Chapter Text
“A new harbinger? Interesting.”
“Oh, The Second is being replaced…”
“I wonder if he’s good at combat. Perhaps he’ll even wanna spar with me!”
The amount of talking surrounding the new, mysterious harbinger was starting to drive Pantalone into the grave. Surely, surely, it cannot be that interesting.
Or, he’s just biased because he’s nothing more than a simple banker. Or, as La Signora would say, an excellent chess player.
Sitting by the large meeting table, next to The Knave, Pantalone had his legs crossed, with his hands intertwined on top of his lap. Eyes half lidded, he scanned the room. Everyone was present, with Tartaglia being visibly the most excited harbinger, pretty much vibrating in his seat.
“Not excited?” A monotone voice spoke up next to Pantalone. He turned his head, the polite smile automatically appearing as he met Arlecchino’s gaze.
“Hm, not precisely. It’d just mean more work for me,” he nearly purred in response. Arlecchino nods, before opening her mouth again.
“About the —” she doesn’t get to finish as the large door at the end of the table — Pierro’s end, to be precise — opens.
The quiet conversations were quickly hushed into silence once Pierro entered. A darker, shorter silhouette stood right behind him, hiding in the shadows. With a clearing of his throat, Pierro spoke up. “Good evening, my dear colleagues.” They all bowed their heads out of respect, before straightening up again. A polite greeting, one could say.
And, of course, Pantalone was the most polite person there, as expected.
“As you might’ve heard, we have a new member joining us,” Pierro continued, motioning with his hand for the man behind him to step forward. Picking up on the cue, the man stepped next to Pierro.
Now, there were a few things Pantalone picked up immediately about this man. Firstly, while he wasn’t super short, he was definitely shorter than Pantalone himself. Secondly, he stood stiff like a broom, clearly not enjoying the attention that was cast upon him. And thirdly, the bird-like mask. Bird-like might be a bit of an exaggeration, since the only thing that vaguely represents a bird is the beak-like tip sticking out over the man’s nose.
“Welcome, The Second, The Doctor.” The harbingers at the table clap their hands in sync, before stopping once Pierro gestures with his hand. “Sit,” Pierro commanded the man, hand out with the palm upwards, tilted towards the empty seat next to Pantalone. Pantalone watches with slight amusement as the new harbinger hesitantly wanders over to the seat, before settling down in it. Pantalone eyes him, before focusing back onto Pierro.
“Now, you all may greet and converse with him, after this meeting is over,” Pantalone knew that Pierro’s words were targeting a certain someone. Taking his seat at the head of the table, Pierro rested his elbows on the table, fingers interlocking in front of his face as a serious emotion overtook him.
“I believe you all should have some reports to speak up about?” Pierro asked.
Pulcinella cleared his throat, talking about yet a new project.
-
The meeting was coming to a conclusion, Columbina had spoken the final word of the reporting. Pierro had not made Pantalone speak up — probably since they both knew that if the topic of economics would be brought up, everyone would have to be somewhat drunk to not have a mental breakdown trying to understand what Pantalone was ranting about.
Pierro trusted Pantalone, probably more than most.
Eyeing the new member next to him again, the bouncing leg didn’t go unnoticed by the Regrator. He scoffed internally, displeased by the sight. It either meant anxiety, or boredom, and both irked Pantelone greatly.
He looked away again, Pulcinella’s voice speaking up again.
“As per tradition, I have organised a welcoming party for our newest member,” He stated, a smug smirk on his lips that Pantalone despised.
Sure, he and the Rooster got along somewhat, the topic of economics was something Pulcinella understood, much to Pantelone’s satisfaction, but, he was nothing more than an ignorant fool, and was quite annoying.
“Tomorrow, Seven in the evening, it will be held at my manor,” Pulcinella continued, stroking his moustache. No one uttered a word.
“Very well,” Pierro eventually nodded.
The motion of arms crossing was spotted out of the corner of Pantalone’s eye.
“I will conclude this meeting, may the Tsaritsa bless you,” Pierro spoke once he took the cue that nothing else would be brought up. "Regrator, I wish to have a word with you.” Pantalone paused, eyeing the Jester, before nodding.
“May the Tsaritsa bless you,” echoed from the harbingers, except the one next to Pantalone. Did Pierro not teach him manners?
Once the room was empty, Pantalone approached the end of the table, hands held behind his back. There was no reason to panic, he hadn’t done anything wrong, at least in his own eyes.
