Work Text:
"I'd watch your words, witch." The Sixth Harbinger spat, a seemingly permanent sneer gracing his features as he glared across the table at the victim of his oral attack. The whole room was silent, its occupants all either irritated, amused, or merely uncaring.
"Is that so?" The Eighth mused, crossing her legs from where she was seated at the table, "Well, I'd suggest you take your own advice and hold your tongue, little puppet." She bit back with an equally sinister glare.
Childe couldn't help but roll his eyes. Seriously? They acted as though they weren't sharing a room with nine other Harbingers, plus other lower-ranking Fatui officers and guards. The other Harbingers were well used to this by now, but did they have to do this in front of so many of their associates and underlings? Did they not understand the concept of gossip? This was just embarrassing.
Honestly, if Childe hadn't known any better, he would've thought he was in a meeting with a bunch of adult children, and that was coming from the lowest ranking Harbinger. Like come on, they're professional killers, have a little dignity.
Scaramouche snapped at everyone, Signora knew that, she just needed to stop taking his shit so seriously. And talk about bad timing, this really wasn't an ideal time to get into one of their little arguments to begin with.
A meeting with all Eleven Harbingers was rare, and Scaramouche and Signora were too busy making it all about themselves to realize the soul-piercing gaze Pierro was giving them from the head of the table. They were asking for trouble, or as a Sneznayan would say it, skating on thin ice.
"You have guts to address me in such a way, wench." Scaramouche snapped with a raised tone, clearly offended as he crossed his arms from underneath his Harbinger’s coat. From Childe's experience in listening them whine, the best way to get a reaction out of Signora was to call her a 'wench', which meant it could only get worse. Her eyes widened and the usually cool temperature in the room notably heightened. Oh gods, here we go again.
Childe was well used to their spats. If anything, it sort of reminded him of the meaningless arguments he used to have with his older siblings when he was younger; minus the death threats, of course. At least he and his siblings knew when to cut it out, unlike the two deadly Harbingers.
"You have the audacity to call your elder such an utterly untrue and offensive name?!" Signora seethed, the sound of her heel slamming against the marble floors echoing throughout the hollow room. Her nails dug into the table, the surface of it cracking under the unbearable pressure she was unknowingly putting it under.
Childe tried to ignore the growing tension, but it was near impossible at that point.
Scaramouche smirked, knowing he'd gotten her all riled up. "Ahh yes, that was the point, congratulations. Have you grown smarter since the last time we spoke? Also, way to admit to being an old hag. Everyone knows it, but it's nice to hear clarification from the wench herself." Oh gods indeed. It took otherworldly amounts of self-restraint for Childe to keep a straight face after that. Well, he was doing a better job than some of the officers, whose giggles were faintly muffled through their jacket sleeves. Childe wouldn't be surprised if no one ever heard from them again after this meeting concluded.
With a loud crack, the part of the table that she gripped now lay in pieces in her fist, proof of her fury. She stood up from her chair, leaning across the table, both hands slamming against the cold surface as her composure shattered. "Why you unbearable puppet!" She screamed, causing many of the Fatui officers in the room to wince, "You damned freak of nature, you infuriating piece of shit!" She yelled.
The atmosphere in the room felt dangerous, Pierro's anger no doubt intensifying due to the risen volume. Childe risked a glance, shifting his gaze discreetly towards Pierro's direction. His fears were confirmed when he witnessed Pierro's severely irritated expression, the darkness in his eyes alone being enough to send shivers down Childe's spine. Those two must've been really engaged in their conversation, because if looks could kill, Pierro's would've brought Archons to their knees. Those two really needed to shut up. Could they not take a hint? Were they dense or something?
Also, couldn't Signora figure out a better comeback? What is the significance of calling Scaramouche a puppet? To Childe, it made zero sense. Well, half the insults that they shot at each other made no sense to him. Was calling someone a 'puppet' a gravely insulting gesture in Inazuma or something? Maybe he'd do some research later. Although they were strange, he wanted to understand his fellow Harbingers as much as humanly possible, be it to quell his curiosity, or as leverage in case he were to ever be pitted against them.
