Chapter Text
Scaramouche has difficulty understanding the sequence of events that have led him to the ludicrous situation of sitting in the Acting Grandmaster's office, filling out paperwork to apply for residency and asylum in Mondstadt. But if he were paying more attention to his life, he should have concluded long ago that this world is a farce, and he is not a member of the audience. He figured this would probably be a below-the-table sort of arrangement, but no, Albedo is apparently the most law-abiding mad scientist on the surface of Teyvat.
Jean Gunnhildr sits behind her desk, fingers steepled, surveying them with a dubious expression. Scaramouche and Chouji sit before her as Albedo and the Traveler give their tepid endorsements. Klee- a little blond elf girl whom the alchemist claims as his sister, and who has apparently already befriended Chouji- is doing cartwheels in the hallway out of excitement.
"Mondstadt welcomes all who come to our gates with no intention of harm," Jean finally says. "But given your history, the knights will need to be briefed about the situation, and you will likely be placed under surveillance for some time."
"Great," Scaramouche says flatly. This woman does not impress him. She is the one who locked Chouji and his friend in a glorified closet without dinner. "Where do I sign?"
Jean clears her throat apologetically. "I'm afraid the paperwork is a bit more complicated than that."
Scaramouche narrows his eyes at the papers she slides across the desk. Out of all the questions, there are around three he doesn't mind answering, and half of them he couldn't answer even if he wanted to. Legal name, birthday, birthplace, age. Familial relations. Reason for seeking asylum.
Chouji picks up his pen, then stares at the paper with a constipated expression. "I can't write in Common Teyvatian," he announces.
"What are you talking about," says Scaramouche. "Those instructions to the Traveler were written in Common. You couldn't have sneaked reading them if you couldn't read Teyvatian."
Chouji is not chastened by the reminder. "I can read it, but I've never tried to write it," he protests.
Coming from a small, isolated village, that's impressive enough. "So your handwriting will be shitty. Just do your best," Scaramouche tells him. "It's not that hard. Also," he taps the page, "swap first and last name. They do it backwards in Mondstadt."
Chouji grumbles and starts painstakingly scratching on the page. Scaramouche continues to glare at his own.
Legal name. He's supposed to give both a first and last. If he's accepting that his Fatui days are behind him, he has no actual claim to the titles Balladeer or Scaramouche anymore. And neither comes with a surname. If he's going to be declaring himself Chouji's legal guardian... But Zushi Zushi sounds stupid. The Mondstadters won't understand that the words are written with different kanji. And he doesn't particularly want to imply that he's related to Chouji's shit parents.
After staring blankly at the paper for five minutes straight, Scaramouche fills out the whole thing in about thirty seconds and slides it back across the desk to Jean. Coincidentally, he gets done at around the same time as Chouji.
The Acting Grandmaster examines their paperwork and her lips press into a thin line. "No jokes, please," she says.
"Where do you believe I was joking," Scaramouche responds coolly.
Jean exhales harshly. "Do you honestly expect me to believe your legal names are Zushi Chouji and Chouji Zushi?"
Chouji whips his head around to stare at him. Scaramouche keeps his arms crossed and his expression neutral. "You asked for a first and a last name, and I obliged. This can't be the first time someone has had to improvise. Do you honestly believe that his last name has always been Kreideprinz?"
It was a shot in the dark, but it seems to hit its mark. Albedo twitches, and Jean casts a startled glance at the alchemist. But she compartmentalizes quickly. "Putting that aside-" Jean sighs. "You've listed your birthday as a question mark and your reason for seeking asylum as..." She squints. "An 'Inheritance dispute'?"
"Take it or leave it," he says.
"We need a birthday to allow the paperwork to be filed at the very least," she says patiently.
Scaramouche stares her down. "Get a better filing system."
"Come on, Aniki, just pick something," Chouji groans. Then, parroting him: "It isn't that hard."
"Fine, you pick," Scaramouche snaps.
Chouji squints at the paper for a bit. Finally, he marks down, 2/3. So... about three months ago? Isn't that around when Chouji dragged him out of the mud? Scaramouche does his level best to experience no feelings about this whatsoever.
Jean accepts the papers. "Misters... Zushi and Chouji," she says, already sounding exhausted by them. "Welcome to Mondstadt."
*
Albedo and Klee have a rather spacious apartment in the heart of the city. Klee is an energetic little sprite, bouncing around from heel to heel and jabbering away excitedly. She looks like she could be biologically related to Albedo, if it weren't for the fact that that is impossible.
