Chapter Text
The streets of Nod Krai were slick with ice, per usual.
Dottore walked, his boots heavy, meeting the cobblestone below without a faltering step. Hands folded behinds his back, back straight, head forward, coat buttoned to his neck. He wasn't doing anything in particular, maybe just taking a walk, maybe he just needed some air. No one knew and no one dared ask.
People parted around him, not letting their gaze linger for more than a second.
Yet not everyone had the time to do so.
A young boy, a flyer distributor, his nose and ears red, in one hand he held the flyers with the other he was handing them out to people.
When Dottore approached, the youths hand went out automatically and then instantly recoiled when he saw who it was.
"Flyer for the—ah! L-Lord Harbinger, I—I apologize—!" The boy snatched his hand back, bowing quickly. But Dottore’s hand had already reached forward, holding the piece of paper by the top with two fingers.
He did not glance at the boy, nor scowl or glare. Just simply stood before him as the two of them both held opposite ends of the same thin sheet of paper.
Dottore was merely about to receive it and the boy was still bowed, until he realized he was still holding the paper. The younger let go and said another rushed apology, head still tilted downwards, eyes shut tightly.
Dottore held the paper infront of his face, reading what was written.
Film Festival: Dreams, Dust, and Dawn.
Curious.
He turned the flyer over once, then again.
A film festival in this icy corner of the world? What indulgence. What a strange thing to be happening in a place like this. He folded the flyer in two.
"'A film festival'” Dottore repeated.
"What will it entail?" He knew the basics from the flyer itself but there must be more right.
A simple question.
The volunteer blinked.
That was… not hard to answer, he’d given the same summary dozens of times already today. But now, in front of this man, language itself felt suddenly clumsy.
"Ah—um" he began, straightening his cap,
"A couple of people from Fontaine…they’re holding a festival to, uh… showcase experimental works and visual storytelling, and… and also to screen their newest film projects. Short format, mostly, but with a few features."
Dottore remained quiet, listening.
Just listening. Which somehow made it worse for the poor boy before him.
"They’ll be screening them in the old recital hall down the road" the volunteer added quickly. "There’s seating. And, uh, refreshments, and activities, surprises and..such."
Dottore then nodded. "I see." And he was off.
The volunteer stood there frozen for several seconds, blinking, knees under him wobbling.
Another passerby cleared their throat, and he jumped back into motion.
"Flyer? For the festival?" he asked.
The boy grabbed another paper and held it out. "Yes! Of course!"
-
By the time he returned to the estate, the wind had picked up more outside. It was going to be another freezing day, as expected. He didn’t stop to greet anyone. Didn't glance at the servants who bowed at his arrival. His boots clicked onto the floor. The snow had already melted off of them long ago.
Pantalone sat in his usual spot near the fireplace, a book open across one knee, posture perfectly composed even in solitude.
Dottore entered, Pantalone looked up the moment he heard the approaching steps.
"You’re back early" he said, closing the book without marking the page. His gaze now moving to Dottore.
The doctor was quiet at first then he reached into his coat, unfolded the flyer, and held it out to the other.
Pantalone blinked and took it. His eyes scanned the front, briefly. Then, a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh?" he said, tilting his head just slightly. "Are you asking me to go with you?"
"It is an outing, not work related, you look like you could use something simpler, we don't often get things such as 'film festivals' here."
Pantalone let the flyer tilt once in his hand, then set it down on the coffee table in front of him.
"Ah. Then if it’s not a date… I’m not interested."
Dottore, halfway through undoing the clasp at his collar, turned his head slowly.
"Fine" he said, tossing his gloves on the table beside the flyer. "It’s a date." He confirmed.
Pantalone shook his head.
"How crude, I must decline. Ask me properly, and I might reconsider."
Dottore’s eye twitched under the mask.
"Pantalone" he began. "There is to be a film festival. I intend to attend, and I find that the experience, tedious or otherwise, would be less so, if you were at my side. Would you give me the pleasure of being my date tonight?"
Pantalone tilted his head, not moving otherwise. He tapped the edge of his glasses.
