#v. fatui adjacent

[oficeandwind]

@windsfavored / from a thread long ago

kami is no stranger to being held prisoner. it's not a PLEASANT sensation, but it's not unfamiliar. as he stares up into the face of his former self, that stupid bastard gloating above him, kaminari wishes desperately to bite back, say anything.

it's hard to do much when his hands are bound and his mouth half gagged, thanks to a shoddy job from some fatuus pissant. HOW kami had once tolerated them is beyond him ― thankfully it's no longer his problem. WAS ― no longer his problem.

he'd been tossed against a wall rather painfully, and currently, kaminari is slumped over, legs outstretched and leaning awkwardly to the side. this angle makes it hard for him to prop himself up correctly. all he can really do is glare, and try to ignore the cramps forming in his musles.

"go f'ck y'rself," kami manages to utter through the cloth. "g've back m' vision." he isn't sure if his anger is going to be enough, but if only scaramouche would come CLOSER, kami could kick him. or at least try to knock him down.

this entire situation is infuriating. he should have known something foul would happen when he magically bumped into his former self. engaging scaramouche in a fight had, in all honesty, been a terrible mistake, looking back. (kami seems prone to make several of those, no matter what he tries.)

"now."

already, he's trying to work his wrists, attempting to free his arms from the ropes. the ropes, at least, are done better than the gag around his mouth.

[aminiatureworld]

Return to Me

Characters: Albedo, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,538

Warnings: Violence, Minor villain death

Premise: What is it like when the one you most adore becomes a stranger? And how’re you supposed to pick up the pieces?

In which the reader loses their memory.

Author’s Note: Just a note that this is not how actual amnesia works, and if you’re experiencing memory loss please contact your doctor.

That being said the amnesia is really good for angst and pining so how could I resist? It’s one of those guilty pleasure tropes I like to read and think of so I hope I did it justice.

Albedo

Albedo loved two things in this world, alchemy and you. They were what kept him centered, what kept him sharp and curious and full of life. So how could it be that one of those things should cause him such great unhappiness, and that said unhappiness should be the other’s suffering?

It had been a dangerous experiment, from the beginning Albedo was well aware of that. Testing whether or not elemental energy contained traces of elements via water could yield incredibly useful results about magic’s interaction with the ordinary world. But it could also backfire massively. Noxious gases, explosions, anything was possible.

But he’d thought he was prepared. After all you two had hiked all the way to the edges of Windrise specifically so no one would be around, and Albedo had even put up a barrier with the express intention of keeping anyone from getting hurt. It should’ve been fine, everything should’ve been fine, and yet when the Electro Slime condensate hit the water and the explosion knocked you both off your feet, slamming into the ground three meters from where you’d originated, he could only wonder how things had gone so wrong.

Picking himself up after a few agonizing seconds, every bone and muscle in his body stiff and aching from the sudden impact, Albedo crawled over to where you lay. To his horror you appeared to have hit a rock, and your head was bleeding slightly. Cupping your face in his hands the alchemist rasped out your name. The relief he felt when you opened your eyes was only momentary, replaced by shock and a sense of utter emptiness when you made out a groggy: “Who are you?”

Electro slime elements appear to contain no small amount of Chlorine, which, combined with only the hydrogen as a result of the electricity splitting the water molecules apart, caused an explosion. Although normally Albedo might’ve been thrilled by the discovery of an element only found mixed in the natural world, now he could only look upon that experiment with a raw sort of hatred that he hadn’t known he’d possessed. The ice around the alchemist’s heart had been burned away, and now all that remained was a burnt and shriveled up little thing, determined to make up for the lack of emotions by throwing its owner into the pits of despair.

Albedo spent all his time at first in the hospital and then in the apartment you two shared. You’d made an offhanded remark about how empty it looked, and Albedo had smiled awkwardly, not having the heart to tell you he could barely look at a piece of science equipment without a deep sense of loss. The doctors had said the effects should fade with time, but Albedo knew that there had been magic in the air, and a sick, twisted part of himself jeered that he was holding onto false hope.

It didn’t help that Albedo had been absolutely unprepared for the reality in which you couldn’t remember a thing about him, or your relationship. Never again would you rush up to him as you had before, excitement in your eyes and questions in your head. Memories of gathering crystal flies in the sunset and staying up all night, notes on old ruins swapped with sweet kisses and phrases that meant nothing at all, the beach where Albedo had sketched you for the first time and you had given him your first gift, all that was nothing to you, the stories of a stranger told by another.

“The first gift you gave me was a flower preserved in a solution of Cryo.�� You said, words awkward and unsure in your mouth. Albedo knew that you weren’t really remembering it.

“That’s right,” he replied, voice light and calm, trying desperately to keep the despair from showing on his face. “It was a Cecilia. You said that it looked as if it was made of snow.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you replied, speaking more to yourself than to him, “I wish I could remember it.”

“You will someday, I’m sure of it.” He smiled, but the movement felt like too much effort to keep up and soon his face collapsed once more into an expression of melancholy. As if noticing this you smiled slightly in turn.

“Does it still exist?”

“Yes,” Albedo gazed out the window that faced you two. Beyond the buildings, only a few streets away lay his laboratory, locked away and gathering dust, “it does, but I cannot get it right now.”

“Oh,” you seemed at a loss for words, glancing down towards your hands, “that’s alright. I’d rather remember it on my own anyways.”

Albedo said nothing to this. Moving to place his hand on yours he paused. He was a stranger to you. This little act of comfort, all the little gestures he’d gotten so used to were now impossible. Dropping his hand to his side he moved to get you a glass of water, desperately trying to ignore the pain burning in his chest and in his heart.

_____

“Are these yours?”

Albedo placed the bag of groceries he’d just gotten on the floor. Moving over to where you were sitting, you were taking a break from adventuring until you remembered more, a decision made by the doctors for fear you’d forgotten how to control your vision. You had recently moved on from mostly sleeping to exploring your once familiar home, and now you sat curled on the couch; in your lap was a familiar book. Leaning over Albedo glanced at the page you were on.

“Yes, they’re mine. I like to sketch in my free time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, running your hand reverently over the slightly stained page, “I can see the different shades in the mountain, even if it’s only a pencil drawing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Albedo smiled to himself, the memory of that day offering him some solace, “it was quite a difficult thing to draw.”

“It had an odd name.” You scrunched your nose slightly in concentration, an expression so cute Albedo could help but let out a huff of bittersweet laughter.

“Dragonspine. That’s the name of the mountain.” Turning to put the groceries away he paused when you spoke once more.

“No. That wasn’t it. It was something else. V-Vida something.” Albedo watched, incoherent thoughts and emotions clouding his mind as you retraced the circles you’d been making on the page beforehand. Suddenly your fingers stopped and you looked up. “Vindagnyr, yes that’s it! There’s a fortress up there, a, what did you tell me they were called, a domain. And that’s the name of it.” You closed your eyes once more. “Something happened there, something to do with you. I can’t remember it, if I was there or if you told me about it before, but something’s there. Something important.”

Albedo felt as if he must’ve been dreaming. The same sort of emptiness that had filled him at the beginning of this catastrophe was there, but this time there was something else, the bitter feeling of a hope that he couldn’t be sure of filling his lungs and his mouth. He turned back towards you, teetering forward as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Yes. That’s right. Vindagnyr. The name it had before it was essentially destroyed by Durin. I met the Traveler there, a week before I met you.” He sat down on the chair adjacent to where you were sitting, memories filling his mind. “It was also the first place we performed an experiment together.”

“I’d like to go there again then.” Your face was one of open triumph and excitement, and there was something in your eyes that Albedo thought he might never see again, a sort of recognition that he thought had been lost, “I know you haven’t been to your work once. I suppose it would make sense, considering what happened, but would you take me there?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s voice was sure and solid.

“Even though I might not remember more.”

“Even then.”

You reached your hand out to the alchemist, and after a second Albedo took it. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand slightly, and you made no move to withdraw, instead squeezing his palm slightly.

