Chapter Text
“What is the meaning of this?”
Sandrone places the teapot onto the table with a little more force than necessary. A few drops splash from the spout, staining the white table cloth, and her scowl deepens.
It hadn’t even started, and yet, her tea party was already being interrupted.
“Apologies, Marionette,” the Fatui soldier answers, though he doesn’t sound very sorry. Figures. The man works for Dottore. “There’s been an accident,” he explains. “Something’s gone wrong with the leylines, and the Doctor wishes for you to oversee him for the time being. He should be here soon.”
The him in question being the 6th of the Fatui Harbingers.
Sandrone watches him with a sharp eye. Her silence should be an answer in itself, but the man turns at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, poking his head out momentarily to check who it is.
“Ah, he’s coming now,” he says and then bows towards her like the conversation is over. “I’ll be returning to my post. I trust you’ll keep him safe.”
Before Sandrone can berate him for his insolence, she pauses. Keep him safe? “Hey!” she calls, but the man has already left, and a newcomer has taken his place.
Scaramouche stands there, his stupid hat almost wide enough to span the entire doorway.
“My only day off, and he has to ruin it,” she grumbles under her breath before standing from her chair and walking towards the door, stopping a few paces from the entryway. “Is it your life’s mission to annoy me?”
When he doesn’t answer, Sandrone crosses her arms and frowns. “Did Dottore tamper with your vocal cords? Why aren’t you speaking?”
Sandrone was used to quarreling with Scaramouche. The two of them always fought fire with fire, but now the silence was odd, and Sandrone finds it unnerving to not be on the receiving end of his acerbic tongue.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the apology is so unexpected that Sandrone almost misses the fact that he spoke in Inazuman.
“So you can talk,” she snorts, rolling her eyes. “And now you’re playing games? Why are you speaking Inazuman?”
Before he has the time to respond, more footsteps echo from the hallway, and soon enough, Columbina and Arlecchino appear behind him in the doorway.
“Sandrone,” Columbina addresses her, but her attention is focused on Scaramouche. “Could this be the Balladeer?”
“Who else?” she sneers.
“I believe what Columbina means is the one before us seems different than his usual self,” Arlecchino interjects before glancing down at Columbina. “Is that right?”
Columbina nods, her voice soft as she adds, “He feels different. Less, hm…dreadful?”
Sandrone is about to strike the idea down, but when Scaramouche remains silent in the wake of Columbina’s (likely) unintentional insult, she rethinks.
Perhaps something was different about him.
Dottore’s underling had mentioned an accident with the leylines, but he didn’t go into detail. He’d also told her to keep him safe, but safe from what?
“Hey,” she says, and when Scaramouche looks her way, she chooses her next words carefully, attempting to gauge what exactly had changed. “Why’d Dottore send you here?”
Scaramouche stares at her without answering, and Sandrone doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so nervous. It’s offputting, and she finds herself coming to a conclusion that she’s not sure she’s entirely prepared to handle.
“Oh no.” She shakes here head in disbelief, looking to Arlecchino and Columbina to see if they share in her sentiments. “You don’t think he’s lost his memories?”
“If I might ask,” Arlecchino starts. ”Why is he here in the first place?”
Sandrone exhales, realizing she hadn’t even told them what had happened. She gestures for them to enter the room, but Scaramouche is blocking the doorway, and to her dismay, he doesn’t move. It’s only with the physical prompting of a not-so-gentle tug that he finally stumble inside, Arlecchino and Columbina following close behind.
Sandrone glances out the door, surveying both ends of the hallway for any sight of Dottore’s men, but the halls are empty. She curses and turns back to the room, closing the door behind her as she makes her way to the table.
Her two guests have taken their usual seats, Arlecchino to her right and Columbina to her left. Her unwanted guest remains near the doorway, failing in his attempt to be discreet in glancing their way.
She ignores him for the time being, taking her seat at the table and recapping what had happened moments before their arrival.
“A leyline accident?” Columbina asks. “So his memories have changed?”
“It seems so,” Sandrone agrees. “Honestly”—she casts a quick glance at him—“I’m not sure he can understand us anymore.”
Arlecchino nods along. “Perhaps he’s returned to a previous version of himself. One that has yet to join the Fatui?”
