Chapter Text
It had taken many long and boring hours to get from the nation of Cryo to the nation of Anemo.
The snow of Snezhnaya had melted away to the burnt rocks of Natlan, to the rainforests of Sumeru, then to the mountains of Liyue, and finally to the windswept plains of Mondstadt. The trip had taken more than a couple of days, and Tsaritsa knows why they didn’t decide to benefit from Fontaine’s railroad system.
The weather had been dreary, and the mood inside possibly even more. So, by the time the carriage had switched from rumbling over grass and dirt to stone pathways, Scaramouche was at his wit’s end with the other two people in there.
“Ugh.” Signora sighs dramatically, heaving an arm over the lush carriage interior. “Having to travel all the way here just to deal with the repercussions of kicking a bard.”
“That’s the story you’re claiming?” Scaramouche asks, a little incredulously. He’d been left mostly in the dark for the mission plan, but it certainly didn’t exceed any expectations. If the Knights of Favonius were falling for that claim, then they were more stupid than he thought.
“You did attack a god… though I guess they didn’t know that,” Childe says, retracting his head from the window. “It makes things easier and plus, the atmosphere is nice!”
“It’s far too humid for the middle of fall, Tartaglia.” Signora side eyes him.
“Do you ever shut up for a moment?” Scaramouche rolls his eyes, trying to ignore their bickering. If he was able to get genuine headaches, he would’ve by now.
She makes a mock sympathetic face. “You’re just antsy that you were sent on a diplomatic mission. Oh to be the Sixth Harbinger and have to attend pointless meetings.”
He narrows his eyes at her and then glares at Childe when he elbows him playfully. “I’d rather be in battle too, comrade, if it makes you feel better.”
Of course he would rather be in battle. If he wasn’t getting limbs sewed back on in the hospital then he was back out running errands and leaving a trail of destruction everywhere he went. Reckless, and it was surely going to bite him in the ass later. That is if it hadn’t already.
“It doesn’t,” he says sharply and Childe furrows his brows, staying true to his namesake.
The carriage continues on, and despite Signora’s complaints about the weather, it's a far throw better compared to the cold of Snezhnaya. He’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean that going on trips to warmer places isn’t a nice break. Endless snow could get repetitive, and– upsettingly– the nation had it in spades.
They pass through a village and Scaramouche entertains himself by watching Childe fail to wave at anyone. Only children wave back, the adults wise enough to ignore him. Signora rests her head against the seat, shutting the window and just barely missing smashing his fingers in.
“I doubt we’ll see the bard again,” she sneers a laugh and ignores Childe cradling his hand, “he’d be bold to show his face again after what I did to him.”
The ginger looks up, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder if we’ll see any knights?”
He may look thoughtful but Scaramouche is sure there’s not a single good thought in his head. A stupid question really, and he voices that to him. “We’re going to talk to the knights, I sure hope that we see them.”
Childe blinks, lips drawn tight in a sheepish expression. “Riiiight.”
The day dragged on and when the carriage finally pulled across the bridge of Mondstadt, he was sure that his neck was going to be permanently injured from sitting up too long. Stupid long-ass ride, making him regret even thinking of coming.
He stepped out of the carriage, shoving past Childe and cracking his neck to the side before pausing. He wasn’t alone, and no, that did not mean that the Fatui grunts arrived before them. Four knights in higher class uniforms flanked by a handful of regular knights were guarding the city entrance and if Scaramouche was a betting man he’d say they were probably waiting for the Fatui.
He eyes the knights, not bothering to fix his posture or take an attempt at being cordial. They were knights, he was a harbinger. If anything, they should be bowing to him.
“Lord Scaramouche, Lady Signora,” the main knight says, wincing as Childe falls out of the carriage rather ungracefully. “And Lord Tartaglia. It’s a pleasure to see and meet you all.”
Signora steps forward, a cordial smile on her face, and he realizes that this must be the Grandmaster, familiar enough with the blue and gold of the Ordo. The Acting Grandmaster has three other knights flanking her on both sides, two blue-haired captains on one and a brown-haired captain on the other. Ultimately, they didn’t make for a powerful display of leadership.
Everyone who was anyone knew that the actual Grandmaster had taken most of the Ordo’s forces on an expedition far, far away, leaving only a few knights to defend the city. (Probably why Signora only has to apologize for attacking a citizen). It’s a pleasing prospect, imagining her facing charges in court for petty crimes.
“The honor’s all mine,” Signora begins, “I’ve been told by her majesty, the Tsaritsa, that the Ordo has a few issues that they need to clear up about mine and my subordinates' stay here a couple months ago?”
Since Scaramouche knew better, he didn’t outright laugh at how proper Signora was acting, but he wasn’t above raising an eyebrow at Childe, who visibly bit his lip to stop from laughing. Hearing the Fair Lady trying to act civil and polite in the face of Mondstadters was amusing. She was trying so hard not to try and kick them as well, though he thinks she’d have a harder time compared to the measly god of Anemo.
