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."