littlesilhouettoofaman | The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

There isn't a single moment that he could think of that was more exciting than the battle he'd had, his laughter ringing out within the chamber as he pitted himself against his most powerful opponent to date. Electricity had arced towards him, threatening to stop his heart, fire and water raged against him to blow him back to try to force him to submit, but it was thrilling and he couldn't of asked for a better fight than what the Balladeer had given him. And at the end, as the puppet fell from the mechanical monster that the Doctor had made for him to achieve his ultimate dream, the Eleventh felt fulfilled even through his immense injuries that he'd sustained during their fight.

But at the same time, he wasn't about to leave his former comrade to sit in the dust and rubble from his fall, scooping him up and carrying him back. The journey back to Sumeru City was arduous, every inch reminding him of the broken bones in his body that he was unable to escape from sustaining. Upon reaching the building he'd been using as his base of operations while searching for Scaramouche, he'd collapsed after handing the puppet off, only managing to tell the agents to get him to a bed to recover and to tell no one that the Balladeer was here. Childe never sees the panicked look on his subordinate's faces before he passes out himself.

He awakes days before Scaramouche does, feeling more than just sore as he groans and swings himself to sit on the side of his bed, knowing that he shouldn't be moving. But he gets dressed regardless, because there's a certain someone that he needs to check the status of, and have a conversation that he's sure won't go as well as he hopes.

The agents that had been inside the room attending to the puppet scurry at the sound of his voice, still recognizing the terrifying presence of a Harbinger, albeit former Harbinger at this point. The room is silent while they make themselves scarce, but footfalls outside of the door turn into the shadow of the taller man who's finding it difficult just to walk.

Childe enters the room, closing the door behind him as he slowly makes his way towards a chair that sits besides the bed, sitting heavily into it to gaze over at his defeated opponent. Bandages cover the skin where his uniform does not, his head bandaged as well and looking just as worse for wear.

"So, you're finally awake...you've kept me waiting, Scaramouche."

After all the worthless worms have left the room Scaramouche moves to sit up, leaning more on the arm that is still able to carry his weight. It is quite an annoying ordeal and for a brief moment he wonders why he is still here? Why that simple idiot took the time to pick him up in the first place. Of course, being defeated by the biggest buffoon was far from a triumphant way to end his existence, yet it would be an end nevertheless.

And now, he had to pick up pieces again, find a purpose again, all while knowing that he has been so close. He had it all within his grasp. Godhood, power…all that has been promised at his birth.

While he takes hold of his broken arm and starts to inspect the joints carefully he can hear the sound of someone slowly approaching his room.

When Childe enters the room Scaramouche silently pops a joint back into place. Still, he keeps an eye on him. Oh, he’s definitely injured, after all human bodies aren’t as sturdy as his own. But it is nowhere near a satisfying sight. After all, Childe should have ended up underneath his foot. Stomped to a pulp, completely powerless in front of a god.

“Heh…To the victor go the spoils, isn’t it?”

There is a scornful tone to his voice when he speaks. Once again a loud pop fills the room when he moves.

“Tell me. What are you going to do now?”

"Heh. You've always been one to cut right to the heart of the matter."

Because the truth is that Childe hadn't thought that far ahead. The only image he could see in his mind right now was one of the Balladeer in the dirt, the floor beneath him cracking under the impact of his body crashing into the floor in that room. How the light had left his eyes after he disconnected from the robot that lie dormant above him, cut off from the source of power once Childe had removed the gnosis from the core.

How he wasn't sure that Scaramouche would even wake up after that.

Sighing, the Harbinger rubs the back of his neck out of habit, trying to think of an answer to that question simply for himself. He knows what he should do, but what one should do and what one wants to do sometimes are completely separate matters.

"However, the truth of the matter is is that I don't know. For your betrayal, I should be acting as your judge and executioner. Those who betray the Fatui aren't easily forgiven, and the crime for stealing away with the gnosis that Her Majesty is seeking can only be met with death."

But Childe only sits there and lets his shoulders slump in exhaustion, because there's a reason why he hasn't. He doesn't know if it would be a weakness of his or not, but he can't bring himself to do it. It's uncharacteristic of him, and he hates that he can't. It almost feels like a betrayal all in of itself.

"You're lucky it was me who was sent on this mission. None of the other Harbingers would have been so forgiving."

Scaramouche listens closely when Childe starts to speak. If that (short) ascension to godhood is a betrayal to the Fatui, so be it. Then the Doctor should face a certain trial as well. The concept of justice isn’t lost to him, betrayals shouldn’t go unpunished. There is no reason why he still should be here, there is no purpose and in generally nothing really matters. But even when nothing really matters his chest aches and something keeps twisting inside, as if something is adamant on reminding him how close he was to reclaiming what was his and his alone.

And now it seems that the only reason why he is still here, is the fact that this buffoon pitied him and showed mercy. Oh, and now he should consider himself lucky because of that as well.

“That is because the other Harbringers aren’t absolute idiots like you are...” The words are followed by a joyless chuckle. “…And don’t insult me with your pity. Finish what you have started.” Because yes, Childe is a fool, but as far as he knows he’s not weak.

There's a part of him that wants to, because in Snezhnaya, even those who betray their own kin in such a matter will find their siblings coming after them to end their lives. This is how things are in his homeland, and yet Childe only shakes his head at Scaramouche in frustration.

It's a sinking feeling in his stomach that he can't quite explain, or maybe it's just he doesn't want to explain nor does he want to share it with his fallen enemy. Instead, he chooses to answer it in a different fashion, in the way he feels a fighter would, and hopes that Scaramouche will just accept it and not push any further.

"Hah, I'm not about to put my sword through you while you're lying in bed like this. A true warrior faces their enemies head on. If I really wanted you dead, I would have finished the job already."

That's not how he does things, he's not the Knave. But why he's chosen pity, why he's chosen to let him live...it's a feeling he's struggling with even now, but one he's trying to ignore no matter how much it makes his chest burn when it rears up and takes him by surprise.

"I'd rather we have the chance to go at it again. How could I possibly pass the chance up to test my strength again once you've gotten stronger?"

But the thing is...he isn't going to get stronger anymore. At least, not without the Doctor's interference. And apparently the entire plan now is that he is going to sit here in a bed with broken joints because the 11th Harbringer has decided to take pity on him.

If he remembers correctly Childe had a cozy little family to protect. And something like ignoring orders isn't taken lightly within the Fatui. Betrayal and punishment go hand in hand.

"Heh, it is as if you have forgotten the words you just said to me..." And despite the fact that the entire situation is everything except amusing, Scaramouche's voice sounds as if he is barely able to suppress his laughter. "...Judge and executioner, wasn't it?" Scaramouche leans in closer now, ignoring the way his body protests at the movements he's making. "Be just that. The stakes are higher for you than they are for me."

There is no cozy family waiting for him. Just a lot of nothing. That, and he can't stand the idea of existing without a purpose.

There's a moment of brooding silence from Childe, knowing that what the puppet says is truth. If the other Harbingers found out that he'd spared the Balladeer, then who knows how they would view that. Would they let it go because they didn't care? Or would he be judged as well? Tartaglia would sooner fight them than anything else, but they had other means of hurting him that didn't involve combat.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Scaramouche. If you think I can't handle this, then you sorely underestimate me. Just like you did during our battle."

He spits the words back out at him with venom, but the venom itself really isn't intended for Scaramouche- it's for the Harbingers, and all the ways they choose to operate. He can't stand it.

"I can't tell if you're trying to get me to end your life or if you actually care about my family. Amusing."

The urge to plant a foot in Childe's face becomes bigger with every second that passes. The only problem is that his feet aren't in a great condition right now.

"Oh? Is it because of your injuries? Something where your head has been slammed against the floor a little too much and now you have become thrice as stupid."

Instead of putting his thoughts into deeds he starts to move around on the bed again so he can reach at the curtains and open them. It is still raining outside but the room becomes a lot lighter.

"If your purpose is to restore my strength I would start with making the proper reparations." Scaramouche can repair himself quite well but there are places he can't reach and well, it is quite fun to see Childe struggle a little. A little a lot.

"Do realize that your body is a lot more fragile than mine." He swings his legs over the bed and makes sure Childe gets a good view of all the damage that has been done. There are cracks, some wires hanging out, a leg out of place, broken joints. "I do not accept half work."

Little insults like that don't bother Childe, and calling him stupid rolls off of him like water off a duck's back. The man has always been at this level of unpleasant, it's really no surprise, not having anything to say in return. His colleagues have always treated him as thus- no need to worry about their irrelevant opinions.

The light that streams in through the windows reveals the true damage done to Scaramouche, looking over just what he can see as he demands to be repaired. Childe can already see some issues with the joints and cracks, and he can't imagine what the puppet's back must look like right about now- those connections would have to be repaired too, after he'd been torn from them and fallen into a coma because of his disconnection to the mech the Doctor had practically stitched him into.

"Is that your way of telling me to rest up first before I get to work? That's kind of you."

He laughs, making pain shoot through his chest when the broken ribs remind him that they are still broken. Childe shouldn't even be up and moving around, but he felt he needed to be here when Scaramouche finally woke up, and nothing was going to stop him from being here.

"Alright. But you're sure you want someone as stupid as me working on you? I might mess up, you know," he says in a sly voice, "and I'm no Dottore."

But the reality is that Childe's work is always finished, meticulous in everything he does. He wouldn't leave the work Scaramouche needs done half-assed, and is already formulating ways in which he could restore the puppet's body back as close to what is was before. If he's lucky, maybe he can find a way to make it better.

"Oh?"

Scaramouche raises his eyebrows, eyes focusing on Childe's face as he laughs. And that is when he shifts forward a little, broken hands gripping the side of the bed as he presses his foot against the other's side. Right there, were those ribs should be located, where it should hurt.

"You decided to intervene with the fate of a fallen god." And he presses a little harder, just for the heck of it. "Now be prepared to face the concequences of the mercy you decided to show me." Really, he didn't asked for that. At a point like this, while feeling empty and broken, all he truly wants is to not exist.

So he starts to laugh because really, the best thing to cover the constant ache in his chest, that constant reminder of failure, is to smile. As if it does not matter.

"It is you who has everything to lose, not me."

The 'heart' he coveted is gone. All there is left is a whole bunch of nothing.

The Eleventh is in far too much pain just from laughing alone to think about moving away from the foot that rests and then presses painfully into his side, making Childe cry out in pain as the pressure sends wave after wave of agony through him. Gritting his teeth, the Harbinger grabs a hold of the foot in his side and pulls it away to keep the pain from wracking his body to the point where he might fall out of the chair just to escape from it, shooting Scaramouche a glare.

"Hey now," he begins, "it would be nice if the start of our beautiful new relationship didn't include damaging more of my internal organs."

Because it's painfully true right now that he's got a lot more to lose, his lungs included.

"So let's keep the consequences down to a minimum until we're both healed, if you could."

He pushes the foot off to the side, breathing heavily from the pain. Not surprising that Scaramouche would take the 'torture a mortal because it's probably fun for him' route here. Childe sighs in frustration, looking over to the puppet with an annoyed expression to match.

"Anyway, though you expect me to fix you, you keep acting like you don't want to be fixed at all. Do you truly not want to live anymore, Scaramouche?"

Yeah, Childe, you can glare all you want but Scaramouche really does not care. So he's just not just going to pull his feet back because the other is holding it. He's keeping it there, sometimes pushing back against Childe's hand.

"There is no relationship. I have always disliked being around useless worms like you."

Well, useless worm of not, in the end it is because of this particular worm that Scaramouche sitting here without his Gnosis, without his divinity and without anything really. There is no other option than to surrender to the stupid whims of this idiot. Fate is funny like that.

"If you expect me to battle you, I expect you to repair me." As he speaks he is still pushing his foot back, still quite eager to crush broken ribs into sensitive organs. And it is a shame that that question comes so late. Scaramouche gazes at Childe with a grin on his face and eventually he starts to laugh, shoulders shaking as he does.

"You are in no position to ask such a question."

But the answer is basically yes and he has been quite obvious about that as well. That Childe is too dense to catch on, well, that isn't his problem, really.
The fall has been harsh, and whatever is inside of him still makes him experience that pain, that frustration and the emptiness that always follows.

The constant pushing of the puppet's foot against his hand now is starting to frustrate him, and Childe decides now that it's not worth having to put up with. It hurts, to use his aching muscles to keep him from pushing a bone into a part of his body where it doesn't belong. Using the strength from Scaramouche's leg, he pushes against it to help him stand up a bit easier, taking a few pained steps backwards from the bed and away from the chair so he can't kick him. Childe sighs, in a way he can see this from his companion's side, but that doesn't mean he agrees with how he's handled himself.

"You should have known it would come to this. Did you really think we'd allow you to keep the gnosis for yourself? There's a reason why I don't enjoy associating with any of the other Harbingers, and this is a prime example. The Doctor simply used you just to see if he could do it, if he could create a god. You were just the guinea pig that didn't work out."

The words are harsh, and quite frankly right now he doesn't care if he angers Scaramouche by saying it. He betrayed the Tsaritsa by first making off with the gnosis, and now he has the audacity to be upset when they took it back from him. Disgusting in all ways.

"And now you want to act like the only possible solution to your downfall is death...and maybe you're right. Maybe I should have left you there to perish."