“That is right.” Jean stands straight, looking from Signora to Scaramouche and Childe. “The three of you, and any other officers, are welcome in the city for as long as your stay is. Are you alright with having a meeting in the Favonius Headquarters at… four?”
“Perfect. And thank you for your generous hospitality.” Signora meets her gaze head-on, a friendly but forced smile plastered on her face.
The knights hover for a second, some unsure about what to do next. The Acting Grandmaster gives a nod, turning heel and heading back into Mondstadt Proper. The knights follow her, though the blue-haired man hesitates for a longer second. His eye narrows at the group, but then he’s gone as well, leaving the harbingers free to do whatever until the meeting
Signora immediately deflates, sighing intensely and glaring into the city. “That was painful.”
Painful? That was painful? “Your politeness is hilarious, O’ Fair Lady,” he mocks.
“Shut up, brat,” she fires back sharply.
Childe, bless or curse his stupidity, steps in between them with a far too happy expression. “They all seemed pretty friendly so far, this mission’s gonna be easy! I can’t wait to try some Mondstadt food… they even have crabs…!”
Scaramouche glances at him before scoffing, kicking the Eleventh in the shin. Simple-minded Childe, always after one thing and then another. “You’re either starving for battle or starving for food, go figure.” Personally he’d rather have him in battle, at least that offered a chance at killing him. What’s food going to do to him, give him a stomach ache?
“Comrade,” Childe whines and looks down at him with a cocky grin. “It’s what makes me so charming!” He pauses to stop, taking a step further into the city and sniffing the air, turning his head this way and that.
“You’re actually a dog,” Scaramouche mutters, appalled at his audacity to even give off those vibes.
The ginger perks up, grabbing at Signora’s sleeve and then resolving to Scaramouche’s hat tassel when she shoves him away, “I smell something! C’mon!”
"Ugh, you two go ahead. I'd rather not get anything dirty, and I know those streets." She does a full-body shudder, way overplaying the actuality of the decision, but who is he to advocate for someone else to tag along and bother him. One less person means nobody can hear Childe's annoying voice when he inevitably abandons him.
"Suit yourself, I'll bring you something later!" Childe says, pulling at Scaramouche’s hat as he drags him further into the city.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Eventually Scaramouche swats the Eleventh away, close to just ditching him as Childe remarks how it's like leading a child-- a rough swing at his height which is unappreciated. Mondstadt is relatively uncrowded, though there's venders in the stalls and a very indignant looking child manning a booth with flowers, snapping at those who brush their hands against the petals.
There's a food place a little in the center of the city, by a fountain that he has to force Childe away lest he dig through it for spare change. They order something simple, a couple of hash browns which the ginger happily digs into, commenting on flavors and textures as he does so.
"So, comrade," he begins through a mouthful of food. He swallows and rests his elbows on the table. "You're aware of our actual mission, yeah?"
"Actual mission?" he draws out the words, leaning back in his chair. The 'mission', if it could even be called that, was just a wayward apology letter from Signora. He was bored enough to accept Pierro's request that he went... along with other things... but that mission was specifically for him.
Childe grins lopsidedly. "Gathering intelligence on the Ordo! Ah, the knights, I mean, not the organization itself. We already know a lot and, well..."
"Oh, yes," he says dismissively, waving a hand at him. So they have different missions? He wonders why Childe thinks they have the same. Pierro wouldn't be that careless as to just imply that he also had the same mission, there must be a reason behind that. Childe is gathering information, an unnecessary task that's probably just busy work... Signora is doing her apology routine... and he is locating the theorized 'homunculus' in Mondstadt who apparently is more advanced than even a puppet like himself. Hm. "They're rather boring though, too stiff and straight-laced. I’d reckon they're easy in battle.”
"Oooh! Don't tempt me! But no, we're friends-- like you and me. The Jester just told me, or well, us, to gather some info on them." Childe laughs, looking only a beat away from summoning his hydro blades though.
"Have you gotten any yet?" he asks, mostly out of mock-curiosity. And if he had managed to be useful for once. It’s not surprising the Eleventh has a separate mission, with the differences between their ranks and general competence levels.
"Scara..." Childe pouts, enough of a sign to know the rest of his story. "We just got here! Of course I haven't."
"Worthless you are." Scaramouche enjoys the sad look that he gives him in return.
His gaze wanders from Childe though, straying around the inner circle of Mondstadt and eventually stopping at a group of people gathered around a stall. It’s a light blue, and if he squints hard enough he can just barely make out an alchemy table. Hm. This could be something.
“Don’t wait for me, ginger,” he says, getting up from the table before throwing one last thing over his shoulder, “and you’re paying.”
He ignores Childe’s whines in the background as he grows closer to the crowd, pushing past people until he’s near enough to the front. There’s two alchemists, or so he assumes, though one of them is simply standing to the side and trying to look happy. The other, androgynous in presentation, was entertaining a small girl with some form of magic.
“Do it again! Again!” the girl cheers, clapping her hands and looking up.