"My, my, now that's better." he said.
"What time dear?"
"Seven-thirty."
-
The sound of the clock in the hall ticked.
Dottore stood by the grand doors of the estate hands folded behind his back, his outfit nothing too fancy but still good enough. His mask, as always, was in place, the earring was the only thing shining on him.
The carriage outside had arrived precisely on time, and yet he knew. He would wait.
Dottore’s gaze wandered briefly over the polished floor, then up toward the grand staircase. And then, he appeared.
Pantalone descended like the evening star itself, not a single hair out of place, not a wrinkle in his coat, not a single thing rushed. His long fur-lined coat was a deep black, almost iridescent under the golden glow of the chandelier above. His boots shone faintly under the hem, polished, perfect. His gloves held the many rings over his fingers. Then a subtle sheen of jewels—purples and deep blues, not gaudy, but old and real—caught the light at his collar and wrists.
He held a cane, decorative more than functional, but he wielded it as if it were a scepter. Every inch of him was picture perfect.
A servant moved instinctively at the bottom of the stairs, extending a hand as they were trained to. But before they could even lift their arm fully—
Dottore moved.
He was at the bottom step already. He extended his gloved hand upward toward Pantalone without a word. He didn’t look to the servant. His attention was fixed only on the man before him.
Pantalone looked down at him, mildly surprised, the faintest arch of a brow beneath silver-rimmed glasses.
Dottore said nothing. Just waited.
Pantalone placed his hand in Dottore’s without hesitation, the leather of both gloves meeting with a quiet press. Dottore’s grip was firm, as he guided him down the last few steps.
It was nothing. Just a little show of appreciation. That he was seen.
And yet, as Pantalone’s hand settled in his, Dottore felt it.
That familiar, quietly disorienting feeling.
'How did I get him?'
It wasn’t often that he asked himself questions as such but tonight, with the scent of expensive cologne off Pantalone’s collar, with the weight of his hand resting lightly in his own—Dottore thought it, not for the first time.
How?
How did he get a man like that?
A man so terrifying, smart, and perfect in every way, looks wise too. He was pristine.
He made it look so effortless. So impossible to look away from.
And yet, who allowed Dottore close. Who allowed him this. Not out of obligation or manipulation, but by choice.
Their eyes met briefly.
"What?" Pantalone asked, eyes narrowing,
Was he going to be told it was too much? That he looked ridiculous? That the coat, the jewels, the effort, were unwarranted?
What's wrong with wanting to look good once in awhile. He rarely gets the opportunity to do so.
But then Dottore spoke.
"You look...exceptional" he replied, looking at him, the long fur-lined coat, the fall of his hair over one shoulder, the way the diamonds caught the light.
Pantalone tilted his head, taking a few steps across the floor, letting go of the mans hand in the process. The sound of his cane tapping, softly followed him.
"You really think so?" he asked, teasing now. He loved having his ego inflated and being complimented, and Dottore was always so easy, he always played in.
And it wasn't empty praise. He really did mean it.
Dottore’s gaze followed him,
"You look truly incredible..as you always do." Dottore continued.
"Mm" Pantalone hummed. "We should attend events more often if this is the kind of treatment I get beforehand" he said, straightening his lapel with a flick of his fingers. "All this doting might make me blush."
Dottore's mind was screaming at him. He loved the man before him too much but he couldn't just say,
'You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen, not merely in form, but in presence. No one even comes close. You set the standard for beauty, grace, and style. Others merely imitate what you effortlessly embody. You captivate me beyond reason, I am utterly devoted to you in every way, you are the sole owner of my attention.'
It would be too much, and if he said that out loud, Pantalone would probably kick everyone out of the mansion, forget about the film and take him to bed until the next morning. So he had to restrain himself with the compliments.
Instead, he gestured to the door. The carriage outside waited. "Shall we?"
Pantalone let his eyes linger on him for one more long moment before nodding.
"We shall."
—
The venue was packed wall to wall, humming with low conversation and the rustling of coats and long dresses. It was warm inside, warmer than expected. The walls were draped with velvet, decorated nicely.
