stop and cackles. The sound reverberates in the room, and he watches as Lumine summons her sword once again. The look in her eye is more irritation than anger, but it’s a good starting point.
“Lumine,” he coos. “Even if I’m not a Harbinger, I’m still powerful. I’m sure you know that unless you’re really that stupid.”
She remains silent. If he were a foolish human, he’d pump his fist in the air and whoop. Finally, she isn’t prodding into his brain, making him feel things he shouldn’t. Surely now she understands he is a force to be reckoned with, although he technically doesn’t exist.
He pushes himself off the ground, meeting Lumine’s somewhat cautious glare. Good.
“I asked what you want me to call you,” Lumine says plainly, and he scoffs. What’s her deal? This isn’t the time to be asking questions, not when they’re supposed to be fighting. She isn’t even in a defensive stance. Does she not consider this a fight? The warmth from his victory over her dissipates, and the typical, bitter cold takes its place. It was so easy to provoke her before, why not now?
Ugh! He can feel his control of the situation fading away, his crown sliding off. “There are more important things you should focus on,” he says before launching blades of wind at her. They’re sharp–so sharp in fact, that if it hit her arm, it would cut it completely off. Something in him is whispering that this is too much and that he’s a desperate loser, but he stuffs it down like always.
She dodges the first blade, then the second in a (and he hates himself for even thinking it) beautiful way. Each step is filled to the brim with confidence and determination. She has no reason to doubt herself or her abilities because in the end she always wins.
Annoying.
He prepares his hands for another barrage of wind blades. She should fight back. Why isn’t she fighting back? He’s not pitiful, dammit!
And before the power of Anemo reaches his fingertips, the tip of her sword is poking his chest. As a matter of fact, it’s almost breaking through his skin.
He freezes, his heart pounding in his chest, begging to get out before her sword can pierce it. The sound of blood rushing in his ears makes his hands itch with the urge to stop the noise.
Move. Move now or you’ll have lost. You’ll have never changed. You’ll have still been the fragile little boy yearning for the love of his mother and crying over a wilted flower. Move Kunikuzushi, or the world will stomp all over you once again.
But he can’t. He’s nothing but a gazelle whimpering in front of a lion, left with nowhere to run. His stomach churns and bile rises, scorching his throat on the way up.
Lumine sighs, her soft, sorrowful eyes meeting his. The sword ready to plunge into his chest and the horrible, sappy look on her face are like day and night. “I just want to talk, okay? I’ve already said I won’t kill you.”
He only inhales, the boulder in his throat mixed with the bile blocking any snarky remarks. He can’t even do the thing he’s best at doing: talking. What the actual hell is wrong with him? Everything’s become a muddied gray instead of simple black and white. She’s messing with his mind, making things more complex, making him more complex.
“I know you know I know about your past,” she begins, and immediately he wants the conversation to be over.
“Don’t… don’t bring that up,” he chokes out as he attempts to hold his head high.
Lumine shrugs. “Fine. Then what do you want me to call you now?”
Can they quit playing this stupid game and go back to fighting? He can worry about finding another name later when either of them is dead. He snarls at her, but fuck, his lip is trembling.
Is he really afraid of her?
“I’m being genuine here. I want to know. You erased yourself from the world for a reason, didn’t you?” She smiles, and similar to her combat, it’s agitatingly gorgeous.
He simply glares at her. When will she stop rambling on about feelings? He’s sick of it. He doesn’t want to discuss it. He doesn’t want to go back.
“Are you going to say something?” Lumine asks. “I won’t leave until you give me a name. Unless you would like me to choose?”
Suddenly it feels like a truck has hit him.
She won’t leave. She wants to stay with him, and she’s actually asking what he wants to do. Not what’s best for someone else or forcing him to do it. Lumine won’t cast him aside and walk away because he can’t give her an answer.
For the first time in an extremely long time, relief floods through him, loosening his body.
He nods, and Lumine removes her sword from his chest. He blinks away the foreign feeling of tears coming to his eyes. This is enough vulnerability. He’s not that boy anymore from so long ago, and he never will be again.
Lumine’s face lights up, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Great. Now let me think of one…”