Chapter Text
The Balladeer, Scaramouche, number six of the Fatui Harbingers, “son” of the electro archon. A mix of sympathy and fear lingered in Coviello’s chest as he looked into the eyes of the man who held those titles. The cold indigo eyes of the puppet seemed to pierce through the human, but something else also lingered in that gaze. A puff of mist filled the air as Coviello exhaled, as harsh winds and snow stung his face, he shivered, trying to hold his cloak around himself while also unsheathing his sword.
“Balladeer, there is no need for confrontation. Let me pass through.” Coviello demanded. Scaramouche continued to stare. Words seemed to linger on his lips for a moment before he pushed them back. Coviello took a step forward, and the snow crunched under his feet. Thunder echoed through the sky, a warning. There was now a growing hint of panic in Scaramouche’s eyes.
“Balladeer.” Coviello’s tone changed. Scaramouche looked back, a light purple color fading from his eyes. “I’m just trying to go home, please let me through.”
Scaramouche stood completely still, not blinking or flinching even as a sharp gust of wind blew through the path. Coviello attempted to step around him again, only for lightning to color the sky.
“What do you even want?” Scaramouche stayed silent, “Why wouldn’t you respond? Is there something wrong?” Coviello raised his voice and clenched his sword tighter in his hand. Scaramouche’s eyes darted to Coviello’s hand.
Lightning struck between them.
Coviello rubbed his eyes, the bright flash burning through them. He felt disoriented, his ears rang from the thunder, he blinked rapidly, trying to get the huge dark spot in his vision to go away. He couldn’t see, his fingers felt numb from the cold, snow whipped at his face, stinging his skin. His eyes watered, the tears quickly turning to ice that hurt as he rubbed it away.
He felt his body hit the hard packed snow, the air being forced from his lungs from the impact. He groaned. Looking up, he saw Scaramouche swinging his sword at him. Coviello swung back, his blade crashing against Scaramouche’s, sending sparks through the air. Before he could even fully process the situation there was a burst of flame and his sword had pierced the Balladeer’s chest. A scream shook the forest. Coviello paused for a moment, processing what he just did. He grabbed Scaramouche’s arm and slowly lowered him to the ground as he pulled his sword out of his chest and sheathed it.
He knelt down and picked Scaramouche up, struggling for a moment to get his numb fingers to do what he wanted. Scaramouche fought back, trying to swing his arm at Coviello. Coviello barely dodged his arm, “Stop! I’m sorry! I’m trying to help!” Coviello shouted, and Scaramouche began to comply. Coviello slipped Scaramouche’s arm out of his sleeve and wrapped it around his chest to try to stop the bleeding. Coviello’s fingertips were dark red and he fumbled around with the cloth of the sleeve as he tried to tie it. But once he was done, he wrapped Scaramouche in his cloak and picked him up again and began to carry him through the forest. After a moment he began to run as the feeling of needles pricking his fingertips became apparent. Scaramouche apparently didn’t appreciate being carried through the woods and began to fight again.
He used his elbow to push the handle of the door down and pushed it open by placing his body weight against it. The door opened faster than he intended and he stumbled, his lack of balance not being helped by the balladeer’s struggling.
The warmth of the indoors enveloped them. Coviello walked into his kitchen and placed Scaramouche on the countertop and began to shake his hands. The tips had begun to turn white as frostbite set in, and the warm air felt like it was burning around his frost-nipped skin. Once he got some feeling back in his fingers he began to look around for medical supplies and whatever else would be needed to ‘fix’ Scaramouche, at least temporarily. Scaramouche attempted to stand, but Coviello stopped him.
“Please lay down!”
“I don’t fucking trust you.”
“Please, you must.”
Scaramouche glared daggers at Coviello before sitting back against the wall, clutching the hole in his chest. Coviello ran to the storage room to find his medical supplies.
“I need you to remove your shirt.”
“It’s cold.” The puppet replied, completely void of emotion. His indigo hair was damp from the snow that had melted in it.
“I can get you a heating pad to keep you warm, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t help you with the shirt on.” Coviello replied. Scaramouche nodded and reached behind his neck just as Coviello turned to look for the heating pad.
When he returned Scaramouche was still laying on the countertop, his undershirt pulled down to expose the wound and his kimono on backwards to cover the rest of his chest. “You can just stitch up the flesh wound so it doesn’t bleed any further, the Doctor can fix any internal damage later.” Scaramouche whispered, “I’ve done it before on missions, it’s fine.”
