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“Money can't buy you happiness, but it can rent you paradise.”
“But simply within your arms, that is my paradise.”
— ᨳଓ —
Pantalone looked at the papers he was preparing to formalize with his stamp. The peaceful somber tune of a piano filling his office, contrasting the sharp scratching sound of the quill in his hand as he made corrections. It was officially declared by the archon that the news would only be heard and carried out within the inner circles of the Fatui, only the harbingers knowing the full truth. However, the Tsaritsa, with all her love, still wanted to have something “formal” carried out, especially documented. So, as his duty to ensure only the best for their archon, his eyes glazed the entire document, looking for any imperfections.
“Still struggling with perfectionism in a society that you know will never grant you it?”
Ah. Right, the main reason why the document was being drafted in the first place. The piano is doing less to sooth his feeling of… uncomfortableness.
“Ah… just like how society will never also grant us comfort,” Pantalone muses back.
Why wouldn't he? The documents were simply the 2nd Harbinger’s, who is usually referred to as The Doctor’s death certificate. But “he” is very much alive, in a way. Looking up, he sees… “him” playing the piano that he got in his office for Zandik.
“They are me, aspects of me. With my continual aging, it is necessary to see my experiments are done and continued beyond simple “life”. These are snapshots of the past to continue the greatest experiments in the future…”
The piano continued its soft melody as a storm brewed within Pantalone’s heart once again. With the elixir of immortality coursing through both of their veins, it only helped one of them. Ironic that such an elixir could not help its creator. So, Zandik, with all his brilliance, held one of his most grand experiments ever— the segments. While these segments did continue his shared desire to push the boundaries of this world, they too shared his selfishness.
Feofan can still remember it. The day was a meeting with Zandik on a review of this proposal on preparing a possible infiltration- oh who was he fooling. It would be a fool’s errand to convince him of that. He was there to, yes, formalize a new adventure into the unknown but to also celebrate an old “friend’s” 85th birthday as well. He carefully looked at the wrapped bottle of chilled wine that he had wrapped. Even with his continual aging, Feofan never truly did extinguish the fire that he had with Zandik… the only man who truly understood what he wanted as well. Zandik was aging as beautifully as the most poisoned aged wine.
His heels tapped along the marble flooring, continuing the pace that did not reveal his true inner purpose for being there. Feofan opened the door to the lab (Zandik once said that he was one of few that can do such a feat and not immediately be dissected into a table), and saw… Zandik’s open body inviting him to look inside his rib cage. intestines. liver. lungs. and his still freshly beating heart-
“Are you distracted by my playing of your piano Regrator?” Dottore muses. His playing has long since stopped once he realized his crow stopped his scratching. “No, what you were simply hearing was me thinking,” Pantalone fished a response out of his mind, “I am thinking how to dress up such news. Then again, I feel like most would rejoice in happiness over the cruel Doctor finally meeting an end.”
“Oh? How cruel, even the Tsaritsa wouldn't have such a fate meet one of her beloved Harbingers.”
“Hm, I used to believe that too…Then again, she did nothing to stop the experimentation of his body.”
Feofan could only stare in horror at the scene that was in front of him. The smell of the clean, antiseptic lab was combined with heavy metals cut of blood, so much so he can almost taste him- he knows this taste just as he knows the body that is on the direction table. The many segments of Zandik, from the youngest brat to the old crow were staring at the body, all with emotionless faces. And then, they turned their hungry gazes towards him. Quickly, Feofan covered his shock (though Dottore would always point out that he was unsettled which Pantalone would vehemently reject) and simply nodded to them. The segments were unfazed, it was common for the Regrator to do inspections and visit Zandik. “It was a rare opportunity for self-disection,” Dottore would often tell him, as if that would offer comfort.
But then again, society offers little comfort back.
“Hmm. I would love to discuss my death once again, but I infer you are tired of hearing such news of his death again?,” Dottore replied back, his back still facing the piano, “Why not discuss the future?”
“Ah yes. The future of the acquisition into Inazuma-”
“No.” Finally, Dottore shifted to face Pantalone.
“What I mean, Feofan, is the future of our relationship.”
“Hm. I believe as long as the contracts are held up with the segments and the continual strive towards Her Majesty's goal there's no reason for worry.”
