wc: approximately 1000
rated: t (discusses signora's death)
ao3 mirror link: here
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Columbina tripped over her hair. It had never happened before, so she fell and scraped her knee against the floor, in an instant where the gravity of Teyvat caught up to her.
Of course, this happened as all the Harbingers (save for two) were walking in a solemn procession down the main hall. A few steps ahead of her, Dottore — who had failed to reach out a steadying hand to help her and instead smoothly sidestepped — snickered. Behind them, Sandrone reached out to help her up, then remembered she was in full view of the rest of the Harbingers, and stepped away again.
“Are you alright?” Arlecchino helped her up.
“Yes, thank you.” Columbina took two more steps and immediately was in danger of tripping over her hair again. She hummed. “I believe I am in need of a haircut.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Arlecchino said, “Rosalyne had recommended a number of—”
She fell silent, contemplating the frost-dusted banners in the hallway.
“I used to trim my children’s hair regularly.” Smoothly, Arlecchino changed the subject, and she lifted Columbina’s hair out of the way until they reached the coffin sitting at the front. It was already covered. Apparently there hadn’t been much of Rosalyne left to entomb. Columbina could understand the feeling, since her body didn’t feel like it was made of much, either. She spent most of the rest of the wake slumped against the grand, cold coffin. It was cold, she supposed, because Rosalyne wasn’t really in there, and because her Majesty had left a lingering icy regret in Rosalyne’s place.
Columbina was also cold by nature, and could not offer much else except her song, which she did in kind until her voice gave out.
Afterwards, Sandrone had Pulonia snatch her up and departed with great haste. She seemed to know her way around processions of death very well, but was not keen on sharing her knowledge for some reason. Arlecchino slid her arm through the bend of Columbina’s elbow.
“Let me walk you back.”
They set off across Snezhnograd together. It was nighttime already as the city stirred on despite Pulcinella’s stipulations that everything be halted for half a day. The false moon in the sky pulsed a halo weakly from behind a thin layer of clouds. Columbina’s nose twitched: the snow would return again, and soon.
“Will you depart for the House again soon, Arlecchino?”
Her voice sounded as ashy as Arlecchino’s hands felt.
“Not for a few days. What’s the matter? Are you troubled by Rosalyne?”
Sometimes Columbina did not know if the soft, welcoming earth of Teyvat was a better fit for her after all than the barren remote Frostmoon. Similarly, Rosalyne felt the same. She shrank into the fur lining of her coat. “Did Rosalyne like the warm or the cold better, do you think?”
“I am sure she had uses for both.”
Arlecchino swept them up the steps and into the entrance hall of Zapolyarny Palace, then down a side corridor towards her private quarters. Further in was a dressing room, where she sat Columbina down on a sensible stool, stripped off the heavy coat, and brought out a pair of scissors.
She moved like someone accustomed to caring for others; Columbina could not imagine what that felt like. Whatever part of her that used to worry seemed to have gone numb and distant. Perhaps it had flown away to the moon.
Swiftly, Arlecchino gathered up the ends of Columbina’s hair. The scissors made quick work of them; she must have taken off no more than an inch or two, just enough that walking was no longer hazardous.
“I can trim your fringe as well, if you’d like,” Arlecchino said after a moment.
Columbina tilted her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you.”
She floated up out of her seat and the trimmed off strands of hair fell to the practical, tiled floor. Arlecchino snapped her fingers and the ends burned away, leaving not even flecks of ash behind.
“Personally, I would prefer fire to ice,” Arlecchino said. “There are many dangers to preserving a body. Those with means or intent — or, most dangerous of all, both — to manipulate…”
They both did not mention Dottore.
“… when a soul departs the living world, their body should be destroyed, so as to prevent contamination.”
“I understand,” Columbina murmured, though she didn’t, not really. Arlecchino allowed her the white lie.
“In Rosalyne’s case, however, I would say she’s had the best of both worlds. Perhaps her body is gone, incinerated. But Her Majesty left a blessing on her grave, did she not? And her memory remains with us.”
Columbina was certain that, by the time the moon had waxed and waned a hundred more times, even the memory of Rosalyne would be gone. Like the surface of the moon, cratered over and over again until each one was indistinguishable from the next, and only dull mineral matter remained. Certainly if she found her way back to the Frost moon, then none of this would matter at all.