The heating pad began to warm and Coviello handed it to Scaramouche as he nodded and grabbed the needle and medical thread. He tried his best to completely remember what he had learned back in Khaenri’ah. First-aid was apart of his military training, and he had to redo that training every year. But it had been a century since then, so he struggled to remember.
He leaned forward to get a better look at what he was working with, he could partially see Scaramouche’s insides, not the most gruesome thing he’d seen. Seemingly mechanical parts that were displaced by his blade, caused him to remember that he was dealing with a divinely created puppet. He gulped, feeling bad for Scaramouche as he imagined how long it would take Dottore to fix all this up.
Coviello stitched up the front first, before asking Scaramouche to sit up so he could move on to his back. Scaramouche sat up and turned, laying back down with his back up. Coviello stitched that side up as well, going slowly to make sure he was doing it right with each stitch.
“So, uh. What was all of that about?” Coviello spoke to fill the silence. Scaramouche huffed, “Just not in a good mood? Angry over something and just wanting a fight?” Scaramouche still stayed silent, “I was like that when I was young, built up anger that would manifest in violence. It took me 50 years to finally get over that.”
“I am not a child.” Scaramouche huffed out. “And you threatened me first.”
“I did?” Coviello responded with a sigh, “Also, I wasn’t calling you a child or childish Balladeer, I was just trying to emphasize.”
“You were poised to attack.”
“I didn’t know what your intentions were. I was simply preparing to defend myself if the situation arose.” Scaramouche went silent after that.
Coviello began to work faster as his fingers warmed up more, continuing to improve their mobility. Scaramouche flinched every time Coviello tightened the thread to pull his skin together. Once even grabbing Coviello’s arm, digging his nails into his skin and sending an electrical shock through his body. Coviello apologized.
“May I ask the real reason you stopped me now?”
“No”
There was a pause before Coviello spoke again, “Did you get lost?”
“No.” Scaramouche replied defensively.
“You aren’t the first and you wouldn’t be the last.”
“I didn’t get lost.” Scaramouche buried his head in his arms, Coviello grinned and shook his head.
And eventually, he was done, after what felt like forever. He looked over at the clock, 00:45.
“I’m done.” Coviello said, feeling a wave of exhaustion sweep over him the second he was done working. He looked over at the window, which was now covered in snow. “I’d advise against you leaving for now, the blizzard seems to be getting worse. You may sleep on the couch, in the guest bedroom, or feel free to just stay where you are.”
Scaramouche sat up on the edge of the countertop, he turned away from Coviello and pulled his undershirt back over his shoulders, zipped up the back, and put his kimono on properly. Hugging the heating pad to his stomach and feeling the stitches through the rip in his clothes as he went over his options.
“Can I- stay in the guest room?” Scaramouche whispered. It looked like hundreds of thoughts were going through his head at once. Coviello waved to get Scaramouche to follow him and led him to the guest room. His house was odd to Scaramouche, the main floor was underground but it was nice and warm and looked very cozy. Coviello helped Scaramouche down the stairs and into the guest room.
The guest bed was neatly made with a soft blue comforter and multiple layers of thick blankets underneath. Scaramouche collapsed onto it, not even bothering to get under the covers.
“I’ll be in my room if you need anything. It’s right down the hall.” Coviello said, walking over to the door.
“Thank you,” Scaramouche muttered.
“What?” Coviello quickly turned, eyes widened with surprise as he made eye contact with the puppet.
“I said, thank you.”
***
Coviello placed his vision on his nightstand before walking over to the mirror. The front of his pants and shirt were soaked through with the purple blood, and it had dried and stuck to his skin. He practically peeled the uniform off of his body where it had been soaked and threw it onto the ground.
‘I’ll probably have to burn those later,’ he thought as he walked into the bathroom. ‘There’s no way in the abyss that is ever coming out.’
He started running the water and stepped in before it even started heating up, just wanting to get the remnants of the blood off his body as quickly as possible. He took the fontainian-braids out of his hair as he washed it, letting his long blonde hair fall onto his shoulders. He washed his body one more time just to be safe before stepping out of the shower.
He looked in the mirror as he squeezed the water out of his hair and pulled it into a ponytail, his star shaped pupils staring back at him. Coviello grabbed the night clothes he had set out for himself and threw them on. He walked into his bedroom and turned to the clock, 1:42. His cat was curled up under the blankets snoring. The loose curls in his hair quickly began to take shape again. He didn’t have the time do his usual routine of thoroughly cleaning and re-braiding his hair, it was too late in the night for it.