As soon as all four of them are inside, she spins around, takes a deep breath, points at Scaramouche, and shouts, "Are you a homm-uncle-us?!"
"Klee!" snaps Albedo, scandalized.
Chouji starts sidling away from them, twisting his head to and fro to examine the apartment in an exaggerated show of innocence.
Scaramouche is having a difficult time deciding between anger at how loose-lipped everyone here apparently is and sadistic glee at how immediately uncomfortable the alchemist has become. He's sure it puts a very interesting expression on his face.
"Why do you ask?" he inquires in his 'unassuming citizen' voice, which immediately causes Chouji to stop feigning disinterest and look at Scaramouche with the amount of concern he might expect if he'd announced his intention to commit a murder. Come to think of it, he's never put on that mask of pleasantness in front of Chouji, which probably makes it come across as lethally sarcastic.
This goes over Klee's head, although she picks up on their collective discomfort, shifting from side to side in the way that guilty children do.
"Um... umm... 'cuz Chouji said so!"
"I did not," says Chouji, indignantly; then, he glances quickly to Scaramouche and away (the way that slightly older guilty children do). "I just told her you're not human. I mean, it's kind of obvious anyway. Sorry, Zushi-nii."
It's not obvious to people who don't spend an extended amount of time around him, though. Which... well, he supposes this child was already going to do.
Deflect. "I'm surprised she knows what you are," Scaramouche remarks to Albedo.
"She wasn't supposed to," says Albedo, "but it became... unavoidable, living in such close quarters." He gazes down at the girl with a stern expression. "Klee. You know that that's a very, very important secret."
Klee slaps her little hands over her eyes as though this will hide her from her mistake. "Klee knows!" she squeaks. "Klee never told anyone else! I thought they already knew! Like Alice! I'm sorryyy!"
Barely out of trouble with the Acting Grandmaster, and now in trouble with her guardian. Scaramouche rolls his eyes, taking pity on her. "I did already know," he says. "And you were almost right. I'm a puppet."
Klee peeks out from between her fingers, peering up round-eyed at Albedo for approval.
"I'm not mad, Klee," he sighs. "But please be more careful. You know if the wrong person heard, I would have to leave the city."
She nods, dejected. "Like Mama. Except you wouldn't even get to visit."
Loudly, Chouji cuts in, "Well, I didn't know." He has his arms crossed, looking between them. "What's that word mean?"
Albedo hesitates. He clearly doesn't like to address his true nature openly. Happily spiteful, Scaramouche repeats, "Homunculus. It means he was created artificially. Like me."
Chouji blinks owlishly, staring at Albedo with new interest. "By who?"
Yes, Scaramouche is rather curious about that as well. He's not an expert on Khaenrh'ian history by any means, but he certainly knows more than the average person, and there have probably only ever been a handful of alchemists skilled enough to create something like Albedo.
But Albedo clears his throat and sidesteps the question entirely, not even bothering to provide a refusal. He turns to Scaramouche and asks, "Do you require sleep?"
What a hypocrite, so bluntly digging for information like that. With a mean smile, Scaramouche says, "Strictly speaking, no."
"Ooh! Ooh! Chouji can share my room!" Klee shouts.
"No!" Chouji yelps, and throws himself into Scaramouche's space to grasp his elbow. "I'm sharing with Zushi. You sleep all the time, you liar."
Yeah, when he was injured. That's different from actually requiring it. But Scaramouche doesn't have the heart to correct the kid when he's clearly feeling anxious.
Klee looks a bit crestfallen. "It's very kind of you to offer," Albedo reassures her. "If they prefer not to be separated, they can share the guest room."
Chouji's fingers tighten around his elbow, and Scaramouche sighs. "Fine by me."
"Can I show him my room at least?" Klee pipes up, red eyes round and pleading.
"Um. Okay-" Chouji starts, and that's as far as he gets before the girl cheers and grabs him by the hand, dragging him bodily across the apartment to show off her things. Chouji's startled glance backwards quickly turns to resignation. Seems he's used to this treatment from her already.
That leaves Scaramouche alone in a room with the alchemist. Which is perfectly fine- they have a few things to clear up, he thinks.
*
Albedo is half-expecting it when Scaramouche turns to him, crowds into his space, and says, "Okay, cut the crap. What is it you really want? I'm sure we can come to an agreement." He wears a smile, but it's an unpleasant one, half a shield and half a knife- not unlike the dishonest smiles Albedo's often seen on Kaeya.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Albedo says. Truthful, but in a way he knows is infuriatingly vague. He had thought Scaramouche's easy agreement was suspect, but he needs more information before he can defuse this situation.