You had remembered something. It wasn’t everything of course, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be heartbreak up ahead, wouldn’t be frustration and sorrow and moments when hope seemed very far away. But as long as moments like this existed, Albedo could hang on. The anger and despair that had burned inside him remained, but now something stronger resided there.

And that was hope.

 Scaramouche

“Do you see them?” You whispered, raising your head slightly above the rock you were hiding under. Scowling Scaramouche made a cutting gesture with his hand.

“Yes I see them. And get back down!”

Although his tone of voice was harsher than usual you smiled a smile of understanding as you lowered yourself once more out of sight. Scarmouche took a deep breath in response, trying to control the coiling tension that sat in his stomach. Today’s mission was an unenviable one, made only worse by your presence, for Scaramouche knew these were no ordinary enemies, and though you could take care of yourself just fine there was a nagging in his head that refused to be silenced.

Your targets sat encamped up ahead, completely nondescript in appearance, although that was hardly surprising of deserters of the Fatui, especially ones of such high caliber as them.

Scaramouche’s expression twisted into a scowl of concentration once more as he thought about the moment when you two had received your orders to get rid of those who knew of the dealings of the army of the Tsaritsa, and who were certainly willing to dispose of said secrets for the right price. Although they were no doubt traitors of the worst sort and worth less than dirt, there was still something unpleasant about fighting people who had once been comrades. You’d mused it was because of the bonds of mutual struggle and culture, but Scaramouche suspected for himself it was more the annoyance of fighting people who were at least somewhat trained.

Scaramouche gave the signal and you crept once more out from behind your hiding spot. Manifesting your polearm Scaramouche could already see the well worn metal steaming. This battle was going to be bloody.

At first everything had gone well enough, being hidden on a ledge about the camp you’d managed to do a great deal of damage, made easier by their surprise and ill planned position. However things quickly began to turn sour. The ex-Fatui might not’ve had the equipment of their army days, but they retained the ruthlessness that had once made them so efficient and now made them so dangerous.

There was an odd smell running through the valley, the smell of electricity and something burning. Scaramouche stood in front of a man who had certainly once been a vanguard and a woman who appeared to have been a Cryo mage. Sweat coated their faces but Scarmouche felt cold with the thrill of battle. Electricity crackled to life in his hands and already bits of electricity were dancing on the charred and dinky armor of his enemies. What were they thinking sending a Harbinger against a pathetic group such as this? It was laughable, really.

“Such a pity that members of such an elite force are going to die like dogs.” He drawled. The woman in front of him gritted her teeth, summoning a trail of icicles which Scaramouche easily leapt over. “Is that truly your worth?” He laughed, before the calm that always came with killing washed over him. “Your best is hardly worth my worst.” Gathering electricity, Scaramouche prepared for the final, searing strike.

The man in front of him smiled a sickening sort of smile, the kind that one made only when they knew that it was the end, and then it all went wrong.

The sound of your voice was muffled by the energy approaching Scaramouche from behind, as the outline of a transparent sort of figure clipped his vision. Quickly whirling around Scaramouche was unprepared for the third ex-Fatui member, an agent who had apparently learned his skills well, bearing down on him. Raising his hands, the Harbinger was suddenly thrown aside by an unknown force. Fire made contact with lightning and the ground exploded.

Fighting to retain consciousness Scaramouche was aware of the sickly smell of burning flesh. Blinking away the confusion he glanced at the carnage around him. The agent lay haphazardly, face half obscured by a mass of flesh that must’ve once made him up but now seemed out of place. Behind him the other agents had hardly feared better, and the charred visage of mangled flesh replace what had once been arms, legs, necks. It was an unsettling view, and though Scaramouche couldn’t say it was the worst thing he’d ever seen it still left a vile taste in his mouth. How quickly a fragile little human could come undone, made into that which was unrecognizable.

Finally he fixed his gaze towards you, relieved to find that there was no apparent wounds, although that perspective shifted slightly when viewing your hands, which were covered with welts. Your fire must’ve mixed with his electricity, causing an overload of energy, and you two lying in the eye of the storm. Scaramouche looked at his own hands, and realized they were similarly reddened. Ignoring the pain he shook your shoulder. “Get up.” He let out when you finally opened your eyes.

However it was apparent very quickly that something was wrong. You eyes held no recognition in them, instead they seemed as blank and transparent as a mirror. Looking at him you furrowed your brow slightly.

“Where…” your gaze drifted towards the scraps of humanity around you and then there was nothing but screaming and a wetness on Scaramouche’s cheeks that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You need to get back to work.” Signora’s voice betrayed no sense of pity. Scaramouche was glad for it, he wouldn’t’ve been able to forgive her if there had been.

“I doubt those imbeciles need me for something as simple as the daily regime. If they do it’s their fault, not mine. I owe them nothing.”

“You owe them your work, it’s your duty as a Harbinger,” Signora’s eyes narrowed, “or have you forgotten that in your folly.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” Scaramouche snapped, eyes boring into those across from him. “I am well aware of what my obligations are and what they aren’t. As I said there is nothing of importance fir me right now, and I don’t wish to waste away my time with trivial matters.”

“What would our dear Tsarina think of such words,” Signora let out a dramatic sigh. Raising the glass she was drinking from to your lips she paused, “you best be careful. I cannot shelter you from your folly forever. Either you learn how to deal with this… unfortunate incident and your work, or I shall have that person thrown out into the snow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Scaramouche’s tone was like acid and he felt for the moment as if letting go of himself wasn’t such a crime, for now there was no one to chastise him about it anymore.

“I’m warning you. Don’t forget what happens to those who cannot fulfill their duty to the Tsarina,” Signora paused, a cruel smile gracing her face, “or have you forgotten who caused this in the first place.”

It was all Scaramouche could do not to set the tent ablaze.

“Get. Out.” He commanded. Signora sighed, shaking her head and downing her drink in one go before walking out and leaving Scaramouche with the feeling of falling apart.

_______

“Do you sing?”

Scaramouche lifted his head at the sound of your voice, surprised by the question. You hadn’t said much since the aftermath of the incident, and Scaramouche hadn’t forced you to. After all it was one of the things he’d first appreciated in regards to you, you’d never forced him to talk when he didn’t want to. Now he felt the need to afford you the same courtesy, knowing that intelligence still lay behind those eyes even if recognition had disappeared. Now he put down the document he was reading, smiling wryly and shaking his head.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re called isn’t it? Your name, one of your names. The… the Balladeer?” You said it as if it was a question, and perhaps it was. Scaramouche couldn’t think however, couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. Or I remembered it. But that’s who you are, isn’t it?” You smiled, and for a moment Scaramouche could almost imagine life was as it was before. “Can you sing for me?”

“No.” This conversation had happened before.

“Fine,” you shook your head, “but one day I want you to sing for me, when I remember everything, then I want you to sing for me.”

“Fine.” Scaramouche managed to get out, afraid of the rising emotions he felt, afraid they might break through his voice.

“You’re missing work, aren’t you.” You continued on, gaze piercing through him. “I can tell, I can hear people whispering about it when I go out. I’m not supposed to be here, and you’re supposed to be working. If what you told me really is what happened, you should work.”

“Ridiculous,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I can manage my own affairs. Besides,” his voice grew softer, as if he didn’t want to reveal himself to you. You were too familiar, but still a stranger, and a part of him hid behind the walls he built up around everyone else, the walls only you could climb over. “Besides, who would look after you.”

“I can look after myself.” Your answer was as confident as it had always been. “I have to, since I trust what you’ve told me about myself, about this work, this world.”

“It was you not looking after yourself that lost you your memory!” He was shouting by now, he was shouting but he couldn’t stop because if he stopped shouting he’d be crying.

“Perhaps. But it’s not looking after me to end up like the people we fought. So go to your work. And maybe one day when you come back, I’ll remember.”