“Hm, Tartaglia would be shaking like a leaf,” Pierro commented, staring at Pantalone. The Regrator hummed in response, “I have done my work well, there is no need for me to fret,” Pantalone flashed his polite smile towards Pierro, who seemed to deflate ever so slightly.
“I taught you well,” Pierro replied — no, stated. Looking somewhat like a pleased strict father. Pantalone nodded.
“Which is why I would like for you to teach the Doctor.”
Pantalone’s smile dropped a fraction, suddenly much more strained as he felt his eyebrow furrow.
He was a busy, busy man. Especially after La Signora's death had loaded all the diplomatic matters over to Pantalone.
“Pardon? May I ask why?” Pantalone questioned, doing his best to look unaffected, which he knew was already useless with how easy Pierro could read him.
“I barely got to spend time with him. While I was away, I picked him up in the desert, and spent around three weeks with him.”
A silence formed over them.
“He’s strong minded, knows what he wants, and an extremely valuable asset for us to have on our side. The Tsaritsa also deemed that he should join us officially as fast as possible,” Pierro kept going.
Three weeks? Pantalone spent three months under Pierro’s wing.
But, surely, if the new member was so great, what exactly is Pantalone’s job in this scenario?
“But,” the Jester sighed, pinching his nose bridge, “He’s incredibly anti-social, with no regard for etiquette, and not because he doesn’t know, but because he doesn’t care. Not to mention the fact he’s unreliable, unstable, and somewhat batshit insane,” Pierro spat. For having been accepted into joining the Fatui so quickly, Pantalone was somewhat taken aback by Pierro’s words.
Pantalone kept silent for a few moments, why him? Obviously Pantalone knew why he was chosen for this, after all, he was the only choice in reality. Maybe Arlecchino could’ve done it, but she was way too busy with her own missions and children to take care of.
“I see,” Pantalone murmured, nodding his head. There was no way out of this. “Give me a few months, I will see it handled,” he bowed.
“May the Tsaritsa bless you, Regrator.”
“May the Tsaritsa bless you, Jester.”
He turned on his heel and gracefully strolled out of the meeting room.
Work, work, and even more work.
Pantalone poured himself a glass of water, before getting to work. After all, a lot of matters were to be resolved.
He skimmed through the letters with ease.
Deny.
Accept.
Signature.
It truly was that easy, at least for the Regrator.
He should eat soon.
He pushed that thought into the back of his mind, letting it stay as a reminder for later.
What was he going to do with the Doctor? He could probably befriend him fairly quickly, and from there he could probably impose some… subtle etiquette training onto the man.
Ah, he should also bring up the topic of Stuzha with Arlecchino. It was probably what she wished to bring up before the meeting had begun, when she was cut off.
The next letter was Sandrone wanting funds. Five million mora. Pantalone scoffed, denying it, but writing back that he was willing to offer three. After all, her machines were rather useful.
Another letter, from Columbina, stating she wished to play a game of chess some time. And of course, Pantalone had to oblige. It was better being on the other harbingers good sides, since it meant they wouldn’t jump him if he denied funding. That, and that he actually wanted to play again.
It had been a while since Signora had passed, and his mind was growing restless reading letters and bank statements.
What to do with the doctor? His mind wandered back to him. Obviously, the doctor was an adult. No child would be shoved into the second rank, after all.
For Pierro to push him into the second seat… The Doctor must be incredibly valuable.
Hours passed, and eventually the reminder of food came back into Pantalone’s mind. He sighed and placed his pen back onto the desk. Truly, he’d never finish his work completely, but at least he had it minimized for now.
Sighing yet again, he stood up. It was getting late, later than what he thought it was, and only glancing at the clock hanging on the wall confirmed his suspicions. Turning off his lights in his office, he stepped outside into the dark hallway. The door locked behind him, before he turned to the guard stationed by it.
“Have a servant bring me dinner to my personal quarters,” he said, the guard nodding in response. Pantalone wandered down the hallway, already imagining the softness of his bed and how it’d envelop his body once he laid down.
After he had eaten, of course.
Unlocking and stepping into his room, he discarded his thick coat and shoes. He wandered straight to the bedroom. Probably his favorite room in all of Teyvat. It had a walk-in closet, and a bathroom connected to it, making it easy for him to access. Once he was in the bathroom, he began slowly stripping. Once he was out of the outer layers of his clothes, he turned on the shower.
Tsaritsa, he could not be caught being unhygienic.
