littlesilhouettoofaman | The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

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The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

First they were nothing but echoes, noises without a source or purpose, just something he could blame on the battle he just lost. But echoes changed into soft voices and footsteps and eventually he could even hear the sound of rain outside.
And his body did not hurt after the fall he made, it is merely a familiar sort of uncomfortable sensation of joints popped out of place and cracks that shouldn’t be there. But he had expected to be beyond angry, to feel that rage surge through him, that sense of absolute frustration and that undying desire to serve a certain purpose, that certain purpose. But surprisingly enough there was nothing for now. Just a dreadful, heavy emptiness.

Of course he remembered everything. How could he forget it? Yet another setback. He had been so close to fulfilling his birthright and then that idiot… Oh, yes, the idiot. That buffoon who ranked way lower than him and had the audacity to stand up to a god. And had the audacity to win.

The room is quite dark and when he opens his eyes he can see a couple of figures standing close and half of his mind expects to see the Doctor standing between all of them. But he is nowhere to be seen.

“Get out.”

Did they all come to look at a fallen god? Because seriously, who’d given them the right to do so? So when he repeats the words for a second time they are louder and a lot more threatening.

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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."

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I AM SORRY HE IS BEING SUPER DIFFICULT

LOL IT'S OK

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