He couldn’t say no to you, eventually you won. It had been that way since the beginning, you tearing down his bluffing and his empty promises. Perhaps it was what he appreciated most about you.

Every moment Scaramouche was away from you felt like he was betraying a part of himself, a part he had hid for so long. But you were right, just like before, and just like before you’d won him over with your honesty, your refusal to back down, and your view of the Harbinger for what he truly was, someone who was deep down truly afraid. That part of you remained, somehow without memory and without certainty it remained.

And if that part of you remained, well maybe some day the rest would return.

 Xiao

“Xiao look!” You let out a cry of delight as you threw yourself off the tall stone mountain, glider unfurling in a vibrant waves of color as you began circling in the air. Xiao scowled from the tree in which he was perched, unwilling to humor you in your folly.

“You’re going to be injured.” Although he hadn’t meant for you to hear that you still laughed at the comment, shaking your head as you once more carved shapes into the sky.

“It’s a lovely day for gliding! The air is so fresh and the breeze is just enough to keep you upright!”

“It’s too windy.” Xiao’s voice was flat. This was foolish, what you were doing was foolish. He could feel the currents, feel their laughter, their excitement. They were surely up to no good.

But you weren’t paying attention to that, instead you were gliding about as if you were born to fly. It was a beautiful sight, Xiao had to admit. The beauty of those immersed in what they loved. And what Xiao loved was you.

“Come on Xiao!” You called out. “Come fly with me!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I know you can do it!” Screwing your face into a pout when the adeptus once more shook his head you shrugged. “Your loss.”

Xiao knew you were disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed somehow out of place for him to join you in whatever you were doing. Besides, he needed to keep track of the currents, just in case.

You dove down for a moment, and Xiao felt his stomach clench, knowing full well what you were doing, but unable to keep the worry out of his mind. And yet then you were flying up, up, up, up and though Xiao wanted to scold you, wanted to tell you to come down once more, he was rapt, in awe. You were too beautiful, and it stole his breath away.

A gust of wind came blowing through the stone monoliths and as your wings buckled and you plummeted towards the ground Xiao found that he was truly unable to breathe at all.

Perhaps it was a blessing that you were unconscious. Then you didn’t have to feel the way Xiao held onto your shoulders as if he’d never let you go, the way he gasped for the air he was supposed to be in charge of, the way his eyes were devoid of everything but fear. You hadn’t fallen so far, he told himself, you hadn’t fallen so far it was fatal. You were breathing, you were going to be fine. But he found himself unable to believe those words. If you had said them he would’ve, but there you were, a crumpled mess and he barely able to process the world around him.

Crashing onto the Inn balcony, not caring about the odd looks thrown his way, Xiao made his way upstairs. You were going to be fine. You were.

If only he could believe himself.

“They’re out of danger now.” Verr Goldet’s voice was calm, unnaturally so, and Xiao only softened a little at the knowledge, sure something had gone wrong. “But…” the innkeeper continued, confirming all of the fears Xiao had been secretly nursing.

“But.”

“But there seems to be a problem with their memory. They were very confused at first, unable to remember things such as Liyue, their duty as adventurer, this place, things like that. At first we thought it would clear, but now it seems that isn’t so. Their memory might be affected for quite a while.”

“I want to see them.” Xiao brushed past Goldet, determined to help you if this was to be your fate. But Goldet’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Xiao, they can’t remember you.”

At first there was the feeling of falling. And then, as Xiao vanished, there was nothing.

______

At first Xiao was determined to stay away completely. It hurt too much, hurt to think about what had happened. At first he’d managed to survive on anger, anger at the world, at you not listening to him, at himself for letting it happen. But quickly the anger faded and what replaced it was a loneliness so vast he couldn’t believe that he had managed to survive in such a way before he met you.

Still he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see you as you were now, unaware of him and perhaps destined to remain so. How cruel fate was. It took everything he knew from him and just when he began to live again it took that to. It took away your memory, your livelihood, and for what? To punish him? It seemed unfair, so unfair.

So he’d stayed away, afraid that something would happened again to you if he were to show himself again. But the knowledge of such emotions as love is something that doesn’t fade, and Xiao found himself unable to continue on as before, finding the pain too great. He had to see you. At least to say goodbye, he had to see you. It would be unfair not to do so.

The moon was full, casting a silvery light on the landscape. Xiao drifted over towards the roof of the Inn, thankful that he was invisible, so as to not have to experience the moment your eyes reached him but you didn’t.

Your silhouette appeared quickly enough in the darkness. You seemed somewhat preoccupied, and yet there was a purpose to your step, made all the more evident by the Qingxin grasped firmly in your hand, a brethren of the other flowers which lay scattered on the railing.

“I know you’re there.” At first Xiao jumped, thinking perhaps you’d somehow managed to sense him. However he calmed down once you continued, it appeared you weren’t truly talking to him.

“I know you’re there. And I wish you’d come back,” You continued, gazing out on the landscape around you. “I don’t remember your name you see. They told me your name of course, but I wish they hadn’t, I wanted to remember it myself. It must be why you left, of course you didn’t want to see me like this. If what they said was true…” you shook your head, “I know it was true. I know that it had to have been true, that I cared for you, that you cared for me. I know because I miss you.” Xiao felt his heart pound in his chest, so loud he could barely hear you.

“I miss you so much. Isn’t that odd? I don’t know you anymore and yet I miss you. It’s as if something is missing. I mean, of course something is missing but it’s more than just the memories themselves. It’s the feeling. Like going outside without a coat on. I miss you, even if I can’t miss you because I can’t remember you I do, I miss you dearly.”

You paused, placing the flower on the railing next to the rest.

“I hope you see the flowers before they fade,” you called out softly to the dark, “and I hope one day I can look at you again. I remember you had such lovely eyes. I’d like to see them again to be sure.”

For a moment Xiao didn’t move, frozen by all he’d heard. But the minute you turned to leave he was already there, bound by the feelings he had for you, by the knowledge that continuing as he had been would kill him, would only hurt you.

“Do you remember me?” It was a silly question to ask, but he had nothing else to say. You turned towards him and smiled softly. It was true, your eyes didn’t recognize him. But there was something in your gaze nonetheless.

“Xiao.” You whispered, and the yaksha knew that he’d never be able to leave again.

[dikiyvter]

CW:// It’s.. I mean, it’s a post centered on Dottore. Gore, medical horror, referenced animal abuse/death, and references to child experimentation because it’s.... it’s dottore....

       BANGS POTS AND PANS TOGETHER alright kids gather around for Cala needs to add Dottore as a side muse/NPC for some plots so here’s a collection of some of my weird fucking HCs on him. I’ll probably just... edit this whenever I get new ideas instead of making whole new posts, idk, we’ll see.

       0. BASIC INFO.

       Dottore is 5′10″. He’s athletic, but not particularly muscular. He is a cis male ( he/him ) who is grey-asexual and homoromantic ( though in truth he probably falls closer to being on the aromantic scale as well ). Dottore is somewhere between 27 and 33. Though he was born and raised in Fontaine, he is a direct descendent of the Lawrence clan from Mondstadt. He is a polyglot who is fluent in a majority of the spoken languages on Teyvat. This Bitch Has Mental Problems. 

       I. ORIGIN. LAMBERT PIERRE LAWRENCE is the descendent of Mondstadt’s Lawrence clan, though he himself was born and raised in a small village in Fontaine. Well-off is hardly the term to describe his family’s financial state; to describe what they had as WEALTH would be an understatement. Large was the chateau that was owned by the family, surrounded by the rolling fields of the Fontainian countryside. 

       It was a peaceful place, before Lambert was born. The boy had always been.... peculiar. Things had always been difficult with him; Lambert had a hard time keeping pace with emotions, often being cruel and brash in conversation, forgoing all manners in his interruptions and rants. Bonding was something he did not find particularly possible, never growing close to neither his parents nor his younger siblings. Fights with other children in the village broke out often when Lambert was around; And when the boy became bored these issues were ramped to the extremes. He would do anything to seek some relief from the boredom that plagued him; Anything for a scrap of entertainment.