The alchemist sighs. “Once more, okay? Pay close attention…” They tilt their head, holding out a flower which they crush in their hands before holding their hand up and releasing a bird, which flies up, up, and into the sky.
The crowd claps, kids looking with wide eyes and amazement at the bird– but Scaramouche is only looking at the alchemist because he knows that kind of magic. He knows the magic of creation because he himself was made partly from it.
There’s a lull in the air, something static as the alchemist’s gaze shifts from the girl over to Scaramouche, crystal teal eyes meeting electric indigo and he is shocked, barely withholding a step back. The hell? He holds his gaze though, both parts entranced and some other foreign emotion.
The moment unravels with the girl though, coming up to Scaramouche and pointing up at him unabashedly. “I like your hat.”
He blinks down at her, hands twitching at his side from electricity, though not of his own making. “Ah, thanks. I like yours too.” It’s mostly genuine, and a lot softer than he would ever use to anyone else. It is a nice hat after all, red with a feather sticking out from the side.
There’s a shadow over the two, though not at all threatening, as the alchemist steps forward, just enough in front of the girl that Scaramouche can see he’s trying to protect her. Not like he would ever hurt a child, but the assumption is rude enough.
“You’re a harbinger, right? What brings you to the city?” His voice, ah, his voice is cordial and polite, and soft– matches his person honestly.
“Business, what else?” Scaramouche smiles lopsidedly, looking the alchemist up and down. He’s a knight, definitely, the outfit is a slight giveaway with silver pieces connecting certain patterns. Fit for battle if necessary. (And very pretty, his mind supplies unhelpfully). “You’re a knight?”
“Yes, Captain of the Investigation Team.” The alchemist extends a hand, the perfect idea of politeness. The mannerisms remind him a little bit of the Knave, except she’s willing to kill people. And would probably rather burn than touch a stranger. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Scaramouche stares at his hand before folding his own over his chest. He’s not exactly here to make friends along the way, and plus, just seeing the slight narrowing of the alchemist’s eyes is enough for him to get a kick out of it. “Yeah, yeah… You’re an alchemist as well as a knight?”
His facade is back to a neutral cold. “Well, yes–”
“--he is!” The girl interrupts, and for a moment Scaramouche had forgotten she was still there. “He makes a lot of cool stuff, like turning a flower into a bird!” She leans up on her toes to whisper not-so-quietly at him, “He’s adopted,” she says like it holds actual significance, “but I love him anyways!”
“Klee–!” There’s a strangled noise from the alchemist and he bends down to pick Klee up, red tinting his ears. “Apologies, she can be rather excitable…”
He almost laughs, and is just mostly shocked at the girl’s audacity. He had forgotten how kids were and seeing them close up again was like a breath of fresh air, especially if it came at someone else’s expense. “No, it’s okay.” He looks at Klee, a smirk on his face, playful in nature. “I’m sure you can also create cool stuff. You seem like a very intelligent girl.”
Klee’s eyes brighten and she beams at him. “I am!”
The alchemist looks from Scaramouche, lips slightly pursed as if he wants to say something… but decides against it and just sighs, glancing back at Klee. “What do you say, Klee?”
“Oh! Thank you, mister!” She amends her statement, and if she already knows to thank people when they’re nice, then Scaramouche can see a good future for her. (On second glance, he can also see a Pyro Vision, and wouldn’t that be something for battle).
“Call me Scaramouche,” he says, second-guessing himself after he spoke because the name wasn’t the easiest to pronounce and well…
“Okay… Scara!” She gives him a thumbs up, and gah, she reminds him too much of certain other children. Except she’s way more bright. And spunky, honestly. With just a little bit of abnormal intelligence– he’ll have to mention her to Signora, perhaps her family has a reputation.
Klee jumps back to the ground, waving a quick goodbye and running off to a green-haired girl, babbling loudly about some bombs or firepower… and he was right to assume she’d be a menace on the field. Who gives bombs to a child?
“Sorry if she bothered you too much,” the alchemist says, toying with a loose strand of his blond hair.
“She’s fine,” he says dismissively. “Kids these days.” Even if the kid in mention essentially dropped a more private part of her brother’s(?) life. Not like he cared what others did or didn’t mention.
“Mhm… Scaramouche? I’m Albedo.” The hand in his hair stills and his gaze is slightly tilted in Scaramouche’s direction.
“Like in alchemy?” he pretty much blurts, because he’s way more focused on the fact that this was one of the suspects that Pierro had sent him to look for. This man? He had just assumed he was a common alchemist, because what actual important alchemist would be down with all the other peasants? Though Mond Proper didn’t seem to have much of a strict social class.
“Yes? You know the stages of Magnum Opus?” And Albedo seems interested for once, expression moving from a neutral to brows slightly raised and alert. So this was how he would get his attention… riveting, in a way, figuring out what worked and didn’t. (Amusing, he wants to learn more).
Scaramouche shrugs, playing it casual. He’s heard enough of Dottore’s manic ramblings and actually once stayed for a lecture by Sandrone. “I know enough. A little whack of a name though.”