"You're a scientist, aren't you?" Scaramouche says, the word a curse in his mouth. "You know what I can offer. I'll cooperate, so long as you work to restore my power in return." He leans in, searching Albedo's face intently. He speaks casually, almost airily, but his body language is tense and urgent.
Albedo resists the urge to physically retreat. "I think there has been a misunderstanding," he says delicately, with a peculiar sinking feeling in his stomach.
Scaramouche scoffs. His dark eyes glitter. "Don't pretend. Why else would you bring something like me into your home? I'm sure you've noticed I don't have the same limits as a human. I won't break, no matter how many times you-"
Albedo makes a faint choking noise. "Stop," he says firmly, finally breaking contact with that electrifying gaze.
The velvety tone of persuasion drops from the puppet's voice, warping into wrath. "Is your loyalty to the Traveler so great?" he snaps. "You'd overlook everything you could learn, just because it would mean helping me-"
"I didn't enjoy it," Albedo blurts.
It doesn't sound like Scaramouche is trying to ask Albedo to help him. It sounds more like he is trying to persuade Albedo to torture him. I'll cooperate, he says. I won't break, he says- The same person who was screaming just a day ago beneath Albedo's trembling hands, now so carelessly boasting of his ability to endure suffering, a bitter twist to his mouth and a manic gleam in his eyes-
"Excuse me?" Scaramouche asks, sounding genuinely offended.
"I didn't enjoy it," Albedo repeats, stealing a look at him. He clears his throat unnecessarily. "Operating on you. It was a highly unpleasant experience, in fact. One I'd rather not repeat."
Scaramouche stares at him, disbelieving. "You have to be joking," he says, slowly. "You- as a practitioner of Khemia. You must have a stronger stomach than that."
"I have my own preferences in the way of conducting experiments," Albedo says archly. "In fact. I was meaning to apologize-"
"That wasn't in the top ten worst medical procedures in my life!" Scaramouche snaps. Albedo's hope that this is a wild exaggeration is immediately dashed by the addition of, "Probably not even top twenty. Listen- you don't even know what I can do yet- what I can offer-"
"Have you considered," Albedo interrupts him, "That as a homunculus, I may already be well-informed about artificial lifeforms, and have no need of studying you?"
Scaramouche is the one who takes a step back, reeling as if slapped. His face wheels through emotions: shock, anger, the sting of rejection. "That's - no," he insists, but there's something a little too pleading about it. "I don't believe that."
He's right, of course. To an extent.
Albedo would love to study him. He's been captivated since the moment he saw him, even moreso since the puppet properly woke. As such a unique being, his life must have been similarly unique. How would he measure up to Albedo in all the little things that make them more or less than human?
It would be a lie to say that Albedo's all-devouring curiosity did not factor at all in his offer to take Scaramouche and Chouji in. With proximity comes the opportunity to find answers to some of his questions. And yes, he'd be happy to run a few experiments, like the ones he did on the Traveler- perhaps a little dangerous, but not cruel.
But given all... this, Albedo can recognize it would be wiser to shelve that notion for now. Albedo does not want to study him in the way it seems Scaramouche is used to being studied. Until they can establish at least that modicum of trust, they will get nowhere.
"I have serious doubts about my ability to restore your power, even if I were to try," Albedo reminds him. "I have no intention of operating on you unnecessarily. It would be ethically unsound. And forgive me for saying so, but yes, I'd prefer not to help empower you given you've previously used that power to make an attempt on the life of a friend of mine."
"Then what I am doing here?!" Scaramouche snarls. "Answer me that, alchemist!"
"...I don't think you would believe me if I told you," Albedo admits.
He was curious about the puppet from the moment Aether brought him in, yes, but it was Scaramouche's devastated reaction when he realized he'd lost the ability to use the gnosis that cinched Albedo's decision. It was a very particular kind of despair and wounded rage, a kind Albedo has encountered before, staring into his own face on a howling ridge of Dragonspine. The anguish of being unable to fulfill one's sole purpose, of being denied the meaning of your existence. Albedo himself has danced along the edge of that chasm as he struggled to come to terms with the fact that Rhinedottir had left him.
Albedo does not know whether his assistance is worth much of anything, and it seems highly unlikely that Scaramouche would even want to accept it. But Albedo, witnessing that, could not very well leave him in such an abyss.
"Try," Scaramouche grinds out.
Albedo takes a deep breath. There is no way to say this that would not be embarrassing. "...It was," he begins, with great reluctance. "An empathetic response-"
"You're right, I don't believe you," Scaramouche cuts in flatly. "Try harder."