Standing in front of the marble sink and giant mirror with silver as its frame, Pantalone resumed undressing. He took off his rings, one by one and carefully placed them onto the counter, before removing his gloves, ignoring the scars that littered his knuckles while he folded the gloves neatly.
Minutes passed until he was done, make-up wiped, nude, and with his glasses sitting on the counter for when he got out of the shower. Steam had started building, making the mirror slowly clouding up.
Instead of wasting more time, Pantalone stepped into the shower and under the hot water spraying down onto him. He could’ve almost moaned at the relief of the heat, being in Shneznaya’s frosty climate was rather draining. He stood there for a bit, relishing in the warmth, before moving to soap himself up and rinse.
Time seemed to stop whenever Pantalone was in the shower. Fingers worked through his hair, massaging the shampoo into the roots. He washed it out, before moving onto the conditioner. While letting it sit, he moved onto the next step, which was more soap.
He had to smell exquisite, clean and charming. How else could he sweet talk all his clients?
Once, Rosalyne had messed up by asking Pantalone about his evening routines, and how he always seemed so put together. At the end of his explanation, she had only stared at him, before saying you’re insane. They both laughed about it together.
He washed out the conditioner.
It was already the next day, and Pantalone was up and working extra early.
He had business to get down to.
Finishing up his breakfast that consisted of black tea, fruits, and chocolate pastries, he watched as the maid picked up the plate and mug and left the office. Adjusting his glasses, he picked up a few papers and added them on one of the piles of more paper.
First of all, he had to visit Arlecchino before he procrastinated to the point where she would get aggressive with him. Secondly, he also had to meet with the Captain. And thirdly, Columbina had requested his presence.
And he had the party to get ready for.
The Doctor could wait. Plus, he was positive that he would be seeing the shorter man at the party.
Gathering a folder named Militia, Pantalone left his office. It would take a full hour to get to the military side of Shneznaya, and then another two to go the opposite direction to meet Arlecchino, and the same the other way around. Just great.
Ignoring the servants walking around, Pantalone eventually makes his way out of the building, shuddering due to the coldness. He keeps walking, set on not waiting outside in the snow longer than necessary. He spots the carriage at the front gates.
“Regrator.”
“Knave.”
Pantalone nods, taking a seat at her desk. He crosses his legs, and smiles politely, anything to subdue the wrath she may take out on him.
The curtains were drawn over the long windows, black and red markings making a beautiful pattern that complimented the office nicely. But, it was already dark enough, and with the curtains drawn, the only thing emitting light was the lamps at the Knave's desk, and a few dim ones around the room.
“My children, Regrator?” Arlecchino nearly hisses at Pantalone, her fists clenched together on the desk. Pantalone sighs, even with his skills within diplomacy, Arlecchino also being a diplomat meant she knew all the tricks to persuasion.
He pushes his glasses further up his nose bridge, mostly to buy himself some extra time, before resting his hands on his lap again.
“More than half has passed,” he states, keeping his voice as monotone as possible. He takes the opportunity to look around some more; bookshelves, crystals, and other items scattered within the shelves.
Arlecchino fumes.
Before she can blow up at the banker — he keeps speaking.
“The Rooster and his scientists are to blame, as I only control the financial aspects of this project,” he glares at her, not afraid to make eye contact. He sighs again, trying to put on the façade that he's sympathetic to her, shoulders slumping slightly.
He watches her internal debate; blow up on the banker, or keep her rage for the Rooster. He digs his nails into his thigh, trying to keep himself from smiling at the incoming victory.
“A month. I give you and them a month to lower the rates,” she states quietly, leaning back in her chair. Pantalone nods.
“Now get out, businessman.” Pantalone doesn't need to be told twice about leaving this office. He stands up, gives a small bow, before leaving, shutting the door behind himself. Biting the inside of his cheek, he makes a mental note to dive into the problem tomorrow.
If there was one thing he'd always make sure to do, it was to visit Arlecchino in the morning. It meant that the children would still be asleep, and that Pantalone didn't need to busy himself avoiding their grabby hands.
How could Arlecchino stand it?
He scoffed as he exited the building. Next on the list; Capitano.
Unlike most of the other nations military bases, Shneznaya put in extra effort and finances to ensure their military would have proper housing. Mostly because of Capitano and how bad it would look for the First harbinger’s reputation to the public eye if he were to live in a tent.
Walking to the main building, he could hear the snow crunching under his feet. Folder in hand, Pantalone took a deep breath, before exhaling it into the freezing air, a white cloud forming, almost like smoke.