When Childe pushes away and takes a couple of steps back, Scaramouche chuckles softly. Humans are so fragile. Harbringer or not, they still falter against the might of a fallen god's broken foot. In a way he expects Childe to leave but then again, Childe would not be Childe if he would not say something stupid first.

Really now?

"You are eve more slow witted than I thought you would be." Scaramouche looks at the other with a deadpan look on his face. "I know that he used me and I used him in return. I needed his expertise to complete my ascension to godhood and he needed my body to expand his knowledge. A fair exchange." The outcome however? Not that fair. Taken down by this insignificant little insect. Unsightly.

"You should have finished what you started, worm."

"It would be a simple matter. You've got no power left."

Childe is battered and broken in so many different ways, but he'll still fight until he's unconscious or dead, whichever comes first. But the Eleventh just shrugs and smirks at Scaramouche, as he's already made his stance pretty clear on the subject of killing the puppet off. It would truly be a waste...

"But I didn't protest nor disagree with fixing you, so that's what I'll do. I've taken the precautions to make sure the other Harbingers don't learn of your presence here, so it should be safe for you to stay here for the time being."

He looks out the window almost as if unwanted Fatui eyes could see in, before turning back to his former comrade.

"Can you at least practice a little bit of patience and stay put for the time being? I can already tell I'll need help, and you know I'll have to be careful about who I can trust with this."

And that's true. He has been stripped of everything. His godhood, his strength, his purpose in life. It is all gone and all there is left is being here, sitting on the edge of a bed with a body that's at least as broken as his mind.

"I must say one thing. Of all the Harbringers, I had never expected you to be the one to betray them." As he speaks he slowly starts to tug at the black shirt he is wearing, doing his very best not to damage his body more as he tries to take it off. "But yes, go on and restore your weak, mortal body."

A loud snap echoes through the small room before his right arm falls limply to the side of his body.

"Wait a moment." A pause follows. "Get over here." Because really, its fine if Childe wishes to take his precious time to heal, but Scaramouche isn't going to sit here alone with his thoughts.

That snap didn't sound good.

Scaramouche's arm hangs limply at his side, and he knows that there will be no use of that arm until it's fixed. Truly a sign of how great and terrible their battle was. He sighs, walking over towards the bed, but still keeping a distance away just in case Scaramouche tried to do something to hurt him even further like kicking him or punching him somewhere that he really doesn't need.

"You're not going to try dislocating something just because your arm seems to have finally given out, are you?"

Really, because he knows how much the guy hates humans.

"If you try something, I'll make you pay. I'm the one here who's still able to stand and use all of my body."

"Empty words used for an empty threat."

Scaramouche glares at Childe while he is trying his best to squirm himself out of the black shirt he is still wearing. And of course, it crosses his mind at least three times to inflict as much pain on Childe the second he's within range. Thing is that the urge to stop his mind from racing is louder.

"If you're just going to keep me here..." The chuckle that follows is completely joyless. "...shut me down for the time being." And that is exactly what he is going to make Childe do. "It is quite simple, even a stupid buffoon like you can do it."

After the shirt has come off it truly shows how inhuman the former Sixth Harbringer actually is. Where humans should have wounds, Scaramouche has cracks and dents. There's a plate hanging loose and wires peeking out of tiny holes. Not even to speak of the holes in his back. First thing he does is removing the plate, followed by something that involves prying his chest open a bit further, revealing more and more of all sorts of mechanical parts that are inside of him.

"Shut you down? Ah-"

Despite knowing that Scaramouche was essentially a sort of machine in his own way, he never would have thought to turn him off, like there was a switch that he could just flip and it would silence the puppet for as long as no one touched him. But as if he knew that Childe would dwell on that thought for too long, he shows what lies underneath the clothing that's been hidden away, dents and cracks across his body. The damage shown is a loud contrast to the human face of the puppet he's been exchanging words with.

The sight makes it feel more real, that Scaramouche really is a divine puppet of the Electro Archon, and not just a short little asshole with little patience for most things in life. Half of him is proud of what he's done, the extensive damage showing where he'd clashed with him, how he'd wreaked havoc on Shouki no Kami in their terrible battle. The other half is curious and awestruck by the complexity of the circuitry, the parts and the construction of his insides from what he can see from here. Childe moves closer, looking into his chest, voice a little quieter.

"Alright. Just tell me what to do."

He stands awaiting instruction, his mind already moving forward to how he plans to fix him.

It takes all of his willpower not to kick Childe away when he comes closer. It helps to focus on the prospect of entering a state where he would not feel or think anything anymore. Of course, he has never felt pain the way humans did. But his chest never stopped aching, never stopped reminding him of what his creator denied him.

The insides of his body shine with an eerie purple glow coming from various energy cores. And all he knows is that the core closest to his heart needs to stop doing its job.

"Do you see the wires connected to the core in my chest?" Scaramouche doesn't wait for whatever answer Childe might have. "Pull them out." His fingers aren't working correctly anymore otherwise he'd done it by himself.

Leaning over, he takes a closer look at it all. It's beyond his understanding, how the inner workings of Scaramouche's body function. He knows how to take care of the outer stuff, what with the joints that are broken and all the cracks and dents. But this is another level, as to be expected of the work of an archon. He hesitantly puts his hands inside of his chest, pushing wires to the side as he makes a mental note of what it all looks like before he really touches anything else.

"I see them."

He looks up at Scaramouche before he pulls the plug on him, his face contorted into a strange look of determination and remorse all at the same time. Like he's about to kill him, and definitely not in the way he'd ever care to do.

"When we begin work on your body, I'll have to wake you up again to ensure things are being done properly. I don't want to fix you and find out later that we did something wrong. You'll need to be awake to help us, okay?"

The second Childe comes closer Scaramouche's nose registers a smell that is a mixture of medicine, bandages and blood. Pretty much the same sort of smell that can be found in the Doctor's quarters. It makes him realize that he actually really hates that smell.

"Pull them out."

When he looks up he notices Childe is looking him straight in the eyes and he cannot entirely make something from the look on his face. So all Scaramouche can do is look right back at him with a blank look on his face.

"You still haven't told me why you are so willing to take this risk. Why my wellbeing is more important than the safety of your family." He didn't see himself as someone that could be saved, but he sure knows of the importance of family and how much it hurts to lose that. Maybe that is why the tone of his voice sounds serious now. "I would advise you to reconsider. For your own sake."

Childe is only silent for a moment. He knows why he's doing this, but he can't really come to admit it right now, right here, like this. He knows what would happen, he'd get laughed at. That isn't what he wants to hear right now, so the Harbinger sidesteps addressing it any further than he has to.

"My family will be safe, I'll see to it. But I appreciate the concern."

His words are not snide, more determination shining through them and a serious appreciation that Scaramouche, even though he was probably only stating it as a matter-of-fact, an objective truth, would warn him at all. He didn't have to.

And with that, before the puppet can respond, he pulls the plug on him, a quick jerk of his arm. Childe sighs, removing his arm from his chest, standing up straight to look at the now deactivated divine construct before him. It would only be a few days to wait, and he's sure that it'll be like he fell asleep and woke up without knowing how much time has passed. But for Childe, it'll be a lot of hard work and recovery happening all at the same time before they can start.

He makes sure to adjust the body, laying him down on the bed proper, before taking his leave.

---

Recovery takes longer than Childe realizes. The stress of keeping everything under wraps and having to still get up and move from time to time doesn't help him, but he manages. Equipment needed and personnel- being one person who was transferred under Childe's command some time ago who used to work with The Doctor- are sent to Sumeru City in secret, staying away from the prying eyes of his comrades. Some initial work is done on Scaramouche while he sleeps, things that don't require him to be awake for.

But when it's time, Childe finds all the wires needed to reactivate the core that powers him, plugging all of them in to let the core give the puppet life once more, quickly standing back to give him room to sit up.

"Welcome back. I hope you're already finding yourself feeling a bit better than when I left."

Edited 2023-02-20 02:18 (UTC)

"My family will be safe, I'll see to it. But I appreciate the concern."

That is the last thing he hears before everything shuts down. It's not even an answer and there's no time to be pissed off about it either.

---

As always the sound comes first. Echoes, voices, words. Feet shuffling on the floor. Then his sight returns. At first there's nothing but color but the more his eyes focus, the more shapes start to appear. There's a ceiling and he sees some faces. Someone is speaking to him and it takes an awful long time before he registers the words he is saying.

Feeling better?

Slowly his body lets him know that he can move and the first thing he does is sitting up and clenching his hands to fists.

"Ah..." Memories slowly start to trickle in and he recognizes Childe. The other man looks familiar as well. He also remembers that he has a lot of questions but also that this is not the time. "...Reparations. You worms activated me again for something."

Something Childe doesn't want to say and he doesn't understand.

"I think we all know that the holes in my back are the biggest problem. Get to work."

Ah yes, that humiliating defeat.

Though the Harbinger isn't completely acquainted with the workings of a creation like Scaramouche, he's had plenty of experience tinkering with broken toys and other mechanical objects he's brought home for his siblings. Some of them are huge, the ones that sit in the backyard for them to play with. And of course they break from time to time, a teary-eyed Teucer begging his big brother to fix it, and of course the toy salesperson has to put his money where his mouth is sometimes. He thanks the Tsaritsa everyday now for the knowledge he's gained from that, taking note of how Scaramouche is able to move some of his limbs now, the arm repaired, proud of his work.

He looks over to the second harbinger's former underling, nodding at him to do as the puppet says. That is one of the things they needed to address today, and this is also why Childe needs Scaramouche awake. The guy knows his body better than they do, so it's best to have the expert with them as they work.

"After we're done, you'll barely know they were ever there to begin with."

He doesn't say it as a reassurance, but rather as a confident statement that the promise that Childe has made will be fulfilled. The engineer gets to work immediately, sighing inwardly at the damage. It's pretty bad, and they'll have to cut out the attachments, but at least it can be repaired.

"While he works, tell me how your arms and legs feel right now."

Because that's his own personal handiwork, and there's a large tool kit on the floor that he'd been using to do the repairs. Everything is complicated on the puppet, so he's prepared to make adjustments according to Scaramouche's wishes.

Scaramouche turns his back towards the engineer so he can start the repairs. As expected he still feels hollow and utterly defeated. And he doesn't feel like saying much and merely focuses his gaze on the floor, noticing a tool kit lying around.

He can feel tugs at his back and he can hear the sound of tools afterwards. It reminds him of the Doctor, the only difference is that the room isn't filled with that horrible stench. The sound of Childe's voice make him snap out of that particularly nasty memory.

"Hm? My limbs?" Slowly Scaramouche turns his head and looks at him. "It seems you have kept your promise. Is it praise you wish to hear in return?" Because really, he isn't going to give it to you, Childe. As far as he knows, his life ended the second he fell out of that machine. A soft chuckle escapes his mouth and he shakes his head slowly.

"So what will my purpose be? Except for being a punching bag of some sort, that is."

"Your ultimate purpose isn't for me to decide."

Granted, he wants to fight him again, there's no doubt about that. He's made that clear from the moment they saw each other again after the battle under the Akademiya. But that question feels more like a probe from before, a question he's remained unanswered and unwilling to confront.

"All I want is more chances to test my strength against you. Nothing else."

He's lying and he knows it. Childe has always been able to hide his true intentions well, but when it comes to bald-faced lying, he's not the best. It's part of why he prefers to dabble in half-truths when he's weaving webs of deception while completing his tasks as a Fatui Harbinger, and because he personally doesn't care to lie if he doesn't have to. He hopes that Scaramouche just buys it and doesn't press the issue, much like before.

"Now tell me if I need to make adjustments to you, or you'll have to figure out how to fix your own joints."

That answer is complete and utter nonsense. However he looks at it, it seems that nothing is really adding up. For Childe to sacrifice the safety of his family like that. Humans are fond of each others families, just like he himself loved a family once. Hundreds of years ago.

Finally Scaramouche makes a gesture at the man who is busy fixing the holes in his back that he has to stop for a moment. He can see the man taking a small step back, his eyes shifting from what he was doing to Childe.

"Worry not, if everything works accordingly it will be over soon."

So he slowly slides off the bed and moves to stand. His legs seem to carry him without any problem and also his arms are restored to its old 'glory'. After taking a couple of steps he crouches down to pick up the toolbox so he can place it on the bed right next to him.

"I can fix my own joints." Scaramouche stays silent for a moment as he climbs back onto the bed, moving to sit right next so he can sort through the tools. "When they sent me out into the Abyss it is not always possible to return for reparations. You have to do them by yourself." As he speaks he is holding up a variety of tools, inspecting each and every one of them. There's a small hammer, some screwdrivers, pliers and an icepick. "Since you have made the choice to tie my purpose to your absurd thirst for battle..."

He places all the tools on the bed, neatly arranged, quite in a similar way the Doctor would. Yet, he holds on to the icepick. Eventually he scoots a little further on the bed and moves to sit sidewards. For a moment nothing happens. Scaramouche is just sitting there, holding an icepick and looking at Childe with a surprisingly calm look on his face.

"...I hope you have prepared yourself properly. I have never meshed really well with the other Harbringers..."

And suddenly, despite all the damage that is still left on his body, despite the fact that most of his power is gone, he moves swiftly. It is nothing but a blink of an eye. A mere second.

"...but I am sure you have taken emergencies like this into account. You are not that stupid, right?"

Scaramouche is sitting on his knees now, one hand resting on the Fatui agent's shoulder as he jams the icepick into the man's chest a couple of times. Right where the heart is and he knows very well that humans can't live without one.

