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“This is a waste of time.”
“Oh? Should we pretend to be surprised that the puppet doesn’t appreciate mortal traditions? Back in Mondstadt, the knights would host frequent banquets where all of the captains and their families would bring a dish to share.”
“Well this isn’t Mondstadt, is it? And your precious ‘knight’ isn’t around anymore.”
“Why you-”
‘This is a good way for us to bond. We must all fight together to defeat Celestia. This is a good way for us to bond. We must all fight together…’
Pierro opened his eye.
‘...to defeat…Celestia…’
Trying to arrange monthly banquets for all of the harbingers had been the worst mistake of his life, and he watched as his king dared Celestia to strike him down. Well not actually, but he was still becoming accustomed to the way mortals used sarcasm these days.
Pantalone was lounged across the Doctor’s lap, trying to convince one of the clones to feed him grapes on the vine. Directly across from them sat Arlecchino, glaring daggers at the banker. Based on the way her eye was twitching, Pantalone would likely find an unpleasant surprise in his wine- hopefully nothing lethal, as that would add so much more work to Pierro’s already busy schedule.
Standing near the door where he entered, Scaramouche and Rosalyne were in a heated discussion about…something or other. They would fight and insult each other, but ultimately they would end up drunk and giggling about their unbearable coworkers. Inevitably, one of Dottore’s clones would spy on them and report back to Pantalone. What the Doctor found so amusing about riling the Ninth up was a mystery.
Choosing to ignore Columbina napping on top of the chandelier, the man made his way over to Capitano and Pulcinella. The small harbinger was trying to help Capitano choose the correct fork for his salad. Insignificant as the duo’s etiquette lessons were to their grand mission, the pair was infinitely less…eccentric than their coworkers.
“Rooster, Captain. I am pleased to see that you all are enjoying the food.” Pierro greeted as he sat down.
Capitano let out a hearty laugh, slapping Pierro (rather painfully) on the back. “Well perhaps once I master these utensils enough to actually eat something. Pulcinella is a tough master.”
“When you asked me to teach you proper manners, you mentioned that you need discipline in order to follow through. I am simply following your request by making sure you are committed to eating properly,” the tiny man chastised.
“And speaking of needing discipline, where did your little pet project scamper off to?”
Ah, Sandrone. For someone who chose to ride around on large machines, she was quite good at making her presence unknown.
“I have important work waiting for me back in my lab, but unfortunately the big man on top here doesn’t want anyone to leave before the main course is served. Despite being late himself.”
Pierro merely nodded, accepting a glass of wine from a passing servant. “That is correct. It builds character and allows us to bond.”
He turned to Pulcinella. “The Seventh does have a point though. Where is young Tartaglia?”
–
“I’ll just eat something later. I’m not going.”
Pierro let out a deep sigh. “We cannot eat our meal until every harbinger is present. What reason do you have to protest such an event anyway? It is just like a family dinner. And Pulcinella tells me you-”
The door swung open, slamming against the wall.
“Those psychopaths are not my family! My real family is back home in Morepesok!” Tartaglia growled, a wild look in his eyes.
His real family…ah yes, he still didn’t know. Well, not much of a purpose in opening that can of sandworms right now.
“Well last I checked, you are here with us and not them. If you really think they’ll take you back, then you’re free to leave.”
Tartaglia glared up at him.
“Well?”
The boy punched the door frame, refusing to meet Pierro’s eye.
“As I thought. I expect to see you in the dining hall in no more than five minutes.”
He scanned the boy’s attire. It was obvious that he had just been out hunting…something, from the black blood staining his shirt.
“Make it seven actually. And please, change into something more fitting of your stature, little prince.”
He turned away, trying to avoid smirking as an angry scream was heard before the door slammed shut. Ah, he was getting much better at communicating with the boy. He hadn’t even been called old this time. He’d have to report to Her Majesty that he was making great progress in their relationship.
–
Luckily dinner itself was a relatively silent affair. Though many of the harbingers did not need to eat, they knew well enough that they were supposed to go through the motions. In the quiet of the Winter Palace, Pierro could almost pretend they were a normal family.
The murderous glare continued to pierce through him from across the table. Tartaglia, finally cleaned up and looking more like the prince he was supposed to be than the feral child they all knew he was, was aggressively stabbing his dinner with a hydro knife.
Almost.
A splash of wine hit him in the chest. He turned to glare at where Dottore and Pantalone were very obviously flirting. The Regrator smiled at him apologetically(?), though he made no effort to help clean his now-ruined formal attire. A small robotic spider climbed onto his shoulder and began trying to wipe up the stain. Of course, considering Sandrone had programmed them to serve food and not to clean it, it mostly just smeared it further into his overcoat.
Almost a normal family.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the spiders scurry over from where Signora and Scaramouche were gossiping to Sandrone’s seat, nearly trampling Tartaglia’s already mutilated lobster in the process.
The Seventh giggled as it seemed to play a recording of some kind to her, before redirecting the robot towards where the Doctor was…ugh, fondling the banker (who had, at some point, moved into his lap).
The pair scooped up the tiny robot, listening to the message. Pantalone’s face went red, and his posture went rigid.
Well, it was a nice meal while it lasted.
Arlecchino and Capitano were luckily very aware of what was happening. Arlecchino sighed and covered the sleeping Columbina’s ears, while Capitano grabbed Tartaglia tightly, making sure he was unable to grab any weapons from where he was seated. Even Sandrone and Pulcinella had the good sense to back up as Pantalone lunged across the table at the still-gossiping pair.
As expected, Tartaglia immediately tried to jump in at the prospect of a fight. Equally as expected, Dottore had pulled out his notepad and was recording the (rather pathetic) attempts from the drunken Ninth to attack his colleagues.
Pierro closed his eye, taking a deep breath.
Well…there was always next month.