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."