Something doesn't sit right with him when the puppet picks the toolbox up off the floor and sets it on the bed. He's well aware of what's in there, every tool inside also doubling as a weapon if deemed necessary. He watches Scaramouche like a hawk, wondering what he's going to do. The engineer and him trade glances a few times, silent. Childe doesn't think the former Harbinger is up to any good here, but he doesn't expect what he ends up choosing to do.

The Eleventh's eyes widen when Scaramouche's hand falls onto the shoulder of the Fatui agent, but it's too late. He stabs him not once, but a few times, right in the heart. The agent falls as Childe rushes forward with a hydro blade flashing into one hand, making a grab for the icepick with the other. Rage fills him, the blade coming up to press against Scaramouche's neck before he screams.

"Ulyana! Yaroslav! In here, now!"

He doesn't take his eyes off of Scaramouche for a second, tempted to cut him to shreds right here and now. The puppet's actions are outrageous, and it's taking all of his willpower to keep himself in check and not let his temper get the best of him. The two Fatui rush into the room, seeing their comrade on the floor with their boss at the neck of the other Harbinger.

"Get him out of here now, quickly! He's been stabbed directly in the chest. He won't survive unless you get him to Bimarstan immediately!"

The two obey, moving to grab their now unconscious comrade, while Childe yells at Scaramouche.

"What's the matter with you? He was the only person here with knowledge of how to repair the damage left from the machine! He didn't have anything to do with this, and yet you felt the need to stab him! Determined to make me regret this, are you?"

Scaramouche doesn't move when Childe presses a hydro blade against his throat. He just watches curiously as everything unfolds in front of his eyes. People rushing in, Childe barking commands like a true Harbringer. Eventually he starts to chuckle as well, shoulders shaking lightly as he does.

"Must I spell it out for you, you stupid worm?"

Even though there is a smile on his face, his eyes have a dull gleam to them. In a way he looks tired. Like someone who has given up.

"You're just an idiot who likes the thrill of battles and knows how to follow orders." He takes hold of the others wrist and he can feel the hydro blade shift closer to his throat. "And yes, I will make you regret your choice. If you want to have a personal punching bag, request one. Seek out your strongest men and beat them to a pulp. Stupid as you are, you are still a Harbringer." Scaramouche makes a frustrated sound and for a moment in time he remembers that once, a long time ago, he cherished a wish to live his life like a human did. In a house, somewhere peaceful. How foolish.

"So you can end me here and now or I will make sure you have to end me eventually."

"There was no need to stab him if all you wanted was for me to eliminate you," he says with venom, unwilling to give this man an inch. "What are you going to do now? Stab me? Go ahead, make your move- I'll be more than happy to fight you again, right here, right now."

He's well aware Scaramouche has grabbed a hold of his wrist, in his attempt to try to take the ice pick away from him so he couldn't do any more damage. He's weighing his options now, wondering what route the puppet will take with his blade so dangerously close to slicing his head right off.

"If you think I'm calling your bluff, know that I'm fully aware that you've completely given up and you just might press the matter. I just can't believe after all that, you're given another chance at life and you just want to throw it all away because some human beat you. So if I'm a worm, what does that make you? You want to go to your grave like that?"

Scaramouche doesn't move at all and for a moment he has no idea what to say. There is truly no way he can get through to this idiot. But then again, he also knows there is also nothing to lose. A second fight would end up in a loss. After all, his strength is lost. All that made him even remotely divine has been stripped from him. There is nothing, no purpose, no point to his existence whatsoever.

So when he shifts a little, his hand finds a screwdriver. Maybe a little less sharp than the icepick but still good enough for stabbing.

"Don't flatter yourself." Slowly he moves backwards, letting go of Childe's wrist in the progress. "I would barely call it a chance." And then Scaramouche slides off the bed again and takes his sweet time to walk up to the other, still holding that screwdriver in one hand. "Lets see how this screwdriver fares against your hydro blades."

The chuckle that follows is cold and joyless.

"Lets fight."

Childe's eyes sharpen as Scaramouche lets go of him and moves, picking up the screwdriver now instead. Every single muscle in his body is on springs, ready to move at the drop of a hat. His eyes glance down to the screwdriver in Scaramouche's hand, his expression unimpressed with the makeshift weapon.

"Are you trying to insult me?"

His blade moves with lightning fast precision, the tip of it mere centimeters away from the tool.

"With a flick of my wrist, I could sever that completely off its handle. You won't win. But that's what you want, isn't it? Forget it."

And Childe follows through with what he says- his wrist twists just so to try to cut the metal screwdriver off from the handle, wanting to prove a point. He won't just kill Scaramouche after putting forth all the effort to try to keep him alive, and keep the other Harbingers from discovering him.

"Isn't this what you want? A punching bag?" Scaramouche cocks his head a little, feeling utterly defeated but definitely not behaving like that. "You fight me, I lose, you repair me. Over and over and over again."

When Childe is done with diminishing the length of the screwdriver and there's nothing left but the handle Scaramouche makes it his business to throw it at the other's face with utmost precision.

"Heh..." Such a miserable existence, really. And all he can do is laugh. Because what else is there to do now? Just laugh all the pain away. "And if anyone might find out about your sudden need to ensure my survival your dear Tsaritsa will order her Fatui agents to drag your parents and siblings to her palace and gut them like fish. They are mere humans, no need to bother a Harbinger with such a task."

This time he doesn't move to the bed to pick up another weapon. He walks towards a corner of the room so he can put on his top and cover those miserable holes in his back.

"After all, nothing feeds anger better than betrayal. Trust is such a fragile thing."

And who could know this better than Scaramouche!

Childe's hand comes up so fast to grab the handle as it flies right at his face, chucking it to the ground as hard as he can, not having it from Scaramouche. He's so tired of this defeatist attitude radiating from the puppet, all he wants is for the Eleventh to end his existence, and he won't do it. He refuses to give him what he wants, and he watches Scaramouche pick up his hat, to place it atop his head as he glares daggers at him.

"I assure you Her Majesty doesn't care that much about you. At worst, The Jester may try something- but I can handle him and anyone he sends. But he'll never find out, so it's a non-issue."

Childe wishes Scaramouche didn't have to be so difficult, but from his perspective, Childe is the one who's taken away being able to die after a sound defeat. There's no doubt it stings, but he's finding that they're just going to be at an impasse forever. He can't please everyone here. He's got to find a different way around this.

"Though I'd like to point out, the only person who's been betraying anyone's trust here is you. Stabbing the one I got to fix you, turning your back on the Tsaritsa...you have no room to talk. To the winner goes the spoils, so you need to be quiet and do what I say. You don't get to decide anymore, do you understand?"

"Such empty threats. Of course she doesn't care about me. I think she'd dump me at the Doctor's laboratorium so he can properly dismember me with the intention to not ever put me together. Think of it...I don't feel pain and dying is rather difficult when you aren't made to die. Merely to ensure a god's eternity by taking the role of said god."

Scaramouche chuckles after saying that. Funny, really. Painfully funny.

He is used to putting his hat on the moment he stands up, but it doesn't take long before he takes it off again, tilting his head a little as he registers Childe's words. And in their very special way...they hurt. And he didn't expect that at all.

And after that he realizes how tired he truly is. With everything that is done to him, with everything that is said, his mind always works overtime trying to process his feelings. It always tells him that it justifies anger, that it justifies godhood, that it justifies revenge. Humans are the scum of the earth. His creator deserves all the bad things coming to her. There are three betrayals who warrant all his rage.

"Are you going to tie me down then? Put me in shackles?" Scaramouche's voice sounds awfully neutral when he speaks now. "Leave me to rot in a corner? I am defeated by you, yes, but am not your possession, Tartaglia. And since you refuse to answer the question I asked you before you shut me down I see no reason to accept anything you have to say."

He looks around the room for a moment before he steps towards the other, stopping just right in front of him.

"I will tell you what is going to happen. You either shut me down now, you fight me until you have no other option left than to shut me down, or you let me live and I will make sure you regret that decision. There is nothing I have to lose. Nothing really matters to me. Everything you say holds no ground." Scaramouche shakes his head and finally places a hand on Childe's shoulder. "All Harbingers know of your little attempt in Liyue. You aren't good at scheming. Don't be a fool."

His hand comes up to swat Scaramouche's own off his shoulder after the mention of what happened in Liyue. He's over it, really, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't sting a little when it's brought up. Especially when they all knew he was just a chess piece in the end- one that was moved around and manipulated by the real players.

"Anything I did in Liyue was doomed to fail, as per the greater scheme set up by those deceivers. And it's not that I'm bad at it," he corrects, "I just prefer not to. There's no need when I can get what I want the way I want to do it."

But that's not the point of contention here, his stomach twisting at part of the reason why the puppet has been so difficult. He avoided the question, dodged it twice now. He doesn't want to play that card, or rather, reveal that he's not playing with a full house- he knows Scaramouche will pounce on that, and he's not sure if he can handle it at this juncture. But...

"If I answer your question, will you at least dial back making me regret letting you live? I've got quite a bit of patience, but things are always made easier when everyone's cooperative. And if you lie to me, I won't kill you, oh no- I'll just make sure you can't do anything about your predicament and force you to live out the rest of your days in a display case."

When Childe swats his hand away Scaramouche just chuckles softly. Truly, all this man had was a maddening desire for battle, he was too human and in a way too stupidly kind to ever be able to outsmart his fellow Harbingers.

"No, you just don't have it in you to be a Harbinger." He slowly crosses his arms and gives him a bit of a look and when he speaks there isn't a standard mocking tone to his voice "Your body is not entirely able to handle the foul delusion, not? It damages your bones and muscles. It causes pain beyond belief."

Then he shakes his head.

"Your mind isn't consumed by anger, revenge, greed or anything like that. You just like to battle."

And yes, there is more to this. More than mercy or battles. And he is glad to hear that Childe is finally ready to fess up.

"I won't lie to you. Yet if you imprison me I will tear out the wires by myself." For all the dull looks Childe might have seen on his face, the one Scaramouche is flashing towards him now is bright and somewhat determined. "To exist, to feel like I am worth something, I need a purpose. One that goes beyond that of being your personal punchingbag. That is downright insulting."

Childe isn't sure if he can believe what he's hearing from Scaramouche. To say he's weak, sure. That's something the puppet would say. But...

Did this guy just suggest he was too good to be a Harbinger? It makes him laugh inwardly- he knows that he's no clean soul either, and his deeds would hardly fit a bill of purity. Everything was done in the name of the Tsaritsa, and also to fulfill his selfish desires of endless combat and slaughter. And yet he doesn't know Scaramouche to sugar coat anything...if he says it, it's probably he believes it to be objective fact. Never would he think that anyone besides his mother would tell him something like this.

"Look. I've never viewed you as my personal punching bag, not once. I didn't save you just so I could fight you again."

He doesn't want to say it, he knows all that will happen is he'll get laughed at, called pathetic, even get used by Scaramouche.

"I did it because I couldn't leave you like that."

Tartaglia can't bring himself to explain himself on that front. It was already hard enough admitting to that, and he's already steeled himself for Scaramouche to pounce on him given that information.

"That is barely an answer. I think we have already established that I have been on the receiving end of your mercy." Scaramouche chuckles dryly and if there was a possibility to smile in an absolutely vile way, he's pulling it off right now. "Yet the pity is new to me. If it means anything, you have shown me more kindness than my own creator. Thank you."

That was the big reveal? He couldn't 'leave him like that'? Like what? An empty shell? If anything, Tartaglia should've just given him to the Doctor for parts.

Scaramouche moves to sit on the chair that is next to the bed he has been lying on for so long.

"But tell me more of your plans for me. Are there orders you want me to carry out? Perhaps a visit to the Abyss? It has been a while since I've last been there. Who knows, perhaps I even succeed in finishing some of the beasts off."

It may have been hardly an answer, but it's the only answer he's willing to give so far. It doesn't show on the surface, but underneath he's uncomfortable with even letting that much out. Tartaglia watches Scaramouche like a hawk as he moves, poised to defend himself if the former Harbinger lashes out again, a little annoyed that it seems he's just acting like he's here for the ride. But at the same time, Childe's given Scaramouche no direction, no other thing to go on other than that he'd fix him and fight him. Deep down, he knows this is his own fault, cursing himself inwardly. The one thing that sets him apart from the other Harbingers is proving to be his downfall here, and he doesn't like it.

"I wouldn't mind a little trip to the Abyss. Sounds interesting. But how will I know you aren't going to try to backstab me while we're in there? Not that it'll matter much," he says with a laugh, "because I'll just beat you into submission if you try anything."

Tartaglia lets a wicked smile unfold on his features, meaning every word that he said. Fighting in the Abyss against each other is a terrible idea, but he'll do it, and he won't hesitate.

"However, you'll still need to be fixed fully. I want you to promise me you're not going to attack the one repairing you, or I'll make sure you're turned off during the repairs. Whatever errors happen during that process won't be any of my concern, it'll be your own fault because you couldn't restrain yourself. Good luck surviving in the Abyss like that."

"Then turn me off."

Scaramouche shrugs and leans back in the chair. This entire situation is grating to him beyond belief. Yes, there is the notion of being useful to another person but that's it, really.

"And stop with those empty threats. This is the choice you have made. Every choice has consequences. If I do not stab you in the back, an Abyss beast might kill you. And if an Abyss beast won't kill you, something else will."