At the very center of it all, an entire row of seats had been cleared.
They didn’t have to say why.
Everyone knew who they were for.
The venue, an old recital hall repurposed for this part of the festival, the film.
Then, people turned to look, whether by instinct or some deeper reflex.
No one announced their entrance. No escort. They simply arrived, moving through the narrow central aisle.
They reached the cleared row. Dottore paused briefly, a subtle inclination of his head. Pantalone released the mans hand and stepped forward first, sitting into the first seat. He let his cane rest before him.
Dottore followed a moment later, his coat flaring as he sat beside him.
They didn’t look at each other, but the tension between them was oddly domestic. Comfortable, in a way that made other people uncomfortable. The power couple of Snezhnaya basically, no better pair preceded them.
....
"Oh wooow! It’s packed! There’s so many people here!" Paimon said as she floated above the Traveler’s shoulder, hands clutching the curtain and moving it aside so she could see the mass of people in the room before her. Eyes darting excitedly between the lights, the decorations, the crowd.
"Everyone did such an incredible job at decorating! To think this used to be an abandoned hall just yesterday!—But wait.." Paimon squinted, noticing something that instantly disrupted her awe.
"Why is that whole row empty?!"
She pointed with toward the center of the hall. "Eh?! What are those two doing here?!"
The Traveler followed the gesture, her eyes settling on the two men in an empty row.
The seating was as follows,
Empty seat next to the aisle, and then Dottore’s seat, beside him Pantalone, next to Pantalone, four empty seats. The seats right behind them were empty as well, whoever was sitting there probably didn't want to anymore. And infront of them, people had their heads ducked, basically melting into their seats.
"Is that THE DOCTOR AND RE—" Paimon started, a little too loudly.
Lumine’s hand shot out, clamping firmly over her companion’s mouth.
Paimon fluttered as she tried to squawk the rest of the word, but the Traveler wasn’t about to let her finish. With her free hand, Lumine reached to the thick curtain beside their booth and pulled it closed, shielding them from view.
"Paimon!" she whispered.
"Do you want them to hear you?!
"Mmmfffhph!!"
And then she was released.
"But what are they doing at a movie screening?! Don’t they have, like… evil plots to scheme or something?" Paimon continued, quieter this time.
"They’re allowed to go out in public, and this is a public event." Lumine murmured, though even she sounded unconvinced.
....
Back in the reserved row, Pantalone seemed entirely aware that they were being watched. It was like a sixth sense, he could always feel it.
Dottore showed no sign of recognition or care for the room around him. His ears paying attention only to the man beside him, truly thats all he cared about. What Pantalone had to say, if anything.
He seemed utterly unbothered, his attention drifting lazily toward the projector setup in front of them then back on the man next to him.
Pantalone, by contrast, looked every inch prepared to be seen. Without moving his head, he glanced at Dottore from the corner of his eye. With the faintest motion of his fingers he signaled for Dottore to lean in.
Dottore obliged without a word, the angle of his masked head dipping closer, enough to catch the low breath of words against the shell of his ear.
"They’re watching" Pantalone whispered, a small smile playing on his lips.
Dottore gave a small nod in return, he knew, he just didn't care. "All eyes are always on you. I'm not surprised."
That earned a soft huff from Pantalone. It wasn’t quite laughter, but it was something near it. The kind of sound one made when entertained by a truth spoken.
"Not this time, dear. No, they’re more curious about you."
"Oh I doubt it, who would look at me when you're sitting like this beside me?" Dottore said, his voice low, every syllable smoothed over.
The statement should’ve sounded like flattery. It didn’t. It sounded like fact.
Pantalone blinked once, slowly, before pressing his eyes closed again, tilting his head forward towards the screen.
"..You’re rather dangerous when you’re sweet."
Then the screen flickered to life. The lights dimmed fully. Music came and filled the room. And the opening scene began shortly after.
Foe the first few moments there was nothing but only the sound of lapping water and the faint wind.
