Chapter Text
Scaramouche absolutely despised his life. Or well, both his lives. Though Scaramouche only slightly disliked his first life, he knew he absolutely hated his current life. Why, might you add? Because he was a disgustingly orange cat.
Scaramouche normally didn't mind cats, they were good company sometimes, but that did not mean he was okay with being a cat. To make matters worse, his carer originally named him Crookshanks. Even just thinking about it made him upset. He quickly got rid of the name with a few hissy fits.
His new name was only slightly better. Slightly because it just pissed him off for some reason. His new name was Zeus. Scaramouche didn't even know who the original Zeus guy was, he just knew he hated him almost as much as Dottore.
Of course, there was something else that made him angry. The rat. The god damn rat that gave Scaramouche the same chills Dottore originally gave him before he knew everything. Scaramouche knew the rat was not what it pretended to be, and as a generous future god, he decided to help his carer out by trying to get rid of the Dottore-Rat. Sadly, his carer and unimportant company did not appreciate his help.
“Meow.” He told his carer, which roughly translated to ‘I'm saving your asses from a Doctor Wannabe. You should be thanking me.’
All he got in response was being ignored in favor of his carer arguing with unimportant person three, the red head.
Scaramouche was starting to pity actual cats, they dealt with so much bullshit in a day. No wonder they needed so many naps. He instead focused on probably important but not really person number 2.
Now, call Scaramouche crazy, but he could sense the rough future the boy had. He almost pitied him, before remembering he was a very powerful future god and he doesn't do pity. He was kinda sure he'd be fine anyways.
It reminded him of a blurry memory that must've taken place ages ago, he remembered someone telling him about hardships. He couldn't remember if she said it made people stronger if they suffer more, or if it'd make them have severe PTSD.
It was probably the first one. Because he didn't even know what PTSD even was. But then again, it was probably a weird mortal thing.
He was positive she wasn't talking about him anyways.
Sort of.
Was this a good time to mention he was allergic to rats? Specifically fake rats?
Well, he was. And it showed quite a bit.
So of course, Scaramouche once more tried to cause the dottore-rat to be extinct. He ended up having to be held by the probably important but not really important person number two while unimportant person number three was shooting him dirty glares.
Scaramouche, determined to look anywhere else, decided to investigate the boy holding him.
The first thing he noticed was that this boy was very clearly not well cared for. The second was the fact he had a lightning bolt scarred onto his forehead. Scaramouche decided to adopt him immediately. This was his kid now.
Scaramouche didn't know how to parent a child. But he was sure he'd figure it out. Arlecchino could do it, Scaramouche could too.