But he sees that grin. It's the grin of a battle-thirsty idiot. And Scaramouche is planning to bring that battle-thirsty idiocy out to the fullest. Fierce enough to break things, tear monsters apart and to make sure that it will end Scaramouche himself in the process. A stupid way to end it all, but an end is an end.

"Just turn me into what you want me to be. Travel to the Abyss and perhaps, if you adjust me well, I will praise you for your kindness. If not, I will betray your trust."

And really, that's it. Scaramouche is looking at Childe, the look in his eyes dull and tired.

The Harbinger searches for words of deception in the puppet's speech, but he doesn't find any. Sighing, he resigns to doing this Scaramouche's way, approaching the former Harbinger and looking down on him for a moment in frustration. If only he could just make things easier, but that wouldn't be in his nature, would it? But fine. If he has to play by these rules, he will, if only to move past this impasse they've found themselves at.

"Fine. Next time you wake, you'll be finished and we'll be heading to the Abyss."

The hole in the puppet's chest is still wide open, shoving his hand deep inside of it and pulling the plug once again, catching him before he falls over in the chair. Scaramouche will be put on the bed, asleep for weeks while the engineer rests, and is summoned back by Childe to continue his work- but now with the guarantee that the puppet will not be turned back on until all repairs are done. Childe will make sure to reward him generously, especially after getting stabbed.

-----

When the power is reconnected, Scaramouche will wake up to the sight of Childe personally working on his body, a black streak on his face along with a few streaks on his bare hands as he's doing the final touches. The hole that used to expose the core of the puppet gets covered, sighing now that he feels the job is finally over. The holes that adorned the puppet's back where the tubes had once been are now gone, everything seeming to be in order.

"There. You awake yet? The repairs are all finished."

Even though he isn't aware of anything when being turned off, he does deem it a better state to be in. A state where his thoughts do not haunt him, his hopes do not bother him and his sadness does not hurt him. Its peaceful. Truly, the world is far more peaceful when he isn't a part of it.

Yet, Scaramouche also knows that nothing goes as he would have wanted it. So eventually the world starts to exist around him again, voices get through to his head, the sensation of someone messing with his body. When his eyes crack open there is light at first and when the focus returns he sees a dot of orange hair. Oh yes, as if he could forget. He's Childe's little plaything now.

"As you can see."

His eyes flash purple for a moment, as if something inside of him is being activated. Something that has been broken before.

"Still fond of pointing out the obvious." Slowly he moves to sit up and, really, it is true. He seems to move better. Nothing is creaking or complaining when he bends his limbs.

"The Abyss, was it not?"

It looks like everything is in working order on the puppet's body, Childe now standing up to his full height and wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. Though Scaramouche may not see it yet, he looks so much better now than when he did after their terrible battle, all the dings and the scratches removed and looking almost brand new. He couldn't of asked for a better job from that engineer, and he does hope that the mora he'd given him would be enough to keep him silent for a time. The Lord Harbingers are not people underlings will want to mess with- hopefully the fear of his name and the payment will do the job.

Setting his arms akimbo, he smiles and nods to his former colleague, glad to see he hasn't forgotten for as long as he'd been asleep. Or dead, depending on how one looks at it, but he's choosing to see it in a positive light instead for now, to counter the oncoming negativity that he's sure Scaramouche was going to exude in one way or another.

"That's right. It just so happens that intel was able to find a Abyss Order camp outside of Sumeru City a ways- we can use that as our point in. You looking forward to it? Because I am."

Just the thought alone of slaughtering Abyss creatures has got him pumped and ready to go. He looks excited like he could head out right now and go crush everything in their path.

"And since I still can't quite trust you to behave, I figured we would go right away, so I can keep an eye on you. I can't have you ripping through my men, after all, and you've hardly proven that you're capable of controlling yourself."

"Then the Abyss it is..."

Scaramouche scoots to the side of the bed and moves to stand on his feet. Yes, his body functions way better than before. Yet he still feels as empty as ever.

"No. I do not." He shuffles around the room until he has found the clothes that cover his upper body. "You know of my opinion about this entire situation, idiot. That hasn't changed. But if I can be of use, I will take that as it is."

The prospect of battle doesn't excite him at all. In the early days every victory would mean a step closer to becoming stronger, but now...nothing really matters.

"Stop speaking to me if I am some child." Scaramouche picks up his hat. "If you don't want me to rip through your men, give me a reason to not do so." Then he pauses so he can put his hat on. "I might just want to test my strength before we return to that wretched place."

Childe's arms fold over his chest as he watches, unimpressed with the answer given to him, but happy that Scaramouche seems to be willing to go nonetheless. When the puppet seems to be ready to go, his arms unfold as he walks to the door, expecting him to leave first- he's not going to leave his back open to the guy after what he's pulled so far since being brought to this safehouse in Sumeru City.

"Or, you could stop acting like a sore loser and not involving anyone else who doesn't deserve it," he retorts, "if you're going to attack someone, then make it me- I'm the one responsible, remember?"

Childe's annoyance is clear, but it wouldn't be surprising to him if that's what Scaramouche wanted to do in the first place.

"So I'll be more than happy to let you test your strength out...on me," he says sternly.

Really Childe, this is all the concequences of your actions. He hears the clear tone of annoyance in the other's voice and all he can do is shrug.

"What are you going to do when I attack others? What will my punishment be?" As they start to walk Scaramouche looks over his shoulder, well aware of the fact he's asking annoying questions for the sake of being annoying. "After all, we have already established that I will serve as some sort of punching bag, not?"

But, to be fair, its good to be outside again. To be surrounded with nature. The only problem is that there's an idiot at his side.

"Ah, Tartaglia." Now he does turn, walking backwards for a moment so he could look at said idiot. "Do not talk to me as if I am a child. Agreement or not, you are nothing but a mere insect in my eyes. Do not make me repeat this for a third time."

For a short moment there's a purple flicker visible in his eyes. Nothing but a spark and its very brief, but it is there. The idea of fighting in the Abyss doesn't do anything for him. There are monsters, they are beyond powerful, Childe is stupid and he has been given the most stupid chance on a second sort of life.... Without his permission.

"I take it you know the way."

He's not sure what he saw in Scaramouche's eyes just now, but something was there. Maybe, it's just the arrogance of a fallen "god" who's sore that his ascension was cut short, maybe there's still a spark of life within him that's just waiting to be relit by something else. Either way, he's not entirely sure, and he's not going to think about it too much or too hard. It's not worth the effort, especially since he's already defeated as it is. So Childe simply directs Scaramouche in the direction towards the camp, walking past Corps of Thirty guards right through the front gate, with none of them any wiser to who exactly passes by them in the moment.

"It's not far from here- I'll give you a little brief on the camp before we arrive."

Standard for any sort of Fatui operation of course, as Tartaglia recounts the reports he'd gotten from his men stationed around Sumeru.

"It's not large, only housing a few mages. No other creatures of the Abyss have been spotted, but they've certainly done a good job in attracting more hilichurls to help them with whatever plan they've got brewing over there. Naturally, we're not entirely sure what they're after, all we know is that they've been sending some hilichurls under their influence over towards the cliff near Gandharva Ville.

They must not want to make it a big deal, or they'd of amassed more manpower...so I wonder if there's another set up on the other side of those portals they use. It would be more efficient to base operations right inside, since no one can easily get into the Abyss...or out of it."

And their plan, get inside of one of those portals so they can find the base, kill anything in it, and maybe even find out what the plans are of the Abyss Order. He doesn't feel as if he needs to explain it, he's sure Scaramouche already understands.

But Scaramouche definitely felt that. That spark, that little jolt of power surging through the parts of his body. While Childe leads the way towards a possible Abyss hideout, his focus is mainly on his hands and at times he touches his face.

"Hmm...it seems you are answering your own question, not? If it would have been an entrance to the Abyss itself they would have bring stronger monsters." Perhaps some of those wolves, or an Abyss Lector. "But lets find out. I am curious to see if you're still that weak."

He flashes Childe a sly smile.

"Heh, you do know your presence is quite unfortunate when it comes to the collective strength of the Fatui Harbingers, not?"

"You've got some nerve."

He shoots that back at Scaramouche, clearly unimpressed with his attempt at an insult. But Childe's ego isn't easily damaged, and he lets that grumble along with the disapproval of all the rest of the Harbingers roll off his back like water from a duck's feathers. All that matters to him is being able to serve the Tsaritsa, and the rest of them could go die off in an unknown corner of the world for all he cared.

"If I can beat a so-called god, then I can take on anything the Abyss throws at me. Don't forget who the merciful one was here."

It's not terribly far to the spot where the reports came from, walking along the path outside the city towards Gandharva Ville. The rainforest crops up around them the farther they wander, Childe focusing now more on their task, but still wary of Scaramouche and any possible traitorous actions he might take.

"So I'm not going to take that from you. My spot was well earned among the Harbingers, whether you like it or not. Perhaps it's better to look at it to see if you're the one who can hold up in there."

Well, of all the things he lost, he definitely didn't lose his foul mood or his sharp tongue. And he isn't bitter about the defeat itself, he is bitter about the fact that he is granted a second chance. A second chance at a life as some sort of living trophy, constantly reminded of how grateful he should be for Childe's wonderful mercy. Truly, it makes him gag. Such a human thing to do.

"You should have ended me. Not only are you weak, you're also quite a coward."

He walks next to the other now, looking at him again and there's still that eerie, purple glow in his eyes.

"But yes... I should make myself useful." After all, when it comes down to everything, all it comes down to being useful to others. "And prove my worth."

And after that Scaramouche doesn't open his mouth anymore and merely walks along with the other. At times he does look around himself, noticing that the nature that surrounds them isn't bad. He wouldn't mind living there, separated from whatever society, just by himself. But alas, fate has decided otherwise. The moment he does open his mouth again is when they spot two mages, chanting their spells, preparing something.

"Hmn. I don't think we're far. In fact, we're close now."

That purple glow doesn't go unnoticed. As Childe looks down at the former Harbinger again, he notices it, and it sets him on guard. Maybe it's the result of the repairs done to him that has reignited something inside of the puppet, maybe it's just the original power that he held that's showing itself anew after the horrific battle that they'd had that left them both terribly injured- he's not sure. But whatever it is, something in his gut tells him that he has to be careful around Scaramouche, even moreso than he'd already thought he had to before.

But he doesn't grace most of what he says with a response. The arrogant, uncaring part of him is glad that Scaramouche has decided that being useful is the best thing to do here, but there's also a part of him that aches to hear him say that, a part of him that he wishes he didn't have but somehow feels for the puppet. By all means, he shouldn't, he's clearly a traitor to the Tsaritsa, but it's that same feeling he's been struggling with ever since he took the puppet down and decided not to kill him.

Maybe he's right. Maybe he is just a coward...

"I see it. C'mon, quickly-"

It's the first acknowledgement of Scaramouche's presence that he's bothered with since they'd been walking towards Gandharva Ville. The Harbinger quickly moves, rounding around to flank them on one side, scrutinizing their movements.

"Gandharva Ville isn't too far from here. And if I didn't know any better, it looks like they're about to open a portal...perhaps to attack the Forest Rangers directly. But why would they do such a thing...?"

It doesn't make sense to him, but what it does do is provide an opportunity for them to get into the Abyss unnoticed while their abyssal troops are pouring out of it. Or, they could fight all the monsters directly, getting inside before they could pour out into Teyvat...

"Let's get inside the portal before anything else comes out. There'll be plenty of fighting to be had inside, and that's exactly what I want. Gandharva Ville can thank us later for our service, haha."

Scaramouche is quite sure that the other has seen it. It is some sort of spark, some sort of sensation that soars through his body at times. Oh, he is sure it belongs to him, that it is something he could use. After all, he is still angry. Angry at the world for abandoning him, angry at Childe for not finishing him off and forcing him to exist as his personal punchingbag instead.

Maybe, when his time comes, he will make Childe regret his choices. Scaramouche has a low tolerance for idiocy to begin with.

When the other tells him to move quick he just follows him as if there's all the time in the world. After all, these are just mages. They're annoying but easy to beat. He listens to Childe's assessment and shrugs afterwards.

"Your wish is my command."

Truly, he doesn't fear anything that could come from that portal. It could kill him, he could kill it, it could kill Childe instead. There really isn't anything to lose.

"Show me the way."

The tone of his voice is somewhat calm, yet anyone can see that the look on his face is off. And even though his eyes do not give off that eerie, purple glow this time, there is that sound again of things clicking into place. Scaramouche can't help uttering a soft, satsified sound. In a world formed by anger and betrayal it is truly a blessing that his strength seems to return.

Since it seems that Scaramouche is willing to follow, the Harbinger grins back as he quickly moves into position around the unsuspecting Abyss Mages who continue to chant their spell. He expects his companion to follow, but there's just something a little unnerving about him now. There's something up, and Childe has no idea what exactly it is, but he knows he needs to prepare himself for something- but bring it on, he thinks. He's sure he can handle any kind of trick that gets thrown at him, be it an abyss monster or the former Harbinger.

He quietly watches on as they finish, not sure of what just happened as nothing seems to of changed in the area. But they suddenly move to the side, allowing space for a portal to the abyss to suddenly open, and Childe sees their chance.

"Let's move."