But Albedo has no other answer.
Scaramouche's teeth grind together. Eventually, he says, "What do you want me to do? Beg? Pull my guts out for you myself? So you were dissatisfied. That wasn't typical. I was disoriented, next time I-"
Do you mean that? Albedo wonders for a moment with a sort of sick fascination, the intrinsic part of him that always needs to know. Then the horror kicks in, unhinging his jaw to make him harshly say, "Stop talking." It doesn't make him feel better that Scaramouche inexplicably listens to him. Running out of ideas on how to get it through the ex-Harbinger's head, he states, bluntly, firmly: "There won't be a next time."
There's a crazed and desperate glitter to Scaramouche's eyes as he leans again into Albedo's space, demeanor flipping in an instant from obedient to threatening. "Oh really?" he sneers. "Because it seems to me you've let slip some information you shouldn't have. If you don't feel like assisting me, I might be tempted to let the Knights of Favonius know what exactly they have in their employ."
For a split second, a spike of ice forms in Albedo's gut. He reminds himself that he is in control here. "You wouldn't," he says, forcing his voice to come out level, "Not while your ward is under my supervision."
True rage sparks in the depths of the puppet's eyes; the two of them are almost nose-to-nose. "Is that a threat?" he snarls.
Albedo holds his gaze and dispassionately says, "That's a fact."
(Albedo has no intention of mistreating Chouji, no matter how things turn out with the Balladeer. But there are times when force must be met with force.)
Scaramouche leans back with a flicker of begrudging respect at the alchemist's display of teeth. "You really think you can keep it up forever, huh," he scoffs, and there is something deeply, personally bitter in the way he says: "You think no one will ever notice? You think it's not just a matter of time before your little life blows up in your face? Trust me; that's not how this story ends."
The words are chillingly close to the anxieties Albedo has held since the day he came to Mondstadt. Still, he skirts past the broader implications to coolly respond, "You would not be believed even if you brought it to their attention. They wouldn't trust the word of a former Harbinger."
"...So that's it, then," snaps Scaramouche, looking away. "You won't do it no matter what I say."
"No," says Albedo, nearly gentle, "I won't."
Scaramouche's jaw ticks, his breathing harsh. His hands are curled into fists. He seems absolutely furious to find that Albedo has not, in fact, lured him here to experiment on him under the pretense of giving him a fresh start.
(A Fellflower, an avalanche, weeks of careful observation before a narrowly unsuccessful infiltration. Yes, Albedo is well-acquainted with the kinds of lengths one can be driven to in pursuit of a purpose lost.)
"Then," Scaramouche ekes out, still not looking at him. "What am I supposed to do."
...Somehow, Albedo thinks just try to live a life would not be a helpful response. Hmm. Concrete examples... "Well," he says. "It's hard to keep up on things with my work for the Knights of Favonius. I could use some help getting groceries, keeping track of Klee-"
"Are you serious?!" Scaramouche explodes. He's looking at Albedo now, nose wrinkled with disgust, fingers in an odd clawed position that makes Albedo suspect he has once again tried and failed to electrocute him. "You brought me, a Fatui Harbinger, into your home just to- to- order me around like a servant?!"
"Those were not requirements," states Albedo mildly. "You asked for ideas, so I provided some. And, you're not a Harbinger anymore, are you?"
Though Albedo says this with an absolute lack of malice, it seems to make Scaramouche angrier anyway. "Fuck you," he snaps.
"I'll decline," says Albedo politely.
(He doesn't mistake the meaning. Due to his flat delivery, most people take him at face value when he employs sarcasm, but that's their loss.)
Scaramouche's nostrils flare. "Are you joking? Am I a joke to you?"
Maybe it's that the tense conversation has gone on too long already, that Albedo's not the best with confrontation. Maybe it's a moment of honesty, brought out by their back-and-forth. Maybe it's just a slip-up after too long stepping carefully. Nevertheless, he says a little too much when he quickly denies, "No. You're fascinating-"
"AH-HA!" Scaramouche crows.
Albedo curses himself. "I don't mean it like-"
Scaramouche jabs a finger at his chest. He bares his teeth in a grin, but the lingering anger and uncertainty makes the expression look at least as nauseous as it does triumphant. "Can it, alchemist. I'll get your damn groceries, but you can't deny yourself forever. I'll wear you down. You'll see!"
With that, he stalks away, effectively ending their conversation. Albedo stands there in an empty room and stares at a wall for longer than is reasonable.
He has no intention of backing out, but this may prove even more troublesome than he thought.