Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lady Ninguang got her hands on a treasure map some time ago. A boon from a game of chess from an adventurer. Something Captain Beidou was overjoyed to receive as part of the compensation price for their latest delivery. 

They knew nothing truly of the treasure hidden on the remote and unnamed island but when they saw the sheen black of a Fatui flagship, they knew they had to fight for it. Where the Fatui were, there was danger. Who knew for what cunning purposes they would use it for? Far be it from Captain Beidou to let such a possibility occur right before her eyes. 

It's been several days since the Crux battled against Scaramouche’s crew and lost severely . The treasure only arrived in their possession because the enemy Captain had forfeited it. Claiming it not to be what he had hoped to find. What had he hoped for if not the lavish jewel and golden tokens that he had given up? 

Both crews now recovered on opposite sides of the small island. The captains made a peace treaty of sorts while their crews recovered on the island. Unexpected due to the rumours of Scaramouche's impatience and ruthlessness. 

“Are you looking for a fight, Kaedehara?”

Despite the bite of his words, Scaramouche offers him half of the apple he sliced in his hand. Kazuha gratefully accepted it, for a moment, his rough hands gilded against Scaramouche's. They were devastatingly soft, deceitful for such a seasoned warrior. Kazuha had asked him why his hands are unmarked and Scaramouche shrugged before suggesting that Kazuha invest in the stuffy world of aristocratic beauty care. 

A jest Kazuha had realised after some time, no amount of strange chemicals would keep one’s hands from becoming callused. Perhaps it's after that friendly jab that Kazuha sought out his company more often. And Scaramouche would indulge him, hiding himself less the more Kazuha came by. He used to sit high in the treetops, entirely out of view but Kazuha could smell the faint trace of him. Or he would remain locked behind the impenetrable doors of the Balladeer not to be roused. Now he had been waiting for Kazuha, well in the shade of a palm tree. 

“I'm still recovering from the shoulder injury you graced me with.” Kazuha sat beside him. The grass cool beneath his palms. 

Scaramouche frowned. “Does it still hurt?”

“No. The ointment you gave us works quite well so thank you for that.” 

Scaramouche hummed and turned from him. Although the abundance of medical supplies had been anonymously delivered to them after the peace agreement came about, it was quite obvious where it had come from. The Fatui symbol was hard to crave from the crates. 

That is something Kazuha learned about the Harbinger; he's kind to those he doesn't deem enemies. Quite a shock after almost being decapitated by the man personally. 

“Why did you choose the life of a vagrant?” Scaramouche suddenly asked. He held far too much interest in his past. 

“It was my father and grandfather's dream to travel the world free of the restraints of responsibility. I honour them by it.”

Scaramouche turned to him, a smile playing on his face. “I expected something more poetic and less pragmatic. A search for where your heart belongs or some sort.”

“Is my love for my family not touching enough?” Kazuha feigned shock, gawking at Scaramouche. 

He laughed. Nothing of the horrendous cackle he heard during their battle. There was no mocking shrill, no explosion of pain, nothing of violence. It was soft and gentle. It was a beautiful sound, curling and entombing itself in Kazuha's mind in its brevity. 

“You're quite odd.” Scaramouche shook his head, smiling still. “Why a pirate?”

“It allows me to travel as far and wide as I please.”

“As a criminal?”

“That's such a harsh term. Not a criminal per se…A rebel.”

Scaramouche shrugged. “Why this lifestyle?”

Kazuha sighed, pretending to mull over the answer. “Because there are no responsibilities for pirates. I may be and do as I please.”

“That must be nice.”

Ah. The Harbingers followed a strict code and command, moreso generals than pirates. Scaramouche in his meetings with Kazuha was breaking said code. Without much of a care anyway. 

“Why a Harbinger?”

“To acquire resources to search for the treasure. I have to find it.”

Kazuha was quite familiar with that tone, the desperation and craze when Scaramouche spoke of his treasure. He had witnessed many succumb to it, perishing with it. He did not wish such a fate on his unlikely companion. Still, he envied the attention Scaramouche gave it.

“I wish you the best of luck then.”

It's quiet for a moment, time slipping away as the sun creeps towards the horizon before them. Kazuha tried to piece together time and time again what Scaramouche might be searching for, perhaps to aid him. Mostly to dissuade him. Yet he could conjure no answers. He convinced himself to not pry more than he has. 

“It does not bode well” , Beidou had lovingly reminded him when he attempted to slip away after lunch. “Be careful, kid.” And who was he to ignore the warning of a seasoned captain?