As he springs forward, a herald emerges from the portal first, but the ginger man doesn't waste any time letting his blades form in his hands as he takes the first mage out with a clean sweep of hydro. Tartaglia only laughs in glee- that was too easy, as mages often are- and he's sure this herald won't be that much more difficult to take out, or take hostage so they have a way out of the abyss.

Well, Childe is the one who moves, he himself follows him slowly, as if he is taking a stroll instead of taking part in a battle. He registers the laughter coming from the other, yet he finds himself distracted with whatever is happening inside his own body.

"Its finishing up..." Scaramouche mutters to himself, staring at his hands as he's being very aware of these constant adjustments inside of him. When he looks up again he finds himself somewhat torn. He could finish that Herald off. They're tough but he's done that before and maybe now, he might be able to do it again. But what if he could just free himself from the idiot's presence by killing him instead?

"Ah...Childe." He moves to sit down on a log of wood. "I do not think I am able to defeat that thing. Why don't you show me how it's done?"

His blades sing in the light that shines down from the sun, tearing apart a minion that emerges from the portal with ease as he focuses mainly on the herald that's spit some kind of curse at him already. But he can see how Scaramouche just decides to sit this out, leaving him to fend off the Abyss alone. He should of expected this, and in fact it wouldn't surprise him if betrayal was on the horizon here. But he won't get all that tired from fighting the herald, moving expertly to block and counter his opponent.

He's fought plenty of heralds himself, and that was when he was a kid...

"Oh? I should have known you wouldn't be able to handle it."

He taunts the puppet, but he knows that those words would just bounce off of him as if they never existed at all. But it's fine by him, seemingly unbothered by his partner's lack of effort.

"Don't worry, I'll be done here in a few more moments."

Seemingly agitated by their banter, the herald charges in, but Childe is ready for it, easily parrying and coming in with his own counters until it finally receives the final blow, melting out of existence with a hydro blade stuck straight in its chest.

Indeed, Childe's words don't do anything.

"Blame it on your bad repairs." Scaramouche shrugs, yet there's a hint of a smile around his lips as he does. "I don't see any other reason why my body feels as weak and feeble as it does now."

And while Childe continues with doing what he does best, Scaramouche busies himself with gazing at tiny sparks that appear between his fingers. It doesn't feel solid yet, not as sure as his strength used to be. He figure it is part of who he is, of the part that still can be considered 'divine'.

"Hmm...when you are done..." Slowly he moves to stand. "...Should we spar a little?"

Any other enemies that emerge from the portal are easily dispatched by the Harbinger, very clearly enjoying himself among the chaos. Though, it catches him a little off-guard when Scaramouche suggests to spar, dismissing his blades as soon as the last of the Abyss emerges through the portal. He looks over to the puppet, raising an eyebrow.

"You didn't want to take part in the battle, and now you want to spar? What's up with that?"

Not that he'd ever turn down a fight, but this seems a little fishy. He doesn't feel worn out from the fight, so it doesn't feel as if this is exactly opportune for Scaramouche to take advantage of.

"You know I won't shy away from a battle, but why the sudden change of heart, Scaramouche?"

The questions annoy him.

"I don't care for those creatures." Really, Scaramouche has beat up a lot of them in the past. "I think it would be more interesting to spar with you instead."

He cocks his head a little to the right and a small and rather sly smile appears around his lips. "Isn't this what you wanted, Childe? A punching bag, for yourself to use?" The smile broadens a little as he approaches the taller man and this time the purple flicker in his eyes stay, clear for the other to see.

"Come at me."

"Heh."

The puppet approaches him boldly, and he doesn't back down, staring downward to see that flash of purple. Seems Scaramouche still has a bit of power left in him...and to think he was just accusing him of doing a bad job at repairing him. A wicked smile flashes across his features, glad to see that the other has retained some of his former power.

That makes things interesting for him. He won't complain.

"If you say so. Let's test out your newly repaired body now that our battlefield is now laid bare for us to use as we please."

Readying his blades in his hand, he doesn't waste time by striking at Scaramouche's chest to start- a blow that he feels should be easily dodged or parried. Every move he makes is effortless, yet tactical, not stopping just at that single swipe. He wants to see what his partner here is made of in his defeat.

"Let's see if you can still amuse me."

And here he was, thinking he had lost everything. His purpose, his strength, his divinity. But it seems that, for once, he has been lucky.

"Ah, you are so full of it." The laugh that comes from Scaramouche's mouth has a sinister ring to it. "Thinking you can own me as if I was some sort of toy."

Something inside of him seems to be buzzing, reviving everything inside of him he deemed lost. And the best thing of all is that he loves it, he absolutely basks in it. So the second Childe lunges himself at him he starts to cackle.

"I am not here for your amusement, worm!"

He dodges the blow easily. And the one that follows gets dodged as well. With every move Scaramouche makes there's the sound of electricity crackling, sparks emitting from his hands, his eyes glowing with a bright purple. Childe might be able to see how uncanny his speed is and eventually Scaramouche halts one of his waterblades by simply grabbing hold of it.

"I hope you are aware of the fact that water conducts electricity."

Childe wasn't sure what to expect. He's delighted in the fact that Scaramouche seems to have regained some of his strength, and that means he's in for a good fight.

As his opponent dodges and seems to revive his lost power, it only serves to make Tartaglia more and more excited. His eyes widen wildly, his moves reflect a joy in the pure rush of fighting someone strong. He's not careless in his movements, but ultimately, he's happy- for more reasons than one, but here, he's concentrated on the adrenaline rush that comes with combat.

When his blade is grabbed, he only grins.

"I am. Go ahead and do your worst..."

Electricity crackles up around Childe as well- his delusion's power seeps into his body, prepared to take whatever Scaramouche is going to dish out.

"...but I won't let you get me that easily, hahaha..."

He dismisses his blades, the water suddenly disappearing out of the puppet's hand as he follows up with a southpaw punch just to separate the two of them from this deadlock.

Now Scaramouche didn't see battle the way Childe did. Of coure, its quite nice to put a worm in their place or to obliterate some monster completely. It made him feel strong, powerful and just a little closer to becoming the god he was destined to be. But its obvious that, for Childe, battle is something incredibly pleasant. Truly, the look on the other's face is something different alltogether.

And, to be fair, Childe's unbridled joy is somewhat addictive. So when the other starts to laugh he chuckles in return. And when electricity starts to crackle around him the chuckle changes into laughter.

"Perhaps that is even better. I dislike being bored."

Scaramouche dodges the punch easily and starts to laugh again. Anyone with a good set of working ears can hear that the sound of his laughter is everything but sane. But then again, Scaramouche would never deny the fact that he isn't entirely right in the head.

"Time for you to suffer the consequences of your actions!" He spreads his arms in a dramatic fashion, absolutely reveling in the fact his strength has been returned to him "Amuse me!"

After uttering those words he unleashes a significant amount of electricity. Sparks fly from his hands, from the ground and even the sky seems to grow darker. Truly, in a way it is laughable, ironic and spectacular that whatever gods are willing to show him mercy like this.

The power that races and crackles in the air from Scaramouche is no less than exhilarating, though Childe does also realize that this fight just got a whole lot more serious than it was maybe a few seconds ago. No doubt the puppet would seek revenge against him for knocking him down from his perch, and on top of it to show him mercy afterward- so he'll take this as seriously as it's been presented. He's thankful for the fact that out of all the delusions he could have received, his was electro, so at least he's got some sort of defense against that element. But as for what other divine powers Scaramouche has at his fingertips right now, he's not sure, but he'll be glad to find out as they fight.

He wouldn't want his opponent to hold back, after all.

The Harbinger is more than happy to meet that diabolical, unhinged laughter with an attack of his own, more than willing to give the puppet what he wants, some entertainment. It's unfortunate that his electro power won't have any effect on the guy, so he takes the chance to summon his hydro blades once more to go in and begin his assault anew, relying on the gift from the Tsaritsa to mitigate the electricity he's no doubt about to take.

"It's about time you showed me that hidden power! Hahahaha, be careful what you wish for, Scaramouche-!"

He puts everything into his attacks, like a renewed fire has been lit inside of him for this fight. Nothing could be more fun, more intense or more desired than throwing himself against one who was once nearly a complete god, and the greatest part about it is that he gets to do it again.

Scaramouche remembers what Signora once told him. That the only reason for his position as the Sixth of the Harbingers is the abuse he can take. And, in a way, she isn't wrong. He has always been hard to kill and Dottore has never been kind when it came to the repairs and adjustments he did. There always has been a certain madness to it, but then again, he himself is far from sane as well.

He cackles.

Like the reckless idiot Childe is, he comes at him with full strength, not holding back one bit. And Scaramouche knows that he has lost earlier. That he has been the one who has suffered defeat.

"This time I am the one who will be victorious!"

So when Childe lashes out he quickly avoids the blows while electricity keeps crackling around him. To say Scaramouche is very profound with a sword, not really. Yet, he knows his moves and the sword-shaped mass of electricity he is summoning in one of his hand is perfectly capable of fending off Childe's hydro blades.

"I wouldn't be so confident, hahaha! I took you down once, and I'll do it again...!"

The weapon that Scaramouche summons is no doubt a manifestation of his abilities as a divine instrument of the Electro Archon, but that doesn't matter to him in the slightest. It could be any element, it could of been something from the depths of the Abyss and he'd still meet it with glee as his swords clash with his. Hydro and Electro sizzle and crackle all around the two, but it doesn't deter the Harbinger in the slightest. If anything, the sounds of battle only serve to excite him more, Childe's eyes gleaming with bloodlust as his attacks continue.

"Don't tell me this is the extent of your power. I'm not even using my full strength here. You shouldn't of taken me on so soon."

His attacks are fluid like the water he commands, his weapons changing from blades to his polearm and back, coming at his opponent with all he's got. His mind is totally focused on Scaramouche and the battle they're having, the rest of the world melting away and not mattering to him at all. This is what he lives for, this is what he'll die doing if he can help it.

If Scaramouche were a sane person, he would admit that Childe was a formidable opponent. In fact, he'd even tell him. Yet, he has never been sane. The more the anger festered inside of him, the crazier he became. And even now, now he had this odd second chance, now he is without that gnosis he holds so dear, it is all he can focus on.

Anger, this urge to destroy, this hunger to make someone suffer.

"Transform. Now let me see your true form. The one they fear so much."

Normally Scaramouche would have been speaking loudly but this time Childe can hear the words buzzing in his mind. If he would fail to defeat the other, it would at least mean an end to all of this.

And while convincing the other to use more strength he easily hops around, avoiding those attacks with more and more ease.

"This is barely a challenge."

He's so focused on their fight that at first, he doesn't recognize that the words from Scaramouche aren't coming from his mouth, but rather directly to his mind. His eyes widen with delight, the smile on his face wider and more unhinged. He's asking for him to really, truly go all out- and there's nothing he'd like to do more than to grant this wish for his companion.

"So you're ready to be defeated so soon? Alright. I won't keep you waiting."

Skidding to a stop as he puts some distance between himself and Scaramouche, Childe begins his transformation without hesitation. Electricity and water spike outwards and splash around him, the power from beyond the stars swirling around him as it shakes the very foundation of the ground beneath their feet.

The dark armor, the Demon King's Armament begins to clasp itself to his arms and legs, changing his body to something a little less human, power surging outwards that threatens to knock over lesser beings. As it completes, a surge of dark energy radiates out from his core, bearing the weapon that showcases the very stars that circle Teyvat- and he stands up to his full height, staring down at his opponent.

D̝͇̻o̝͙̪n̢̝͉'͎͜t̞̼̝ d͉̟͖i̺̟̘s̫͕̼a̠͙͙p̢͖͉p͙̙͜o̦͎i̟͇͕n͎͍̘t̟̻ m̢̞̝e̞̪̦.̪̙̻

Edited (i messed up loool) 2023-12-01 00:24 (UTC)

Oh, this idiot is so reckless. So willing to destroy himself for the sake of battle and, in some strange, small corner in his mind, Scaramouche can appreciate that. Didn't he himself destroyed himself because he wanted to become a god? And still...whatever stood above godhood, listened and granted him this second chance.

And what is better than to face the biggest worm on the surface of this realm head on? Scaramouche watched the transformation with a somewhat deranged look on his face. As if it is the most amusing thing he has ever seen.

"Just keep it up."

Something inside of him starts to whirr, as if it knows that the stakes are a bit bigger now. Now Scaramouche knows he isn't into battle like Childe is. It doesn't fuel him, it doesn't serve as a purpose. It is a mere part of what he used to do. Just like killing. Just like retrieving something from somewhere.

But now he has to keep up. Now he has to pay attention. And he chuckles briefly before he disappears into a purple flash, focusing every bit of his being on that new strength.

A low, deep rumble of a laugh that sounds more alien than human comes from Childe's form, quiet and wicked. He knows he'll enjoy every second of the fight, now that the gloves are off and he's ready to throw himself completely into the fire of battle. No matter what feelings he has, no matter their allegiance, all of it falls to the wayside as he meets Scaramouche head on as he launches his attack, feeling more alive than he has in days since their last clash underneath Sumeru City.

His blades sing and whistle through the air as they fight, letting loose mixed elemental attacks whenever he sees an opening or opportunity, and getting hit in return when the other finds that Childe's momentarily let himself open for a strike. But all of it is just a part of the fight, and no matter how much he hits or gets hit, he loves it.