On screen, a young woman appeared,
-"They always said it was foolish to miss someone I’d never known. To mourn what never was. But how else do you grieve a shape that was made in your chest and then left unfilled?"
Images moved. A hand touching the rim of a teacup. A camera panning past family photographs, all frames empty. A coat left hanging by a door, worn at the elbows.
And over and over, her eyes: searching, always searching. But never finding.
Pantalone sat silent, one leg crossed over the other. It was hard to tell by his face alone whether he was enjoying it or not. The light of the screen flickered over his glasses, he was watching that's for sure.
Dottore would never say it aloud but seeing Pantalone engaged like this..perhaps that alone made this entire thing worth attending.
On screen, the woman began to speak again. Her footsteps echoed as she walked.
-"I invented him, I think. Not entirely..I think he might’ve existed, once. But not for me. Not like I wanted. Not the way I dreamed. Is it madness to miss a version of someone that was never real?"
She paused.
-"I built a memory out of nothing."
And then, the screen dimmed. Music faded.
The hall remained quiet for a moment longer than it needed to, like the room itself had forgotten how to breathe. And then, soft applause, not roaring, not explosive, but gentle.
Pantalone brought his hands together slowly — once, twice — then stopped. He wasn’t clapping for show. He clapped because the piece deserved it. And maybe because it resonated with him in some way.
"It wasn’t what I expected." He said simply.
"Nor I." Dottore said after him.
Around them, conversation began to stir. People rising, moving, praising quietly or wiping at their eyes.
Dottore glanced at the empty screen before rising from his seat.
"There will be another in half an hour" he began. "I’ll get us a drink."
But before he could so much as take a step, Pantalone was already standing beside him, gloved hand raising in a light wave of dismissal.
"No, no, allow me this time."
"Since when do you serve?
"Since now." Pantalone slipped the long coat from his shoulders, pressing the expensive fabric neatly into Dottore’s arms when it was off.
Dottore’s hands moved instinctively to fold the coat, careful with its edges, he draped it over his arms, carefully.
"Wine?" Pantalone asked, as he stepped away from his seat.
"Champagne. Dry." Dottore replied, moving so the other could step into the aisle.
And with that, he was off, people moved out of his way, crowds parted and the wait line? What line? It was gone in an instant for him.
Dottore stood still for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.
...
Charlotte stood to the side of the screen now, stylus flicking over her notebook with her scarf tucked tightly beneath her coat’s lapels, and her red beret slightly askew from all her excitement.
"Brr! It's so cold! Alright Paimon, next one! Go ask that couple near the aisle—yes, the one who cried during the fifth scene!" she called, not looking up from her notes. She was interviewing people on their opinions on the movie. It would be an interesting article.
"Got it!" Paimon said, zooming toward the guests. She was half-turned, glancing back at Charlotte to confirm—"Wait, do you mean the ones by the—?"
Thud.
She smacked, face-first, into a shoulder.
Not a hard impact, but it was like flying into an iron statue. She bounced back slightly, blinking rapidly. "Ow!" She hovered in place.
And then froze when her eyes set on the person she collided with.
"...Oh!"
Dottore stood there. He turned his head and looked at her, entirely unbothered.
"Ah, little floating organism, we meet again."
"O-ORGANISM—?!"
Paimon flailed backward. Unsure if she should be insulted or just flee. She wanted to shoot back with a witty remark or shout 'Paimon is not a floating organism!' But that wouldn't be the smartest..right.
Instead she settled for something that wouldn't get her in trouble.
"Paimon wasn’t watching where she was going! That was an accident! Please don’t experiment on Paimon or something—!!"
She blurted, flailing her arms like it might somehow ward him off.
The Traveler stood silent, wide-eyed. She hadn't even noticed Dottore standing there until the moment of impact. He had that odd way of existing, everyone just knew to avoid him.
But Dottore only tilted his head at her.
"A simple greeting would have sufficed, Paimon, we are already acquainted are we not?" His voice was smooth, not warm, not friendly, just normal. Not as formal but not casual either.