He slid into his bed, and was just about to turn the light out as Scaramouche opened his door, “Do you have a change of clothes for me?” He asked, embarrassed. He pulled his sleeves around his body, “And maybe something to heat the room?” He couldn’t even make eye contact as he spoke, he just looked at the ground.
Coviello nodded and sighed as he got out of bed. “Yes, my apologies.” He searched through his closet until he found a small heater and an extra set of clothes, then he followed Scaramouche to the guest room. Scaramouche sat down on the bed and cautiously watched as Coviello set up the heater by the bed. He used his vision again to set a small fire in the heater and turned to hand Scaramouche the clothing set. Scaramouche stared at Coviello’s hand. “Feel free to take a shower as w-”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Scaramouche interrupted as he looked into Coviello’s eyes. Coviello responded with a confused look, “You’ve helped heal my wounds, you let me sleep in your home, you’re letting me use your heater, you’ve given me fresh clothes, you’re offering me a shower. Why?”
“I was fixing what I’d broken. Mending the wounds I caused.” He paused, “And since you can't leave for the time being, you are a guest in my home. I’m not being overly nice to you, these are just basic manners.” Coviello responded.
“You didn’t have to help me to begin with.”
“That’s what I was taught as a child, if you break something you fix it or pay to replace it. You have to clean up your own messes. Again, it’s just manners.” Coviello grinned to show politeness, standing his ground against the stubborn puppet. “Are you saying that you would’ve preferred being left in that blizzard?”
“Fine,” Scaramouche scoffed and looked away, snatching the set of clothes from him.
“Rest. You’ll need it.” Coviello said, “That’s what I’ll be doing.” Coviello walked to the door of the guest room, opening it and beginning to walk out.
“I still don’t trust you.” Scaramouche said, still looking away from Coviello.
“That’s fine, I don’t care. Tomorrow you can go back home and we won't see each other until the next Harbinger meeting.”
***
Scaramouche laid in bed, still feeling weak from the blood loss. The heater had slowly warmed the room and raised the temperature to a bearable range. The clothes that Coviello gave him were comfortable, and so were the blankets and the bed. A small sliver of moonlight shone through the small window near the ceiling.
His eyes began to flutter closed as sleep began to overtake him. In the small period of time when his eyes were open he stared at the sliver of light projected onto the floor. He felt, safe, and calm, for the first time in a long time.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Scaramouche bolted upwards. It wasn’t on the guest room’s door, but he could still hear it echoing through the house. It seemed to be coming from upstairs. He stood up to go get Coviello.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Scaramouche pushed Coviello’s door open, he was already partially awake and looking around confused. Scaramouche shook his shoulder, “Hey there’s someon-”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Scaramouche was interrupted by more knocking. Coviello slowly sat up and pushed himself out of bed, looking at Scaramouche confused.
“Front door.” Scaramouche said nervously, and Coviello began walking to the front door.
The two of them made their way over to the front door. Coviello pulled the door open, revealing Pierro on the other side. He quickly stepped inside to prevent snow and cold air from entering the house.
“I apologize for interrupting you at such an early hour, Konane.” Pierro said, and Scaramouche hid behind the basement door, and listened in on the conversation.
‘Konane?’ Scaramouche thought for a moment, ‘Is that Coviello’s real name?’
“It’s fine,” Coviello says, “What brings you?”
“It appears that The Balladeer has gone missing. A patrol officer found his blood in the snow, and no one has been able to find or contact him to assure that he is safe. A few neighbors also reported hearing a scream late in the night.”
Scaramouche stepped out from behind the door, “Oh, I'm fine.”
Pierro jumped slightly at Scaramouche’s sudden appearance, “What happened?”
“I don’t exactly remember.” He lied, “But Coviello found me and helped me out.” Coviello looked over at him confused.
“Do you need to see the Doctor anytime soon?” Pierro asked, looking at the still bloody countertop and then directly into Scaramouche’s eyes. Those cold blue eyes, his khanari’ahn star shaped pupils seemed to stare right through him.
Scaramouche sighed, “Yes, most likely sir.” He despised having to see Dottore, but it was necessary.
“Coviello,” Coviello looked up at The Jester, “Be sure to write an incident report and prepare a medical ticket for The Balladeer.” Coviello nodded and the two of them continued to talk for a while more. Coviello led Pierro to his office and handed him some paperwork for something unrelated, and then Pierro left.
Coviello gave Scaramouche a confused look after Pierro was safely out the door, “Why’d you lie to him?”
“I didn’t want to get you in trouble with The Jester. We both know that wouldn’t have gone well. See it as me paying you back for helping me.” Scaramouche sighed, and then paused, “Wait. Why did he come look for me personally?”