But he quit that habit many years ago. Except for the other day, and the day before that, and the few ones throughout the week prior to this one.
His lungs might as well become ice blocks at this point with how cold it is.
While he wasn't worried about Capitano, it was more their communication he'd grown to worry about. And Pantalone prided himself on his ability to communicate with nearly anyone.
The Captain was a very private man, and a man of few words and fewer expressions. It made it immensely difficult for Pantalone to read him.
He opened the door, and wandered to the man at the front desk. Once again, the inside was rather dimly lit. Upon noticing the harbinger, the man straightened up.
“Lord harbinger,” the man bowed his head. Pantalone did the same.
“Is the Captain in his office?” Pantalone asked, raising an eyebrow. It didn't go unnoticed as the man glanced at the folder in Pantalone’s arm.
“Ah, yes, he's working on some matters…” The man doesn't get to finish as Pantalone immediately hurries to the office, ignoring the call of the man behind him. The hallways seem to lighten up at least.
He stands at the simple door. It's different from his other co-workers’ offices, simple, with a sign saying “The First. Capitano. The Captain.” At least the wood work is relatively nice, which is a large compliment considering Pantalone's own tastes.
He knocks, before entering. He shuts the door behind himself, and eyes the man.
The man who's sitting with a very straight posture, fully concentrated on his work. Pantalone invited himself further into the room, sitting down in the chair opposite of the First. He places the folder on the desk, and lets it sit there until Capitano moves his paperwork aside.
“Regrator,” the man nods.
“Captain,” the Regrator nods back.
“I have the files you requested. I assume you wish to look through them together?” Pantalone raises an eyebrow, opening the folder. Stacks upon stacks of paper are layered present. The quiet man nods again, picking up the first paper.
Militia.
His and Capitano’s newest plan. One that Capitano had brought to Pantalone, and, thankfully, it was within reasonable financial demands. One of the few reasons Pantalone liked the man. Fair exchange.
“I can have the cheque coming your way within two days, I only need to double check our investments,” Pantalone speaks up first, and Capitano nods approvingly in silence.
Reasonable.
Even better, Capitano had written down each and every single one of his thoughts when it came to the Militia, which deeply satisfied the Regrator. Considering how other harbingers, such as Pulcinella, would write one page and then send it away, forcing Pantalone to travel to his district of Shneznaya.
The time passed slowly, and Pantalone could feel his throat growing sore from the amount of talking he had to do without a water pause. Clearing his throat, Capitano spoke again.
“We can continue later this week?” His monotone voice drifted through the air.
Pantalone nodded in return, collecting everything back into the folder. Closing it up, he nodded at the Captain.
“I'll see you tonight, may the Tsaritsa bless you.”
“May the Tsaritsa bless you, Regrator.”
He carefully shut the door behind him, breathing out a sigh.
One less matter to worry about.
Something that was a little worrying, was that it was already three in the afternoon.
That being said, Pantalone had to travel back to the palace to meet Columbina. Thankfully, her office was at the other wing right next to Pantalone's, which meant once he was done there, he could head straight to his quarters and get ready. Columbina would probably wish to do the same, so she'd assumingly wrap it up relatively quickly.
Right, she wished to play chess.
“Banker dear, why don’t you come brush my hair?”
Out of everyone’s offices, Columbina sure had the strangest one. Sure, it contained a desk and a few bookshelves, but in the corner was a sleek, white make-up table with a large mirror. The frame of said mirror was a wonder of floral patterns, and surely must’ve been costly.
Columbina sat by the table, staring at Pantalone through her closed eyes even though she was facing the mirror. Sighing softly, he had no other choice but to humor her little request. Once stood behind her, she handed him a brush.
He used one hand to lift her hair, before gently beginning to brush it. From the end, and slowly moving upwards. She hummed a quiet tune.
“You know, out of everyone here, you’re an even better hair-brusher than Sandrone,” she giggled after a while.
“We both know I’m not here to only brush hair,” Pantalone huffed, but kept brushing.
“Perhaps not, but it’s nice to pretend, no?” She smiled at him through the mirror, but not one of those sweet, innocent little smiles.
No, nothing was ever innocent with her.
“Perhaps we could do each other's make-up?” She giggled.
“I’m already wearing my make-up.”
“No fancy eyeshadow?”
Pantalone huffed out a breath of air, rolling his eyes. Of course he was gonna do his make-up, later.