       He found some relief in reading; Fascinated with the medical textbooks that lined the shelves of his fathers study, moving on to anatomy, to biology, to animals. It was around the age of 14 that Lambert became truly fascinated by animals. Something he had once been utterly ambivalent towards was now a hyperfixation. He’d stop for every spotted dog, he’d beg endlessly for a pet cat of his own. The farmers adjacent to the Lawrence’s property would drag the boy by his collar back to his parents after he’d gone breaking into fields and barns. The intensity of the interest was a bit odd-- but a welcome relief from his otherwise distance and cold behavior Lambert had always expressed. Thinking that perhaps the boy had finally developed an interest far more normal for his age, gently did his parents encourage him to properly ask to see the farmers animals; Even gifting the boy a cat for his 16th birthday.

       Ever one for isolation, even going on two years into his animal fixation, Lambert had always been fond of nightly walks along the outskirts of the property; Something that had always been encouraged by his parents. But as the walks became longer and longer, and as farmers began to complain of missing sheep and cattle, and even the boys beloved pet cat disappeared-- As Dottore’s behavior became more and more erratic, an eerie wariness grew within the house. 

       Just beyond the property line, nestled in a wooded area between the farmers fields, was a barn that had long since been abandoned. One night, worried that his son was the cause of these disappearances, Lambert’s father followed him on his nightly walk. The barn had been changed over the years; It’s insides refitted for the boys purposes. EERIE WARINESS GREW TO FEAR. It became the family’s secret; The monster they now housed in their home and the monstrosities he left in the night to create. Efforts were taken to curb the behavior, to stamp it out now before it spread; BEFORE IT GOT WORSE.

              NEEDLESS TO SAY, IT GOT WORSE.

       The town became aware of the barn when one of the neighbors young daughters went for a walk and discovered it and all it contained; The abominations of metal and meat that Lambert had forged and sewn, the chemicals he had mixed and the plans he had laid for something far darker, and set in motion was the series of events that would cost him EVERYTHING HE KNEW.

        The barn was investigated that day; Lambert far too busy with his studies to hear the fresh news. His nightly walks were well known by now, and who the barn and its contents belonged to was without doubt; And so that night, as the boy ventured out to the barn and began his work-               THE DOORS WERE CLOSED SHUT AND BLOCKED.               AND TORCHES SET THE WOODEN BARN ALIGHT.               AND HE FESTERED THERE AMONG HIS CREATIONS.

       ... But that was a long time ago. He doesn’t think of it much anymore.

       II. BENEATH THE MASK Lies scars from the incident that chased a young Dottore from his hometown. The scars are present all over his body, but are most prominent across his legs, back, and arms. The left side of his face and neck faced the brunt of the burns- And are, perhaps, the subject of some insecurity. He has taken a number of measures to try and reduce the appearance of these scars, all to very little avail. 

       III. THE SNEZHNAYA CAMPAIGN. Many are familiar with the campaign the Fatui held in Mondstadt to find new recruits; Few are familiar with the results of this campaign. And few outside of Snezhnaya are aware that something very similar is happening within the countries borders, as well. With the majority of it’s citizens suffering in poverty under a massive class gap, Dottore has run a campaign in Snezhnaya to encourage families to sign their young ones up for a specialized training program with the Fatui. The specifics of the program are not clarified, but the most enticing details are; Qualified families will receive a monthly paycheck, and their child will be safe, housed and warmed and fed. With so many families desperate for a lessened load of their already fragile resources, the promise of money, of safety for their struggling children... few people can deny that it’s an enticing deal. IF ONLY THEY KNEW WHAT WAS TRULY HAPPENING. 

       IV. MORALS.... this bitch has none, but I want you all to be as aware of this as possible. Children and animals are not off limits in his experiments. He can and will commit all varities of crime because his personal desires are more important than any laws or reason. All ends justify the means. He doesn’t care much for anyone who isn’t himself. He will hurt, maim, and kill literally anyone, it does not matter to him. All that matters to Dottore is relieving his boredom, feeding his curiosity, and keeping his current place in the world. He would literally rip you open and start sewing animal parts to you if someone offered him a single corn chip to do so. 

       V. PHYSICAL HEALTH... is admittedly a bit of a rollercoaster. Dottore has been performing experiments on himself for a long time- Some successful, some very far from it. Majority of days he can more than keep pace with his fellow harbingers in a fight, and yet there are others where he cannot feasibly accomplish such a task. Having long since adjusted to this, Dottore primarily relies on using drones for ranged attacks, finding this is what works best on both his best and worst days- but he does carry a knife or two on him for emergencies... or for when a bitch just rly needs to be shanked. 

[oficeandwind]

there's a dormant part of the puppet that is practically SCREAMING not to trust this stranger. that part is ignored and shoved down into some mental abyss, along with the rest of those pesky thoughts that make no sense. this stranger is the first person he'd even seen in what feels like forever. why SHOULDN'T he extend some level of trust? the stranger's voice is gentle and soothing, and it leads to the puppet wanting nothing more than to stay with this stranger forever, just to keep a tight hold of this new feeling of safety.

"dreaming?" his voice echoes. he doesn't remember sleeping, though maybe he has been. the darkness had stretched on and on, leaving him with all these dark thoughts that had only spiraled, leaving him feeling empty and too alone. the puppet wonders if that's what those strange thoughts are; remnants of dreams and nightmares. in the pitch black, it's hard to differentiate between awake and asleep; thoughts can become dreams can become nightmares. "maybe i was dreaming."

when the hand is outstretched, the puppet takes it slowly. not even his own creator had made him feel this at ease before. it's a poignant moment he wants to savor, and it doesn't matter where he's going to be taken to. no doubt it's going to be out of here, but the puppet can't help but wonder if they're going to see more of the world beyond. the small fraction of light he'd seen so far is almost majestic, but SURELY there's more to see and admire.

"you'll help me?" even with many, many questions at the tip of his tongue, this is the only question he allows to leave his lips. the puppet knows he'll have more to ask, and the questions will inadvertantly slip out without his thinking. for now, he wants to focus on the promise of help. he uses that hand to lift himself to his feet, not letting go even when he finds stability. he does remember walking, but the disuse has him feeling unsteady. strangely more sturdy than he would have anticipated. "how?"

the puppet refuses to let go of his doppleganger's hand. it's some sort of comfort, a tangible feeling he's been deprived of for way too long. the hand is warm, and even if this stranger. his savior ― looks displeased in general, he's still providing the puppet with something positive.

"by the way, thank you," he says. he's GRATEFUL. why shouldn't he be? he may not know anything about himself, or why he's adorned the way he is. or even why he was in the darkness in the first place. but he's free now. there's no reason to hold any fear or doubt anymore, not with people around. the puppet squeezes the hand a little tighter, trying to express with more than just words how glad he is.

"what do i call you?" he asks. "do you have a name?" he doesn't have a name. all he remembers is that he'd been created, then discarded before any such name could be given. perhaps names aren't even important in the first place, but to the puppet, it'd be nice to have a little piece of identity he could latch onto. "i don't have one either, i think. my creator never gave me one." only now, does he finally let go of the hand, feeling like he'd said everything with that gesture he could say.

he  looks  at  him  with  such  INNOCENCE  —  those  eyes  wide  and  pure  and  enamored  with  the  mere  act  of  existence  in  the  way  only  a  complete  BLANK  SLATE  could  ever  hope  to  be.  it  feels  as  if  he's  staring  into  a  mirror.  not  the  uninspired  insult  that  kaminari  once  served  to  be  —  but  an  echo  of  the  past.  a  puppet,  mind  clear  of  all  comprehension.  utterly  ignorant  to  the  world  beyond  his  beatific  prison  —  abandoned  by  a  god  masking  her  carelessness  beneath  decrees  of  mercy.  kunikuzushi  knows  he  was  like  this  once.  revulsion  clogs  his  throat  like  glue  at  the  mere  thought.  yet  it  is  one  thing  to  recall  that  innocent  echo  through  something  as  insubstantial  as  memory  —  it's  another  matter  entirely  to  stare  at  him  directly  in  the  eerily  similar  face.