Childe was no fool, he knew many of his fellow Harbingers had joined the Fatui for selfish reasons. So the day one of them inevitably turned on Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he'd be prepared. Also, it wasn't very fair that they all had leverage over him concerning his family and his deep caring for them, so it was crucial for him to know as much as possible about them.
Anyways, he wasn't looking for trouble, he had to stop this before Pierro snapped. Perhaps they'd be willing to sort out their problems, even though such a reality was beyond farfetched. It isn't that he cared about what happened to them, he just didn't want this to become his problem too. "You two," Childe said with the lightest tone he could manage, "I'd stop this-"
"What the fuck did you just call me you fucking wench?" Scaramouche uttered dangerously, not even stopping to process Childe's unfinished warning as electricity began buzzing through the room. Seemed like was too late to quell the storm. Well, at least he could say he tried.
"A freak of nature, because thats what you are." She said, pointing an accusing finger at him. He must've really gotten on her nerves, because things were escalating a little more than usual.
Her tone dropped, and no one was prepared for what came out of her mouth next, "Even your own mother didn't need you." Ok, things were escalating a lot more than usual. Half the people in the room's mouths fell agape at the statement, gazes snapping to Scaramouche. Yeah, none of these subordinates were going to survive after hearing that. What little electricity that surrounded the room prior to the insult increased tenfold, causing tiny electro shocks to nip painfully at Childe's skin in response to Scaramouche's anger.
The Balladeer clenched his teeth in an unbridled rage. He audibly growled, suddenly standing up from his seat, causing the chair to fall back at the sudden movement. "Why you fucking bitch! I'll tear you to fucking shreds!" He screamed, hoisting himself on top of the table as an unholy amount of electro energy began forming in his palms and all along his body. He stomped across the surface, the furniture breaking under the force it was being subjected to. He paused, hovering above her from his perch on the table, allowing thick electro energy to fully engulf him. Staring her down with the intensity of a bull to red, he stood there, accumulating electro so thick it made Childe's vision hazy.
Signora feinted innocence and confusion, studying her nails, pretending as though she hadn't just insulted Scaramouche in such a way. She huffed, looking up at him, "Hmmm? Did I strike a cord in you, Scaramouche? Are you really so fragile- Oh, I suppose that's why she didn't want you anymore. I don't blame her, honestly. I would've gotten rid of you to-"
"I'll send you to your death so you can join your lover in his fucking grave you ugly piece of horse shit." Ok, this was getting way too personal.
Signora's cocky smirk faded almost instantly. Her eyes widened in disbelief, color draining from her already usually pale face as she stared up at Scaramouche, a pained expression slowly becoming prominent on her face.
"Y-you just..." She started, silver eyes looking up at him in shock. She opened and closed her mouth, but her breath hitched in her throat every time, rendering her unable to speak. A feeling she hadn't felt in a long time began swelling within her, making her feel rather uncomfortable, especially around all those people. She clenched and unclenched her hands as her gaze dropped down to the floor, attempting to hide her oncoming sadness from The Balladeer.
At her sorrow, Scaramouche's anger shifted to confusion for just a split second. For that moment he just stood there, hovering above her at his place on the table. This damn witch never knew when to stop. She had this coming, so why was she getting so emotional? It pissed him the fuck off, angered him to no end. She started this spat in the first place, she had no right to feel such emotions. In all honesty, it disgusted him. Such a weak portrayal of emotion.
He subconsciously took a step backwards.
The only intense emotion he was used to being around was fear. Fear always radiated from his subordinates. But now, from around the room, he felt pity and surprise. Pity for the witch's current state, and pity for his...