“Well, he lives like- right over there, and he also needed those papers I gave him, so just might as well I guess.” Coviello responded, and walked over to the kitchen sink. He opened the cabinet under it and pulled out some rags and cleaning solution.
Scaramouche scoffed, the Jester didn’t even come to most harbinger meetings, even with the explanation Coviello gave, he still couldn’t believe it. He followed Coviello into the kitchen, where he was cleaning the blood off the counter top from the previous night.
Scaramouche cringed at the sight of his own blood, “Oh yeah- sorry about that.”
Coviello looked up at him when he heard his voice, “Can you help me out with this? I need to make breakfast.” He offered Scaramouche a rag, “I hate to ask since you are my guest and all, but it would mean a lot.”
Scaramouche took the rag, and Coviello opened the pantry and began cooking. Scaramouche scrubbed at the table, it was the most he could do for dirtying it. The two of them do their respective jobs in silence, until Coviello felt the need for some form of conversation to fill the void of silence.
“So um- Where do you live? You should be returning home soon.”
“Don’t have a house.”
“What?” Coviello looked up from what he was doing and at Scaramouche.
“I’m either away on missions all the time or being experimented on by Dottore, I wouldn’t spend much time there if I had one. So instead I just stay in hotels or Dottore’s laboratory when I’m on standby.”
“Oh-” Coviello went silent for a while, then sighed, “How would you feel about staying in the guest room for a bit longer?.”
“What?” Scaramouche stopped scrubbing.
“I’ve always thought that it was important to have a consistent place to live. You know, somewhere to hang your hat, somewhere consistent to come back to after work.” Their eyes locked together, “As you said, you don’t have much time to spend at home, so it’s no real skin off my back. No one else uses the guest room anyways.”
Scaramouche looked at him suspiciously, He’s up to something. He thought.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Scaramouche asked again, throwing away the old rag and getting a new one.
“I don’t know.” Coviello said smiling at the puppet, “Maybe I think that the son of the Electro Archon is a valuable ally to have.”
***
Scaramouche sat at the edge of the bed. His very few personal belongings sat on the floor of the room in boxes. He was planning to unpack them after his visit with Dottore, but instead of just fixing his internal components like they had planned, Dottore decided to experiment on him as well.
“I just need to clarify a few things regarding your design.” Is what he was told before being blindfolded. He’d lost count of the number of times that excuse had been used by now.
He was tired and in pain. Coviello was gone for work, only coming home temporarily to drop off his new uniforms when Scaramouche was still with Dottore. They were still in the box that they were transported in.
He laid down and felt the still fresh incision in his “skin.” It was already healing, and just like all his other wounds, wouldn’t leave a scar afterwards or any kind of visible mark for that matter. He looked over to his belongings again, then at himself. He was still wearing the loose white shirt and pants that Dottore gave him to wear to “appointments.” The fabric was uncomfortable and thin, but it did the job of covering him up. After contemplating for a while, he stood up and walked over to the boxes.
It didn’t take long for him to unpack them, as there weren’t many. Placing his new uniforms in the chest at the foot of the bed, then took them back out to place his other clothes inside first. His purple and white kimonos and veils went in first, then the cloak provided to him by the harbingers went on top, hiding the kimonos from view, then he placed his uniforms and undergarments inside.
He saw the old golden pinion, gifted to him on the day of his abandonment, sitting at the bottom of a box. He wanted to destroy it then and there, but he couldn’t. It was too valuable, both monetarily and politically (and emotionally but he didn’t want to admit that) so instead he tied it around the post of the bed frame. It made for great decoration. He stole borrowed a chair from the dining room, and placed his hat on it.
He picked up his shamisen and leaned it against the wall in the corner, there was no other place to put it. Placing a simple wooden comb on the dresser before opening one of the thin drawers and placing extra shamisen strings and his bachi inside.
And that was it, his pitiful collection of belongings.
He laid back down on his bed, most of the things in “his” room technically belonged to Coviello, not him. Maybe I could go shopping sometime? He thought, then shook his head,
He sighed, the pain in his chest had slowly faded over time, only leaving a sore feeling. He wrapped a blanket around himself and looked over his room, it felt empty. Coviello had a few small decorations in the room, and the wall was painted with small details around the ceiling. It was seemingly done by hand and unfinished, with it slowly fading out as it neared the door, with only the sketches complete.
He idly stared up at the ceiling, hollow thoughts swimming through his head. They were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and then the sound of boots walking down the hall. The house was silent for a few moments, then the sound of steps returned, this time softer. Scaramouche looked over at the clock hanging on the wall, more time had passed than he anticipated, and Coviello was home.