EVERYTHING  FEELS  WRONG.  it  does,  it  does.  he  wasn't  sure  what  results  his  little  so-called  experiment  would  produce  —  truly,  the  balladeer's  only  goal  had  been  to  cause  suffering.  like  a  dog  gnawing  a  bone,  a  cat  batting  some  helpless  rodent  between  its  paws.  it  was  a  source  of  simple  amusement.  a  way  to  banish  the  ennui  all  too  often  produced  as  a  natural  counterpart  of  eternity.  he  couldn't  simply  kill  the  wanderer,  and  handing  him  over  to  the  doctor  wasn't  to  his  benefit  —  not  when  he  needed  to  ensure  that  man  continued  working  ceaselessly  on  his  end  of  their  BARGAIN.  (  not  to  mention  having  another  puppet  around  decreased  his  own  value.  )  letting  him  go  hadn't  seemed  like  a  viable  option,  either.  he  was  practically  helpless  without  his  vision,  too  prideful  to  weaponize  that  divinely  granted  well  of  power  that  was  their  BIRTHRIGHT  —  so  why  shouldn't  kunikuzushi  assert  himself  as  the  arbiter  of  such  a  worthless  creature's  fate?  now  that  he's  been  reduced  to  a  blank  slate,  the  thing  that  once  called  himself  kaminari  looks  upon  him  as  if  he's  every  bit  the  god  he  claimed  to  be.

...  and  the  balladeer  hates  it.  why  does  he  hate  it?  this  should  be  a  moment  of  triumph,  yet  the  only  thing  that  comes  to  mind  is  a  SUFFOCATING  sense  of  self-disgust.  towards  which  of  them,  he  can't  possibly  discern.

he  swallows  back  those  worthless  (  flawed  )  feelings.  no  matter;  ruminating  on  something  so  POINTLESS  is  a  waste  of  his  time  —  he's  always  known  emotions  aren't  bound  to  rationality  and  common  sense.  it's  why  embracing  them  leaves  him  weak.  ❝  i  found  you  and  brought  you  here. ❞   kunikuzushi  tells  him  —  which  technically  isn't  a  lie.  (  he  certainly  did,  for  better  and  for  worse.  )  ❝  it  seems  like  you've  been  DREAMING  for  a  very  long  time,  but ...  you  don't  really  get  out  much,  do  you? ❞  head  cants;  the  harbinger  looks  him  up  and  down.  he  may  not  be  useful  in  a  fight  like  this,  but  there's  a  chance  he  can  still  find  some  PURPOSE  for  him.  he'll  have  to  conceal  his  face,  of  course  —  their  resemblance  will  have  the  chattering  insects  asking  far  too  many  questions.  perhaps  a  secretarial  role;  something  quiet  and  unassuming  and  relatively  out  of  the  way.  although ...  does  he  still  remember  how  to  read  and  write?  if  he  truly  has  been  reduced  to  their  most  basic  form,  kunikuzushi  can  only  assume  he'll  need  to  teach  him.  that's  troublesome.  this  is  all ...  so  troublesome.

the  balladeer  stands.  regardless,  there's  not  much  sense  in  loitering  around  this  boring  room;  it's  already  served  its  purpose.   ❝  come  with  me. ❞   he  says,  offering  his  doppelganger  a  hand.  ❝  i'm  going  to  help  you. ❞   he  will.  in  a  sense.

[oficeandwind]

it's not just silence that kami's left in (though his ears are RINGING), it's also darkness. if he squints, he can still make out the faint light coming from the other side of the door.

he can barely move, but at least, finally, the ropes around his wrists snaps, letting his arms flop limply to either side of his body. he stares, and stares, AND STARES, before he finally gives into the panic and rage and terror.

SCREAMING.

-

screaming.

-

wandering around this small room is doing nothing. he can barely conjure up the strength to break walls down. he can barely remember where he is. throat is torn and broken from his rage-fueled screams, and no one had even come to his rescue. the balladeer had probably deliberately ignored him, too. not that kaminari can even BLAME him ― he'd ignore a temper tantrum too if he were in the harbinger's shoes.

( HE HAS BEEN IN HIS SHOES. KAMINARI VIVIDLY REMEMBERS WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE THAT CALLOUS. )

after what feels like hours of trying to find a way out, or even to break the door down with no luck, kami slumps back against the far wall, doing nothing but going back to staring. he's trying NOT to let his mind drift to darker times, but the isolation is already settling in. claustraphobia. waking nightmares. FEAR.

-

he doesn't remember crying. tears are sliding down his cheeks, and he can vaguely sense himself reaching up to brush a tear away. are his thoughts getting to him that badly? he hasn't shouted or screamed in hours. or was it days? time has no meaning anymore. it feels like forever since that puppet (puppet? enemy?) had trapped him in here. even now, his thoughts are too jumbled, too DARK for him to fully grasp; all he knows is that he's crying, and apparently has been for some time.

-

the darkness stretches out before him, tendrils of shadows etching out into forever. his mind ALMOST conjures up an image of irminsul. if he squints and stares hard enough into the shadows, he can make out the silhouette of the tree in the distance. it holds significance to him. he wants to CLING to that significance with everything he is. but that, like everything else he'd held dear, is slipping through his fingertips like grains of sand. why sand? come to think of it, why had he come here in the first place? what was he even looking for?

what is irminsul to him?

-

this is all he was created for. a nameless puppet, not good enough for the archon. mother. she had cast him aside, deeming him useless. and even now, he's crying. awake? asleep? it doesn't matter. he's lost in the darkness, no one and nothing to comfort him in this silence. his creator, his MOTHER, had left him alone. drawing his legs up, he wraps his arms around himself for a self hug. it's all he's ever going to get, right? maybe someday, someone will come to rescue him and give him a purpose again, but it's unlikely. the nameless puppet never had a purpose to begin with. there's nothing to do, no one to come, so he settles back, and stares into nothing.

it  isn't  quite  begging,  yet  it  feels  close  enough  to  be  gratifying  nonetheless.  and  the  balladeer  does  freeze  —  silhouette  engulfed  by  looming  presence  of  the  door,  one  hand  reached  out  partway  to  open  it.  ❝  i  know  exactly  what  it  does  to  us. ❞  the  isolation.  the  dissolution  of  consciousness.  it's  funny  —  there  was  once  a  point  wherein  he  desired  to  return  to  that  state  of  absolute  EMPTINESS.  when  the  sting  of  this  world's  injustices  against  him  grew  too  great,  when  he  could  no  longer  bear  to  go  another  step.  yet  the  then-nameless  puppet  found  it  impossible  to  go  back;  his  consciousness  was  like  a  blazing  wildfire,  and  no  matter  how  hard  he  tried,  he  could  not  smother  the  flames.  much  like  how  a  piece  of  charcoal  could  never  return  to  being  a  tree.  really,  isn't  he  doing  kaminari  a  favor?  his  doppelganger  might  not  see  it  that  way  —  though  kunikuzushi  thinks  logic  and  reasoning  doesn't  seem  to  be  his  strong  suit.  (  he  picked  a  fight  with  the  likes  of  him,  after  all.  )