“Very well, banker,” she just shrugged. Pantalone hadn’t even realised that he’d stopped brushing her hair, quickly getting back to work. He parted it into three sections, afraid of running his fingers through it due to the rings that adorned pretty much each finger.
He leaned over her to put the brush down to make the braiding easier.
“What do you think of the fresh blood?” Columbina suddenly questioned, leaning back in the chair and lowering her tone of voice to a somewhat darker one, clearly milking for gossip.
“I haven’t even spoken with him, so I don’t know,” Pantalone shrugged, opting for the neutral route of this topic of conversation. Columbina hummed.
“He hasn’t left the labs,” she stated, looking down at her nails, making the braiding process slightly more difficult than what it had to be.
“I think it feels weird because Tartaglia went around parading himself in search of friendship,” he was no psychologist, so that was just his guess.
“I never said it felt weird, just odd,” she lowered her hands back into her lap, looking back at Pantalone through the mirror, expression unreadable. But, to Pantalone, it came across as somewhat scolding. He just kept braiding, half-way done.
They let silence bask over them, before Columbina’s humming resumed. Pantalone didn’t have a hair tie on hand, but Columbina just brushed him off, waving her hand dismissively.
“So, no make-up?”
Standing in the middle of the ballroom like a lost dog, Pantalone was consumed with the utter dismay and displeasure of realizing that the Second was not there. No trace of cyan hair. Not even hiding away at the edges of the room.
Sure, he knew how much these events could be of bore, but to not even show up at his own party? Unheard of! Utterly disrespectful!
Pantalone psychically bit the inside of his cheek to not let his anger show. He’d rather die.
A servant made his way over to Pantalone, holding a tray of some very expensive champagne in some very expensive glasses. Pantalone grabbed one offered to him, and turned away. Swarovski crystalline, silver handles, his mind supplied helpfully as he glanced at it again. A brand he was well acquainted with, mostly due to his own collections of it in his office.
He brushed through the crowd, unsure of who he was looking for. The contact of bodies surrounding him was oddly comforting, in a grounding sort of way. It kept him awake.
He made it nearly to the other side of the ballroom before spotting a group of expensively dressed men. Silks and jewelry, just the people he fit in with!
And, it would also pass the time quicker.
He had been dragged from man to woman to man, and ended up at Pierro’s side, both of them observing the hall from above. Pantalone stood leaning over the railing, although gracefully, nursing another glass of champagne, whilst Pierro stood stiffly, a lack of drink in his hands. Archons above, Pantalone almost felt sympathy for the man, after all, who could willingly not be drinking at one of these events?
“He has not shown up,” Pierro remarked casually. Pantalone hummed in agreement. Four, maybe five hours had passed since the party started, and no sign of cyan hair.
“Indeed, he has not.”
“You have not visited him today,” it was not a question.
“Indeed, I have not. I had assumed I’d get the chance now, but,” Pantalone straightened up, mildly gesturing to the people below with his glass, letting the end of the sentence remain unfinished.
Pierro grumbled.
“Tomorrow?”
“My intention, yes,” Pantalone sighed. At times, Pierro acted like Capitano. Or perhaps, it is Capitano acting like Pierro.
“I do have a meeting that is supposed to last until the afternoon, and then I’ve promised to indulge Columbina in a game of chess,” Pantalone carefully spoke, taking his time with his words. Pierro clearly didn’t like the news, but made no comment. At least he was aware of Pantalone’s busy schedule, and was even more aware that it would not change unless an emergency occurred.
“This week, maximum,” Pierro set the final deadline for Pantalone. Pantalone offered him one of those refined polite smiles, eyes briefly closed and everything.
Silence lingered, and Pantalone turned back to watch the crowd beneath them. He had suspected Pierro would take his leave, but, he did not.
“Your eyesight,” Pierro prompted, “how has it been faring?” He asked a little awkwardly. No, not awkwardly. More like unsure if he was privy to this information. As if Pantalone dared to attack him in public, or at all actually.
“It’s been…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “It hasn’t gotten worse, it helps that we live in a nation that does not see the bright light of the sun very often,” he chuckled. He heard Pierro hum behind him.
“Very well.”
And that was it, Pierro turned and left.
Pantalone drank the rest of his champagne, and upon seeing Sandrone spot him from the bottom floor, he backed away from the railing and headed to the stairs, set on fleeing before she could grab him and yell at him in public for not funding her fast enough.