He sat up as he heard music. A piano specifically. He stood and grabbed his shamisen, grabbing the extra strings and bachi and followed the sound. It didn’t take him long to find Coviello, playing the piano in the living room. He quietly sat down on the couch behind him, and began replacing the old strings on his shamisen, listening to Coviello’s music as he did so.
“You play really well.” Coviello jumped when Scaramouche spoke.
“Archons-” He breathed heavily, placing his fist over his heart, “How long have you been there?”
“Not long, I came in soon after you started playing.”
“What’s that?” Coviello pointed to Scaramouche’s instrument.
“A shamisen, it's an Inazuman instrument.”
“Can you play for me?”
“No, I just replaced the strings, it’ll take a while to tune.” He ran the bachi over the strings, causing them to make an awful noise, “I promise that it sounds much nicer when properly tuned.” He smiles as he speaks.
“Well, then tune it.”
“It’ll take a while.”
“I can wait.” Scaramouche huffed at Coviello’s comment. Coviello paused and looked at Scaramouche, “If you have stage fright you can just say it.”
Scaramouche glared. Coviello smiled. Their eyes were locked on each other’s.
“At least don’t watch me while I tune it, I can feel your eyes on me.” Scaramouche growled, as he looked back down at his instrument. He heard Coviello shift around on the piano bench, then the shuffling of paper.
“Hey, why is one of my chairs missing in the dining room?” Coviello suddenly spoke up.
“I didn’t have a place for my hat.” He didn’t look up from the instrument as he responded.
“Ah-” Coviello acknowledged him, “I could probably find you something in the storage that wouldn’t require leaving an uneven number of chairs at my dining table.”
“I don’t care what it is, as long as it keeps the veil off the floor.” Scaramouche brushed a strand of hair out of his face as he tuned the shamisen, strumming every few seconds to test the strings.
Coviello left the room, presumably for the storage closet. He came back as Scaramouche was halfway through tuning the second string. A wooden music stand was in his hand, Coviello briefly turned to Scaramouche and got his attention. Scaramouche just nodded and Coviello left for his room, eventually coming back with the chair.
“What are you doing?” Scaramouche looked up as Coviello slid the chair back into place.
“Putting the chair back in place?” Coviello responded confused.
“You touched my hat?” Scaramouche asked furiously. Coviello nodded silently. “When did I say you could do that?”
Raising his hands up to the sides of his head as he responded, “Calm down. All I did was take it off the chair and put it on the stand. I thought that-”
“ I thought that you were just going to put it in the room.” Scaramouche interrupted, “I never said that you could touch my hat!”
“And I never said that you could move my chairs.” Scaramouche broke eye contact with Coviello at his retort. “There was a miscommunication. I’m sorry, I should’ve been more clear,” Coviello whispered as he finished his statement, “or just’ve verbally asked in the first place.”
Scaramouche stood and left the room, taking all of his stuff with him. He could feel eyes on him as he left down the hall for his room. He placed his shamisen in the corner and dropped the bachi and old strings next to it, going over to his hat.
The stand was at an angle, with the back side of his hat being the side resting on the bottom of the stand. The veil was gently folded over top of the hat and off the top side of the stand. The strings were hooked into the side loops of his hat, nothing looked damaged. Scaramouche sighed.
He plopped down on the bed right as Coviello knocked and opened the door. “Did something happen or is this just what you’re like?” He asked. Scaramouche didn’t respond. Crossing his arms, Coviello walked over to the puppet. Both stayed silent.
“I used to be like this too.” Coviello said, “After work or school I was on a constant hair trigger, but you didn’t have work today, you were with Dottore.”
“And?”
“Dottore is an asshole. What did he do?”
Scaramouche held back a laugh, “He just fixed me up. Nothing else happened.”
Coviello narrowed his eyes and leaned against the doorway “When was the last time you slept?”
“I don’t get tired, I don’t need to sleep.”
“You’re acting like you’re tired.” Coviello said, and Scaramouche looked up at him confused. “Try to sleep tonight, and we’ll see how you feel tomorrow morning. If nothing changes, I wouldn’t bother you about sleeping in the future. If there is a change, you have to start sleeping every once in a while.”
Scaramouche agreed, and Coviello turned the heater on as he left the room.
Sleep. When was the last time he did that? Most of the time he just did some kind of work or just stared at his surroundings and thought about nothing in particular. He came close to falling asleep the night right after his fight with Coviello, but never actually fell unconscious. He wrapped himself in the blankets, turning over in bed to face the wall.