“I get that a lot,” he admits, almost sheepish in nature, and that’s the most emotion he’s seen from the man so far.
There’s slight commotion that can be heard as the conversation dulls, and they both look over to Klee, and then his gaze drifts to where Childe used to be sitting… the man is now up and about and is idly looking at him and motioning subtly. But nothing is ever subtle with Childe… Aghhh, he should go see what he wants.
“Will you be at the meeting later?”
Albedo looks back at him. “No.”
Huh? He’s pretty sure that the captains should be there, at least to hear Signora’s horribly fake apology. He withholds a sneer. “You don’t want to? How knightly of you.”
There’s a side glance and if he hadn’t already known that the alchemist was capable of making any face besides neutral, he would’ve just assumed he was looking at him. But no, that was sarcasm at its best. (Or worst, because he really had to look for it.) “Honestly, I’d rather be experimenting on Dragonspine. Being a knight is more of a… side job, per se.”
“Dragonspine? How curious.”
Albedo tilts his head, bangs falling down to graze against his cheeks. “Are you also interested in Dragonspine, Scaramouche?”
And it's the way he says his name, like he knows something that Scaramouche doesn’t. Like he knows who he is despite only just meeting him– it’s unnerving in the most fantastically strange way. “No, no. Just, if I’m staying here for a little while, I'd like to know the area. And the knights.”
“You’ll be disappointed to find that I’m not much of a knight compared to the other captains.”
Scaramouche shrugs. “We’ll see about that.” He’s noncommittal and not believing the alchemist’s words for a minute, though he does sense the urgency in which Childe eyes him from across the square.
He leaves Albedo, not bothering to look behind him, knowing that he wouldn’t be trailing after with more questions. He seems better than that. At least Scaramouche thought so. Thank goodness that Childe knows when to shut up sometimes, and didn’t walk over to casually interrupt his conversation. Not that it was meaningful or anything, he just didn’t need him butting his head into some things.
“Who was that?” Childe immediately demands, though his tone is more of an excited ask. “They looked pretty, like an actor.”
“That, was one of the captains. A Knight of Favonius.” He tells him, not bothering to hide the information. Though if the ginger was still obsessed with his fake mission on finding out about the knights…
“Oh. Wait, you were talking to him? Why? Don’t get ahead of me this early!”
He scoffs. “It’s your own fault if you fall behind. And no, I’m not ‘getting ahead’ of you. We were just talking. His sister started it.”
The way Childe brightens up at that only serves to tick him off more. “D’awww, that’s cute of you!” He attempts to elbow him, which Scaramouche skillfully dodges. “I always knew you had a soft spot for children, buddy.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He’s not in the mood to argue with Childe, and it’s not like he doesn’t like children… but it’s also not like he has a ‘soft spot’, eugh, the words just make him sick. “Aren’t you going to be late for the meeting?”
“I am?!” Childe visibly jolts, looking around and eventually spotting a clock hanging from an open shop. “We are! Signora will kill me if I’m late, says it makes her ‘look bad’ and stuff– c’mon!”
Childe takes off up the stairs to the headquarters, turning sharply and just barely avoiding barrelling over a blond haired knight, who looks as if death itself came running at him just then. Hah. Scaramouche follows him with a much more lax gait, not bothering to try and get there on time. If Signora really was going to kill Childe if he was late then, by all means, let them be as late as possible.
He passes the poor blond boy, only smirking at his scared look. He does though, glance behind him and find the profile of the alchemist, a backlight of warm orange surrounding him. It’s a far shot in the dark, to claim that he’s the homunculus that Pierro had a search for… but even if he isn’t, there’s something so interesting about him. Something that makes him different from an average human, something supernatural. Not in the way of a hybrid or god, just something not human. He’s sure of it.
Signora’s looking very off put as he and Childe round the corner and approach the Favonius Headquarters. “There you two are! Good Tsaritsa, I’ve been waiting ages.”
He rolls his eyes. “It really hasn’t been that long. Don’t be dramatic.”
“Hphm.” She scoffs. “The meeting’s going to start, and as much as I know you’re not a fan of these things, the least you can do is not look like you’re seconds away from killing someone!” She rudely gestures at him, shooing him off, oh thank Tsaritsa he doesn’t care enough to be bothered.
“I wanna kill someone,” Childe chirps.
“No!”
“You’re the one who kicked a god,” he says, looking up from idly inspecting his nails. “And stole the gnosis.”
“The gnosis!” Signora looks disgruntled as she exclaims, taking out a shiny object from an overcoat pocket. She looks distastefully at it, full of scorn for something so tiny.
“You brought it?!” Childe flinches, peering down at the gnosis and looking bewildered. The glow reflects in his eyes, making them seem almost life-like for a second. An eerie, teal whisper of power.
“Yeah, I’ve had it for a while,” she says with all the boredom that a harbinger holding a gnosis could muster. “The Doctor wanted me to see if it’s properties changed when it was back in Mondstadt. Ugh, I hate holding it though.”
