To Be A Harbinger

To Be A Harbinger, pt. 5

The harbingers' lives were fairly simple. It was mostly leading missions and yelling at subordinates. Lucille quickly learned the ropes. No one told her what to do anymore, and anything with a 12 on it was hers. Even the forks were numbered (she had three).

Her wounds healed as she earned new ones. There were many men who challenged her for the title of Harbinger, but they were nothing, nobodies, compared to the war machine that was Tartaglia. They all crumbled before her. Slowly, the requests diminished. Just as Tartaglia had, she stepped on the ambitions of everyone below her.

Her life wasn't so bad, really. It wasn't much different if she was honest. Of course, the game was a constant strain. Scaramouche greeting her as she returned from missions or challenges, ready to play with her hair or patch her up. She had to remind herself a lot that he was faking it. He was a good actor though.

The rest of the harbingers were beginning to catch on. They weren't stupid, but the tension between them before had been a red flag of a previous relationship. It had been weeks before they realized it was something more than unreconciled friendship.

Scaramouche was hell for the rumors as well. He took every chance he could to pull her into side rooms to make out. He even laid her out on his desk, eating her out until she had to actually kick him away. They never had sex, and Lucille had to admit she was curious as to why.

He had been right about one thing, however. She found nothing using his real name. The others all had things to hide, even her. It was one small miracle he never told the others her real name. Scaramouche had told the truth for once. A quick glance over his files proved that his family was dead. Both his parents and his four siblings, all brutally murdered when he was six. No wonder he was fucked up.

There was a nice symmetry in his title though. The Sixth Harbinger. He had moved to Schnezznya from Inazuma when he was ten, joined the Fatui at fifteen. It took him seven years to finally earn his title, and after three grueling battles with Pulcinella, he did it. His ID was surprising. He looked young, too young to be that tired. Lucille wondered if even this was an underhanded jab at her emotions.

It didn't matter. After what he did to her, he didn't deserve her pity, much less her love. Whenever she found herself faltering, she remembered his stabs at her past before the battle, his protests to the Tsaritsa, and even the horrifying night that followed. Especially that night. He was never quite so rough with her after that, but it was only soured by the image of what he was truly capable of.

Now they sat at the long table for dinner. The harbingers rarely ever interacted during the day, but whoever was home always ate dinner together. Pulcinella glanced at her, staring blankly at her food. "You need to eat."

"Hm?"

"He said you need to eat, ma Fleur." Scaramouche said lightly, nudging her with his foot under the table. She tucked her feet below her chair.

"Are you alright? You've been out of it lately." Tartaglia said, reaching for her hand. She dodged him, instead reaching for her fork. He played it off smoothly grabbing his napkin.

"I'm fine. Just... stressed out a bit. A recent commission... it's nothing." She faked a smile.

Pedrelino tilted his head. "If it's giving you too much trouble, I could reassign it to someone else. Capitano is itching for something to do."

"I can handle it." She said simply, poking at her food.

"You really should look out for your health, ma Fleur. It's sad seeing you this way." Scaramouche said lightly. He reached for her hand, and she didn't pull away.