Chapter Text
Arlecchino winced a little as the rum, her first drink of the night, slid down her throat. It scorched all the way down, leaving a heavy burn in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t help that there wasn’t much in her stomach to begin with.
She told herself this party was for the greater good, that she needed to get out and socialize, but she never was the social one between her and Signora.
Signora… it hadn’t been that long since the Incident. The shape of her name in her mind’s eye still only spelled out pain for her living lover.
She reached for another shot.
Drown out the thoughts. Don’t think about her. Just focus on appearing presentable.
No one was supposed to know how much Sig- she- meant to Arlecchino.
Except for the masked man who was currently pushing his way through the crowd to talk to her.
“Well, well, well, this is the corner you decided to hide away in, huh, Knave? I was wondering where you were! This party is quite boring without my favorite test subject!” His voice sounded stranger than usual, like something was affecting his speech, weighing down his consonants with something heavy and artificial. Whatever concoction he was high on probably didn’t help either, or worse yet, was the cause. His stilted, broken Fontainian was even worse. Arlecchino cringed.
“Oh. Hello, Dottore. I’m not in the mood to talk, if you don’t mind.” Arlecchino was praying that this man would just go away. Normally, he was not unwelcome, and could even be good - well, not good, but fun - company at the best of times. But tonight was just not the night, not when all she could think about was her.
“Well, I am in the mood to talk, so I guess it evens out. Did you hear about who is at this party? There are big shots from all over campus here, but Columbina couldn’t be bothered to show her uptight face, oh, no, no! She’s just too good for the rest of us!” Dottore was completely oblivious to her suffering, despite how much pain showed in her face. Even with her mood, she couldn’t help but appreciate the jab at Columbina.
Columbina…
If it weren’t for that egotistical prude, she would have her rightful spot as valedictorian in the bag. But somehow, some way, the head of the fucking cheerleading squad, the Psychology major, was real competition for her place at the top.
Seeing the Knave’s face contort at the mention of her archrival, Dottore took that as encouragement to continue.
“Ugh, Psychology majors, right? What job could you even get with that? Some sort of Brain Doctor?”
Arlecchino poured herself another shot, lifting it almost in a toast. Then she thought better of it and took the bottle by the neck. “Normally, Dottore, you make as much sense as a Psychology major.” She humored him with a little giggle. “But you are too correct for me to disagree with you in good faith.” She lifted the bottle, pressing the rim to her lips and taking a deep, deep drink. She melted away as she lost herself in thought about Columbina. “Psychology is useless, and all who study it are only destined for obsolete, dead-end jobs. How pathetic to study such an antiquated subject.”
Dottore chortled. “Why would you even talk to someone if you had brain issues? Why can’t we just do lobotomies like in the good old days? They seemed to work fine! You didn’t hear any complaining from the wackos after one of those, now, did you!” Dottore seemed lost in thought as he fantasized about the idea of giving someone a lobotomy. Arlecchino could almost see the drool at the corner of his mouth.
“Quite- well, somewhat correct.” Arlecchino giggled again and raised the bottle back up to her lips, taking another pull. “Psychology is a useless profession, and those who study it are just as useless to society.”
“I can take another hit to that! ‘Party Mixture #34b’ works like a dream! Now, if only I could remember what I put in it…”
The Reporters ran the school newspaper, and they were famous for their presence. They had eyes and ears everywhere. And the girl, Charlotte, was infamous for doing anything for stories. It had been rumored that Charlotte slept with Dottore to learn more about his experiments.
And it had worked, up until Dottore found out and threatened to mix the newspaper ink with something hallucinogenic.
They had to refute the story after that.
So Charlotte sat across the room from Arlecchino and Dottore, eyes widening as she heard those words from Arlecchino. She stood up from her chair and scampered off as fast as she could, making a beeline for the girls’ dorms. She had a story here, and a juicy one at that.
It wasn’t long before she was standing at Columbina’s dorm, knocking furiously on the wooden door.
A lazy, soft voice called, sounding thick with sleep. “Who’s there?”
“Charlotte here, of course! I need to speak with you urgently!”
Slow, gentle footsteps sounded from behind the door, before it opened a crack, revealing soft candlelight illuminating the room. And there stood Columbina, in a modest cotton nightgown with a lace trim around the collar. She peeked out, sleepy eyes taking in the reporter. “Yes?” she said, soft voice with just a tinge of irritation poking through the sweet demeanor.
Charlotte was not fazed. “Your rival Arlecchino has said some very interesting things about your major tonight! In her words, ‘psychology is a useless profession, and those who study it are just as useless to society.’ How would you like to comment on that?”
Now Columbina was interested. The door opened wider, revealing her full body. She blinked owlishly at Charlotte as she formulated a response that wasn’t, I would like to go face her myself and tear her to shreds . Inwardly, she was seething. How dare that mannish bitch make such a statement? She never thought- well, that Arlecchino would be so open about her disdain.
She kept a thoughtful expression, head tilted as she pretended to ponder. “I would suggest,” she said lightly, lips curling up into a serene smile, “that perhaps, my rival should have a thought about how useful drunk drivers are to society, in comparison to Psychology majors.”
Charlotte tilted her head, slightly puzzled, but took out a notebook and dutifully scrawled down what Columbina had said. “Noted! Do I have your permission to use that in the morning paper?”
