how has no one thought of this idea before lmao
These days, the Wanderer would look back on his memories of fatui harbinger banquets with fondness. The drama, the gossip, the pathetic fronts some of them would put on to get out of certain missions… it was just so amusing. There was very little he wouldn’t give to go back in time and show up with a friend, comment on Signora’s weight, then sit back and watch the chaos happen.
Back then, he found it bothersome. Back then he was ready to be rid of all worldly emotion, welcoming the day he’d simply be too high above such meaningless squabble. Gossip and chatter, however amusingly petty, was just not something a future god needed to concern himself with.
He sat at the banquet, sipping his classically bitter tea and ignoring the food he did not need to eat. He didn’t speak a word, just idly listening to the chatter like he was simply above it. Practice for when he’d become a god, he supposed.
Sandrone was shouting at Columbina again for something absolutely trivial. Mortal issues a future god like him was probably too high above to understand. He shared a glance with Dottore. Soon, he’d leave all of this behind.
“Fine,” Sandrone huffed. “I guess I’m too busy to need to care about some meaningless singing.”
“Really?” Scaramouche muttered. “I thought I heard Arlecchino say your anger issues were a liability.”
“She said WHAT now?” Sandrone practically screeched, immediately launching into another argument.
….Okay, maybe the drama was a little entertaining.
Scaramouche sniffed, rubbing at his nose with a curled index finger. Ever since his last experiment with Dottore, his nose hadn’t stopped… buzzing. It was an odd sensation in the back of what probably would be his sinuses, as if there was something welling up inside for no other purpose than to make him utterly uncomfortable. It was tolerable before, but now, he was starting to notice the way it extended through his head and made him feel…
Him? Exhausted? No, he couldn’t be. A future god should be above exhaustion. Hells, a future god should be above… all of whatever this is! The buzzing, the sniffling, none of it should be happening. Especially not in front of Dottore, who has the fate of his deification in his very hands. If he deems him too weak…
“Scaramouche, tell Sandrone I’m not ‘childish’ and ‘annoying!’” Childe demanded, drawing a groan out of the tired puppet.
“Oh my me, I don’t CARE.”
“For the last time, Scaramouche, you don’t get to say ‘Oh my me’ instead of ‘Oh my god’, you’re not even a god yet!” Sandrone reminded him.
Scaramouche tuned out the rest of the petty argument, focusing on trying to get his pathetic nose under control. Whatever… reaction he was having to whatever Dottore did to him, no one was going to see it. He had to be extra careful too, he could feel Dottore’s eyes on him…
He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth. Don’t sniffle, don’t sneeze… they are watching your every move… That little ‘buzzing’ in the back of his nose had grown into an unstoppable force. Think, Scaramouche… think… what is there to do…?
“You okay, Scara?” Childe asked, nudging him by the shoulder, almost startling the sneeze out of him. In a moment of pure genius, Scaramouche dropped his fork onto the floor, giving himself an excuse to duck under the table to grab it.
Nearly silent… at least, nearly silent when covered by the sound of pointless bickering. He lifted his head once he realized incessant rubbing wasn’t going to will the tickle out of his nose.
“You were down there for a bit, are you-- woah there.” Childe was giving him a look he really didn’t like. “Your, uh…”
Childe pointed to his nose, and Scaramouche quickly covered his embarrassingly pink nose with his hand. Damn how human-like this puppet body was… he couldn’t wait to be rid of it.
“Hh--” He took a sharp inhale, not daring to release it. He thanked his future self that Dottore was distracted talking to Pantalone about something. He still had a chance…
He couldn’t falter now. Not when he was so close.
…Dammit, was Signora wearing perfume!? She was warned multiple times that that stuff was way too strong for comfort and no one in their right mind liked it, but no, the whole rest of world only exists just to serve number freaking eight of the fatui harbingers--
“Scaramouche,” Dottore cut in. “I am speaking to you.”