He’s thinking, thinking of a couple different things. Why would Signora ever really listen to Dottore? Why would Dottore want to test the properties of gnosis? And mostly, how could he use this to his advantage? “I’ll take it.”
Signora looks up at, her icy eyes narrowing before she sighs, shoulder slumping. “Please do. It’s glowing and cool and–” she shudders– “reminds me of that stupid god.”
“Isn’t that kinda mean?” Childe asks, only to be ignored by the others. Scaramouche takes the gnosis from her, feeling its weight before dropping it in a coat pocket. Childe watches him do it with a raise of his eyebrows. “What are you gonna do with it?”
“Nothing that involves you, Eleventh,” he snaps in reply, smirking when he frowns like a kicked puppy. He glances back up at Signora, swaying on his feet before just biting the bullet. He’d rather face her wrath than get chewed out later. “Y’know… I’ve got to go.”
“What.” She stares him dead in the eyes.
He elbows Childe, straining his words, essentially gaslighting him. “Yeah. Whoops. Forgot about something. Gotta go do it.”
The ginger looks at him like he’s grown a second limb before realization comes and hits him on the head. “Oh! Ah, yup, sorry ‘Nora! My buddy here’s got to do something important. Direct orders from the Jester and all.”
“From Pierro?” she echoes, but not any more convinced.
“Directly. Straight from the source.” He nods. “Definitely.”
For not the last time, Scaramouche swears that if Childe wasn’t naturally a pit of luck, he’d be dead out of sheer stupidity. “Yeahhhhhh…”
Signora glances up at the clock before pinching the bridge of her nose. If she didn’t have a mark there from the action then she would soon. “Fine, go. I swear though, you owe me, especially if this meeting goes south.”
“I don’t owe you anything if you screw it up by yourself.” He shrugs with a grin. “At least you’ll have Childe.”
Childe brightens up considerably.
“I don’t want Childe.”
Childe’s smile drops almost comically.
“Too bad!” He practically skips off (though he’ll never stoop that low), and he’s walking back down the many stairs of Mondstadt before spotting the alchemy table.
Sunlight glints off the green cover, but the only person there is the green-haired girl. Damn it, he’s late. Of course by the time he climbed all those stairs and got to Signora, Albedo had disappeared. Interrogation time it is! he thinks gleefully.
The green-haired alchemist has her back turned to him, blissfully unaware of him right behind her. “You. Where’s the blond one?”
The girl jumps practically a foot in the air, whirling around with her back pressed against the bench, rattling a couple of beakers filled with liquid. “Uh– you mean– uh, well, you’re a… a Harbinger…?”
“I am,” he says stately. “Irrelevant though, tell me where he went.”
She makes a small sound, not unlike a mouse. “Mister Albedo left for Dragonspine! T-the mountain?”
“I know what Dragonspine is,” he snaps, glaring at her. Did he look like a common tourist? Clearly not, but the assumption that he wouldn’t know the massive snowy mountain was deeply irritating. He rolls his eyes at her demeanor before turning heel.
He’s not exactly speed-walking, but the trip to the base of Dragonspine goes by a lot quicker than he thought. The camp is empty, not a single person in sight, and it does nothing to quell his sudden bout of nerves. Why was he doing this? What was he thinking, going up to Dragonspine to track down a lousy alchemist…
The wind is howling, and the gnosis feels heavy in his pocket. For such a small accessory (that holds boundless power) it sure is weighted. He’s not backing down though, if he’s going through all this trouble just to chicken on the way up? Pathetic, and he’s a harbinger, for the Tsarista’s sake. A harbinger straying from his task to track down someone that, for once, he doesn’t plan to kill. Someone that has piqued his interest, for better or worse.
He trudges through a lot of snow before catching a glimpse of firelight. It’s across a bridge, which wobbles at his every step and for a moment he’s wondering if anyone would try to look for him if he fell and was buried underneath the snow. He wouldn’t die, but a purgatory of being trapped in Dragonspine sounded enough like death for him.
The light grows brighter until it finally reveals a small cave opening. Warmth floods his limbs from different braziers that lit the entrance. An outpost, and near the back was the frame of a certain alchemist.
“Albedo.” The words slip out of his mouth before he can debate about turning around and leaving.
There’s a crash, and Scaramouche wonders if he was making a habit of causing alchemists to drop things. The glass shatters on the stone, and thankfully it didn’t have anything in it.
“What are you–” Albedo turns, brows knit together. Quick recognition flashes through his face, a flicker of a moment before it’s tampered back into neutrality. “Are you following me?”
How accusatory. And also how accurate, because Scaramouche can admit that he sort of, kind of, maybe was… yeah, he was following him. Huh, now what. “Did they always tell you that you had to be an alchemist?”
“They, what?” Albedo pauses where he was, shocked.
He seizes that. “Have you ever wanted to be different? Don’t you crave something new? Having to deal with those squabbling knights, your assistants, it’s all so boring.”
“What are you getting at?” Albedo straightens, stepping away from the glassware behind him, and he tilts his head at Scaramouche. “Why are you here?”
Good fucking question.
He holds out the gnosis. “Join the Fatui.”