the  snarling  does  manage  to  give  him  pause,  however.  ❝  become  exactly  like  him? ❞  he  echoes  the  words  in  a  soft,  breezy  tone  —  as  if  taking  the  time  to  mull  them  over  carefully.  the  sixth's  head  swivels,  just  enough  to  flash  a  single  eye.  it  glows  faintly  in  the  dim  light,  a  shade  of  radiant  purple  like  a  poison.  ❝  you're  wrong ...  i'm  not  like  him  —  i'm  BETTER  than  him. ❞  a  sharp  laugh  punctuates  the  words.  he  turns  around  completely,  but  takes  care  to  lean  casually  against  the  door  —  a  constant  reminder  of  his  ability  to  leave  at  any  moment.  (  contrasted  harshly  against  his  doppelganger's  inability  to.  )  ❝  what  is  a  god  by  its  most  basic  definition? ❞   kunikuzushi  asks.  he  doesn't  expect  an  answer,  nor  does  he  wait  long  enough  for  kaminari  to  give  him  one.  ❝  i've  always  thought  it  to  be ...  a  being  with  the  ability  to  shape  this  world  to  their  liking  —  whose  might  is  so  great,  they  alone  have  the  power  to  decide  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong. ❞

his  stare  feels  unusually  heavy,  as  if  he  means  to  pin  his  doppelganger  beneath  its  weight.  ❝  going  by  that  logic ...  doesn't  that  make  me  YOUR  GOD  in  this  situation? ❞   if  the  parallels  weren't  glaring  enough  before,  they're  absolutely  SHAMELESS  now.  the  balladeer  knows  precisely  what  he's  doing  —  for  who  better  to  dig  into  one's  deepest  wounds  than  THEMSELF?  ❝  it's  ironic,  isn't  it?  once  again,  you  have  proven  yourself  insubstantial  in  the  eyes  of  a  deity.  a  failure.  a  mistake. ❞

the  door  creaks  ominously,  light  spilling  into  the  room.  it  outlines  the  harbinger  in  an  inhuman  glow  —  kasa  still  casting  his  features  in  dark  shadow.  all  save  for  his  eyes.   ❝  don't  worry.  unlike  her,  i  won't  leave  you  here  to  rot  for  ETERNITY. ❞

a  smile.  (  too  perfect,  too  gentle  under  such  grisly  circumstances.  )  then,  ❝  so  long,  sucker. ❞  the  door  SLAMS,  leaving  kaminari  in  complete  silence.  perhaps  a  few  days  of  that  will  improve  his  mood.

[oficeandwind]

if kami was afraid before, he's afraid now. the balladeer can ride on whatever delusional high he wants to, concerning power. he can even MOCK kaminari about taking away a strong source of kami's power. but at the end of the day, they are both well aware of the torment, the torture, of that isolation.

neither of them do well inside four walls for extended periods of time, after all.

he's not about to resort to begging. not that he can, of course, because that TOSS, has kami briefly losing consciousness. only for a few seconds, but when he comes back around, the balladeer is at least still talking, so kami isn't completely alone yet.

the gag around his mouth might be gone, but kami's hands are still bound. only this time instead of being slumped against a wall, kami's laying face down, with his arms awkwardly shifted to the side. THIS time, kaminari is too dazed and disoriented to try to free his binds. it's unlikely that scaramouche is going to come free him, either.

"you're making a mistake," kami growls. warns. he KNOWS that somehow, this is all going to come back and bite the balladeer in his stupid ass. kami knows he was pathetic back then, but to be THIS cold blooded, to inflict the very same trauma on himself? it's laughable.

not laughable; the wanderer is terrified. already, he's struggling to roll over, trying not to damage his already damaged body even further. he's not sure how much he'll heal; he needs someone to repair him. nahida would, if she knew WHERE he is. or cyno, or tighnari... or someone.

"don't you dare leave, you know what that does to us." his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth now. words are hard, and his vision is threatening to tunnel and darken again. even now, his gaze is LOCKED onto the stolen vision, and his mind is solely focused on how useless he feels without it.

he won't beg for freedom, but he can still curse the balladeer.

"you've become exactly like him," kami snarls. "i know you'll see it in time, how far fucking GONE you are. to inflict this much conflict on one of your own? might as well just call you another segment."

he's not sure if scaramouche is ignoring him at this point. and even worse, kami is CERTAIN that the balladeer is going to make good on his promise, and actually leave kaminari in nothing but complete.

ISOLATION.

the  kick  SLAMS  mercilessly  into  his  midsection,  yet  the  balladeer  doesn't  seem  to  budge  so  much  as  an  inch.  he  merely  offers  a  blink  —  smile  widening  just  the  slightest  amount  as  if  to  MOCK  the  futility  of  his  doppelganger's  struggles.  did  he  really  think  such  a  pathetic  attack  would  be  enough  to  shake  him?  the  doctor's  experiments  were  infinitely  more  agonizing  by  comparison  on  even  his  most  charitable  days;  kunikuzushi  registers  the  pain  no  more  than  he  would  a  buzzing  gnat.  ❝  deny  it  as  much  as  you  like.  you're  only  lying  to  save  face. ❞  his  voice  is  eerily  calm  —  almost  conversational,  as  if  this  entire  exchange  is  little  more  than  a  simple  chat  between  acquaintances.  the  balladeer's  eyes  shine  with  just  as  much  malice  as  ever,  yet  it  grows  sharper  with  every  subsequent  second.   ❝  you're  completely  helpless  here,  and  you  know  it ...  you  put  on  this  defiant  facade  because  you're  desperate  to  take  back  even  the  ILLUSION  of  power. ❞  head  tilts;  his  hat  chimes,  soft  and  melodic.  ❝  but  in  the  end,  it's  nothing  more  than  that.  an  illusion  —  fleeting  and  insubstantial.  the  truth  is,  no  one  is  coming  to  SAVE  YOU ...  and  you're  too  WEAK  to  save  yourself. ❞

for  a  moment,  he  meets  kaminari's  eyes.  he  doubts  the  other  will  agree  with  him  so  easily  —  and  that's  fine.  (  the  balladeer  expects  that,  too.  )  he  simply  wants  to  see  what  kind  of  expression  he  makes  when  the  FUTILITY  of  his  actions  washes  over  him.

in  any  case,  it  was  entertaining  allowing  him  to  struggle  a  bit  —  but  kaminari  hasn't  earned  the  right  to  steal  another  free  blow.  kunikuzushi's  grip  tightens  around  his  throat,  tight  enough  that  he's  sure  even  his  dull  nails  will  leave  a  mark.  (  for  however  long  those  last.  )  in  one  swift  action,  he  spins  —  hurling  his  doppelganger  against  the  opposite  wall  hard  enough  to  leave  CRACKS  from  the  impact.  ❝  if  you  wanted  me  to  leave  you  alone,  all  you  had  to  do  was  ask. ❞  the  harbinger  dusts  himself  off,  as  if  touching  the  other  somehow  DIRTIED  him.  ❝  i  think  some  time  in  solitary  confinement  will  do  you  good.  it's  not  like  you  need  to  EAT  ANYTHING,  right?  ...  which  means  i  can  seal  you  up  here  for  as  long  as  i  like  without  tending  to  those  pesky  necessities. ❞

he  wonders  if  it  feels  familiar.  surely  even  this  pathetic  copy  is  capable  of  recalling  their  FIRST  of  many  betrayals.  (  lonely.  abandoned.  time  ceasing  to  lose  all  meaning.  )  turning  away,  kunikuzushi  moves  to  the  door.  he  has  every  intention  of  making  good  on  his  THREAT;  if  talking  is  the  only  weapon  kaminari  has  left,  why  not  take  even  that  away  from  him?  the  sixth  has  always  wondered  if  it  would  even  be  possible  to  drive  himself  to  MADNESS.

[oficeandwind]

every single thought flies out of kaminari's head the second those fingers wrap around his throat. before he can even THINK to fight back, or react, he's being slammed back against the wall. of COURSE, only someone matching own strength, that's able to render him briefly limp and semi conscious. kami's seeing spots, vision half blurred as he stares up at the silhouette of the balladeer.

kami's already struggling to shake off the impact. even with the massive headache forming, his half-lidded eyes blink slowly up at scaramouche with his mind churning and creaking, trying to catch back up to the conversation. the idiot is still rambling on about something, though now the words are slightly out of focus, almost fuzzy sounding. his ears almost miss the context, but as if through some delayed response, kami can catch the gist of the monologue; something related to being afraid.

if only he could actually fight back, now that the balladeer is well within range. it's too bad he'd taken the initiative to DAZE kami first. it's embarrassing, really. for kami to be so strong, having overcome so much in his life. and is now once again reduced to being a prisoner with no real escape. anyone else would have already been long overpowered and beaten, but he'd almost forgotten how strong he was in this embarrassing stage of life.