The way his name was spoken sent a chill down Scaramouche’s spine, thus knocking loose the sneeze he was so desperately holding back. He dipped forward into cupped hands, no time to even stifle.
The whole room went silent. Scaramouche sniffled, honest to his future self, wishing he had never existed.
“...You can sneeze?” Was Childe’s bewildered response after a good few seconds.
“So?” Scaramouche scoffed.
“Oh, he can sneeze,” Dottore confirmed through a breathy chuckle. “He used to be impossible to work with because of it. I’d have to find ways to sedate him if I wanted to even touch his nose.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Scaramouche muttered from where he’d sunk into his seat, his face burning red with embarrassment. “Besides, I’m much stronger now.”
“Maybe so. But regardless, unlike the most of us, you don’t sneeze without reason. Do you have something to declare, Scaramouche?”
“I’d watch your mouth if I were you,” Pantalone scolded with a tsk. “This kind of behaviour isn’t very becoming of a ‘future god’.”
“Right, because you’re the expert on being a god, not me, who will actually become one. While we’re at it, why don’t we go to Childe for medical advice?”
“Ha,” Sandrone scoffed. “Funnily enough, I think even Tartaglia would be a better doctor than Dottore.”
“Now now, it’s best we all calm down,” Pulcinella cut in. Scaramouche wasn’t having it.
“I don’t need to listen to you,” He snapped, “I’m a future god, I-- I’m not--” He sighed in utter annoyance, letting the embarrassment come. It was more embarrassing to fight it and lose. “eh’issHhhu! heh-iSHHhieww!
“Here,” Arlecchino extended a folded napkin, to which Scaramouche swatted it away.
“I’m not one of your pathetic children.”
Arlecchino’s fingers tightened around the napkin, crushing the thin cloth beneath her grip. “You’re right, you’re not one of my children. But don’t worry, some day you’ll get to that level of maturity.”
“That’s enough,” Pierro cut in, silencing every voice. “I was hoping this time I wouldn’t be entering to witness such a mess, but here we are again. Why is it that you all behave like children the moment--”
…Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, be damned with his troublesome nose, now is not the time…
….That… was not the name Scaramouche was expecting to hear.
“What did we say about the perfume?”
…Holy shit, God was real.
Scaramouche was too busy reeling over how lucky he got to notice what happened next, but when he was being snapped back into reality, Pierro was gone, Signora was gone, and one or two others he didn’t care for had left as well.
“Scara.” Childe snapped his fingers once, twice, in front of Scaramouche’s face.
“There he is,” Pantalone teased.
“Yikes, it’s gotta hurt to do that,” Childe winced. “Just let it out, comrade.”
“I’ll do what I-- n’gtt! What I w-- nXxt-ch!”
“Scaramouche,” Dottore’s voice came in next, and that shut him up completely. “It’s not the perfume… is it? You’re reacting to your last procedure.”
Scaramouche froze completely, all sneezes suddenly disappearing from his sinuses.
“And to think you’re supposed to be number 6…” Pantalone tsked. He was probably just jealous his sugar baby was paying less attention to him.
Dottore tsked as well. “I didn’t think your body would be rejecting it in such a way… perhaps I overestimated you.” He must have noticed the way Scaramouche’s face fell, because he continued, “Ah, but, before you say anything, we will still be continuing with the experiment. We just need to make a few extra… changes first. Come find me when you’re ready. We’ll open you up and see where we went wrong.”
At some point during the conversation, Scaramouche’s fear turned into a glare, which he held onto Dottore his whole way out. A sigh. A moment in silence to rub his nose with his palm… and then…
“RIGHT!?” Sandrone practically screeched, a rant on the tip of her tongue.
The fear and embarrassment he’d felt in that moment, the amusement and belonging he felt ranting and gossipping with his coworkers… it was all a part of his past. Who he was, and who he is now.
Wanderer couldn’t help but scoff at his old self for ever trying to erase that.