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The Balladeer is truly a force to be reckoned with.
As a Harbinger, his power and influence are undoubtedly great, and he takes no issue with eliminating any people, enemies or even his own subordinates, if he feels the need to do so. His stature is short in physicality, but immense in so many other ways. Lumine might not like him, but she can admit this much.
He’s always sly and dangerous—and that’s what makes his appearance now so shocking.
Lumine is exploring a domain when she finds him. She expects danger, as she always does when doing these sorts of things, but that danger had not included the surprise appearance of a Fatui Harbinger.
Only, he doesn’t look the same way he always does. Normally he stands up straight, with his large hat taking up far more space than he needs. Now, he’s hunched over at the side of a corridor with his face in his hands, hat strewn haphazardly to his side, and Lumine thinks she can see him shaking.
Still, she instantly, instinctively, jumps into battle mode. Sword drawn in front of her, ready to defend herself or attack if needed. “Balladeer.”
His head snaps up to look at her, and his eyes are wide. He looks somewhere between angry, and in pain. And Lumine thinks she might be able to see shock, before it disappears in less than a second. Still, Scaramouche smiles with his mouth open, sharp white teeth peeking out below his lips. “Traveler,” he acknowledges. “How lovely to see you here.”
Lumine’s fingers tighten around the hilt of her blade. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” His eyebrows raise and huffs out a laugh, tilting his head back. “I should ask you that. You’re trespassing in Fatui territory, after all.”
“Fatui territory?” She scrunches her face. The fact that she’d only encountered Fatui enemies along the way starts to make sense now, and she mentally slaps herself for not being able to figure it out until now.
“Just now noticing?” he asks, as if reading her thoughts. “Looks like you aren’t as smart as the rumors say.”
“Shut up.”
“Mmm, it’s been too long since I’ve heard words like that from you.” His gaze darts to her face, only to dart away a half-beat later. “You’re in restricted territory, and thus will have to be dealt with,” he says curtly.
So he’s going to summon his subordinates, perhaps a Skirmisher or two to fight her; it’s fine, she can take care of them with no problem. Nothing she hasn’t done thousands of times at this point. She’s poised and ready, but nothing appears even after several moments.
“Are you going to ‘deal with me’ or what?” she says finally.
His eyes squeeze shut. She can’t tell if it’s from pain or simply exasperation. “I said you ought to be. But I’ll give you a chance to escape, courtesy of my oddly generous mood at this moment.” When she makes no move to leave, he says, “If you were intelligent, Traveler, you’d take the chance I gave you.”
“The only chance I’m interested in taking is to run my sword through your chest.”
That draws a singular breathy laugh from Scaramouche. “If you don’t leave, you truly will be forced to fight me.”
“In this state?” She points her sword tip at him, who is still hunched over. “I could defeat you easily.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure…” he drawls, but she is quite sure.
“You look like you would fall over if you stood up.” He opens his mouth to retort, but she’s quicker. “Go on, stand up and prove me wrong.”
“...I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he mutters, motionless.
So, she’s correct. Though it’s no surprise he’d never admit to weakness if he could avoid it. Still, Lumine has never seen him look anything close to how terrible he does now. Curiosity gets the best of her, and so she asks, “What’s even wrong with you?”
He stares at her, perhaps contemplating what to say in reply. Or perhaps he does it just to be unnerving. “None of your concern, Traveler. You shouldn’t be here.”
Well, Lumine shouldn’t even still be in this world anymore, but things unfortunately don’t always go according to plan. “Is this something that happens often?” she says instead. “Whatever this is? Are you dying or what?”
“Is that what you’d want? Would you want me to die, Lumine?”
The question catches her off guard, and she hopes that doesn’t show on her face. Her lips part, searching for an answer to give.
“Is it?” Scaramouche continues, pushing himself up a little further. His gaze still bores into her as he speaks. “It would make things easier for you, wouldn’t it? The one who caused harm to a number of innocent civilians, sowed discord in Inazuma—wouldn’t you be happy if he was gone?”
It takes her only a few extra seconds to answer, but it’s still too long. Swallowing, she says, “Will you?”
He pauses. Then drawls, “No.”
The tension in Lumine’s shoulders dissipates. “What a shame,” she replies flatly. Then adds, “You didn’t say what was wrong.”
“So worried about me, aren’t you Traveler? You should be careful—if I didn’t know any better, I might think you actually care about me—”
“Stop stalling and just say it.”