"i'm not scared of you," kami finally mutters, gaze drifting down to the wrist still holding him in place. "now it's the exact opposite." he's drawing up a leg, tucking it up against himself and using it to keep himself propped up. it's not a whole lot of action, but it's still SOMETHING. "you're nothing but a moron with a captive audience," kami finishes speaking, before snapping his leg out to catch kunikuzushi in the stomach. the kick is probably weaker than normal, since his stupid body is still struggling to snap out of its temporary daze.

not MUCH is expected from this ― it's not like kami is concerned over being choked. neither of them have the lungs or air to worry about that. what kami IS worried about is the balladeer slamming him again, succeeding in actually knocking him unconscious. there's no way kami can withstand another blow against the wall, so the sooner he gets himself free, the better.

already, he's drawing up his leg again to prepare for a second kick. second time's the charm.

give  it  back?  kunikuzushi  blinks  in  surprise  —  are  his  ears  MALFUNCTIONING?  he  simply  cannot  believe  what  he's  hearing.  yet  the  initial  shock  is  soon  followed  by  (  incredulous  )  laughter.  gentle,  like  the  chiming  of  tiny  bells  —  a  sound  that  would  be  considered  BEAUTIFUL  under  different  circumstances,  yet  feels  downright  jarring  here  when  contrasted  against  the  obvious  cruelty  in  his  eyes.  ❝  why  should  i? ❞   the  balladeer  asks,  arms  spread  and  palms  raised  upwards.  ❝  aren't  you  the  one  who  STARTED  this  fight? ❞  provoking  him  —  such  arrogance!  ❝  for  all  that  you  pretend  to  know  about  me ...  are  you  so  naive  as  to  think  i  would  let  you  go  merely  because  you  asked? ❞   perhaps  he  did  hit  his  head  after  all.  kunikuzushi  hasn't  exactly  been  paying  much  attention  to  how  this  pathetic  doppelganger  was  tossed  around.  surely  he  can't  actually  believe  the  sixth  would  be  at  all  inclined  to  show  him  MERCY  —  oil  and  water  would  be  more  liable  to  mix!

❝  this  isn't  an  ideological  battle.  i  couldn't  care  less  about  whatever  lies  you  feed  yourself  to  find  peace  in  such  an  inferior  existence. ❞  and  he  isn't  particularly  inclined  to  listen,  either.  kunikuzushi  was  destined  for  greatness,  for  divinity  —  and  unlike  this  FAKE,  he  has  endured  far  too  much  to  simply  GIVE  UP  now.  ❝  ...  i  just  want  to  see  you  suffer. ❞

without  warning,  the  harbinger  disappears  in  a  burst  of  electricity  bright  enough  to  SEAR  the  eyes.  cold  fingers  curl  around  kaminari's  throat  —  he  pulls  up  his  doppelganger  as  if  he  weighs  nothing  at  all,  cruelly  slamming  him  against  the  wall.  he's  changed  his  mind;  kunikuzushi  really  doesn't  care  whether  this  gives  him  the  opportunity  for  a  counterattack  —  because  they  both  know  his  anemo-wielding  counterpart  won't  dare  go  anywhere  without  his  PRECIOUS  VISION.  (  and  any  pain  he  can  inflict  upon  the  sixth  is  utterly  inconsequential.  )  ❝  cling  to  that  false  bravado  as  much  as  you  like. ❞  the  balladeer  says,  voice  dropping  to  little  more  than  a  whisper.  at  such  a  close  proximity,  the  glow  from  his  eyes  appears  almost  eerie  —  as  if  they  are  glassy  and  doll-like,  backlit  by  a  purple-hued  light.  unnatural,  inhuman  and  godly.  it  casts  strange  shadows  across  his  too-perfect  features,  only  serving  to  accentuate  the  sadistic,  controlled  mania  that  characterizes  every  word  out  of  the  sixth's  mouth.  ❝  the  truth  is ...  you're  TERRIFIED,  aren't  you? ❞  oh,  kunikuzushi  did  not  miss  that  look  for  the  split-second  it  lit  up  his  face.  on  the  contrary,  he  RELISHES  it.

❝  surrendering  to  something  as  weak  as  fear ...  just  like  a  common  animal.  how  very  human  of  you. ❞

[oficeandwind]

there's a spark of fear coursing through kaminari's body. it probably even shows in his eyes; the way they widen ever so slightly before he's rapidly schooling his expression. NEUTRAL. he doesn't know. scaramouche hasn't acknowledged it yet. the thought of being anyone's TEST SUBJECT yet again has kami almost fleeing completely. or making an attempt to.

see, he can't fly, without his vision.

he makes another attempt at sitting up, wincing in pain, though he manages this time. how long had he been propped against that stupid wall while his former self jeered? definitely way too long. kami had forgotten what it felt like to feel so cramped from disuse. welp, it's just another brand of old memories resurfacing and making him suffer in so many ways.

"no, thank you," comes his terse reply. "give it back and i'll be on my way." it's the BEST kami can offer. he clearly can't take this asshole on in a fight in his condition. while he could fall back on that cursed electro inside him still, kami would rather die than use it. it's not HIS to use.

"you can have fun being angry at the world for all your perceived injustices, i have better things to do with my time than be subjected to your idiocy."

WHY is he deliberately provoking scaramouche? he's still trying to free his hands, and scaramouche is staying well out of kicking range. perhaps his taunts are the next best thing. entice the maniac to come closer, so kami gets an upper hand. he hopes. or at the very least, he'll piss scaramouche off enough for the harbinger to actually DO something other than 'monologue' at him.

"come closer, i dare you."

at least all this taunting and back-and-forth is keeping his mind occupied. he still doesn't much like test subject. and if scaramouche actually rubbed two brain cells together, even he would be horrified by his own choice of words, AND action. "because i can and will knock some actual sense into that pea-sized brain of yours."

he  stands  like  a  statue,  a  shadow  —  a  blot  of  dark  ink  bleeding  through  the  page.  (  as  if  his  mere  presence  STAINS  the  rest  of  the  room  with  malice.  )  there's  something  quite  eerie  about  the  smile  that  plays  upon  the  balladeer's  lips;  mocking,  though  with  a  jarringly  beatific  quality  to  it  that  attests  to  his  divine  heritage.  it's  clear  he  takes  great  joy  in  his  other  self's  misery  —  and  perhaps  it  is  simply  because  kaminari's  mere  existence  serves  as  an  INSULT  to  his  own.  another  soul  with  the  audacity  to  share  his  face  —  and  to  think,  this  shallow  copy  was  even  parading  around  trying  to  boast  about  his  own  superiority!  no,  no,  no  that  simply  will  not  do.  he  can't  condemn  kunikuzushi  for  embracing  his  birthright  while  relying  on  what  shallow  dregs  of  power  that  eyesore  of  a  vision  offers  him.  they  were  born  to  be  gods  —  not  PARASITES  clinging  to  some  divine  consolation  prize.

