Chapter Text
the doctor was a man known to dislike himself. he never thought he was enough, and couldn't help but get jealous at those who were seen as, 'human'. or maybe, he just wanted to improve. maybe thats why his chest was no longer pumping - it shouldn't even be considered a heart no more. artificial nonsense.
"balladeer, how was your little trip? i heard 'lord p' told you to go to ■■■■■■■ again," the doctor started while continuing his tinkering with tools, "and you come back to me? me first? how grateful am i, my very own doll, my most prized is coming back to me first out of all?" the doctor didn't look up from his messy desk. he could tell it was scaramouche. nobody else pushed the doors open like that. "don't tell me you missed me?"
..
the puppet stood silently at the wide open doors, not replying and instead stormed inside of the doctors lab. he came back from the mission he was sent in pristine condition, just as gorgeous as before, and he hasn't complained about anything so far. that was most likely a first.
"no.. i didnt miss you." the puppet spat out, walking towards dottore and standing beside him, leaning over his hunched body. scaramouche always wondered what much dottore was doing in his stupid lab, other than all the tests and failures to try find out more about eleazar, and all those tests on silly little sumeru creatures; aranara were they? in honest, the doctor has tried very hard, and still is. however, that is not what he is doing right now. he's twirling a ribbon on a medium sized box. what an odd thing for the doctor to do.
scaramouche just stared in confusion before tapping the shoulder of the doctor, not expecting him to look up. they've gotten very close. and like he guessed, dottore didnt look up and continued fiddling with the bow. after long, almost comforting, silence, the doctor decided to speak up once again,
"is that so, my dear puppet? well anyways.. it seems you are interested in.. this. its nothing special, but it is for you."
how bitterly sweet, the balladeer thought. a gift, for him, by the second harbinger? he isn't a fool - the doctor wouldn't plainly give him a gift without any reason. scaramouche sighed and stepped back, instead deciding to look around his lab. it was even more messy than last time, with cables all over his walls, vials shattered with liquids all over the floors and strangely enough, blood on his main experimentational table. he would always clean that, it would be the cleanest thing in the lab.. and yet it was still dirty. and the blood was fresh, very fresh.
"what did you do, doctor?" the balladeer was genuinely somewhat curious, but was more about the gift that was being carefully wrapped and handled. dottore didn't reply to his question, and still tried to perfect the bow. after a few more trials, he finally stood up from his chair and spun around, handing the box over to scaramouche awkwardly before rushing over to clean his table from the blood. he took the box, looking over it.
it was covered in clean silver wrapping paper, with that very same blue ribboned bow that the doctor played with for tsaritsa knows how long.
scaramouche's slim fingers gently lifted up the lid of the box, only to find another box. this time, its made from glass. he looked back to glance over at dottore cleaning his lab, before taking out the glass display and putting the outer box to the side.
and once he took look of the glass, he almost dropped it. it was a human heart, pulsing faintly, its surface marred by jagged cuts that formed words in a language both ancient and arcane. "мое сердце будет твоим" (my heart will be yours), it said. the heart, grotesquely preserved, glistened with dark crimson, its veins still engorged with congealed blood. it was disgusting, and yet appealing. only the doctor could pull off a stunt like this. the surrounding viscera from the dissection clung to it in a macabre embrace, tendrils of tissue stretching like sinewy webs across the glass. a dark, viscous fluid pooled at the base of the display, where the excess liquids dripped in slow, deliberate rhythms. there it was. the scent from when he entered. it was the smell of copper and decay, hanging heavy in the air, mingling with the sterile cold of the doctors lab, creating a sickening blend that clawed at the senses.
each incision of the words by the doctor appeared both meticulous and brutal, as if carved with both reverence and love. the words themselves seemed to pulse with a sinister energy, etching a story of pain and hope into the very flesh of the organ. maybe a hope that the balladeer would take the heart? it is the doctors own heart after all, pulled out string by string from his own body. even though being seperated from its host, it throbbed irregularly, as though defying death, its grotesque dance a testament to the unspeakable meanings behind it. of course the balladeer would take the heart.
he silently looked back at the doctor, wondering what to even say before quietly murmering,
"dottore.. what is this? is it yours..?" he was genuinely shocked, even while usually being unfazed by the doctor by now. he hasn't ever expected dottores own heart given to him as a gift. and the writing cut onto it? it was painful, honestly.
"it is of no use to me. you are far closer to a human than i am, my dear boy.. arent i right, kabukimono?"