He handed his glass to a servant on the way out, and stepped out into the cold night air. He headed to one of the carriages, and settled. Back to the palace he went. After all, he had done his job for the night; showing up, chatting, and drinking.
Back in the palace, it was eerily quiet. Servants had mostly gone to bed, and only a few guards were patrolling the halls. The moonlight shone through the tall windows, creating this beautiful effect of dull light in the halls.
On a balcony, hidden away in his private chambers, Pantalone stood, taking slow drags of a cigarette. Tomorrow, he promised he’d quit.
The smoke was intoxicating, lightly burning his lungs. His lungs, cold as ice blocks with the snow outside. But he could withstand the cold only to gaze upon the sky on such a night as this one. The stars were beautiful, a few ones occasionally falling. The breeze was so gentle he could barely even feel it on his face.
One day, those stars would cease to exist. Or, perhaps there’d be even more of them dusting the darkness, shining as brightly as the fire from the lighter Pantalone used.
He exhaled the smoke.
Tomorrow, he’d sit through that meeting, making his point, yelling at stupid men, and dominate the room like usual. Then, he’d go to Columbina, make himself just a tad bit smaller to satisfy her, and play chess like usual. Of course, he’d play dumb, make poor decisions, only to watch as Columbina trapped herself in a corner. For loving chess so much, she was not the best at it. It resulted in victories Pantalone did not have to work for.
An hour, maybe more, would it take for her to let him go. He ran the calculations in his head. Meeting wrapped up at two, chess finished at four latest, he’d go back to his office, relax, have a cup of tea, and then head to meet the Second.
When was the last time they had a Second?
Before his time, of course. Perhaps he could ask Pierro next time they sat down and played their own chess. A chess game that would result in a draw. Like usual.
He exhaled the smoke.
What would he even say to the Second?
Nevermind that, he’d surely come up with a calculated plan only moments after saying hello. Who was not a greater talker than him, if not himself?
The cigarette was dropped onto the snow and stepped on. He deemed it to be too cold to stick outside any longer.
A shower was in order, a hot, steamy one to relax and melt his joints. Some self care was needed too; perhaps a facial mask as he was getting undressed? He could wash it off in the shower.
Moments later, he was standing in the bathroom. Hair tied up and mask in place, he began undressing. Outer layers first, folded neatly and put away, before starting the shower. It was a smooth procedure — undress, turn the water on so it would be heated by the time he got in, and finish undressing. He took off his rings one by one, once done he worked his gloves off. He took off the final layers of clothing, stripped nude. He took off his glasses, folded them and placed them on the counter.
His vision blurred. But, no discomfort was present even with the lights. Even though they were dimmed down.
He stepped into the hot shower, rinsed his face, let his hair down, washed it with shampoo, massaged the conditioner in, soaped and washed the rest of his body as he let it sit, before finally rinsing it out. He took a few extra moments to bask in the heat before turning the water off and stepping out.
The glasses were put on again.
Each limb was dried, his hair put up with the towel to hold it. Facial creams, lip balm, everything was set. He brushed his teeth, realizing he forgot to do so before his shower.
The next day came fast.
Waking up, getting dressed, putting on the small amount of make-up that was a necessity, doing his hair, adorning himself in jewelry — there was a whole process to it.
He left his quarters just as the sun was fully uncovering itself.
In his office again, he got to work. Signatures, fundings, loans. A maid came in with breakfast — pastries again. A chocolate decorated croissant, with a cup of mocha coffee. Chocolate themed, it seemed. Pantalone dismissed the maid and took a sip of the coffee.
Not dominantly chocolate flavored, just a tiny bit lingering as the aftertaste. Not bad.
He kept working, prepared his points for the meeting, went through his plans again, and properly finished his breakfast. A different maid came and took the plate and mug.
He had another thirty minutes before the men would show up. He spent that time going through more papers.
The knocks cut through the silence.
A deep inhale, and a deep exhale. Meant to steel his nerves as he opened the door.
Hours passed, yelling had occurred, insults had been thrown, and passive aggressive glances had taken place. All in all, it had gone rather smoothly. Progress had been made, and mora had fallen into Pantalone’s hands.
He organized his office, put away stacks of paper, tidied up his desk, before leaving. He locked the door behind him, pulled the handle, and went off with satisfaction settling in his guts.
Moments later he was back in Columbina’s domain, seated at her desk, one leg crossed over the other as he watched her bring the chess board out.
“How was last night?” She asked, her voice airy as she began setting the board up.
“You were there too,” he chuckled.