He grabbed at his forehead, the barrage of emotions unsettling him, because from the witch, he felt an emotion he was once well-accompanied with: grief. Sure, he sensed grief from time-to-time, mostly from his unlucky subordinates or common debtors, but this grief was thick with pain resurfacing after hundreds of years of concealment. This grief had been stirring within, slowly eating away at any sense of self.
"You pitifully vile woman." He whispered viciously, attempting to quell Signora's strangeness with familiarity to no avail. So he remained there with eyes boring into the witch's shaken form. This was merely an illusion, though; casted by an expert. Most would believe his attention was on Signora, but this wasn't true. It was directed at everyone but her. It wasn't even the other Harbingers. It was the humans. The onlookers.
They felt surprise. Surprised that their Harbingers spouted such insults at each other in their presences. Surprised that none of their other Harbingers succeeded in ceasing the argument before it escalated to such a scale. Surprised that Signora could ever learn to love someone. Surprised that someone as horrible and bloodthirsty as Scaramouche could ever stall in his rage.
So many contrasting emotions, it was unbearable. He despised it all, wanted it gone, away from the mental shield Signora just cracked with her insults.
But there was something The Balladeer failed to process. Something he subconsciously convinced himself of in order to protect his mentality. He convinced himself that the emotion wasn't his.
All that emotion he sensed, was it truly something that belonged to all those humans? Was that pity theirs, or was it his? Was that surprise theirs, or his? Was that grief Signora's, or was it not only belonging to her, but belonging to Scaramouche as well?
As he slaughtered countless humans, as he performed brutal executions with many baring witness, was all that fear he sensed really theirs, or was that fear something he hadn't sensed, but felt himself? As he looked on in disgust at the insignificant existences of humans, was that disgust really aimed at them, or was it aimed at himself?
The fear of who he was, and the disgust of what he had become. The question that has haunted him deep down every waking moment. 'What would they think of me now?'.
Those questions remain unasked to him, simply due to the fact that his mind tricked him into thinking those feelings did not belong to him, but falsely believing they belonged to those around him.
He could not sense other being's emotions, it was a function never granted to the likes of him.
Perhaps one day he will finally realize this, and ask these questions to himself.
After hundreds of years she still mourns for him. Her heart was beating rapidly from within, threatening to burst. The pain of loss, a mere echo of what it was all those years ago, but still intact. She hated herself for this. It felt like a lifetime since anyone dared to even mention the concept of love around her. She despised the way this puny puppet's insult made her feel such overwhelming grief. She wanted to use that hatred and lash out at him, at least say something back. She attempted to move but her body refused to obey, as though paralyzed in place by her own emotions.
She'd been sitting there for what felt like an eternity. She felt numb. Scaramouche said something to her, but she didn't process. She should be angry right now, but she felt too tired to do anything except sit there. Come on, She told herself, do something!
Look at them, two Harbingers getting all sentimental over each other's remarks. It's embarrassing more than it is anything else, and yet she can't do anything except just sit there and deal with the awkwardness.
Noticing yet another futile attempt to move, Scaramouche hissed in annoyance. What was she doing? She couldn't allow anything that comes from his mouth to have any kind of effect on her. So, she took action, moulding her grief into something more... usable.
Like a dam breaking, all her sorrow was once again hidden behind a burning and pure anger, an anger that fueled the flames of her fury.
As the spell broke, she regained her usual posture, converting from her sorrow-struck and hunched form. She quickly backed away from The Balladeer, her flowing garments following her body's sudden movement as she did. She unclenched her fist, a cluster of cryo and pyro forming in her hands, each element fighting the other for dominance. They glared daggers, and the electro engulfing the room only grew heavier, bordering on deadly. Some of the less powerful Fatui officers fell to the ground, gasping from the heaviness of the element alone, not that Scaramouche cared.
Since the wench finally moved, he was able to jump off the table, the ground cracking underneath him upon making contact.