“Oh, dear.” Her smile turned into something much more sinister. “See to it that my comment is put in. Front and center, and credited, if you please.”
Charlotte nodded again. “Right you are, miss! Thank you for your time.”
“No. Thank you.”
The next morning, Arlecchino woke up with a splitting headache, tangled, messy hair, and little to no memory of what had happened the previous night. Clutching her head, she stumbled to the toilet and vomited up mostly bile and alcohol. Wiping her mouth, she made her way to her dorm door, where the seemingly-innocuous morning paper lay at her doorstep.
Columbina’s serene smile appeared on the front page, but she thought nothing of it (if not feeling some form of revulsion) as she laid it down on her desk, going about her wake-up process (while incredibly hungover), making her morning coffee and taking a granola bar out of the box on the shelf on her wall. She returned to the desk, sitting down and unfurling the paper to read with her favorite mug in hand.
She skipped over the title, jumping right into the meat of the story.
“In a shocking statement, Arlecchino, hopeful valedictorian, declares, ‘psychology is a useless profession, and those who study it are just as useless to society’ at last night’s party.”
Arlecchino narrowed her eyes in suspicion, trying to recall anything she could. Did she really say that? Oh, well. It wasn’t the worst thing she had said in the public eye. But the next line caught her eye, Columbina’s name sticking out like a sore thumb.
“Columbina, our other hopeful valedictorian, commented, ‘Perhaps my rival should have a thought about how useful drunk drivers are to society, in comparison to Psychology majors.’ Does this have something to do with the recent passing of our beloved Signora, in a drunk driving accident? Rumors say Arlecchino and Signora were very close friends - but perhaps, we will never know any more than our head-to-head competitors have said!”
Arlecchino froze, nearly crushing the mug in her hand as her hands balled so hard into fists that her long nails drew blood against her palm. Her face went pale, which was then quickly washed away by a scarlet wave of fury.
Without thinking, the Knave abruptly stood up, jostling her table and chair as she stomped towards the door. Quickly donning her most intimidating pair of stilettos, the heels nearly drove holes into the wood as she made her way down the staircase in a blind rage. She flew down the flights of steps, gliding like a great spider dashing towards its prey.
As she reached the bottom, she shoved everyone out of her way to reach the courtyard, where she knew Columbina would be sitting, spouting asinine gossip with her friends.
Columbina’s gaze slid from the girl she was currently trying to seduce to the woman striding over and making loud clanking noises. Arlecchino. That seemed much more interesting than the conversation she was previously having. The rest of the girls scrambled away, hasty to get out of there.
“Hello, my dear Arlecchino. What may I do for you today?” She giggled coquettishly, but her cat-who-got-the-cream smile said everything her words didn’t.
“So, Columbina, I am feeling awfully magnanimous today, especially given what you had the gall to publish in the morning newspaper. In my generosity, I will give you a choice. How would you prefer to die? Keep in mind that if I don’t think your answer is sufficiently painful, I will choose it myself.” The emphasis on specific words had the effect of being intensely threatening. By now, everyone else had cleared out, not eager to be tangled up in the fight brewing. Or, as Arlecchino would have it, a murder.
Columbina, however, was not intimidated, giggling again, this time, with an eerie, vitriolic undertone. “Oh, dear. I didn’t know that poor girl Signora meant so much to you. I heard that her blood alcohol was double the legal concentration. Sweet thing must have had a little too much to drink that night. Tragic accident, really. Pity for her family, hmm? Think of her lover too, Pantalone. Oh, he must be devastated. I heard he cried the whole funeral, shaking and everything.” She covered the lower half of her face, looking with faux-shyness at Arlecchino.
The Knave violently slammed both of her fists down on the courtyard table, shaking it mightily and boxing Columbina between her arms. “That is not an answer, Damselette. Please be aware that my preferred method of killing is burning alive , and is what I will be selecting if you do not decide. You will burn as brightly as the beautiful spirit inside that woman, and just as quickly.”
Columbina stood from her seat. Even standing, she was a foot shorter than Arlecchino. An evil glint shone in her eyes. “Oh, but dear, she was on the scene alive for hours before the paramedics found her . Just think of her, alone in that car, in pain… thinking of Pantalone in her last minutes. I’m sure she knew just how much he loved her, and she loved him in return. I hope the thought of him comforted her in her last minutes alive. After all, everyone knows that her heart beat only for him.” Her words dripped with false honey, sweet and oh-so poisonous.
The door to the courtyard flew open, and Furina flounced in with all her ruffles and top hat. Her hair was wet, but her grin was wide. “Ah! There you are, Mademoiselle Arlecchino! I was told I’d find you here, and good, I have a witness to my next words.” Her gaze flicked over to a Columbina who looked very unsure of what Furina was doing. Despite that, Furina cleared her throat. “Ahem. I have now beaten your best swim time by a whopping 0.2 seconds! How’s that, Miss Arlecchino? What do you have to say, hmm?”
After a moment of burning silence, the Knave responded in a lethally calm voice, “I would say that Columbina had better summon the nurse here at once,” and with that, she lunged at the poor Fontainian, providing the Damselette with her escape, and Arlecchino with much needed anger release.