Work Text:
The cold streets of Snezhnaya had one undeniable advantage over other countries in Teyvat. For some reason, the lower the temperature, the easier it was for Dottore to think through important matters. Perhaps the heat reminded him too strongly of unpleasant events from the past, or perhaps it hinted that the future held unbearably hot, literally fiery days in store for him. However, whatever the case, for some reason, his thought processes at low temperatures resembled music to which the snowflakes around him danced a rhythmic waltz. And music always put Dottore in the right mindset for work.
The crunching sound of footsteps on the frozen snow kept bringing his thoughts back to the latest experiments conducted in the lab. Sometimes they sounded like the clang of metal, sometimes like the crack of plastic, and sometimes like the crunch of bones unable to withstand intense pressure.
Unfortunately, unmodified human bodies are far too fragile.
However, today the crunch of the snow was indeed unusually loud. Perhaps the brief thaw a few days earlier had caused the snow to melt slightly and form a new crust. Or perhaps it was because Dottore wasn’t walking the streets alone today, and his footsteps no longer sounded so lonely.
“I’ll take the liberty of noting that it’s an inappropriately cold day today. Weather forecasts simply cannot be trusted,” said Pantalone, shivering and adjusting his glasses. “And, you know, your choice of clothing today is particularly puzzling. It’s cold just looking at you. Could you at least dress for the weather on days like this?”
Dottore glanced at his white clothes, which were no different from what he wore every day.
“And what is it that bothers you so much, my dear friend? To me, today’s weather is delightful. The snow crunches underfoot, clearing the mind and setting the thought processes on the right track. Don’t you enjoy the tingling sensation on your cheeks?”
“As a scientist, you should know it’s bad for your skin,” Pantalone remarked, pulling his gloves even tighter. “Let’s hurry before we both turn into snowmen.”
He quickened his pace, breaking the ice even louder with his heels, which he wore neither to rise as high as possible above the ground nor to crush his enemies with them. His black coat was indeed thicker than usual today, and a scarf was tied tightly around his neck, protecting his delicate, vulnerable skin from the wind.
Dottore smiled and quickened his pace slightly, enjoying how his heavy boots, too, began to break through the ice with a much louder crunch.
That sound probably helps me get into the right frame of mind just as much as the temperature does. Hmm, how could I make it even louder?
He stared thoughtfully at the building whose windowsill was adorned with thick, glistening icicles. Without a second thought, he reached for an icicle, and…
Pantalone turned around when he heard a suspicious crunch.
“What the hell are you doing?!” With a quick movement, Pantalone knocked the half-eaten icicle out of his hand. “Sometimes I just don’t understand what the hell is going on in your head!”
Dottore frowned in displeasure.
“Just because I agreed to spend my time and attend this tediously boring event for moneybags with you doesn’t mean you can interfere with my thought process.”
Pantalone gritted his teeth.
“First of all, it’s not tediously boring—it’s important. Or are you no longer interested in funding? I’m going to offer them the chance to invest in you,” Pantalone replied, shivering. “And secondly, just hearing you crunch on that dirty street ice makes me feel cold. Not to mention how bad it is for your teeth.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Dottore shrugged. “Can you imagine how many harmful things a human being does in a lifetime? Or do you think fire-water and tobacco are good for your health? Is the root of all evil lies in dirty icicles?”
Pantalone shot him a disapproving glare, and immediately afterward, Dottore felt a noose tighten around his neck, closing his mouth as well.
“Shut up, Doctor, you talk way too much. And, for the sake of the money, try not to get yourself sick.”
Dottore touched his neck, where, for some reason, Pantalone’s dark scarf was now wrapped. The scarf smelled pleasant and was still warm, and Dottore felt a strange sensation growing inside him.
How interesting. I need to examine this scarf. The fabric must have some special properties.
“Let me ask you—aren’t you afraid of getting cold yourself now?” he asked, continuing to squeeze the dark fabric, which smelled almost too pleasant.
“We don’t have far to go. Next time, please dress for the weather so we don’t both get sick. And hurry up!”
Pantalone grabbed him by the edge of his own scarf and gave it a light tug. It seemed as though he’d even considered dragging him along by force, but apparently changed his mind and simply walked on. He probably didn't want to damage the expensive fabric.
Dottore touched the scarf again, feeling an unusual warmth coming from it—much stronger than fabric of that thickness should provide. A smile spread across his face.
He hated being controlled.
Yet, for some reason, he let the banker do it.