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 wouldnât give to go back in time and show up with a friend, comment on Signoraâs 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 heâd 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.Â
He sat at the banquet, sipping his classically bitter tea and ignoring the food he did not need to eat. He didnât speak a word, just idly listening to the chatter like he was simply above it. Practice for when heâd 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, heâd leave all of this behind.
âFine,â Sandrone huffed. âI guess Iâm too busy to need to care about some meaningless singing.â
âReally?â Scaramouche muttered. âI thought I heard Arlecchino say your anger issues were a liability.â
âShe said WHAT now?â Sandrone practically screeched, immediately launching into another argument.
âŚ.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 hadnât 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 feelâŚ
Him? Exhausted? No, he couldnât 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 weakâŚ
âScaramouche, tell Sandrone Iâm not âchildishâ and âannoying!ââ Childe demanded, drawing a groan out of the tired puppet.
âOh my me, I donât CARE.â
âFor the last time, Scaramouche, you donât get to say âOh my meâ instead of âOh my godâ, youâre not even a god yet!â 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 Dottoreâs eyes on himâŚ
He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth. Donât sniffle, donât sneeze⌠they are watching your every move⌠That little âbuzzingâ in the back of his nose had grown into an unstoppable force. Think, Scaramouche⌠think⌠what is there to doâŚ?
âYou okay, Scara?â 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.
âHehNGt! nâgtt-ch!â
Nearly silent⌠at least, nearly silent when covered by the sound of pointless bickering. He lifted his head once he realized incessant rubbing wasnât going to will the tickle out of his nose.
âYou were down there for a bit, are you-- woah there.â Childe was giving him a look he really didnât like. âYour, uhâŚâ
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 couldnât wait to be rid of it.
âHh--â 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 chanceâŚ
He couldnât falter now. Not when he was so close.
âŚDammit, 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--
âScaramouche,â Dottore cut in. âI am speaking to you.â
The way his name was spoken sent a chill down Scaramoucheâs 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.
â...You can sneeze?â Was Childeâs bewildered response after a good few seconds.
âSo?â Scaramouche scoffed.
âOh, he can sneeze,â Dottore confirmed through a breathy chuckle. âHe used to be impossible to work with because of it. Iâd have to find ways to sedate him if I wanted to even touch his nose.â
âIt wasnât that bad,â Scaramouche muttered from where heâd sunk into his seat, his face burning red with embarrassment. âBesides, Iâm much stronger now.â
âMaybe so. But regardless, unlike the most of us, you donât sneeze without reason. Do you have something to declare, Scaramouche?â
âIâd watch your mouth if I were you,â Pantalone scolded with a tsk. âThis kind of behaviour isnât very becoming of a âfuture godâ.â
âRight, because youâre the expert on being a god, not me, who will actually become one. While weâre at it, why donât we go to Childe for medical advice?â
âHa,â Sandrone scoffed. âFunnily enough, I think even Tartaglia would be a better doctor than Dottore.â
âNow now, itâs best we all calm down,â Pulcinella cut in. Scaramouche wasnât having it.Â
âI donât need to listen to you,â He snapped, âIâm a future god, I-- Iâm not--â He sighed in utter annoyance, letting the embarrassment come. It was more embarrassing to fight it and lose. âehâissHhhu! heh-iSHHhieww!
âHere,â Arlecchino extended a folded napkin, to which Scaramouche swatted it away.
âIâm not one of your pathetic children.â
Arlecchinoâs fingers tightened around the napkin, crushing the thin cloth beneath her grip. âYouâre right, youâre not one of my children. But donât worry, some day youâll get to that level of maturity.â
âThatâs enough,â Pierro cut in, silencing every voice. âI was hoping this time I wouldnât be entering to witness such a mess, but here we are again. Why is it that you all behave like children the moment--â
âŚDammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, be damned with his troublesome nose, now is not the timeâŚ
âŚ.That⌠was not the name Scaramouche was expecting to hear.
âWhat did we say about the perfume?â
âŚHoly 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 didnât care for had left as well.Â
âScara.â Childe snapped his fingers once, twice, in front of Scaramoucheâs face.
âThere he is,â Pantalone teased.
âYikes, itâs gotta hurt to do that,â Childe winced. âJust let it out, comrade.â
âIâll do what I-- nâgtt! What I w-- nXxt-ch!â
âScaramouche,â Dottoreâs voice came in next, and that shut him up completely. âItâs not the perfume⌠is it? Youâre reacting to your last procedure.â
Scaramouche froze completely, all sneezes suddenly disappearing from his sinuses.
 âAnd to think youâre supposed to be number 6âŚâ Pantalone tsked. He was probably just jealous his sugar baby was paying less attention to him.
Dottore tsked as well. âI didnât think your body would be rejecting it in such a way⌠perhaps I overestimated you.â He must have noticed the way Scaramoucheâs face fell, because he continued, âAh, 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 youâre ready. Weâll open you up and see where we went wrong.â
At some point during the conversation, Scaramoucheâs 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 thenâŚ
â...Heâs such a dick.â
âRIGHT!?â Sandrone practically screeched, a rant on the tip of her tongue.
The fear and embarrassment heâd 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 couldnât help but scoff at his old self for ever trying to erase that.