for @fatuispolaris continued from x
Scaramouche snorts out a puff of air, not quite laughing but not exactly bitter either. It is not exactly funny, but he almost feels bad for the Eleventh Harbinger-- young, doe-eyed and ignorant. It was no secret that he was the Tsaritsa’s lap dog, pledging his loyalty to her over his own interests and desires. The old Scaramouche found it pathetic. Absolutely weak and unfortunate. Well, it was still unfortunate but for other reasons. Spending time in Sumeru, learning about the people, culture, and emotions, Scaramouche realized many things about himself, the Tsaritsa, and the world overall. He had plenty of time to think about his personal goals and decide what he wanted for himself while he was recovering from his his injury. While he once gave his allegiance to the Tsaritsa, the cryo archon, he no longer wished to serve her, aid in her vision in collecting the visions by sowing unrest.
Though she was the archon of love, he wondered when the last time she actually loved someone. The Tsaritsa lured Harbingers in to get what she wanted, not to truly create a home for them. Scaramouche didn’t exactly call Buer family, but she’d made him see things more clear and put himself first. He didn’t intend to be a mindless minion doing the bidding of a woman who has long since cursed the world behind a wall of ice.
“I am no longer the Balladeer. I abandoned that title,” he said, cautious not to make the other erupt with any intense emotion that would call for combat. Scaramouche was not exactly scared of it, but he was still recovering from his injury and had yet to fully master the limits of the vision bestowed upon him by the anemo archon. He was aware of his limits and did not want to deal with another Harbinger when not in his best condition.
“Look, my decision was made long ago-- I haven’t exactly been with the Fatui because of my allegiance to the Tsaritsa,” he explained, surprising even himself with his outburst. He did not owe the other his words, but he was working out his own thoughts by speaking them aloud. He did have a tendency of oversharing-- though that usually extended to his rude remarks and side comments-- times when he was consumed by emotion. Of course, he wasn’t upset with Childe, but rejecting his title was a step out of his comfort zone-- the false comfort he sought in Snezhnaya. What folly. Maybe the real ignorant one had been him all along.
“I am turning over a new leaf. It’s not personal,” he shrugged, trying to go for casual and unbothered. “I just no longer wish to be your beloved archon’s puppet. Y’know, we all have brains for a reason. I hope during your hunt that you actually practiced using yours. Or did you treat this whole search like a vacation? How irresponsible,” he added, bickering with Childe out of habit. It was almost comforting arguing with his colleagues, no matter how annoying he thought they were. He had known them for years and unfortunately change was never easy even when you have lived for a long time.
“Is this good enough for you?” he asked, not seeking permission but making sure that the younger would leave him be without much conflict. It was unnerving that the other seemed bothered by his choice rather than thrilled at the prospect of battle.