Chapter Text
Scaramouche paced back and forth slowly, glaring into the nervous eyes of his subordinates. Some of them trembled, a few others had beads of sweat lining their foreheads. Nothing was more terrifying than when their lord was unhappy. "Not a single one of you are leaving this room until someone comes forward." The soldiers glance amongst themselves, all of them obviously confused. Scaramouche already knew who in the group was definitely uninvolved, but he was keeping that detail to himself.
"S-sir, we don't know what th-this is about." Scaramouche snaps his neck towards the man the voice came from and approaches him quickly, their faces now mere centimeters apart. The man flinches and braces himself, as if expecting to be harmed. "S-sorry, sir," Scaramouche narrows his eyes and stares for a few moments before returning to his pacing.
"I am not sure which of you was dumb enough to attempt to kill me this morning, but it's going to take a lot more than some flower petals in my tea." He notices everyone's expressions grow more puzzled, none of them showing signs of guilt. Scaramouche could spot a liar when he came across one, and to his dismay, none of his subordinates were raising his suspicions. However, he wasn't going to admit defeat that easily. "None of you have any idea about this?" The entire line of soldiers shake their heads in unison.
Scaramouche marches towards the first one in line and points. "You. Where were you at 8 am?"
"The training grounds, sir."
"And you?" he side steps towards the next subordinate in line.
"In a meeting with The Captain, sir." He continues down the line until he's heard everyone's whereabouts. Most were training, a few were in the meeting with the captain, and the last few hadn't even arrived by that time yet. None of them were lying.
Scaramouche scowls and turns his back on them. Now he was the confused one. Who would've tampered with his tea? He's aware he isn't the most liked of the 11, but none of his men were guilty and he knows his colleagues had no involvement. That left him with no one else to accuse. "You're dismissed," he orders lowly, and listens to the shuffling of feet trail off. He sits down at his desk with a heavy sigh and places his hands over his face. Maybe he's overthinking it. Maybe the tea was made using flowers? He hadn't even considered that.
He spreads his fingers and glances at the teacup, then at the papers stained with droplets from when he had choked on it earlier. He clears his throat and reaches for it, taking another sip. It was cold now, but it went down smoothly. He shakes his head and finishes the tea; maybe he was making something out of nothing. He'd admit to himself he tended to overreact sometimes.
"Knock, knock." Scaramouche looks up from his desk and locks eyes with Childe, who's grinning in the doorway. "Got a second?" Scaramouche nods and Childe strides across the room then uses his left leg to sit on the edge of Scaramouche's desk. "Whatcha workin' on?"
"Just some shit Regrator wanted. What do you need?" Scaramouche stacks the papers up neatly, rolling his eyes once more at the tea stains. He'd get an earful for that later.
"Doc wants me to go escort one of his clones or something, I wanted to ask if you'd come with. I hate his clones." Childe taps his finger against his leg as he waits for an answer. Scaramouche stares off into space for awhile before silently standing up from his chair and reaching for his sword. "Hell yeah," Childe cheers quietly and leads them both out of Scaramouche's office.
"So what does he want exactly?"
Just as Childe opens his mouth to respond, an unruly figure appears around the corner, startling them both. "Master asked Lord Tartaglia to protect me on my journey to my mission!" Scaramouche glares at the masked being, watching his visible red eye and half of a sharp-teethed smile. He hates these clones too.
"Just show us where to go and keep your mouth shut, Test Tube," Childe scowls and nudges the clone forward. Scaramouche snickers as he trails behind, though he was already regretting agreeing to this. The first half of the walk is pretty silent. The clone attempts to make conversation, but both Scaramouche and Childe put and end to it before it can start. "Hey, over there." Scaramouche looks in the direction Childe nodded towards and sees a group of hilichurls. They were dancing and sleeping, though one wrong move and they'd be attacking in seconds.
"Hey, why are you walking so slow?" The clone calls out, immediately alerting the monsters. Childe glares at the clone as he reaches for his bow. Scaramouche wields his sword, now fueled by pure irritation alone and they both prepare to fend off the monsters. They make quick work of them, no thanks to the clone, and soon the threat is gone.
"You idiot," Scaramouche growls, pressing the edge of his sword into the neck of the clone. "We told you to keep your fucking mouth shut."
"H-Hey, if you hurt me Master will be angry!" The clone pleads, holding his hands up and attempting to back away from the blade. "Be as rude as you want but I have to come home unharmed!" Scaramouche grits his teeth and sheaths his sword, but not without roughly shoving the clone into the tree behind him. Just as they begin walking again, Scaramouche's breath hitches in his throat and he feels as if he's choking; he feels the same thing he felt earlier that morning.
He leans against a tree and coughs into his hand until he can finally breathe clearly again. He opens his hands and sees several rose petals, exactly like he had seen when he drank his tea. He rotates them in his palm and looks around to see if the others noticed. Neither of them seemed to be paying attention. He tosses them onto the ground and wipes his mouth before joining Childe and the clone again.