His face drops. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “Since you’re so… adamant, I’ll tell you.” His hand waves vaguely, beckoning her.
Noticing her hesitation to come closer, he clarifies, “So nobody other than us hears.”
It’s a flimsy explanation, but she still goes with it, stepping closer until she’s only a foot away from him, then crouches down to his level. From this close, she can see him trembling minutely. And he’s pale, so pale, but that’s nothing new.
“You do know,” he starts, voice low, “that I feast on blood, yes?” His sharp canines peek from underneath his lips, glinting as if to emphasize his words.
Of course, Lumine does know this. She has heard a number of reports detailing innocent people having their blood harvested in order to sate the Sixth Harbinger’s appetite, and there’s an entire sector of the Fatui underneath him, dedicated to supplying him with blood in this way. She’s no stranger to this fact, and it is yet another reason she maintains a distaste for him.
Now reminded of this, she thinks she understands what’s happening, and Scaramouche’s words only confirm her thoughts. “It seems I haven’t fed in quite some time…”
“Ah.” Mildly uncomfortable, she stands up again and puts some distance between them.
“Not what you were expecting?”
She shrugs, because she doesn’t really know what she was expecting.
“Hm. So, what now Traveler?” Scaramouche shifts in his spot, pressing one palm against the floor. “Are you going to take advantage of this situation? Take me out while I’m weak?” His eyes are wide, sclera nearly forming a ring around his pupils, and there’s an unsettling smile on his face.
Lumine opens her mouth, but she isn’t sure what to say. This one, he talks about his own death too often.
Still, his words…Perhaps that’s what she should do; Harbingers, especially this one, are nothing but a nuisance. It’d make it easier for her down the line—one less to deal with.
But…
She peers down at his form huddled up against the wall, and it doesn’t feel right to do so. She’s not so disillusioned to think that even in this state he’s completely powerless, but it’s nothing she wouldn’t be able to easily handle. No more difficult than batting an eyelash, she thinks. And so, it’d feel cheap, fighting him when he’s in this state.
Besides, she didn’t come here prepared to take out a Harbinger. Maybe another day on that one.
Of course, Lumine has no interest in helping him either. The best course of action would be to leave him here, let whatever happens to him happen. He did say he wouldn’t die from it, after all. So she turns so she can’t see him anymore, back facing him. “No,” she finally says, answering his question. “I won’t interfere with whatever’s going on here. It’s none of my concern—you said it yourself, didn’t you?” Her head shifts back so she’s half looking over her shoulder. “But, I’ll tell you this Balladeer: I hope you suffer.”
Another laugh erupts from him. “Ah, so kind of you Traveler. I hope the same for you.”
And that’s the end of their interaction. Lumine slips out of the room holding him inside it, finds the exit and leaves without so much as a second thought.
Only… she doesn’t.
She does leave the room, but then wanders. Waving through different sections of the labyrinth. Trying to put Scaramouche out of her mind, but failing spectacularly.
His image keeps reappearing in her mind. The way he looked, the detectable struggle beneath his words—he might not die but he’s not in good shape at all. And Lumine might dislike him, hate him even, but it still offsets her for a reason she can’t fully dissect.
Sure, she’s imagined bringing him down using her own abilities, but this is something else entirely.
That’s what has her stepping back in the corridor where Scaramouche sits.
Upon hearing the soft clicks of her shoes against the flooring, he looks up again. “Back already? Did you change your mind—”
“You need blood,” she interrupts bluntly. It’s intended as a question but comes out like a statement.
He blinks. “...Something like that.”
“Okay.” She bites her lip, already mentally wincing at what she’s about to do.
Then, she lowers to be directly in front of Scaramouche again, knees resting against the hard wood of the floor. Purposefully trains her vision to right above his head to avoid looking into his eyes as she unwraps the scarf from her neck. This is idiotic, Lumine thinks while holding the fabric between her fingers, and she doesn’t know why she’s doing this.
When Lumine finally glances at Scaramouche’s face, his expression is difficult to understand. He’s not moved at all, no indication to show how he feels about this. There’s no way he doesn’t already know what she’s implying, what her plan is simply from her actions, but she tries to say it aloud still. “You can—... you know.”
Scaramouche lets his gaze flick once to her neck—unmarked and now exposed—before snapping back to her face. “Are you taunting me, Traveler?”