Paimon froze at the mention of her name. Hearing him say it sent a shiver down her back.
"W-Well… hello, then!" She said quickly, hovering a bit higher. Was she supposed to act all buddy buddy with the man? They met, twice. Neither was unforgettable but neither was without tension.
Dottore’s expression didn’t change. Not visibly, anyway. But the way he stood, the faintest tilt of his head, gave the impression of amusement.
"Greetings are in order, and oh, worry not, Paimon. You are not of my interest in that matter."
"That matter?" Paimon repeated. "What’s that supposed to mean?!"
"It means that while your physiology is unique, it does not presently inspire my curiosity enough to warrant dissection."
"DI-DI-DIS-DISSECTION!!?" She said loud enough that several nearby heads turned, startled as to see what all the yelling was about.
The Traveler stepped finally forward, instinctively placing herself in front of her floating companion, though her face was caught somewhere between concern and restrained exasperation.
Dottore then lowered his gaze to her.
"I was merely joking. I apologize if it wasn’t obvious. Though, I suppose delivery does matter with humor. A failure on my part."
Paimon still looked pale. That wasn't funny! She wanted to say.
Charlotte had looked up just in time to see the brief, almost comedic collision, her Kamera lens still focused on a previous interview subject. She blinked once—then twice—her stylus pausing in mid-air as she basically threw herself off the stage and towards the spot where the three stood.
"Lord Harbinger…!"
The Traveler blinked at her sudden outburst, turning to look behind herself, Charlotte, sprinting at full speed!
"I need this exclusive!" Charlotte said under her breath, determined.
She straightened her beret when she stopped. Clipboard under one arm, stylus at the ready.
"Would you—would you be open to a short interview? Very short! Just your impression of the film! No politics, no controversy, no speculation, no personal questions, nothing besides the film!" she added quickly. Speaking too fast.
The Traveler slowly turned her head toward her. Was she serious? She was indeed asking the second of Fatui Harbingers for a comment.
Dottore regarded Charlotte in silence for a long moment. The fast speaking catching him off guard for a moment, her words needing time to make sense to him.
"Oh! I didn't introduce myself! I'm Charlotte, a journalist with The Steambird! From Fontaine! I am to interview people and write it in an article that will then be published!"
"A film critique" Dottore said.
"Hm. You consider it journalism?"
Charlotte nodded quickly.
"Very much so, yes, yes! The people of Fontaine—and others—want to know what the festival attendees thought. Especially someone of your… standing!"
There was silence.
Dottore considered Charlotte once more, then said simply, "Alright, but I do not have much time."
Charlotte nearly dropped her stylus.
"Of course! It'll be but a moment, please come to the stage!" She scrambled to reposition the Kamera. The lens slowly swiveled toward Dottore with a soft mechanical whir.
He stood as if sculpted, unmoving. When Charlotte lifted her stylus, her voice turned smooth and formal. The interview had begun.
"Lord Harbinger, attending the premiere night of Dreams, Dust, and Dawn, what was your impression of the film?"
Dottore didn’t hesitate.
"It was structurally sound. A deliberate orchestration of auditory and visual elements designed to manipulate emotional response. Crude in parts, but the composition was intentional. The third act faltered. Too much time spent on metaphor. The acting was acceptable."
A pause.
Charlotte blinked, writing furiously.
"And… did you enjoy it?"
Dottore tilted his head.
“'Enjoyment' is subjective, unfit for meaningful critique. But I remained attentive."
Charlotte made a small noise that might have been relief.
"Thank you, Lord Harbinger. That’s immensely helpful." Charlotte blinked as she finished transcribing, lips parting slightly. The Kamera clicked softly as it powered down, its lens retracted like an eye deciding it had seen enough.
"Incredibe. Do you mind if I quote you directly?"
Dottore didn't move.
"Do as you like. Though I doubt the average reader will find value in sentiment from someone like me."
"That’s not true!" Charlotte said quickly—perhaps too quickly. "But, thank you again Lord Harbinger!"
Dottore nodded.
"You’re welcome, Miss Charlotte."