…
……
“Why me?”
Oh, oh! Scaramouche laughs, the sound carrying through the outpost and making Albedo squint at him. “You ask that? ‘Why me?’ Not, ‘oh, no way, it’s the Fatui?!’ You’re crazier than I thought!”
“You’re asking a favor of me, and now you’re mocking me?” Albedo says, almost incredulously. “What are you playing at, Harbinger?”
He offers the gnosis again, shaking it in front of the alchemist. “I’m being genuine here. I want you to join the Fatui.
“And I asked why,” Albedo insists. “I think that’s an appropriate question.”
“You’re interesting.” He inhales sharply, and wills his false breath not to skip. “And you’re not human. Like me.”
There’s a faint widening of his eyes, and the alchemist swallows. It’s all so subtle, yet he knows he startled him. “Non-human?” he asks.
“Yeah. In some way or form, I don’t care.” He shrugs. He really doesn’t care what type of non-human he is– puppet or something else. “But you are, right?”
There’s slight hesitation before Albedo speaks again. “Yes. What are you?”
“Nothing to be concerned with,” he replies quickly. A buzz alights in his core at the success of his mission. That’s one thing down, though the task has changed slightly. Pierro couldn’t blame him for it, considering he not only found out that the rumors were true but also managed to get the man himself back to the Fatui. And willingly. “Why do you stay in Mondstadt? What’s stopping you from joining m– us?”
“Perhaps it’s my affiliation with the knights?” The alchemist faintly raises an eyebrow. “I have a sister, apprentices– my home is here?”
“Psh.” He waves it off. “Those don’t matter. You could be needed in the Fatui. And you could have everything, better equipment, better labs, more resources…”
“Have you been stalking me?” Albedo interrupts. “You’ve only just met me and you’re so sure of this already?”
Scaramouche shrugs, a lazy roll of his shoulders. “When I see something I’m interested in, I don’t let it go easily.”
Albedo regards him with another stare. “I’ll guess that you won’t let me think about this?”
Hmph, he’s amused at that response. Quick study, because: “yup. It’s a little time sensitive if you can’t already tell.” He’d never been one for the boring logistic side of recruiting… and exchanging letters was such a bother. He doubts that Signora will want to come back anytime soon, and Pierro would only raise more questions if he started frequent trips to Mondstadt. “We leave soon.”
“I can see,” the alchemist says dryly. He refocuses though, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll need more time to think about it. The offer, I mean. I can’t just run away from my responsibilities.”
“Who says you can’t? The knights?” He scoffs. “What else do they say you can’t do? Practice Khemia?”
He knows he hit a sore spot when Albedo grits his teeth, the faint tightening of his jaw is enough of a signal. “Not exactly. Where did you learn all this?”
“I’ve studied,” he says carelessly. And while that’s not exactly true, it still stands for something. “And I’m smarter than our Eleventh.”
They lapse back into silence, and Scaramouche debates using force. He’s not about to leave, being this far into the whole ordeal, but he’s above groveling at Albedo’s feet and begging him… which would be utterly ridiculous and make the situation worse.
“You said the Fatui has equipment?” Albedo asks, and Scaramouche seizes that.
“Yes! And labs, tons of stuff, really, and the pay’s good, but I doubt you’d be enticed by that.”
“Correct.” And there’s just a flicker of a smile. Progress.
“The work is fine, assignments are easy–” unless he’s being sent to the Abyss, which he wouldn’t since it’s a job reserved just for Scaramouche. As frustratingly stupid it is. “--and you’ll be treated like royalty. And have a lot of free time.”
Albedo’s pensive, that’s obvious, considering he’s got his hand near his mouth and isn’t looking at Scaramouche anymore. He could press more, but really, what would that do? He’s offered everything he can. Money, power, stability– of a certain kind, Harbinger was not the most secure job.
“So?” he asks again. Shakes the gnosis like he’s tempting a stray cat. “Join the Fatui.”
Albedo takes a step forward, a heel clicks on the stone ground and Scaramouche can almost see his eyelashes. His core catches, stuttering mechanics, before Albedo pushes the gnosis away, reclaiming his old spot away from Scaramouche.
“Let me think on it.”
“Ah, f-fine.” Scaramouche rubs his neck, narrowing his eyes and flicking his hand away. Ugh, how embarrassing. The alchemist’s smarter than he loo– well, that sentence doesn’t really apply, he looks like a scholar– he’s smart in general. But Tsaritsa help him if it wasn’t annoying.
“Do you wish to stay?” Albedo asks, somewhat out of the blue. “The mountains–”
“–no! I’ll be fine.” He covers it up with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. Anymore time on the damned mountain would give him a heart attack. (Which would only entice the Doctor more when he got back, simply because the sheer logistics of that are impossible. Alas, with the way he feels, it certainly seems possible). “Just keep thinking, y’know. You’re smart enough to realize the right answer here.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Harbinger.”
Well, fuck.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The way back down the mountain is less stressful than up. In fact, it might be the most peaceful thing he’s done in years. Entering back into the city, and catching Signora and Childe right outside Favonius Headquarters instantly ruins the feeling though.