“Ah, but I do believe that it goes beyond simply the goal, but rather something deeper within our relationship. You do not have that hint of warmness you have whenever you would discuss with Zandik. Is it the unfamiliarity with working with a segment or something more?”
Pantalone stayed and watched with morbid curiosity as the entire thing unfolded in front of him. The segments’ work and coordination with each other was truly something he could not disagree with. Their clean precision cut as they meticulously worked through the still fresh tissue, the blood slowly becoming darker with more oxygen being exposed, the cracking of bone-
Feofan was horrified. He didn't expect it to be so soon- he knew they were selfish but-
Dottore puts his hand on his chin, thinking for a moment. “Hmm. It would be imperative if such emotions were left to tamper with our relationship”
After the hours-long procedure and study, Pantalone kindly dismissed himself as he had the meeting with the Tsarista, Pierro, and the Rooster. He informed the segments that there, he would inform them of Zandik’s passing, however warned that they may be brought in front of her Majesty to answer for what unfolded. Pantalone slowly turned, making a mad dash after what he had witnessed would only confuse their relationship further— “Regrator,” the 35-year old segment who is usually referred to as Dottore spoke out to him, the first words that any of the segments have said to him since the self-disection began, “I will be acting as the main head of the segments now that Zandik has formally perished.”
“I see, I will send a messenger down the proper channels to confirm the change, along with informing her Majesty to begin the paperwork.” Pantalone turns to address the statement before shifting to attempt his leave once more.
“Ah yes. I also see that you brought something in your arms, a gift that you have been holding since you entered the lab.” Feofan can hear the veil taunt in the voice, he never had a true connection with any of the segments like he had with Zandik, none were worth his time as the original. But the original is dead, his body lying defiled as an experiment, and Feofan never got to-
Feofan turned around , he couldn't bear to be in this any longer, “It's simply nothing. Just a gift to an old friend”.
With a smile, Dottore smiles in the same way the dead Zandik used to, before stating “What if…
I love you back?”
“Love is just a chemical of dopamine within your brain that produces happiness, but I suppose if such a thing makes you happy. Then- here,
I love you.” Zandik tells Feofan, on Feofan’s 85th birthday, even though he does not look any older than 30 compared to Zandik’s aging bones.
“What an amusing thing to say to a business partner.” Pantalone humors the segment. “I am testing your reaction, I want to see if my hypothesis is true.”
“My personal relationship with the dead is unnecessary to continue our business.”
“If that is what you believe, so be it. I was merely trying to make you more comfortable is all.” Dottore stands up and begins to clean himself as he prepares to leave, “Ah, but you never did answer my question.”
“Haha…” Feofan can help but chuckle as he stares at the naked frame of Zandik who is leaning against the bedframe sipping some of his favorite chilled wine that Feofan always brought to him. “All of that… but…” He gently drags Zandik back into the warm bed with him, who places down the empty cup of wine back on the bedside table.
“I love you too.”
Pantalone stares at the standing Dottore. Feofan can only think about the dead empty eyes of Zandik staring back, the same eyes that were filled with selfiness, ambition, and love. Pantalone can only see ambition and selfishness back. And so too, can Dottore see it reflecting back on Pantalone’s glasses.
“I would say that, I loved you.” Pantalone states back, as if it was an objective fact that no God or world can change. Dottore nods at the fact.
“And then, I would reply back, that “I” loved you as well,” and with that, Dottore turns to leave the Regrator alone with his thoughts. The footsteps on the marble floor getting quieter and quieter as the shadow of Zandik leaves him once more. Pantalone stands up in his dim office, before walking to the large cabinet that Zandik made for him, holding his most prized possessions and opening the secret slot that was within.
It was the bottle of wine that he prepared for Zandik’s 85th birthday. He didn't chill it, what's the point of that when he's gone, his own body heat warmed the wine as he witnessed the defiling of Zandik. As if you haven't done that before as well. He opened the sealed bottle, before pouring himself a glass.
Feofan laid in Zandik’s warm arms, his muscle mass there having deteriorated within the last few years. But they still had warmth and comfort. Just for a moment, Feofan thought, time could stop.
He brought the warm glass of wine to his mouth, letting the wine warm and fuzzy the feelings for him just like Zandik once did.
Just for tonight… , he dreamed, that he was in paradise.
— ᨳଓ —