"Don't you dare speak about him like that, you worthless puppet!" She cried, pyro beginning to engulf the tips of her dress, winning over cryo. Electro energy was pooling from Scaramouche's body, far superior to the electro granted to Childe by his delusion. The sheer difference made Childe buzz with the need for battle, though he knew he stood no chance against either of them.
The other Harbingers looked on in both amusement and concern. Much like him, they also believed this was getting way out of hand, and yet none dared to intervene. This was entertainment at its finest, after all.
"You vile hag," Scaramouche spat, his face still burning with both embarrassment and anger. How could she say such things about him in front of all these people, then get all upset at the mention of her dead lover? It wasn't fair, now he was the bad guy. Not that he minded, though. "If you miss him enough to cry over him, then just die." And without a hint of compassion, he drove his electro-coated hand forward, aiming right for Signora. "You heartless puppet!" She screamed as she mirrored Scaramouche's movements, lunging forward in an attempt to impale him.
They were set course to kill each other, until a loud slam cracked against the table, causing both Scaramouche and Signora to stop in their tracks, the pair nearly tripping over due to the sudden command to cease. They both looked up, their gazes set on the highest ranking figure in the room.
"Rosalyne. Kunikuzushi. That is enough." All the attention was now set on Pierro, who looked more enraged than Childe had ever seen him. The electro-induced atmosphere quickly vanished along with the elemental energy that had been summoned within their grasps. Their looks of anger quickly morphed into expressions of frustration, along with a steadily rising horror, both still harboring the audacity to glare at each other.
They looked over at Pierro, and he motioned for them to sit down. They complied without complaint, both looking as though they were about to combust. The two trudged back towards where everyone was seated, looking disheartened after the mental anguish they both had to sustain from the other as the bright fury that blazed mere moments ago was reduced to a flicker. Scaramouche didn't spare Signora another look before walking back around the table and sitting down.
Shit. Childe was expecting Pierro to snap at them, but...
Well, Childe learned more than he ever expected to know about his comrades, and he wasn't sure how to process the information. Was he the only one who didn't know this stuff?
The rest of the meeting went by painfully slow, the aftermath of that argument still hanging in the air. A handful of the Fatui officers and soldiers had to vacate the room as a result of Scaramouche's electro aura, many falling ill or passing out. Therefore, Childe wouldn't be surprised if word about the two Harbinger's argument was already spreading throughout the palace .
As the meeting concluded and all the Harbingers were dismissed, Childe was surprised to see that Pierro hadn't kept Scaramouche and Signora behind to scold them, with the pair keeping their distances from both each other and everyone else, slipping out immediately upon dismissal . Perhaps Pierro had confidence that they would refrain from arguing after he, well, used what Childe supposed were their actual names. That was probably one of his last resorts to keep his junior Harbingers at bay, and it seemed to have worked like a charm. Childe would be sure not to try Pierro's patience in the future, not that he'd be foolish enough to do so in the first place.
Everyone exited the meeting room, all eyes on Signora and Scaramouche. Whispers were exchanged as the Harbingers exited, those lucky enough to witness all of them together crowding around to catch a look, but Childe had no doubt that the main topic of conversation was Scaramouche's supposed 'family drama' and Signora's love life.
Like seriously, Childe doubted those kinds of reactions would arise from untrue insults, so they were most likely true. Although Childe knew they were cold-blooded killers, much like himself, he couldn't help but pity them. Was it the grief over their personal issues that led them to the Fatui, or was Childe just overthinking things?
Well, why ask questions when you knew you'd never get answers. Although he's curious, he knew better than to pry about information concerning people he wouldn't be strong enough to defend himself against.
Information was one of the most valuable assets one could procure, especially if said information got him some kind of leverage on powerful people, no matter how minuscule it may seem. Hence why Childe, as soon as the meeting concluded, set his sights on the palace library to find an book on Inazuman slang.
Puppet, was it? He thought. Childe didn't know what he was getting into.