She wishes she was. She manages a stiff shake of her head.
“So, what?” His eyebrows raise. “You’re offering yourself up for me?”
When put that way, it makes her internally recoil. “Not… I’m just…” struggling to find words to represent exactly what she’s doing. “You need blood. So.”
“…You know, I always hear about how kind the Outlander is, how she’s always willing to help people…It’s almost convincing, your little act over here. Why don’t you exercise some of that kindness and leave me alone for once?”
“No, I’m not—!” she exclaims frustratedly. Her hand finds itself firmly grasping his knee and she takes note of his visible reaction to it in the back of her mind. “I’m being serious. You can feed off me.”
Scaramouche stares at her for a long moment, like he’s still trying to discern whether she’s being truthful or not. And he’s still trembling the whole time. When he seems to finally determine she’s being sincere in her offer, he mutters under his breath, “Unbelievable…”
Unsure of what to say in reply, or if even to say anything at all, she swallows. And his gaze falls back to her throat to watch the motion, now staying longer than it had before. It’s as if the prospect alone of feeding off of her has triggered something in him. And thus he looks with so much intensity that her stomach twists with discomfort. She feels like a prey animal, bound in place by him. Maybe this really isn’t a good idea—
“I’m not interested.”
Lumine blinks. “…What?”
He scowls, beautiful features shifting into something ill-tempered. “Are you deaf? I said I’m not interested.” With his words, he bats away her hand from his knee.
“But…” she shakes her head. “So you’d truly rather stay like this than accept my help?”
“Ha. I’d rather feed on anyone else than you. Get lost.”
Her hand, the one he just pushed aside, squeezes into a fist by her side. “Well, sorry for mistakenly trying to put our grievances aside for just one moment for your own benefit, Balladeer.”
“I never asked for your help, Traveler. I’m not interested in having to repay you for it. Besides,” he takes a moment and inhales raggedly through his mouth, “you aren’t even from this world. Who knows if your blood even has the properties I require…”
Her lips tighten. “Well, you could always try. But I don’t have all day. It’s either a yes or I’m leaving.”
Scaramouche doesn’t say anything, and so she sighs, exasperated. Starts to get up to depart. “Well, I guess it’s goodbye—”
Her wrist is caught by his grasp before she can stand. Despite his state, his grip is still tight. And he’s cold to the touch. “Fine,” he says.
“Fine?”
“I’ll accept your…offer.”
Lumine’s mouth opens, then closes again. Only moments ago he said how he’d rather feed from anyone but her, only now to say this? He’s too difficult to understand, she concludes. “…Okay,” she says slowly, taking a breath and prying her wrist out of his hold before settling back down. “Okay. How should we—”
She’s interrupted by Scaramouche surging forward towards her, and her hackles raise because for a second she thinks he’s about to attack her, but his mouth only goes to the side of her neck like agreed—he’s apparently uninterested in conversing any longer. Still, Lumine makes a noise of surprise and has to plant a hand behind her on the wood to steady herself. And then she shivers because he’s cold. He mouths at her skin, those fangs of his dragging but not piercing through just yet. It’s an awkward position to say the least, for Lumine to be in with someone she calls an enemy. Almost intimate in a way, uncomfortably so.
And seconds later, he finally pierces through skin and she winces at the feeling. It’s in that moment that Lumine really realizes that she’s doing this, that she was even the one to offer her blood to him. She has got to be going insane.
“H-How long is this going to take?” she asks, contorting her face. She hopes it’s not longer than a few minutes. Paimon will be wondering where she is if not. Lumine thanks every god she knows that Paimon isn’t here to bear witness to…this.
An answer to her question doesn’t come. In fact the only thing Scaramouche does is shuffle further even more, trying to get closer to his source of food—because that’s what she is now—until he’s practically in her lap. Archons. She leans back, trying to create just a little bit more distance between them, but he only goes along with her, not willing to separate from her. It’s like she can’t escape from him.
“Scaramouche?” she says. Still no response. He’s fully focused on where his face is buried into her neck, on where the droplets of blood are no doubt seeping out. Half of her vision is filled with just him, and when she moves her head, his smooth hair tickles her chin below it.