“Yes, but I was not with you,” I don’t know how your experience was, was left unsaid.
“It was fine, mostly did work related things and spoke to work related people,” he shrugged, looking around the office. Some books had begun dusting, obviously she was not into reading.
“I saw you with Pierro,” she finished setting up one side.
“We had a small chat, trivial things,” he offered a polite smile.
“Trivial people, perhaps,” she corrected him without pausing her actions.
The board was set.
“Nothing you have to be concerned over,” Pantalone teased lightly. She smiled, before burrowing her brows together in concentration. Pantalone caught the slight pink color of her eyes, before looking down at the board again. He pretended to be deep in thought as well, even though he had already planned most of his moves.
His moves depended on Columbina’s, allowing her to dictate the game. He would not interfere with it.
“Sandrone was looking for you last night,” she spoke up after she made her move. Pawn to b3.
Pantalone brought his own pawn to b6. “I am aware, she spotted me on the way out,” he lied smoothly. He knew Columbina knew of the lie, but he also knew she took no offense.
“She has asked me to inquire about funding for her projects.”
“I see,” Pantalone sighed. “Unfortunately, she’s gonna have to wait. I have other matters that require my funding that are quite urgent.”
Columbina nodded. “I will relay that to her.”
The game had taken two hours, with Pantalone as the victor. Columbina had frowned, but still congratulated him.
Back in his office, he stared into a cup of Liyuen tea, no doubt expensive to suit his tastes. He took a sip, lowered the cup, stared ahead, and took another sip.
The time had come, and if he couldn’t find the Second in the labs, Pantalone might actually have someone executed at his hands.
He let the time pass, patiently drinking his tea and reviewing papers. He was in no rush to greet someone who would not show up to an event held for them.
The clock ticked away, and after approximately an hour later, he got up and left his office. Doors locked and double checked, he began his walk to the other side of the palace.
It reeked of chemicals. Or maybe that was an overexaggeration, but the smell was not pleasant. He descended down a flight of stairs to the Second’s labs, paused outside the heavy duty door, and sighed. He forced his mind clear, and stepped inside like he owned the place.
It was… a sight, truly. This room was quite large, oval in shape, a desk in the middle and shelves scattered along the walls. Clearly, someone had made a poor job of dusting off the furniture, but the attempt was somewhat worthy of praise. Countless books were scattered on the desk and in the shelves, much cleaner, much newer.
It was a little empty, but he could make out the sound of footsteps in the room next to this one. He would go looking for the Second, but he felt no obligation to rush this. He slowly wandered around, light on his feet to not alert anyone of his position. He looked at the titles of some books, opened a few to check the inside, read the back of a few other ones, all in all, keeping himself busy.
The footsteps approached, before abruptly stopping. Pantalone finished reading the back of the book in his hand.
“A case study on pigeons,” he noted, looking up at the new presence in the room. He smiled slightly out of courtesy, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening.
“How did you get in?” Came the rushed question. Pantalone shrugged slowly, still smiling.
“The door was unlocked, so I invited myself in here,” he put the book down on the desk again. The Second did not move, nor did his facial expression change.
“I am the Ninth, the Regrator, but you may call me Pantalone. Colleague perks, after all,” he introduced himself after having given the Second a window to speak. A few moments of silence passed, and Pantalone did not move, nor did his facial expression waver. He just waited.
“Someone who buys items to sell them at a higher price. Finances?” The man stated with a question hanging at the end. Pantalone nodded. “Banking, and finances within the fatui, including the other harbingers.”
He watched as the other one paused again, before nodding.
“Il Dottore, but you may call me Dottore. Colleague perks, after all,” the Second — Dottore, said. Pantalone ignored the comment at the end.
The silence settled between them again. Dottore stood stiff as a board, and Pantalone simply observed the man.
“I had looked forward to meeting you yesterday, at the party,” Pantalone stated, willing the passive aggressive tone out of his sentence. Dottore stared.
“Right. I was busy cleaning.”
Pantalone looked around again, “I can see that.”
Yet, another silence. The air was sterile. It itched at Pantalone’s mind, even as he actively ignored it.
Dottore cleared his throat.
“What has… earned me this visit?” Dottore asked, words carefully picked. It pleased Pantalone, even as he realized that no apology was given for the no-show at the party.
“I simply wanted to meet you. After all, I will be the one funding you,” he white lied, he was the one that would be funding Dottore, just like he funds every other harbinger.
Dottore nodded. “I see.”