Arlecchino’s hand pressed upon her shoulder. It was a heavy, heavy grip. The skin of her shoulder reddened in protest. “I ask that you do not forget her, Columbina. In exchange, I will—”
There it was. Something in Columbina’s heart flickered. An ember, barely alight, more faint than moth dust.
She didn’t catch the rest of Arlecchino’s proposal, but she knew what she had to say in scenarios like this.
“I accept, Arlecchino.”
Arlecchino exuded dissatisfaction, but over what, Columbina couldn’t tell. She bade her goodnight and returned to her own chambers, where she located her own pair of scissors. Next time, to prevent this sort of deal from happening again, she would have to learn to cut her own hair.
She held the too-long strands of her fringe out, positioning the scissors ready to —
“Co-lum-bi-naaAAA!”
— snip. Columbina’s fingers spasmed and jerked the scissor blades apart again, but it was too late, and she could only turn to face Sandrone’s ire with a disaster lying across her forehead.
Three days later, as the Palace hallways grew lively again, Columbina noticed a parcel, wrapped and ribboned, with an accompanying note slipped underneath the elaborate bow.
Hair growth serum. Stole it from Pantalone. Use quickly. Sandrone.
Fanart of just cross the waters, i'll be okay by @shiawaseninaritai!!! Based on my internal image i got when reading the bit where Richie is playing Valheim with the other nerds. Richie waxes poetic about Max, mentioning how he looked while asleep, and my brain superimposed Max into the scene, sleeping, just being next to Richie while he gamed. Then I found the mental image too funny so I let the devil possess me to come up with this.
(writes something) god this sucks so bad. this is awful. i'm the worst writer ever. this is nothing. (rereads it a while after writing it) oh dude this is fire. i'm the god of writing. (writes something again) god this sucks so bad. th
“What are you staring at,” Dottore snapped as the Harbingers sans Pantalone and Arlecchino filed out of the meeting room. Columbina glided down the hall next to him, having missed the opportunity to latch onto the tails of Sandrone’s petticoat. Ironically, he didn’t enjoy being treated as a second choice. Not by Her Majesty, and especially not by Columbina.
Columbina turned her face upwards with the same placid smile she always wore. “I never stare at anything.”
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Every Harbinger had, at some point, been caught yawning or losing focus during one of Pierro’s early morning meetings. Every single one. Scaramouche was a frequent offender. Not that anyone really cared, because what was Pierro going to do — dismiss them for not paying attention during a speech? — but it was, all the same, unpleasant to be scrutinized.
“What are you staring at,” Dottore snapped as the Harbingers sans Pantalone and Arlecchino filed out of the meeting room. Columbina glided down the hall next to him, having missed the opportunity to latch onto the tails of Sandrone’s petticoat. Ironically, he didn’t enjoy being treated as a second choice. Not by Her Majesty, and especially not by Columbina.
Columbina turned her face upwards with the same placid smile she always wore. “I never stare at anything.”
Dottore motioned to whack her across the back of her feathered head, which she gracefully dodged. No matter. He would get her one day.
“You’re glowing with health today, Doctor,” Columbina said. “The trip home must have been wonderful for your spirits.”
“It was adequate,” Dottore said.
“I heard Sumeru City is built on top of a huge tree,” Columbina said, mild. “Do cats ever get stuck up there?”
Dottore picked up his walking speed, but it was pointless when Columbina seemed to be able to ignore gravity; she only floated along faster. Sandrone, up ahead, had vanished around a corner and likely back into her own room. Dottore waited to see if Columbina would follow. She did not.
“Sandrone would like a cat, but she hasn’t found any that like her. Not going down to the lab today, Doctor?”
“I’ll go later.” Instead, Dottore rapidly ascended the stairs. Undeterred, Columbina drifted up the stairs with him. “I have an appointment with Pantalone. Not much time to chat today, Columbina.”
“What a coincidence,” Columbina exclaimed — if the breathy sigh she emitted could be called an exclamation — “I do, as well.”
“What could you possibly need from Pantalone,” inquired Dottore against his better judgement. “You are not running any projects that require funding.”
Columbina smiled blandly. “I am curious about you, Doctor. Yet, you don’t always answer questions.”