She feels his tongue swipe at the wound, tasting her, and her breath stutters at the feeling. It’s distracting, very distracting. But it’s alright, she tells herself. As long as he takes only what he needs… shit, they never established any rules on that. It’s Scaramouche’s fault, she realizes, for rushing into it. “Hey,” she starts shakily. “Only enough to get you on your feet…”
She hopes he actually hears her, but isn't sure. The only response she gets from him is a low groan, and a firm push backwards until she’s flat on the floor. He’s hovering over her for a second, mouth stained with red and a crazed expression on his face, before he returns right back to where he was at her throat. His legs straddle her hips and his body presses into her this time with more than noticeable force. It’s like he’s trying to make himself one with her, and Lumine has no idea what to do with that implication.
She must have been squirming because Scaramouche’s hand comes up to grasp the back of her neck, holding her steady.
Lumine whines, bringing her own hand to his back. “Are you…ah…almost done?”
“No,” he finally replies breathily, moving his face merely an inch away from her neck. His breaths fan out on her skin, against the blood and saliva. “I need—” Then he’s back to biting her, the feeling of the slight pain making her back arch. Archons, she hates him.
He spends several moments here, feeding off of her. Lumine tries to relax and just let it happen but it proves to be an impossible task. Her breath is coming out quickly, and she attributes that to the blood loss. When he presses into her again, she absentmindedly notes his lack of a heartbeat.
“You don’t taste like a human…” he says lowly, and she thinks he might be talking to himself more than her. “I didn’t think you would. No, I thought you—...I wanted…to know…” Again, he doesn’t finish his sentence in favor of putting his mouth at her neck again.
Lumine’s knees come up either side of his torso, feet flat on the floor. “Know…?” she prompts.
“What you would taste like.”
Her fingers tighten in the fabric of his top, bunching it together inside her palm. “What…” She can barely work out what she means.
Scaramouche’s hand trails from her bare shoulder, down to one of her half-uncovered breasts where they linger for an extra few moments, then to her waist, before settling at her hip. Then he rasps, “Lumine,” and the touch paired with the use of her name as opposed to her title stirs heat inside her.
And she realizes with that, it’s far too intimate, the way they are right now. There’s hardly an inch of his body she can’t feel. It’s almost…sensual, the way he’s feeding off her, and it’s like they’re both under a daze, unable to think straight. If anyone saw her like this—intimate with an enemy—they’d view her as a disappointment, as distrustful.
But the worst part—she isn’t even sure she hates this.
He rolls his hips into hers once, letting her feel him, and she instinctively gasps in response. It’s obvious where this is heading.
When he does it again, she reacts once more, unable to help it, but then pushes his shoulders hard, trying to get him off her. Lumine knows—he won’t be the one to stop, so she has to. She has to practically tear him off, ripping away his mouth from her throat and pushing him to the side. Now off of her, she can see his teeth and lips covered in red.
And to think he’d been saying he didn’t want her blood.
Scaramouche’s eyes dart around, like he’s trying to understand how he went from up close to Lumine to not even touching her at all in mere moments. When the situation finally registers, his expression becomes muted and his tongue darts out to lick the remnants of her.
She pants, trying to regain her breath, obviously frazzled, but after his initial wild reaction, Scaramouche has already managed to compose himself.
“You…” she starts between breaths, but doesn’t know what she means to say.
It seems he doesn’t either, because not a sound escapes his mouth.
“Well,” she tries again, tone carefully formal, “That should be plenty to…get you on your feet.” She stumbles to her own feet in the most graceful way she can muster despite feeling a little light-headed, still determined not to look weak in front of him.
A beat of silence where he just watches her; not in a particularly judgemental way or like he’s noting her inelegance like he does at times, but rather something else she can’t read. Then, he simply says, “Yes.”
Lumine nods curtly, and smooths out her hair before adjusting the top of her dress. “Then…I’m leaving.” She turns to go, not keen on staying here any longer, but he catches her hand once more, causing her to stiffen.
“I’ll see you, Traveler,” he says, in a tone that could truly mean anything.
“Same to you, Balladeer,” she replies coolly.
Lumine makes her way out of the domain quickly, not interested in exploring for any longer. She just wants to go home and sleep, for once. When she finally touches fresh air again, her hand comes up to rub her neck, the part at which Scaramouche had bitten. Archons, his bite marks are still there, she realizes as she runs a finger along the indents. They’d better be gone soon, at the latest by tomorrow, she thinks, then drops her hand.
And it’s only then that she realizes she’s left her scarf behind.