"A̟͇͙t͉̠̺ l̡͉͉e̡͓̙a̢̙͕s̟̻͜t̞̦͓ y̙͇̻o̡̪̦u̻̫̻'͙̞̝r̠̞e̡̡͕ p̢͉̠r̘͔͇o̠̙̘v͎͚͕i̻̼̺n̠̦͜g̺͚͉ t̺͚̪o͓͇͔ b̫͓̫e̠̼̠ f̢̠͙a̡̦̻r̡͓̞ m͚͓͜o̢͚͚r̦͙͖e̢͙͓ e̡͓͇n̻͎̫t̠͉̻e̡͓̞r̝͉̘t̫͍a͍̼͜i̦̘n̢̞i̞̞͔n̞͚̪g̡̻ t͙͉̟h͓̺͜a͚͔͎n̦̪͉ t͔͎̼h̻̫͉o̟̺͚s̺̞̦e͉̫͔ p̢͔͙a̢͙̺t͓̺̞h̡̻͙e̢̠t͎̠͙i̢͕͓c̞͙͉ m̡̫̫a͓͓͚g͉͜e̢͇s͇̻̟ o̡͔͕f̪͇͔ t̺͕͙h͔̠e̡̼͔ a͕̞͓b̙̝̟y͕̻͎s͉̫̺s͍͉͎-͕͖̝!̢̞̻"

What should have been a little skirmish between a Harbinger and a former Harbinger is slowly changing into something bigger. Something that makes the earth rumble and something that causes trees to give in. The strength they possess is in no way human.

Childe's words make Scaramouche laugh. And, truly, there is nothing sane about the laugh that comes from his mouth. All he can think of is a sweetest sort of revenge. And it fuels him more than anything has ever done before. Oh, how could he forget how overwhelming anger could be, what an amazing weapon.

"That is not how you talk to me." The tone of his voice is a completely unhinged. "Worms belong on the ground. Squirming helplessly, praying their god will know mercy!"

Scaramouche can feel something building up inside of him. Something great, something that is worthy of his godly status. Something meant to destroy.

All Childe has to do is parring his blows. It would only be a matter of time until he will be close enough. Then this unsightly creature will know the true wrath of a god.

It doesn't make a single difference to him how Scaramouche is taking this battle, as long as he fights with all his might. There isn't a single thing that could deter Childe now from cutting him down here, and once he does, he'll repair him again and they can go at it as many times as they see fit. He sees now why Dottore liked Scaramouche so much, you can do anything to him, absolutely anything, and he can come back just like that with a little proper care. It was never his intention for it to be this way, however, but as locked in a battle as they are now, this seems like the likely ending as far as he's concerned.

"W͓̙̙h͉̝͓a͓̘t̡̼̫ g͖̺͉o̡̦̻d͔̼̘?͍̠̻ I̪͖͜ s̢͉̙e̘̟͕e͓̙͕ n͚͔̙o̡̠͖ g̻͚͉o͎͎͇d͚͖̠ h̫̪͉e͉͇̫r̫̟e͎̝.̺̞͕ O͉͕̫n̺̘̫l̦̞y̡̻̝ a̢̫͉ f̙̺̻a͎͖l͉͙̝l̦͖e͇̺n̠̞͍ i̘͎̘d͚̪͖o̞͖̠l̦͖̫ w̟̟h̝͕o̡̺͖ n̡̢̙e͙̻͜v̘̝͜e̝̫͖r͇͔͜ h͚͇̙a̙̠͖d͕̠ a̘̪̘ s͓̻̪h̝͍̫r̡͇e͓̟̝d͖͙̞ o͕͇͙f̢̢͓ t͉͉͜r̢̝̺u̙͕̺e͕̻͜ p̪͚͔o͉͚̪w̘͜e̫̦͎r̫̙̠ t͇̟̞o̢͓͖ b̫̻̝e̙̻͚g̪͍̠i̼͍͇n̦̞̫ w̦͍̝i̙͕͜t̼̪͜h̢̟͇!̢̻͜"

Tartaglia's attacks are unrelenting, he won't give the puppet even an inch in this fight. He can't, because if he does, he loses and it may even mean the end of his life. But he made a promise, to his family and to the traveler that he'd do everything he could to stay alive. And he won't fall to this either, not if he's still moving and breathing.

In a way he starts to understand now. What it means to lose yourself in a battle, to balance right between victory or defeat and the thrill that comes with it. If he had a heart he's sure it would be beating fast. And this foolish human, this absolute idiot, the lowest of worms doesn't give in. Not an inch.

Would Childe notice how the sky turns dark? Would he hear the sound of thunder rolling through thick clouds?

"You're wrong, filthy insect."

Suddenly everything inside of him comes to a halt and really, there's no sanity left inside of Scaramouche's head that could keep him from doing this. All there is, is an urge to destroy and to assure that this insolent little worm will know his place. He has stopped blocking Childe's attacks, his body has made it quite clear it doesn't need protection anymore. Divinity will be its shield now.

And then lightning strikes around them. The sheer force of them make the ground shake. The second Childe attacks again, Scaramouche unleashes all that has been building up inside of him. Something ancient, something that doesn't belong to a world inhabited by fragile humans.

"Behold!" Scaramouche shouts before he starts to laugh. "This is what happens to those who defy a god!"

Edited (its done now) 2024-01-09 09:50 (UTC)

The sudden change in weather doesn't go unnoticed by Childe, and yet there's nothing he can do to stop it. All he can do is continue his fight, launching devastating blow after devastating blow at Scaramouche. He doesn't like how this is going, how his opponent isn't even trying to block his attacks. His celestial blade leaves deep cuts on the mechanical body of the former Harbinger, his abyssal energy that comes from beyond this world not enough to keep whatever is happening from occurring. It's like the whole world is starting to fall apart, and Childe goes in for one last strike that will hopefully quell the lightning that streaks down from the sky nearby with a deafening clap.

And from that last strike, Scaramouche catches him, a power he hadn't seen before nor knew he even had emerging from his body, like a laser that strikes him hard and cuts through his dark armor, sending him flying. Everything goes sideways, his body limp as it flies through the air, slamming into the ground to send chunks of earth flying every which way. Childe isn't sure when he stops, the pain radiating through his body almost seems to numb him. He can't move a muscle, barely has the strength to groan, and isn't even sure how long he's been on the ground when he comes back to his senses.

The fallen Harbinger blearily looks around for his opponent, alarm bells ringing in his head that this could be it if he doesn't move, but he can't. Whatever hit him wrecked his body, and he's having a hard time focusing, looking all around for Scaramouche and where he is...

The strength that surges through him is something else. Something mere humans cannot comprehend. Something all-consuming and all-powerful. So very fitting for the god he really is. Yet, after unleashing it, Scaramouche is very aware of how it wrecks his body. How nerve endings burn and wires snap.

So the second he manages to send Childe backwards he has no time to finish the job. Even though every part of his being wants to stomp Childe's stupid head into the ground until there would nothing left but mush, Scaramouche slumps against a nearby tree.

Of course, Scaramouche keeps a close eye on Childe and eventually he finds himself convinced that the other is dead. Slowly he moves to stand on his feet, unaware of the the fact that an obvious crack has appeared on his face, running from his brow, to his cheek and down his neck.

"I have had worse."

And then he notices that Childe seems to be alive. The movements are small but visible.

'Oh? You still live, worm?

Scaramouche isn't speaking this time but Childe should hear the words.

'What does it take to kill you?'

Through his bleary eyes, he can see movement from a tree, when his vision begins to focus. The lean stature of Scaramouche stands before him, a little ways off but too close for comfort. He's a sitting duck, he can't move a single muscle in his body. And to make matters worse, his opponent is still able to speak, where his mind is a muddied mess. The words enter into his mind, and all Childe is able to do is groan in response.

'I...have to...get up...'

It's the only thoughts Childe is able to have, ones that Scaramouche can hear, trying desperately again to move and failing. If he can't get up soon, who knows what will happen to him. Blood obscures his vision as it drips down into his eyes beneath the mask of the Foul Legacy Transformation, and panic sets in his chest that he desperately tries to fight down.

'Got to...move...'

'So desperate'

Scaramouche comes closer and, to be fair, there's not one single thought inside his head that is a sane one. There's just an immense urge to be the absolute awful person he can be.

'Is that panic?'

Now he did not expect that Childe could be like this. From what he knows, the 11th is quite fearless. Stupid, rash and absolutely not afraid to die. Well, it seems he was wrong.

"Beg, little insect. If you wish to live I want to see you grovel."

The words ring in his head, sounding like a predator zeroing in on their prey. The panic in his chest rises a little more at being called out so blatantly. He's promised to do everything he can to keep himself alive, to see his family. To see the Traveler. To keep them in his sight and him in theirs.

And yet, he can't move.

"͍̫͍N̫͙̞e͇͔̠v̙̘͉.͕͖.̡̻͙e̦̟͓r͙͎͇.̠̫̝"͙͔̦

The wracking cough that comes out from his response is filled with blood, looking up defiantly at his opponent despite how much panic he feels.

"̼͔͍T̝̠̙h̪̼̼i̡͉̠s̙̙̟.̞͔͍.͖̞̼.̘͔̠i͙͕͖s͇̞͕.͙̦͙.̡͓̺.̪͜n͕͓͕'̠͍͇t̢̠͕ o̢̝̦v͔̝͙e̙͇͓r̙͎͙.͍͕͇"̝̘

Edited 2024-03-12 17:08 (UTC)

There's so much panic. And yet, so much resistance as well. This is the type of idiot who would never accept death. And really, Scaramouche can't help basking in it. The sweetest victory there is.

"It is."

Scaramouche moves slowly, ignoring the damage done to his own body. He has had worse. After all, the Doctor has never been particularly gentle and well, when chasing strength there are sacrifices that need to be made. All in all, a fair exchange.

For a moment Childe can hear nothing. No voice in his head, no footsteps. Until there is a certain weight settling on top of him and if he might look up he is looking straight at Scaramouche's face, hovering close to his.

"I could end your suffering. Swift and painless. After all, you did put up a good fight." But there's so much panic inside the other. "But there are some things I want to find out first."

Truly, there is nothing on Scaramouche's face that looks sane. De grin around his lips is absolutely malicious and anyone can see he's getting so much pleasure out of this. Slowly he reaches out, removing some of Childe's armor as if he has all the time in the world. And then he slides his hands around the other's neck, squeezing slightly.

And there's one word Childe might hear, ringing inside his head.

"Beg"

Tartaglia's vision blurs, recedes and comes back again. He's losing blood somewhere, maybe internally, maybe not...either way, it's not good. The silence is eerie, like a haunted house with no creaking or wind outside to accompany it. It makes his blood chill when he realizes he doesn't know where Scaramouche is until he's on top of him, looking up to meet the face of his opponent.

There's nothing but malice in that stare, and he wonders what plans the puppet has in mind for him. Whatever it is, it's probably going to hurt, and he watches helplessly as some of his armor falls to the ground. Would he try to see how many stab wounds it would take to kill him? Or worse? But instead, Scaramouche's hands slip up under his mask and wrap around his throat, squeezing hard.

The Harbinger feels his air become completely cutoff, lungs burning desperately for air, his whole body screaming at him to breathe. Childe fights hard to lift his hands to try to remove Scaramouche's hands from his neck, but the blast had hit him so hard he can barely move them an inch. His body writhes under the pressure of not breathing, but his mind holds, defiant in his thoughts.

'No.'

But even so, even that begins to weaken, the need to breathe overriding everything else.

'Let go of me...'

His own family flashes through his mind, his goals, his dreams...

Scaramouche can see them. Faces of people with exactly the same haircolor as Childe has, the same blue eyes. There are vague scenes of fights, of dreams, perhaps. Truly, the Eleventh Harbinger could be whatever fearsome on the battlefield, in the end he was nothing more than a squishy, fragile human, acting after what hides in his heart.

"Are you sure?"

He starts to squeeze the other's neck in earnest now, nails digging into his skin.

"I can see what is in your heart. Answer carefully, worm."

There's no letting up from his opponent at all. Even the thoughts of his family running through his head get fuzzy before they dissipate entirely, due to the lack of oxygen. He can feel his consciousness dip in and out, fighting to stay awake, but unable to do much of anything about it other than stare defiantly back up at Scaramouche.

"̫̠̦N̢̢̺.͚͙͙.͍͔̻.̠̘̦.͔͉͕"̡̦̦

'Never...'

To beg is dishonorable, dying in battle would be the death he'd want. Begging for his life is out of the question, and these morals are clear through his demeanor and mind as he refuses to give Scaramouche what he wants. He would like to see him beg for mercy, but until his eyes shut and never open again, there's a chance he could live, or die a way a warrior should.

'Make me...'

'There is barely any life in you left.'

Really, Scaramouche could end everything in the blink of an eye. But, alas, he isn't forgiving and he isn't kind either. He knows very well what he has become and, to be fair, he likes to bask in it. What is a mere human in the eye of a god? Nothing but disposable garbage. Fragile and useless.

Slowly he moves back, letting go of the other Harbinger's throat in the process. For a moment he stays silent, his hands resting on Childe's chest while the look on his face is perfectly neutral. He tilts his head a little when he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. It sounds like a reassurance of some sort. Permission, maybe.

"Let me see your face."

Without any further ado he hooks his fingers around Childe's mask and slowly lifts it. Because there is something there inside of the other. Hidden deep. He wants to uncover it, see what it is.

'If that is the choice you wish to make... Worry not, I can be quite a benevolent god.'