❝  intimidating. ❞   the  balladeer  says.  it's  been  entertaining  watching  this  doppelganger  throw  his  little  TANTRUM,  but  even  that  is  starting  to  grow  tiresome.  ❝  you  must  be  either  an  idiot  or  suffering  from  some  kind  of  head  trauma  if  you  actually  think  i'm  going  to  do  that. ❞   one  hand  raises,  electro  fizzling  in  his  open  palm.  a  silhouette  of  the  wanderer's  vision  appears  —  only  for  a  moment,  before  the  curl  of  kunikuzushi's  thin  fingers  banishes  it  in  a  shower  of  sparks.  ❝  if  this  was  really  that  important  to  you,  why  was  it  so  easy  to  STEAL? ❞   ah  well.  he  supposes  that  only  goes  to  show  the  difference  in  their  abilities.

stepping  closer,  the  balladeer  seems  to  loom  over  him  —  in  presence,  more  so  than  height.  he  takes  care  not  to  come  within  range  of  his  doppelganger's  reach.  it  isn't  as  if  he  fears  what  this  cheap  fake  can  do  —  but  he  would  prefer  not  to  give  him  the  SATISFACTION  of  landing  a  blow  if  he  can  help  it.  ❝  to  be  honest,  i'm  actually  feeling  somewhat  inspired. ❞  a  grin,  one  that  just  so  happens  to  flash  POINTED  TEETH.  ❝  the  doctor  is  repugnant  even  among  his  fellow  humans ...  but  he  does  have  his  uses.  i  think  i'd  like  to  try  an  EXPERIMENT  of  my  own.  let's  see  what  happens ...  when  a  puppet  loses  his  heart  and  his  ambitions. ❞

fingers  snap.  a  thin  bolt  of  electro  slices  cleanly  through  the  cloth  muffling  his  doppelganger's  voice.  ❝  what  do  you  say,  TEST  SUBJECT? ❞

[oficeandwind]

there's no awareness at first, the puppet too lost in an endless darkness. perhaps even slumbering, just as the creator had forced upon him. it takes several seconds for any life to register behind those unseeing eyes, but ― a slow blink, followed by a couple more rapid blinks. the gaze slowly shifts over to scaramouche.

the puppet doesn't recognize him. should he? there's something so striking about the stranger's appearance.

( HE LOOKS LIKE THE CREATOR. )

perhaps that's why the puppet is now looking upon this new stranger with something akin to hope. he's too new to recognize evil. yet, his whole body feels old and stiff, like he's already suffered from something. the old feels like many, many centuries of discomfort and use, but that's...impossible. it HAS to be. as far as he's aware, he's been here ever since the creator placed him here. he's done nothing to earn this kind of wear and tear. the puppet is chalking it up to a single, idle thought that makes no sense in his brain. he quickly pushes it away in favor of gazing upon his newfound rescuer. "are you here to free me?"

his voice, while a few days ago had been full of malice and hatred, is now so meek and innocent sounding. "i've been in here for so long, i didn't think i'd ever be found." even with the fresh wave of hoping crossing his features, the puppet makes no move to get to his feet. some innate part of him knows how to walk. it would most likely come as easy as speaking currently is, but there's also some fear pushing at him, warning him to stay put. just like that idle thought about how old he feels, he's not sure why he fears this stranger. it's not worth dwelling on for long.

as much as he wants to continue gazing in awe up at the stranger, the puppet gazes around him to stare at the light. it's BLINDING, and almost hurts his eyes, but to him now, it's almost as if he's seeing light for the first time. eyes widen and stare, mesmerized, at the light. it's so bright and beautiful, and yet, again, he feels like there's something horrifically familiar about it. something wrong with being amazed by it.

EVERYTHING FEELS WRONG.

he's too distracted now to disregard all these weird thoughts that keep popping up. they're all useless and mean nothing. what is important is that light from the doorway. the puppet wants to leave this room and see more of it. it's amazing to even imagine an outside world beyond these walls, but it's right there, within his grasp.

with an outstretched hand, he even tries to GRAB the light. it's intangible, and disappointment marks his features now as he stares down at his hands. he's confused all over again. along with the faint light over his fingers, there are things there that haven't been there before. or that he hadn't noticed before.

black painted fingernails. rings on his fingers; strange adornments of metal that mean little to him. perhaps some ceremonial attributes from his creator? he frowns before taking note of what he's even wearing. the light allows him to make note of the loose white and blue cloth draped over his body. once more, he's wondering if it all holds some ceremonial significance he isn't aware about. nothing here makes sense, and he almost doesn't even WANT to know anymore. "mister, where are we?" he looks back up at the stranger. his rescuer. savior? "...and why am i here?"

he  leaves  him.  abandons  him  —  much  like  THEIR  CREATOR  before  him.  locked  away  in  a  place  where  the  flow  of  time  itself  is  rendered  utterly  incomprehensible,  torture  masquerading  beneath  a  veneer  of  condescending  kindness.  the  balladeer  fashions  it  another  stepping  stone  on  his  path  to  true  DIVINITY;  replicating  her  actions  brings  him  ever-closer  to  becoming  a  real  god,  or  so  he  tells  himself.  honestly,  there  is  something  ever  so  cathartic  about  leaving  his  WEAKER  SELF  to  suffer.  his  fate  is  controlled  by  kunikuzushi's  whims.

there  is  screaming.  he  can  hear  it  occasionally  —  it  bleeds  through  the  thick  door,  muffled  sounds  of  abject  agony.  his  underlings  scurry  by  like  the  frightened  ants  they  are,  expressions  twisted  with  discomfort  even  beneath  their  masks.  that,  too,  is  something  kunikuzushi  finds  cathartic.  he  offers  them  no  EXPLANATION,  and  the  majority  know  better  than  to  ask  —  the  balladeer  has  earned  his  reputation  for  cruelty  and  made  his  disdain  for  questions  quite  clear.  (  they  won't  risk  provoking  him.  they  won't  even  risk  meeting  his  eyes.  )  soon  the  screaming  fades  and  the  room  goes  eerily  silent.  were  the  soul  inside  capable  of  perishing,  kunikuzushi  would  assume  he  simply  DROPPED  DEAD  like  all  flimsy  mortal  creatures  do.  yet  he  knows  better,  and  so  he  doesn't  bother  breaking  kaminari's  solitary  confinement  to  check.  there's  plenty  of  work  to  be  done  in  the  meanwhile,  after  all.  getting  these  idiots  to  do  anything  useful  often  feels  as  tedious  as  HERDING  CATS  —  and  there  is  always  the  tiresome  task  of  paperwork  that  never  quite  seems  to  end.

a  few  days  pass,  as  promised.  such  a  mundane  amount  of  time,  utterly  inconsequential  in  the  grand  scheme  of  it  all...  though  he  can  only  imagine  what  an  eternity  it  must  be  from  the  wanderer's  perspective.

the  door  opens  with  a  grating,  metallic  creak  —  as  if  it's  reluctant  to  move.  the  balladeer's  footsteps  are  soft  yet  sharp;  he  strides  across  the  room  with  clear  purpose,  gaze  sweeping  to  and  fro  as  he  observes  the  damage.  it's  pathetic,  really;  the  only  notable  progress  kaminari  actually  made  was  removing  his  bonds.  is  he  incapable  of  drawing  from  that  innate  pool  of  electro  within  him  or  has  his  PRIDE  simply  rendered  him  too  reluctant  —  even  for  the  sake  of  saving  his  own  skin?  ultimately,  kunikuzushi  supposes  it  doesn't  really  matter.  heedless  of  the  reason,  if  he  had  any  intention  of  doing  so,  he  would  have  ages  ago.

the  harbinger  sinks  to  a  crouch  before  him.  snapping  fingers  —  trying  to  rouse  the  puppet  from  whatever  STUPOR  he's  fallen  into.  interesting,  interesting.  were  this  an  ACTUAL  experiment,  kunikuzushi  thinks  now  would  be  the  perfect  opportunity  to  take  notes.  he  looks  empty  —  more  object  than  living  thing.  is  this  really  all  it  takes  to  break  the  unbreakable?  ❝  hello.  anybody  home? ❞  a  gentle  smile  plays  upon  the  balladeer's  lips.  he  looks  so  innocent,  malevolent  intentions  smothered  beneath  such  a  delicate  countenance.  under  different  circumstances,  one  might  look  upon  the  scene  and  misconstrue  him  for  the  puppet's  savior.  (  when  in  truth,  he  is  more  accurately  called  his  damnation.  )  ❝  how  are  you  feeling? ❞