“I can’t think of any other explanation.” Sandrone leans back in her chair, crossing her leg over the other as she ponders the other possibilities. “Unless it’s just his language processing that’s changed,” she muses before shutting down her own hypothesis. “Wait, no. It couldn’t be. If that were the case, whether or not he could speak, he’d still be as irritating as he normally is.”
“He does seem less disagreeable,” Columbina turns to face him, her gaze all-knowing despite the blindfold. “I can sense it,” she says. “Before, he always had an air of hostility and bitterness, but now, all I feel is a gentleness about him. And, well, maybe that bitterness is still there, but that too is different. It’s changed into something softer and less pointed. Maybe grief or sorrow?”
Sandrone groaned. “So now what? I’m his designated babysitter until Dottore fixes him?”
“Why don’t we determine how much he’s changed first. It might not be that bad,” Arlecchino comforts her. “And if he does end up being too much to handle, I can always take him back to the Hearth.”
“He can stay with me too,” Columbina chimes in. “I have the time and the space.”
“That’s all good and fine, but can either of you speak Inazuman?”
Arlecchino and Columbina exchange glances and then look at Sandrone, both shaking their heads.
“I know a few basic expressions,” Arlecchino offers.
“So we’re all in the same boat.” Sandrone closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tries to think of a solution. “I did get ahold of one of those Akasha terminals. I never had a use for it, but I guess I could turn it into a translator.”
“That sounds like a good place to start.” Columbina smiles, and Arlecchino agrees with her. “I suppose we’ll have to postone our tea party until then.”
Sandrone is about to answer when the sound of the door opening catches all of their attention. It’s Scaramouche, and he steps out of the room, looking right and left a few times before wandering away.
“What is he doing?” Sandrone huffs, rising from her seat to go after him. She glances back for a moment, telling Columbina and Arlecchino to stay there, and then follows him into the hallway.
She finds him standing in front of one of the many windows that line the hall. They’re tall, spanning from the floor to the ceiling, and they look down into the courtyard. Scaramouche has both hands pressed against the pane, transfixed on the snowy scenery below.
“Scaramouche,” she says, even though she knows he can’t understand her.
The sound is enough to get his attention though, and when he turns her direction, she freezes. There are tears in his eyes. They haven’t fallen yet, but they’re as clear as day, illuminated by the light coming in from the window.
Sandrone gawks for a moment, equal parts surprised, annoyed, and confused (and maybe—if she had the heart to admit it—a bit concerned). Comfort was never her strong suit, but it never needed to be. She spent her days surrounded by blueprints, spare parts, and mechanical lifeforms. If anyone needed comforting, it was her after a long day of work.
She doesn’t know what to say, so instead of saying anything, she takes him by the hand and ushers him back into the room. She’s less harsh than before, guiding him rather than pulling him, and after they’re inside, she brings him next to her empty seat.
The command goes unspoken, but Scaramouche complies anyway, taking a seat, hands folded in his lap. He keeps his gaze lowered, and Sandrone can feel Arlecchino and Columbina’s questioning gazes.
“You made him cry?” Arlecchino eyes her with amusement, and even though Sandrone knows she’s not being accusatory, she feels the need to explain herself.
“No.” She raises her hands in defense before gesturing towards him. “He started crying on his own. I have no idea what happened.”
“I wonder what’s wrong.” Columbina reaches a hand towards him, but he shies away, so she pulls back.
“Who knows?” Sandrone shrugs. “Maybe he’s sad we ignored him before. Either way, I need to go work on that translator so I can figure out what’s going on.”
“Let me guess,” Arlecchino says. “You need us to look after him for the time being?”
“It’d make my work a lot easier.”
“Don’t worry,” Columbina assures her. “We’ll stay here with him, so take your time.”
“Thanks. It won’t take long,” Sandrone promises and then she’s out the door, on her way to her laboratory.
She’ll have to halt the project she’s working on and do a quick rundown of her inventory. There’s no time to order specific components, so she’ll have to make do with whatever is available.
She supposes she could always send for a translator, but the less people knew about Scaramouche’s compromised state the better.
Sandrone sighs.
For the love of the Tsaritsa, Dottore owed her big time for this.