Scaramouche wonders if Childe can feel it. A certain pressure, a sweet, reassuring whisper that there might be some blood. And really Childe free to wrap his own hands around his throat.

Much to his surprise, Scaramouche lets go of his throat, and the moment he does Childe sucks in air to keep himself from passing out and dying. It's beautiful, life-giving oxygen, and he gasps helplessly for it, filling his lungs once more. The pain of not breathing was worse than the rest of the pain radiating through his body, since at least he can live for a few moments longer.

Unable to resist, he can only look up to see his opponent studying him, lifting his mask, wanting to see his face. Lifting the mask reveals the blood that's spilled all over him, staining his skin red and dripping down over one eye. There's agony written all over his features, yet somehow managing to stay awake and in control of his transformation.

As he stares upward, something in his mind shifts, something that falls in line with those last words.

'I can be quite a benevolent god.'

It soothes him and takes him by the hand, opens up the hidden corners of his heart and mind, beckons him closer. And in his state, Childe isn't able to resist it, gazing upwards at the god in front of him that's giving him the chance to take one last life.

Before he knows it, somehow, his own hands wrap around his own throat, choking himself with as much strength as he can muster. He neither knows how he's able to even lift his arms up to do so, or how he's able to find any strength to squeeze his own life out of him, but none of that matters underneath the benevolent gaze of his new god.

As the lack of oxygen begins to make his mind muddled and confused, there's one thing that floats to the surface underneath the power and control that Scaramouche has been searching for since he woke from the battle between the two men- a strong feeling of love and admiration that exudes from the Eleventh Harbinger that was hiding previously. It's not a warmth that formed as a result of the mind control that's gotten him to want to take his own life, but one that's been there the entire time. How Childe appreciates that Scaramouche has never been like the other Harbingers, straightforward and to the point, unafraid to step out from the shadows unlike some of the other Harbingers. There's admiration for his strength too, Childe always wanting to challenge himself against him. And though Childe finds him rough around the edges and hard to get along with, there's still these amorous feelings that show themselves fully now as life depletes from his wrecked body, looking happy to take his own life for Scaramouche in his weakened state.

At least he was able to save him from being destroyed when he took the gnosis from him and sent it back to Snezhnaya. At least he was able to do that much. But now he'll gladly die, if this is what his Lord wants...

Watching the other makes him realize even more that he is completely above humanity. That he truly is a god, a being superior to them, a being who isn't fragile, who doesn't bleed. But still, there is something quite interesting about the sight of Childe's face when that mask comes off. He's suffering. In pain.

'Death would be so sweet, don't you think?'

Scaramouche leans in closer, eyes widened with the hint of a smile around his lips. And then his hands come up, sliding up his throat briefly before those fingers do as his god has commanded them to do. Squeeze.

'Do it for me...'

And really, he would have watched all up to the point where that life, all that strength would wither and die. Because, in the end, humans are simple, fragile bags of flesh. Everything seems to end as it should end. At least, until Scaramouche picks up something else. Perhaps it was what he was looking for, the part he wanted to uncover. It was something that felt like a smouldering fire. Warm and cozy, intimate and somewhat tingly.

Is it...?

'Idiot.'

The word would echo through Childe's mind and perhaps the urge to squeeze his throat shut could lessen. Maybe Childe just wanted to live. Maybe, his god would allow him to live. Maybe said god has missed such things since they reminded him of a sweeter time. A time before betrayal and anger.

He squeezes his throat with a renewed strength that only a god, his god can give him.

He can feel his consciousness slip away as his oxygen is depleted, smiling as he silently agrees with Scaramouche's statement. Yes, death is sweet, especially when commanded by this divine being that he's so lucky to be able to interact with directly. So few mortals ever get the chance to be so intimately connected with a god, and Childe is one of the few that's been able to serve not one, but two gods now. He knows he's about to pass out, barely able to keep his eyes open before a harsh insult is thrown his way.

It rips through his mind, making the urge to end his life lessen, confused. Did he offend Lord Scaramouche...? What is it that's made him go back on his own will? He looks up in anguish at possibly doing something to fail him...

'Lord...?'

Still incapable of having the energy to speak on his own, the thought comes though, asking. What's wrong? How could he possibly make it up to him?

Scaramouche sits back a little, gazing at him with a look on his face that is right between annoyance, confusion and amazement. And after a short moment of silence he finally speaks again, using his voice this time.

"Why did you fix me after our fight? Tell me the true reason."

He has to know if Childe is that much of a weird idiot. He has to know if that warmth is meant for him and him alone.

"Tell me what it is. What is in your heart."

Still under the influence of his divine will, even though the words aren't being delivered by telepathy, he's still unable to resist the control that Scaramouche has over his mind. Childe's hands finally drop from his own throat as life-giving oxygen refills his lungs, sucking in as much air as he can before coughing violently as he hacks blood up onto the ground. He's been commanded to answer this question, and he's struggling to answer, but he must, he has to tell him the truth.

The truth he'd buried deep in his heart, locked away for fear of rejection, something he told himself he never needed to be reciprocated...

"I...couldn't...bear to leave you."

The words are heavy and laden with the weight of his body still on the brink of death, but he answers, finally.

"I've always...admired you...loved you from a distance. ...I could never...tell you."

Childe seems apologetic in his admission to his new Lord, ready for retribution from the divine God in his presence. His heart burns with embarrassment and fear, because now he's sure he'll be rejected and laughed at, a lowly mortal who's not worthy of his god.

"...Sorry. I had to...obey the Tsaritsa's orders."

Scaramouche knows he can be vile and cruel. He also knows he is bad at controlling the anger inside of him. But he also knows he's meant to be a god and he's quite sure he is able to be a benevolent one. Even to fragile little humans who are so reliant on oxygen as this one.

"Tch." He crosses his arms. "You are in no way suitable to be a Harbinger."

Still, he would be quite a terrible god to turn away his first follower like that. Even when that follower admits to quite foolish things. Scaramouche could punish him for that, to take such heavy words in his mouth, to let such feelings live inside his heart.

"How human of you." Slowly he moves to reach out and when he touches Childe's cheek the touch is almost kind. "How your heart must have ached..." Then he cackles softly. "Would you betray your beloved Tsaritsa for me? Is that love of yours rooted this deep? Or is it a mere lie?"

Though battered and beaten, his ego can withstand the criticism of Lord Scaramouche- many a Harbinger has uttered that phrase before, that he was not fit for his position. But it never mattered to him, no matter who it came from. The position simply was a reward for all his victories in battle, though it doesn't mean much now that he's bathed in his own blood, and lucky to be on the receiving end of the mercy of his Lord who hasn't killed him yet. Tartaglia's eyes roll in their sockets, trying his best to stay conscious, the toll of the battle slowly overtaking him. Soon, he's sure he'll pass out, but he'll hang on for as long as his Lord demands him to.

"I..."

To ask him that question now, under the strong influence of this divine being's power is hard. Childe loves the Tsaritsa, and is deeply devoted to her, but the love in his heart for Scaramouche is a different sort. One that drove him to keep Scaramouche alive during their battle, one that led him to fix him and keep him hidden away from the Fatui.

"...I already have."

He should've killed him, ended him in the labyrinth under the Akademiya. That's what was expected of him as a Harbinger, and yet, he disobeyed that order. Childe's body shudders under Scaramouche's touch, his breath ragged, realizing his position and what he's done. He has betrayed the Tsaritsa. The one thing he looked down upon some of the Harbingers for, he's committed himself. And now, in the presence of a god, one that's beaten him almost to death and could take his life any second on a whim, what is he to do? He can't move, and is struggling to breathe...blood pours from his head and his body is wracked with pain.

Whatever Scaramouche decides from here will be his fate. He's lost, and now his days of seeking endless battle just might end.

Scaramouche can see how the other is trying his very best to remain conscious. Despite his flesh giving in to those injuries, he keeps his eyes open, he keeps talking and yes he can see that shudder after his touch.

"Is it worth it?"

He reaches out again, catching some blood on his finger as he leans a little closer.

"Is it all you have wanted?" Scaramouche wants to hear those words of praise, in fact, he needs them. Slowly he brings that bloody finger to his lips to take a curious lick. Now he is familiar with the scent of human blood, but he has never tasted it. "Heh. It tastes disgusting. Unworthy of a god like me."

He leans in even closer, both of his hands sliding over Childe's cheeks now.

"What will you do about it? Cast off your human shell? Become something more?"

He asks Tartaglia questions that he doesn't necessarily know the answer to.

Was it worth it? Was it what he really wanted? He's not sure. As he sits there, bloody and broken, he does wonder if it was all worth it in the end. If he dies here, he loses everything, but to restore Scaramouche to at least a fraction of his previous power...it's all confusing and conflicting to him. Childe doesn't answer right away, looking into the god's eyes as his hands cup his cheeks.

More questions he doesn't know how to answer.

"I don't know what you mean..."

He doesn't exactly have the ability to do that. The closest thing he has to transforming into something else is the form he's in now, a broken Foul Legacy Transformation that came from beyond the heavens itself. Or is it a trick question, if he says yes, then he'd be granted a painful death and lose his human shell? It's a dangerous position he finds himself in, and Childe thinks on how to proceed while also not withholding the truth. It's hard, with the world spinning and his mind muddled with the overwhelming power and presence that Scaramouche has on it, plus how lightheaded he feels.

"I don't want to die, if...that's...cough...what you're asking."

"Of course you don't want to die. Humans are quite afraid of death to begin with. And you are, most of all, nothing but a fragile little human."

Scaramouche keeps his hands on Childe's cheeks for a while as he studies his face, thinking about what to do with his new (and only) follower. What to do with his new fate? What to do with a dream he has given up on a while ago, only to be able to live it anyways?

"And I do think you are too valuable to lose. I am a benevolent god, you know?"

----

And Scaramouche keeps his word. He waits, in an almost patient way, for Childe to finally stop talking. And no, he doesn't have plans to let him die. In a way, being worshiped by a Fatui Harbinger isn't the worst outcome. Of course, Childe is the weakest one and the one he deems the most stupid, but still, all in all, it could be worse.

As the dark settles in he busies himself with examining the idiot's injuries, carefully removing armor and fabric. And, somewhere along the line, he makes sure that his first follower is a little bit more comfortable than before. At least, the comfort a small abandoned house can offer.

And then, somewhere along the line, he realizes what it is that hides inside that heart of the other. What his motivations were.

"You are beyond stupid." Scaramouche whispers the words softly, not really knowing if the other is awake or not. "Yet, as your god I will not complain about that devotion of yours."

Childe ponders in that short moment, what his fate will be. He can't move, he can't do much of anything but wait for Scaramouche to decide what he'll do. Relief floods his mind when it seems he decides that he's worth keeping alive, that dying here would be a waste. A small smile unfolds on his face, and his eyes droop now knowing that Scaramouche is indeed, a benevolent god. The lightheadedness finally gets to him after a time, and he feels consciousness slip away from him, until he finally passes out from his injuries.

---

He wakes up having returned to normal, the armor gone off of his body, lying down in an old, dilapidated bed in a house he doesn't recognize. Quiet whispers fill his ears as he slowly opens his eyes, looking over to see a blurry image of a dusty old house and a figure standing over him. He's still in a lot of pain, there's crusted blood across his face, but he's no longer on the verge of dying.

"Ngh..."

As Tartaglia's sight comes to focus more, he sees Scaramouche tending to him, as he lies there immobile. He doesn't dare to move, quickly realizing that he's still in a bad position.

"Scaramouche...? Where am I?"

When Childe wakes up he might notice that his legs are tied up. For some reason it would not be wise to lose him at this point. Scaramouche still finds himself torn between breaking him or manipulate him so that he might be useful.

"Does that matter?"

He gazes down at the other while a small smile forms around his lips. Scaramouche doesn't want to be a god of destruction. All humans have to know is that they're inferior beings in need of guidance from a superior being like himself. And this particular human definitely needs guidance.

"I should ask you how you feel, not? But your fragile bones still looks broken and your skin still looks bruised." Scaramouche crouches down next to the other, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against his cheek. "Is there a spot on your body that doesn't hurt?"

As he comes more to, he realizes his bad position is worse than what he thought. His legs are bound, and Scaramouche is looming over him. It's not wise to make any kind of rash decisions, so Tartaglia chooses to calm himself. That malice in the puppet's eyes is still there, but yet for some reason he hasn't hurt Childe more. In fact, he's rescued him.

"Why didn't you end me back there?"

The brush against his cheek feels mocking, not at all the way he'd ever imagined that happening in his wildest fantasies. Childe looks down at the hand and back up at Scaramouche, not answering his question. Feels a bit rhetorical to even bring up where he might not be hurting...which is no where.

"You had me right where you wanted me. Don't tell me you're just returning the favor."

"Heh." Scaramouche chuckles briefly, still studying the other as if he still has to make a decision about his fate. "I have to admit, you are weak. Yet, there is no reason for me to end the lives of those who worship me."

After all, what is a god without followers?

Of course, there is an urge to finish Childe off, for his insolence, for daring to think he was having the upper hand in this situation.

"You underestimated me greatly, worm."

Scaramouche keeps stroking his cheek, the touch almost soft, almost as if he truly cares.

"You listened to the lies your heart told you and look at you now..." That is one thing he finds extremely amusing. "...you do know that loving is a sin in itself."