Dottore stopped at the top of the stairs and turned fully to face her. Columbina continued to tilt her face towards… the window? She had a way of never quite looking at the person she spoke to, which unnerved many of the lower ranked staff in the palace. Dottore merely found this a fascinating aspect of her existence. He would have to have her agree to an experiment soon.
“Since we are both here, why don’t you ask away. One question,” he offered, banking on his generosity to eventually yield a signature on a waiver.
Delight bloomed across Columbina’s face. “Have you been kissed recently, Doctor?”
“What?”
It took a moment for Columbina to placate him. “The sun,” she explained as he snarled, “the sun has kissed your skin.”
“I don’t—” he lifted a hand to rub his temples, but his mask was in the way. Whatever. “I don’t go out into the sun.”
“Oh, but you must have seen some exposure. Sumeru is more desert than forest, is it not?” Columbina reached out one slender hand, almost as if to touch him, but of course no one touched Dottore. “I suppose I meant to say that you’re looking well today, that was all.”
They closed in on Pantalone’s office. The door opened and Arlecchino stepped out, most of her face impassive save for the miniscule degree of nostrils flaring. She caught sight of the two of them lined up in the doorway, her eyes hardening as she realized Columbina must have been alone with Dottore for some time. Then she looked at Dottore and the tension abruptly released.
“Trip home treat you well, Doctor?”
There was an aggravating smirk lingering at the corner of her mouth. Dottore felt the corners of his own mouth drag down.
“Your skin is simply glowing with health. I didn’t expect you to tan,” Arlecchino continued. “I’ll be on my way now. By the way, I’d check that mask if I were you. If Rosalyne catches on you will never hear the end of it. Good day.”
She swept away down the hall. Dottore and Columbina simultaneously crossed the threshold into Pantalone’s office. The man behind the large oak desk tilted his head and let out a shameless chortle.
“Not a single word about my tan out of you,” Dottore growled.
“Oh, certainly not. I was merely going to point out the lack thereof in certain places. Take a look,” Pantalone invited. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out an ornate handheld mirror. Dottore shouldn’t even have been surprised that there was one, but he decided that he was having an off day. Taking the mirror from Pantalone, he flashed the surface up against his face.
There was a glowing sliver of pale skin at the edge of where his mask sat over his cheek. His cheek, which he now noticed was several shades darker than normal. The result was that he’d been walking around with a ridiculous tan line going across his face all morning — and absolutely no one had said a word.
“I didn’t notice,” Columbina said fairly uselessly as she turned her head to survey the office with whatever it was she used instead of sight.
“Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?” Pantalone chuckled.
“Shut up,” Dottore said.
“I’m surprised none of your Segments thought to tell you.”
“We had a disagreement about who would be undertaking the trip,” Dottore admitted, “we’re not on speaking terms.”
Columbina nodded sagely. “I know the feeling, but don’t be too distressed. Sandrone tells me we aren’t on speaking terms all the time, but she always ends up calling for me within a day or so. The trick is to leave little heart notes or cookie crumbs under her pillow.”
The two men exchanged a glance. Pantalone cleared his throat. “What a — er, fortifying tale.”
“Hm,” she hummed.
“What was it you two were meeting about?” Dottore surreptitiously adjusted his mask, pulling it down lower. Pantalone looked up at him.
“There is a tan line across your forehead, as well.”
“For the love of —”
“Oh,” Columbina said. “I understand now. One of the Segments has his own version of heart notes and cookie crumbs.”
Pantalone’s eyes crinkled with mirth as Dottore turned on his heel. He was going to storm all the way down to his lab and give the rascal — 25, probably, the annoying bastard — liquid spillage containment duty for the rest of the decade for tampering with the mask. Gods, it was annoying having multiples of himself running around sometimes.
“I believe the rainbow rose scented paper was a great success,” he heard Columbina muse dreamily as he stepped out. “Please order another box of it for me.”
“Mm, shall I charge it to Sandrone again? Since she is the one receiving the paper, in the end.”
“Oh, yes. Also, I was told there is now a limited edition gift wrap and special bottle available as well… surely it couldn’t hurt to add on…”
Well, Dottore decided, at least he wasn’t Sandrone. Tan lines faded. The sting of having Pantalone shop on one’s behalf probably smarted for at least a few years.
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