“Good Tsaritsa,” the Ninth swears blatantly. “You sure know how to leave at convenient times.”
“Also known as: the meeting was boring,” Childe supplies unhelpfully.
He barks a laugh at that. “Imagine.”
“Were you at least productive? Organize where our troops will be staying?” Signora shoots him a tired look. Aww, so cranky after a simple little apology.
“Me? Of course not.” He cherishes her seething glare. “I was doing research.”
Childe stares at him for a solid minute, eyes unblinking before he practically jumps up, brain finally working again. “Oh! Got it. Mhm. I know what you mean, comrade.”
Signora looks between the both of them, circling through confused, annoyed, and tired. She eventually settles on tired. “I don’t know nor do I care what you two are talking about. Either stay here and sleep on the ground or come on, because I’m not waiting.”
The Goth Grand Hotel is pretty much what it sounds like. It’s goth. It’s grand. It’s a hotel. What a surprise. They check in seamlessly, probably because most of the rooms are booked by other Fatui officers, which makes everything go much easier when everyone knows to stay at least six feet away from harbingers. Signora has some poor officer drop many bags in her room before she disappears inside. Good riddance, he thinks with a smile. Mostly he’s just grateful he doesn’t have to room with Childe, because it would be the equivalent of rooming with a wet dog. Nasty stuff.
He’s able to flop down on the bed, not bothering to kick off his sandals or remove the decorative ropes from his outfit before lounging. There’s a knock at the door though, quick and precise in two bursts. He raises his head, and can feel a scowl forming. He hasn’t even been here for five hours yet and already someone needs something.
Bones crack as his back protests the violent switch between laying down and getting right back on his feet. He swings the door open, looking (up) at an officer. “What,” he growls out. If this is someone sent by Childe, or worse, Signora, he’ll have to kill them, which would be unfortunate for everyone in the hotel. (And a mess to clean up). (Which he wouldn’t be doing).
“Sir, a knight requested your presence,” the officer begins, “but I told them you were unavailable and they said to send you a message.”
Smart officer, knowing that he doesn’t want to talk to some smarmy knight. And most likely they were still after Signora. “Go on.”
“Ahem.” She clears his throat, reciting the message, “‘Intrigued. Meet at the crossing of Dragonspine tomorrow morning before dawn.’”
His attention snaps to her, suddenly more alert. “Did they have blue eyes?”
“Uh, I’m not sure?” She looks confused, brows knit tightly. “They had blond hair– and wore the knights uniform. Perhaps a captain, sir?”
“Thank you.” He smiles, though it’s too toothy to be considered nice. “Though, next time, don’t turn him away.”
“Yes, sir!” She dips her head respectfully before leaving, boots echoing softly on the carpeted floors.
Scaramouche shuts the door, listening to the click before pressing his head against it, allowing himself a moment. Well, here it goes again.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
He’s up before the dawn rises, half because he doesn’t really need sleep, and the other because he didn’t get much sleep– too busy running through his encounter yesterday. To say that he couldn’t stop thinking about the alchemist was an understatement. It goes against everything he was, but he couldn’t escape from reality. That being the sudden fixation on blond alchemists. He skips any food that’s offered to him– more than sure he’d get chances later– and forgoes a coat when he slips out of the hotel.
Most Mondstaters must be late risers, since he barely sees anyone in his time across the town. Houses aren’t lit and the streetlamps are turned off, leaving everything in a hazy morning glow. There’s fog from outside that drifts in though the main gates, and a sleeping knight is snoring lightly from their post. He strides right past the knight, and out into the cool of morning.
The crossing of Dragonspine is exactly as it sounds. There’s the base camp a few paces down, and small creeks run between the border. He can feel the chill from a good distance away, and it’s oddly familiar. Not in the ‘Snezhnayan-snow’ way but in a ‘he-was-just-there’ way.
Snow grass, trees, mountain– and a certain blond figure. Since no one else has a death wish (or would dare to wake this early), Scaramouche supposes that this is Albedo.
He doesn’t hesitate. It’s obvious when he gets closer, how Albedo’s figure cuts seamlessly through the white background. He looks like he belongs there, amidst the snow.
Albedo probably heard him on his way over, his sandals aren’t the quietest and the silence is serene this early. The alchemist turns just slightly, a pivot of his heels, and he holds up a glowing Geo vision.
“Do you have a vision, Scaramouche?” he asks, not bothering to look at him. “Quite the interesting tool, I’d have to say. We claim it’s from the gods, but I’ve never been much of a devout believer.”
“Do you want me to actually answer that?” Scaramouche raises an eyebrow. He’s got his delusion, of course, but he’s not sure that would really count. Especially in the eyes of a scientist.
Albedo laughs shortly, a little sheepishly as his gaze finally flicks to Scaramouche. “I suppose not. I’m nervous,” he says bluntly.
“Nervous? Of what?” (Is it him? Does he make Albedo nervous?)