A part of him wants to jerk away from that touch, realizing that he admitted to a lot of things while he was dying back there. But there was also this compulsory feeling that welled deep within him, something that revered and worshipped Scaramouche and his stupid face. Not to mention that the truth finally came out, his own personal feelings about him...something he wanted to hide and push away into a dark corner that no one, not even him, would be able to find. And yet, he'd still freely admitted everything.

"You were controlling me. Making me say those things."

His retort comes out half-hearted. There's no backbone to it, because he knows what he's saying now is the real lie. Childe hates himself for it, and his first urge is to retaliate and swing his weapon right at Scaramouche's throat. But that's not a smart move and he'd surely die if he made any rash decisions now.

"What did you do to me? Going to turn me into something for you to play with? Well, I won't let you."

Now that is rich. Scaramouche starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he does.

"Oh? Is it my fault now?"

Still, he is very aware of the fact that these new powers come with certain 'perks'. And he is still not entirely able to understand them fully or control them completely. But he knows what he has heard, what he has felt. And he also knows he can abuse that. After all, it is what humans did to him, not? Because once he loved and cared, until they all decided to crush that, to take it for granted and leave him behind.

"Wasn't I something for you to play with, worm?" His hand stills on Childe's cheek. "You didn't allow me to perish as I wanted to. You wanted to fix me and keep me as some sort of...punching bag, not? Out of love?" And then he starts to laugh a little harder. "Hmm...how the tables have turned..."

The situation is getting more and more dangerous by the second. His resistance probably isn't going to get him anywhere, and he knows that if he doesn't play his cards right, he could die. He's absolutely at Scaramouche's mercy now, and maybe the only reason he's still alive is because of his confessions. He has to think, and somehow escape from this situation. Fighting, as much as he'd like to, will end in death. Childe might be fight happy, but he's not stupid.

"I..."

It's hard to say it. It's hard to confront the feelings in his heart that he wished never stirred inside of him, because look where it's landed him. But He's not sure how to approach this, especially now that the puppet knows the truth about his heart.

"...keeping you as a punching bag was never my real intent. Since you got me to admit to that much, you should know that my heart was always in the right place."

He stares back at his captor, his expression hard and unwavering.

"You though...I don't trust you to have any of my best interests at heart."

His hand drops down to Childe's chest and he presses it against the spot where his heart should be. Warm, human and oh so fragile.

"You contradict yourself a lot. You should know I am not someone you can trust, those stupid feelings are not safe with me either. I have no heart."

Still, he does have feelings. A lot of them, to be honest. Scaramouche spreads out his fingers a little, eyes focused on what his own hand is doing as he slowly moves to crouch down, hovering over the taller man.

"Do you see this as another fight? A thrill of some sort?" Then he looks up at Childe. "You are quite a thrill seeker, not?

Childe's eyes fall to the hand that presses against his chest, right where his heart is. Scaramouche could do anything to him in this position, and one of his most vulnerable and important organs is exposed for him to rip out, electrocute, do whatever he wants to it to kill him dead right here.

And it's just as the old Liyue saying goes: When someone tells you who they are, believe them. And he believes that Scaramouche truly doesn't have a heart, and that nothing is safe for him right now being around this power-crazed puppet.

"I don't know what you want me to say here. I seek the thrill of battle, to improve myself with every fight I engage in. Right now, the only battle I'm facing is the one to keep myself alive."

He doesn't know what Scaramouche has planned, and he's completely at his mercy. The fingers that spread across his chest might end it all.

There's no lie in the words he speaks, yet he knows the true lie is hiding inside his heart. So all he can do is reaching out to that lie, wrap his fingers around it and take it out. Gods could do that.

So right after Childe has spoken, he might feel something tugging at him, at times it would feel warm but it could also sting.

"You think that is the truth?"

He leans in closer, studying Childe's face, reaching out further, deeper. And eventually he felt as if he could shape something. Perhaps it was the other's heart, maybe his thoughts.

"Or is there something else?"

Scaramouche is awfully close to the taller man now, grinning broadly.

Childe's chest begins to heave up and down a little heavier, when he feels that presence tug at him, comforting him and both hurting him in a way he can't quite explain. It's like it's touching his soul, far beyond the boundaries of the mortal realm, and he feels a fear begin to form in him. He doesn't know what Scaramouche is doing to him, but what he does know is that this can really only be something a god can do, which puts him in an even more precarious position than he thought.

"....."

He looks up into the menacing face of Scaramouche, staying silent, but this power that permeates his very being is becoming overwhelming. Like he has no control over what happens to him, and his entire conscious lies bare to the other with no protection.

Like he can feel the other's fingers around his heart.

"You're toying with me again," he says between gritted teeth, "just say what you want, and stop beating around the bush. You know I hate it when any of the Harbingers do that."

"I am."

Scaramouche's grin grows wider after he has said that.

"But perhaps there's solace in knowing that you are a gods plaything." There has always been the point where he felt too much. Where he asked himself how he could find himself overwhelmed with emotions while not having a heart to harbor them properly. A long time ago he has been able to name them properly, warmth for love, hot for anger, pain for sadness. But eventually they just melted into this burning sensation in his chest, a constant reminder of a heart that was missing, that he wasn't meant to be human to begin with.

But yet, here he was, being able to feel all of that again...through a mere human.

"Does it hurt?" Scaramouche's eyes glow as he speaks, reaching out further and further, searching for that warmth he felt before. Maybe it is because he wants to take that warmth away, but maybe also because he just wants to experience it once more. Slowly he leans in closer, bringing his lips close to Childe's ear.

"That is it, not?"

And as he curls his fingers he can feel what he is looking for. That warmth.

"Heh. How I want to tear that heart out of your chest."

It burns, the uncomfortable feeling of something invading his very being, wrapping tendrils around his heart that pulse with divine power. A power that could shred him in an instant, wielded by the unhinged man in front of him, hanging on by his mercy alone. Tartaglia's chest heaves up and down as he tries to breathe, but it's suffocating, as the presence inside of him has his heart in his hands. Physically, his real heart beats faster and faster, out of fear and affection all the same, but on the inside, his heart beats as warmth pours out of it into those fingertips that wrap around it.

"Ngh...why don't you, then..."

Even in this desperate time, he taunts Scaramouche, wondering exactly why he hasn't torn his heart out. He defeated him in battle, didn't allow him to die. And now he's using his power to coax Tartaglia's dark secrets out of him, toying with his emotions, cupping the very warmth of love he has in his heart. He doesn't understand...

"Stop talking about it and do it. That's what you want, isn't it? Ngh-!!!

His body squirms underneath the power Scaramouche uses on him, to sink more deeply into his emotions and touch what no mortal could ever conceive of being able to touch. It's almost too much, and he can feel his mind break a little under the strain, no matter how much of a fight he tries to put up against it.

Scaramouche knows he has never been like this. So eager for a certain sort of revenge, so angry at humanity as a whole, so jealous of all those who had a heart, so sad because of the friends he lost. Isn't it fair to yearn for warmth? To be loved and worshipped? Perhaps the only way to force humans to do that is to ascend to godhood.

And, to be fair, that is a good question. Better not answer it and ask different questions instead.

"Do you want to die? Or do you want to worship a true god?"

Really, he wants to give in to that anger, to treat it as the powerful tool it is. But here he is, craving that warmth even more.

"I want that to be for me, and me alone."

Scaramouche is aware of how Childe is failing with his resisting. How the other Harbinger starts to crumble underneath his divine touch. And he could kill him, instead his grip tightens and when his lips cover those of the other, he is not sure if he's acting out of malice or that simple, basic, human need of love.

The moments that pass by are agonizing as Scaramouche holds him there in his grip, unable to move, unable to do much of anything due to his broken body. He's never come into contact with true, divine power before, and the weight of the god's will against his own further breaks him down inside. He wants to keep his feelings, his devotion, and his love away from this being, yet it was always there for him despite himself. And now that his foe here knows it's there, he's breaking through all of Childe's defenses to take it. He doesn't answer the questions, his teeth gritting and straining to keep himself together and avoid falling into this pit where his emotions can freely reign and his will submits to Scaramouche.

His eyes widen with surprise when the attention of the puppet seems to focus at his heart instead of the thought of killing him. Tartaglia doesn't know what he means at first by "that", but as he leans down and brushes his lips against his own, he understands as his eyes close what it is he is trying to covet for himself.

Deep within him, he feels Scaramouche tighten his grip and take that love inside of him, forcing Tartaglia to release it so it can flow and pour right into the divine puppet freely. The power that commands it is too much for him to take, and the feel of their lips slotting together is a fantasy that he could only have when he closed his eyes and daydreamed about in private. It loosens Childe's grip on himself as his heart opens up and fills Scaramouche with his warmth, his repressed love that can no longer be restrained. His lips caress and give unto his god the worship he desires, leaving Tartaglia breathless in his wake and desiring nothing more than to give all of his love to the opponent who has him immobilized on the bed.

And when it ends, he can only look up into his god's eyes with heavily lidded eyes of his own, astonished at what just happened, yet feeling so full now that he's finally shown his true adoration for the god on top of him. Childe is left speechless- how do you respond to something like that, other than to stay silent in total respect for a god?

And in return, Scaramouche has never actually experienced godhood like he is doing now. Of course, he has been dreaming about it, wanting it more than everything in the world but to be in touch with that part of him...it's exciting and confusing at the same time.

Perhaps he wants to be a kinder god, one who recognizes his followers, one who can bless them with his mere presence. Isn't there anything greater than to be close to the god they give their love to? The god they open their precious heart to? All they need is a bit of encouragement.

Shouldn't it be disgusting to kiss a human? And isn't it weak to claim his love? While a myriad of questions rise within Scaramouche he forces himself to focus on what his happening right now. And when an immense warmth engulfs his body he can't help closing his eyes, every fiber of his being reviling in that sensation.

"Praise me..." he murmurs, his lips moving against those of the other. "Worship me..." He keeps murmuring. Sometimes the words coming from his mouth aren't understandable and when they do, they're merely encouraging words to Childe. More worship, more praise, more warmth, more love.

After that there is silence. Scaramouche is still hovering above the taller man, both of his hands pressed against his chest, still able to feel a firm heartbeat underneath them. Yet, he has let go of Childe's spirit a little.

"Are you convinced that this is the only right path for you? A worm is made to crawl after all."

That, and he wants every bit of that warmth, that love.

His head is still spinning, still trying to recover from all the praise, adoration, and love he just poured into the god above him. Gods get power from the worship of mortals, and Childe has inadvertently made Scaramouche more powerful just by this action alone. His romantic feelings, prior to him becoming a true god, had always been persistent yet hidden from view for him- so he knew deep down that he wants this, longs for it, even.

Is it possible to worship two gods, or can he continue to serve the Tsaritsa while also devoting himself to Scaramouche?

He can feel a little bit of control return to him, but Tartaglia is very much still under the throes of turning to his new god and loving him unconditionally and with all of his heart, mind, and soul. He shouldn't accept this, and yet, he still feels the pull of himself towards Scaramouche, and his hand rises from the side of the bed to reach up and gingerly attempt to touch the puppet's cheek.

"I...I shouldn't..."

Yet his eyes dilate in awe and reverence, love exuding from him in two ways- worship, and romantically. Everything hurts, his body broken, and what can he do without the forgiveness of his god?

"...yet, I wouldn't be happy if I were to turn away from You. You fill me with the will to keep fighting, to topple any other gods who stand in my path, to brandish my blade and fell even the mightiest of foes. I've loved you long before you ever became a god. I am your first, true follower."

His eyes are desperate, needing the support of Scaramouche more than ever in this moment, before he's allowed more of his spirit back to realize the transgression he may be committing against the Tsaritsa.

"Help me, Scaramouche. Please. Please."

There was no reason to reject such devotion, such love. While he could take all that life out of his very mortal body within the blink of an eye, he chose forgiveness instead.

"I will accept." Slowly he reaches out and slides his hands over Childe's cheeks, noticing how warm they feel. He smiles briefly, the look on his face becoming far more soft than it normally was. And he keeps stroking the other man's cheeks, eyes focused on his face.

As the Sixth Harbinger, Scaramouche held no love for no one. He hated his underlings, he disliked most of his fellow Harbingers and merely did what was asked of him, longing for that gnosis that (obviously) belonged to him. And now he had everything...everything except that gnosis.

"You will help me to regain my gnosis. And I will grant you my blessing."

Scaramouche expects that familiar feeling of disgust or hatred when he pulls Childe into an embrace. But instead of that he is a ware of a certain sort of euphoria, as if it was a victory of some sort.

"Worship me."

He whispers the words softly, as if it was a secret between Childe and him.

"Now don't hold back."

The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

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I APOLOGIZE FOR THIS TAG ;;

LOL NO NEED I LAUGHED

GOOD :D

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I AM SORRY HE IS BEING SUPER DIFFICULT

LOL IT'S OK

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i'm gunna timeskip to waking our lil disaster puppet up lolol

DISASTER PUPPET :"D

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RETURNS 2 MONTHS LATER, SHAMELESSLY

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OKAY WRITING DRAMATIC SCARAMOUCHE HAS BEEN MY BIGGEST WISH EVER

LOL I'M HAPPY I COULD GIVE THAT OPPORTUNITY TO YOU

IT IS MY NO. 1 DREAM /WHIPS OUT THE SILLY ICONS AND SILLY POWERS

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He's gonna fire his lazer :o)

lazermouche

scarabeam activated

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