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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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?"

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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