“Swing by my office, won’t you? We can discuss the matter of money more properly there,” Pantalone mentally offered his arm for Dottore, or perhaps, it was more of a grab and pull. This way, Dottore could not skip on it, and with an invitation, he might be more comfortable entering someone else’s domain.
“I will keep that in mind. As of right now, I am busy cleaning.”
“Well, then I will go to let you return to your cleaning,” he concluded their conversation. He almost mistook Dottore’s sentence for disrespect, but no, reading into it, paired with Dottore’s stance and body language, he was just awkward with interactions. Perhaps shy?
He turned around and left without saying goodbye.
Once he was outside, his smile dropped and his eyes closed. It was disgustingly bright there.
Using his hand to guide him, he went up the stairs back to the hallways. He kept to the wall, subtly brushing a finger against it to make sure he wasn't about to walk into a different wall.
After he had made it about halfway, he opened his eyes. Less bright, less disturbance.
That night, he did not sleep. He was tossing and turning in his bed, vision blurry without his glasses. He turned onto his side again, tried willing himself to sleep, gave up, rolled over to his other side, tried again, gave up, rolled flat onto his stomach, and groaned into his pillow.
Lying there like a corpse, Pantalone decided it'd be better if he just went to his office and got some work done. Worst case scenario, he'd sleep on his desk like he used to. He forced himself up, put on his glasses, and stood up from the bed. He went to the wardrobe and grabbed a black sweater to cover his tee-shirt with, while at it he decided to switch out his sweatpants to a pair of jeans. Just in case someone decided to pay him a visit.
He slipped his feet into a pair of slippers, and was on his way to his office.
It was dark in there, dark enough for him to be able to fully open his eyes. He sat by his desk and turned on the table light, silently wishing a cup of tea would appear next to him.
For the next few minutes, he was reading and signing papers. He only paused when he came across a letter.
No name, no special seal, just a letter.
He opened it.
Being a harbinger had its perks. Status, power, and respect. Pantalone was a very respectable man, with a respectable status, and used his power in a respectable way.
But, with pros comes cons.
It wasn't unusual to get a threat here and there, especially when you were him. An unhappy client, an even unhappier man who was indebted to Pantalone. It came with the job, naturally. And Pantalone has never taken a second glance at it.
YOU WILL DIE
The hand writing was rather cringe, Pantalone noted first. Obviously, whoever wrote this rarely ever uses a pen it appears. He tossed it into the trash. There wasn't even a punctuation mark at the end! How distasteful, writing a death threat when you can't even spell properly.
He resumed his work again, the letter long forgotten.
He reached another letter, this one from Pierro. He frowned, Pierro hadn't mentioned anything at the party.
He opened the letter carefully, read the contents, and suppressed the urge to smash his head into the desk.
Formal meeting: Two months from ____.
Region: East Snezhnaya.
The Tsaritsa wishes for you to pay Miss Lebedev a visit, she has been acting out of line and needs a little motivation to keep on track.
Ps: Bring the Doctor. Some field work would do him nice, even if he is not one of our diplomats. And yes, this is a personal request of mine.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed it out again.
Of course. Of course.
At least he had time to get familiar with the Doctor before this expedition. Maybe teach him a thing or two about conversations and meetings.
Not that he was gonna allow the man to speak a word while Pantalone was at work with this woman. No matter how much training he could drill into Dottore’s head in the eight week timeframe, he’d still be too underexperienced to handle this matter. But, at least the company would be worth it.
He paused, realized he had been staring into nothing for the past few moments. He put the letter in a drawer, and resumed his work.
He only got through nine papers, including documents, before he had the urge to smoke.
It was a bad habit. It was a really bad habit.
But…
It had been a day, technically, since he had last smoked. Or rather, the day before was only three hours ago.
He adjusted the paper stack, got up, and headed to the balcony. He lit it with practiced ease, and leaned against the railing on his forearms.
Tonight, the stars were shining again, even though the moon wasn’t full like the other night. Perhaps, they’d get a night of auroras sometime soon. Wouldn’t that be something?
Panthera Pardus — The black leopard, also known as a black panther, rely on their black coating during nighttime as their form of stealth. They stalk the intended prey down, ambushes it, before dragging the prey up a tree as a way to avoid rival predators or scavengers from attempting to steal it away.
They sit in their high grounds, observing.
If threatened by a larger predator, the black leopard will ascend a tree in an attempt to acquire high ground, rendering it safe.
The black leopard is an exceptional climber.