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The first night with the fatui was cold and dark. Mostly just sitting in a room having the feeling of being watched, though there’s only a vague memory of those first few nights. The balladeer can’t quite remember, he’d rather not worry.
—
One night sitting in a small room in a strictly fatui rented hotel, he couldn’t quite shake the lingering feeling of those nights, he had no memory of what had happened, but he couldn’t help but feel nostalgia, the bad kind. His chest felt empty and his head heavy, his stomach swirled like he was anticipating something, nothing happened.
Scaramouche would usually cry himself to sleep, quiet, untouched tears would fall from his eyes, and thats how he knew it was time to leave the world he knew, if only for a while, and into a world much faker. But tonight his tears felt as though they evaporated. He didn't quite know if that was from dehydration but he wouldn’t doubt it, his food and water consumption habits weren’t exactly ideal.
He had sat on the bed of the dimly lit room. Tired but with no will for sleep, he had acted on his overbearing emotions, frustration taking over accompanied by the feel of a memory he had no recollection of first feeling, but it felt like he had felt it many year ago, he picked up what was next to him (a cold lamp he supposed, though he was to blinded by his emotions too know for sure), and threw it with all of his might at the floor, making a loud smash when glass collided with the ground.
—
A bang was what La signora heard when she was woken from her deep slumber. She snapped her eyes open in annoyance at the action and got herself out of bed, not even standing up to fast could shake the pure strength and stoical aura this woman gave off, she stepped lightly, if direct contradiction to the way her face was contorted with an emotion that could be described by many names, all negative. Bangs and thuds came one after the other as she stepped right to the room next to hers where the loud sounds had come from.
the sounds stopped just as she was getting ready to start lecturing whoever was the cause of the sounds, her yet to be fully awake brain had failed to realise the door had been locked and effortlessly broke the latch with pure unadulterated force. Snapping the door open she briefly opened her mouth for words about the flood out, only to quickly secure her lips shut again with the realisation that she had walked into the room of a fellow harbinger, number 6 to be exact.
This is not to say she wouldn’t have scolded him for the abrupt awakening, quite the opposite actually, she would’ve laid down stronger words, knowing the people she worked directly beside should know better, but what met her eyes with disbelief was not the half-destroyed room with splattered books on the ground and broken glass anywhere you stepped, it was the site of the disheveled Scaramouche in the Center of the room, holding his legs and staring at the wall a few feet in front of him still dressed in day clothes and dawning eyes that seemed soulless.
So this was all the racket?
Signora gingerly walked her way to the boy, mindfully nudging the door shut on her way in. She shook her hand in front of his face without even so much as lowering her head, still holding it high. To no response, not even a glare, her eyes threatened to soften. She crouched down to the eye level of the boy and raised an eyebrow, almost simulating a question.
She broke the silence with a real one “Balladeer what is the meaning of this.” It was stern and direct, sounding more of a statement then a question, she was demanding an answer. His eyes looked slightly up to meet hers. he looked as though he could start crying at any moment, though she could tell he wasn't likely to in front of her, it still almost broke her fiery heart. Almost.
—
He wasn’t sad, but anyone would guess this wasnt so. From the subtle look in his eyes she could tell he was frustrated that someone had seen him in this… weak state, that look suddenly went away when she lowered herself, now sitting on her shins, and wrapping her arms around him. catching him off guard with the act he swung his head, which had him now looking at the fair lady’s ear
Although her strong self never left, she still looked cold hearted, and her face was like stone, the action was notably sincere. He didn’t hug back, but he let his head fall to the crook of her neck letting his cold body be engulfed by her flaming skin. The weak feeling of rest creeped nearby, considering it was quite late into the night it came to no surprise. He drifted his eyes shut with little resistance.
When she realised his eyes had closed and his breathing simmered down to a simple and light whisper, barely passible as snoring, she considerately lifted him from the pile of broken glass and clutter that littered the floor and placed him as gently as possible on his bed, pulling the sheets over him unlike he would for himself and patted his head. She turned to leave the thought to be sleeping boy before feeling a sad tug on her clothing, a light grip but with so much emotion, almost a beg, and even with it being silent she understood what he was asking, so she turned herself around and sat on the floor, resting her head on her arm as a makeshift pillow. She held onto his hand lightly with one of hers and drifted her thumb across his knuckles letting him know she is there. to the rhythmic back a forth he felt sleep capture him again.
—
They stayed like that till the morning. Signora had awakened hours before he had himself, and when he woke his eyes were no longer dry, he could feel that a cold line had ran down his cheek. Her absence had left him to question if it happened, or if it was just that fake world again, proving itself to bring him nothing but sorrow when it decided to peak its ugly head. When he looked in the mirror the well known emotion of sadness left his eyes and almost widened at the sight of a barely there lip stick mark on his forehead, letting him know that even after her long morning routine, she had came back for him, whether she was hoping the balladeer was awake or just to see him one last time before to day officially started. The voice right in the back of his head made a convincing argument to allow himself to put trust in her, even just a little. During the day their eyes never met, but they both seemed to have less edge. from then on Signora often found herself loitering nearby whenever trouble struck in the mind of the puppet. accompanying his forehead with lipstick.