But as he watched sunlight dot the glory of Scaramouche's skin, he felt no fear. 

No, the drumming of his heart was not fear. It was something far more dangerous, a folly on his part if he had a choice to feel anything else in the captain's presence.

Scaramouche turned to him; an eyebrow raised. “What is it?”

“It's nothing.”

“I should strike you down for such an obvious lie.” Scaramouche huffed. “But let me distract you from all of that.”

Kazuha stared at him, puzzled yet intrigued. Scaramouche was about to entertain him with a tale of sorts. It was welcome with too little resistance. 

“I hate sweets.”

Kazuha's lips thinned to a line, the declaration sinking in. “Oh? A weakness then?”

“No. It doesn't harm me; I just hate it. Mostly the lingering effects: sticky hands, headaches and all that. It impedes on my work.”

“I see. I can't say I hate it or make it a priority. Sweets are a luxury in this life of ours, so I savour it.”

Scaramouche nodded. The conversation resumed, murmuring between them about these minor details about themselves. Scaramouche was fond of dance and song and handicrafts of fabrics. He dappled in the art of all those things with childish glee, something that he had done in his childhood. Kazuha told him of his own childhood, the pressure to succeed his family's legacy and his obsession with what he thought was justice. Scaramouche listened, contemplating his words and Kazuha hoped at least they would stick. 

Every day, they departed later. At first, they exchanged a few words, returning to their respective sides well before sunset then they would return at sunset and now, as Kazuha returned to his crew, it was well into the night. The campfire was out and the Crux were making their way back to the Alcor. Laughing and chattering away. Beidou met his gaze. The expression on her face was full of concern yet she greeted him with as much gusto as possible. She trusted him to keep himself far from harm. 

Kazuha woke to an unexpected gift at his bedside. An exquisitely crafted dagger and a box wrapped in velvet blue silk. He somehow knew what this meant. But he wanted to hear it himself. He deserved as much, to look into those eyes and hear those words from his rich voice. 

He stumbled out of his room and into the open air, shivering in the morning breeze. He was not far when she announced her presence. 

“He left,” Beidou said. “Came by sometime after you went to sleep. Obviously, I tried to convince him to at least tell you everything himself, but he refused. Almost as stubborn as you are.”

Kazuha had not turned to face her and stayed facing the beach. His face flushed with embarrassment. Of course, Kazuha was just someone to converse with, no one notable in Scaramouche's extensive experience. “Ah…alright…”

“He did say that if he saw you-” Beidou paused, walking towards him and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “-he wouldn't be able to leave. You're probably as special to him as he is to you. Should've seen his pretty face too, he really didn't look like a man sure of what he was doing.”

Her words are of some comfort and he hoped they were true. “Thank you Beidou.”

He returns to his room with his mind torn. It was well within his rights to throw the gifts overboard and never think about him again. Yet he couldn't bring himself to. Scaramouche had carved a place within his heart and mind and removing him from it would be toiling and painful. 

The dagger, he noted, was the one he had always on his person. Most of his crew said that he never went without it, often muttering between themselves of its possible origins. From a lover? A prized possession? Something from his family? 

On its sheath was a hanging pendant, a golden feather. He unsheathed it, the blade glinted a soft yellow in the sunrise. He immediately knew it was forged by his ancestors. Kazuha had seen its sketches in his family's storehouse. A gift to the Raiden Shogun, from some centuries ago. It was a priceless masterpiece that so many of Inazuma's clans searched for to this day. Its abrupt disappearance sparked fear. Was it stolen? Was it given away? What did this mean for the school that had forged it? From its pristine condition, stolen or gifted, Kazuha could tell Scaramouche cared for this blade.

  So why give it to me? 

He unwrapped the box - a bento. Carefully made sticks of dango. Handmade, Kazuha guessed. His face warmed at the image of Scaramouche painstakingly making dango - which he hated. Ignoring the likelihood of a chef being aboard the Balladeer. 

A stick of paper was attached to the underside of the lid. Kazuha was relieved to find it, so Scaramouche had contemplated the gift. It wasn't just something he threw at Kazuha to sedate any guilt he may have felt. 

But His hand trembled slightly as he unfolded it. He read over it, once, twice. A third time before he plopped back onto his bed, a childish giggle bubbled from him.

This isn’t a sufficient enough apology for leaving as I did. I’m sure Captain Beidou relayed my message. The dagger is better in your hands and the dango…A luxury huh? You deserve all such little luxuries.

May our paths cross again Kazuha.

Yours,

Kunikuzushi, Captain of the Balladeer