Uncertain,” Albedo rephrases. “Mostly why I’m agreeing to this.”
“You’re uncertain–” he does a double-take– “hold it, you’re agreeing?”
“If the Fatui can answer my requests, then yes. I’ll follow you to Snezhnaya.”
He knows it’s not the best time to joke, but he can’t keep the humor out of his question. “Requests?”
“My sister, Klee,” he begins, still idly toying with his vision. “If the Fatui are ever in Mondstadt then they must protect her and never harm her.”
Scaramouche scoffs. “She’s Alice’s child, right?” He had also made that connection while lying awake at night. (Blond hair, red eyes, penance for causing chaos… the mage wasn’t a regular visitor of the Fatui, but had contacted Pierro enough that Scaramouche had gotten used to the… complaints that the Jester had of her. And begrudging admiration).
“What does that have to do with it?”
“The Fatui aren’t allowed to harm her or anyone related to her. Biologically,” he adds.
“You’re not?” Albedo says slowly.
He shrugs. The details are vague and it’s not like he was very interested in it before. “The Jester and her go back a ways, and he’s probably more scared of her than actual Archons.” He snickers just at the thought.
Albedo hums noncommittally. “I need a lab.”
“Arranged.”
“And tools?”
“Also arranged.”
Albedo looks surprised for a second, glancing to the side to school his expression. “That’s all.”
“All? Quite selfless of you.”
“I don’t consider myself greedy–” he shoots Scaramouche an unamused look– “and the demands weren’t exactly light.”
“It’s the Fatui,” he says incredulously. “How poor do you think we are??”
Albedo shakes his head. “It’s not a matter of money, more of how will they treat an outsider? I’m not exactly another native Snezhnayan researcher.”
“Oh, no.” He laughs, teeth showing through his wide grin.
“No…?” Albedo trails off, brows furrowed at Scaramouche– an expression that suits him well.
“You wouldn’t be ‘just’ a researcher,” he says, and steps forward. He’s always been praised (or chastised) for being brash and bold, but he surprises himself with his movements. He reaches forward, brushing against Albedo’s hand– to take his vision. “You’d be a Harbinger.”
Albedo’s gaze is locked on his vision, and it slowly trails back up to Scaramouche. “Harbinger,” he states flatly, but there’s no mockery in his tone.
“And don’t ask me why, because I’ve already answered that.” He waves a hand in Albedo’s face, cutting off any further questions. “Why live such a simple life–” he holds up the Geo vision– “when you can join us and be everything you wanted?” He holds up the Anemo gnosis, and the elemental power taints the air. “It’s your choice.”
Silence. Scaramouche doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do much of anything but watch. It means nothing to him– except making a huge fool out of himself in the process. And offering the Anemo gnosis to one of its own residents. (That doesn’t sound too good now, huh).
Albedo’s heels crunch against the snow, and he’s crossed the line. They’re close now, barely a length apart. He reaches forward, reflective of what Scaramouche had just done– and he grasps the gnosis.
Scaramouche inhales sharply, faintly lightheaded. “I knew it.”
“Don’t act bold now.” Albedo crosses his arms, still holding the gnosis and still close. “This better not be a scam,” he says bluntly.
“Hah, I wouldn’t want to scam you. We scam people who would actually fall for it.” He tosses Albedo the Geo vision, watching him fumble for a second to catch it by the case. “You can take this back too, I’ve no need for it.”
“Thank you,” Albedo says, and then to himself: “I have to resign from the knights, don’t I…”
“Yup,” Scaramouche answers anyway, “Wouldn’t wanna be you for that.”
The wind had died down considerably, so much that Scaramouche hardly noticed it was gone. The absence is both appreciated and disturbing. He’s not sure why.
“When should I expect to leave?”
“Oh, Signora– the Ninth– is almost done with her business here… perhaps tomorrow morning?” Knowing Signora, she wouldn’t want to stay any longer than necessary, which meant at max, two days.
“Good. I’ll be there. If you don’t regret having me until then,” Albedo adds, lips quirking up at the edges.
“You underestimate your worth. You’ve caught the eye of the Jester, and he’s the main one running the show, save for the Tsaritsa herself.”
“Just the Jester?”
Fake breath is caught in his throat, and Scaramouche holds in a wheeze. Okay– not many things catch him off guard but– okay! “And myself. But mostly him.”
“Hm. Alright.” Albedo nods.
Scaramouche is not a coward for breaking eye contact, he simply admires the surroundings for a little bit. Mountains, rivers, snow, Mond Proper in the distance. “You really live up there?”
“Don’t engage in conversation for the sake of it,” Albedo says, and it's precise. Precise and undeniably attractive.
“I agree. I’ll go then.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he lies through his teeth. “Not a man of many words, are you?”
“Not a man to hold his tongue.” Albedo looks at him from under his bangs, and it's the crystal stare that pierces him so sharply. “Are you?”
Dear Tsaritsa. Good fuck. “Hmph. I’m not. Wanna come back with me?”
“Sure.” And the smug smile he gets in return may be all worth it.