And then—
"Can’t he just say it simpler—‘I liked it’?"
Paimon dropped her voice in a stiff impression of Dottore’s tone, though her delivery was far more cartoonish than the Harbinger’s actual voice.
“‘Enjoyment is a…subjective matter... blah blah—I watched the thing, alright?’"
The Traveler's eyes widened, and she instinctively pulled Paimon down by her cape.
"I’m just saying! What’s with all the word salad? Who talks like that?"
"Paimon! Shh!"
She hovered just behind the Traveler, arms crossed and a sulky look on her face. It was meant for the Traveler. Meant to be harmless, muttered under her breath. But in a room this silent, with a man like that standing right there—it might as well have been shouted through a megaphone.
Dottore tilted his head, just slightly, and took a step toward the group. Then another.
"Does my way of speaking bother you, little organism?"
"WAH! N-no! Not at all!" She blurted, waving her hands, floating backward as if distance would help. "Not even a little bit!"
“Oh?” Dottore’s head tilted slightly. "Because I could reconfigure my phrasing to something more... ‘digestible’ for simpler minds."
Paimon laughed nervously. "N-no need! Really! Big fan of your words! Love a good… sophisticated vocabulary! Very smart! Paimon loves big words!"
Dottore turned his gaze to the Traveler for a moment, then back to Paimon.
"Hmm. I see" he said at last. "Then… it’s been a pleasure seeing you two again. May we meet once more when we aren't in a rush."
He turned slightly to Charlotte now, offering her a goodbye as well.
"And a pleasure meeting you, Miss Charlotte. I look forward to your paper. Farewell."
"The honor’s mine, Lord Dottore. Truly." Charlotte said quickly before the man had the chance to walk off.
...
Pantalone returned with the drinks. He held his hand out with Dottore drink out to him.
"Apologies for the delay, I ended up running into an old business partner."
It was obvious that the glass he was holding wasn't his first. Pantalone wasn't exactly lightweight but he wasn't a great drinker either. Wine was easy to get drunk on because you don't realize when it starts to slowly hit you.
Meanwhile Dottore had noticed the carbonation in his drink had long simmered.
Which, was fine. Nothing too bad.
He raised the glass up to his lips and took a sip. They were back at their seats.
As the evening continued and the second movie finished others lingered for longer, indulging in other theatrics like the games and such but the couple had left shortly after the credits were done rolling.
Pantalone was a bit tipsy but nothing noticeable. Well to strangers. To Dottore it was obvious. The way his face was a slight pink shade. His lashes pressed to his face. The way he leaned against his cane for a bit longer.
The snowflakes hit Pantalone’s glasses the moment he walked out, wetting the glass. The white was contrasting against his black coat.
"You’ve had a bit too much to drink, haven’t you?" Dottore said as he glanced around for their carriage. Late.
Pantalone’s eyes fluttered open, a faint smile curving his lips as he adjusted his glasses.
"My dear doctor, I'm perfectly fine."
Dottore raised an eyebrow. "If you say so."
...
The Traveler casted one glance toward the window, just checking the weather. Snowy, it'll be a cold night. Then, her eyes spotted the two Harbingers, still lingering under the light of lamplight.
What were they doing, and why exactly did they come together? Was it a PR move? An accidental meeting? An opportunity for busines? Or something else.
Pantalone said something, Dottore replied. A single strand of Dottore’s hair had curled out of place. Pantalone reached up to smooth it back behind his ear.
And Dottore, in turn, took Pantalone’s gloved hand and lifted it pressing a brief kiss to the knuckles.
The window then blurred by the fall of snow. Lumine saw nothing more than silhouettes, no, just shapes moving closer together. Until there was no gap between the two.
No, she probably..saw wrong, that would be a bit too close, it was impossible to tell anything at this point. She shouldn't watch but there was something strange about seeing them like this.
She pulled the curtain closed and walked off when someone had called her name.
Perhaps they were...no, no, impossible.
"Coming!" She said as he walked out to help her friends, deciding not to think about what kinda relationship the two Harbingers might have.