So it wasn't his tea that was messed with–somehow, these were coming from himself. Was this a natural occurrence? Something his mother designed him to do? The petals were definitely from roses, so what could they mean? What purpose do they hold? Let alone coughing them up. "-ight?"
"Huh?" Scaramouche leaves his thoughts and sees Childe waving his arms, trying to get his attention.
"I said are you alright? I heard you coughing back there." Scaramouche never understood why Childe was so kind to him. He was the only one of the other 10 harbingers that treated him as such. Scaramouche knew he wasn't the most friendly person, and certainly never won the hearts of many people. So why was this kid always so willing to be nice to him?
"Oh, uh yeah. I'm fine. Thanks." And why did he always find himself being nice back?
"We're not too far now." The group continues on, the clone now making sure to stay silent. When they reach the intended location, Childe sits down on a large stone outside of the building. "You better make this quick." The clone groans and heads inside, leaving Scaramouche and Childe alone. Scaramouche joins the younger one on the rock and rests his chin in his hand, which was perched on his knee.
Did the petals have some sort of meaning? It wasn't like he was sick; he's not human. There was no one to ask, either. The only person that could possibly know was his mother, and he'd rather die than seek her out. "Wanna talk about it?"
"What?"
Childe shifts his body to face Scaramouche a little more. He leans his bow on the ground against the stone and rests his hands on his lap. "You clearly have something on your mind. I'm a good listener." Should he mention what's going on to Childe? No. He'd just sound crazy. "C'mon Kuni," Childe smirks, poking the smaller man's arm.
"I'm fine, honest," Scaramouche waves him off, shifting his gaze towards the horizon. He hoped he was fine, anyway. "How come Doc couldn't have sent his clones together instead of dragging you into this?"
"Like I know what goes on in that man's head," Childe retorts and Scaramouche returns an understanding expression. No one in their right mind would want to see inside Il Dottore's head. "I just do what I'm told."
"Why? You can assign your own orders." Sometimes Scaramouche noticed how willingly Childe bended for others. He wished the man would stand up for himself more, he was strong and smart and has the means to assert himself. He wouldn't admit it, but he wanted to see Childe succeed. Out of everyone, Childe was the one who deserved to peer from the top.
"Dunno," Childe shrugs. He uses the heel of his boot to draw lines in the dirt. "I guess I'm just comfortable taking orders."
"Well then," Scaramouche straightens his back and tilts his hat up, giving Childe a clear view of his face. His expression grows serious before he says, "Tartaglia, I order you to start making decisions for yourself. And never agree to help Dottore with a clone related mission again."
Childe laughs and lightly shoves Scaramouche's arm, earning himself a small grin back. "Yes, Lord 'Mouche. As you wish."
"Thank yo-" their fun is cut short by another coughing fit, this one a bit more painful than the last. Scaramouche clutches his chest with one hand and coughs into the other, trying his best to angle his body away from Childe. As he feared, even more red petals than the last appeared in his hands, a few falling from his mouth and floating to the ground.
"Woah, are you sure you're okay?" Scaramouche uses his foot to cover the petals on the ground and crumbles the ones in his hand. He opens his mouth to respond but more coughs and chokes interrupt once again. He lets his knees fall to the ground and holds himself up with his hands, more and more petals falling onto the dirt. What was happening to him?
He feels strong hands on his shoulders, helping to hold him up and eventually aiding him in sitting back down. Scaramouche takes deep breaths, still holding his hand over his painful chest. He hadn't realized until now that Childe's hand was clutching his own and he's almost certain he feels his heart flutter. No, he's definitely just still feeling the pain from coughing. "Uh, thanks," Scaramouche says quietly, returning his hand to his side.
"What's going on, Kuni?" Childe glances towards the small pile of petals on the ground, then back at Scaramouche. "You're sick?"
"No, I'm fine," Scaramouche shakes his head. Truthfully, he had no idea what was wrong, but it was beginning to scare him. Never in his hundreds of years of existing has he ever encountered something like this. "Must've been something I ate."
"Yeah right," Childe scoffs, linking his fingers behind his head and leaning back against the building. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Maybe you should see the doc."
"Forget it," Scaramouche shakes his head. The pain was subsiding now, but there was some other feeling replaced by it. He isn't sure what. "Every time I go near that psycho he tries to experiment on me."
"You and me both," Childe chuckles, peaking at Scaramouch with one eye. Just then the clone reappears, now with blood splattered across his clothes.
"'Fuck did you do in there?" Scaramouche and Childe both stand up, eyeballing the clone. His usual shark-like grin was even larger than it normally was.
"Just doing what Master wanted me to. Time to go home now!" The two harbingers groan as they set off, this time talking amongst each other a bit more than when they were arriving. The entire walk back, Scaramouche felt off, like something inside him was out of balance. But when you're spitting up roses all day, it's hard not to.