𝓑𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚 || { Scaramouche x reader }

Palpitation

{Author's note:}
(y/n) = your name
(e/c) = your eye color
(h/c) = your hair color
'...' = your thoughts
I will add anything that appears to be confusing. Please, notify me if you don't understand something.
And English isn't my first language, so I apologise if I make some mistakes. Feel free to tell me where they are so I'd be able to correct them.
Thank you and have fun reading!

             ﹥ˏˋ♡̩͙ . ♡̩̩̥͙ . ♡̩̥̩ ♡̩̥̩ ♡̩̥̩ . ♡̩̩̥͙ . ♡̩͙ˊˎ﹤

01011001 01101111 01110101

                          '*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

The crimson consistency was slowly dripping down on the concrete floor while forming itself into a small pool defined by a touch of bitterness. Its soft tissues indulged your precious little fingers in its full glory.
The way you could feel every single palpitation summoned a cloud into your head, whose cold contrasted muscle cells invited you to a sweet waltz, which you of course couldn't resist – not even in your dreams.
Nothing could beat its tremendous glory. Nothing could beat a

human heart.

You could feel yourself falling into a deep trance. It welcomed you like a long lost friend who hasn't appeared since their intoxicating trip to wonderland.

'Wonderland,', you thought, 'what a mesmerizing state of madness.'

You put the heart onto a ceramic plate and brushed the remaining flesh particles off your scalpel before you were able to aim for the right atrium.

Dottore assigned you to connect anything mechanical to a human heart and surprise him with your creativity. The assignment excited you a lot but you weren't sure whether he would appreciate your work. He was quite demanding and you didn't want to get on his bad side, so you had to try your best. Or so he thought.

You didn't have to try. You didn't do it for him. Nothing you've ever researched and built was ever meant to be for your idiotic "boss".
It was all out of pure interest.
Some would say you were abnormally crazy in the coconut but that only boosted your ego. You weren't mad.
In fact; you would call yourself more sane than others, they just couldn't see the genius behind the well built mayhem.
And to be blatantly honest; that was one of your infinite reasons why you hated humans – or better said, society.

Dottore was yet again- how should I say it?
He has an immensely unlikeable character but his intellect swallowed every bits of your brain who kept you captivated. Don't get me wrong... he IS definitely a bad person but you're no saint either. Sometimes you felt like he was the only human being in Snezhnaya that actually understood you in a way no one ever could.
Great minds think alike, right?
To put it simple; no. No way in hell would you describe him and your own persona the same. You had similar interests but that was merely it.

After connecting the mechanical pocket watch – you built last night – and several follicles, you decided to detach the heart from the respiratory and test whether it would be able to keep the valves in motion.
"Curious, how curious.", your lips formed into a small smirk once you could feel a regular heartbeat.
Your cheerful state was quickly interrupted when the door was slammed open.

"Howdy comrade!"

You took a deep breath.

"For the love of Tsaritsa, Childe...how many times have I told you not to interrupt me while doing my researches?", your cheerful face turned into a scowl in mere seconds. 'What an imbecile.'

He put his hands up and chuckled nervously while gesturing you to come closer. "Before I start, please, take that scowl off your face. You'll turn into Mc Coochieman."
Now it was your turn to chuckle. Frankly, you encountered the Balladeer only two times, even though you've been working under Dottore for some time now. Many, many dislike him.
Well, dislike isn't quite the right word, no.
If they had a chance, they would gouge his eyes out and torture him day and night to make him beg for his death. To make him feel all the things he has done to the Fatui Agents that unluckily were assigned to work for him. Their desire was strong, yet the fear – that occupied their hearts – was stronger. It almost made you unleash pity for them. Almost.

After you gently put down the heart and took off your blood drenched gloves off, you decided to give the heart one last glance.
Oh, how lovely it made you feel. You wanted – no, you needed to burn this scenery into the deepest pits of your brain and write it somewhere down to feel it again; once you would reread it.
Surprisingly dissection wasn't the only thing you spent a lot of your precious time on. Poetry and drawing were a good type of escapism, no? But you were mostly fond of pocket watches and white roses. Thinking about time was weird; but being able to create a small timeless medium made you feel superior. It wasn't anything special but being able to manipulate time was something you desired.
And well, of course white roses. White is often seen as something innocent and pure; yet a white rose was the complete opposite.
A sugar coated mystery.
They could lure anybody in and when you decide to take it, it'll leave your hands glazed in blood.
Sure, other roses can do the same, but white roses? It's a completely different feeling.

"I don't really remember how he looks like. It's probably because I just saw him two times and my memory isn't good. But I can tell that the nickname is fitting."

Childe burst out laughing. "Scara would turn you into fried chicken if he heard you. OMFG!"
"Please, a chicken can't turn a chicken into fried chicken. Besides I would poison him anyway."
You two were laughing your asses off because a mere image of a purple chicken with eyeliner screaming curses and insulting you two was hilarious.
"(Y/n), we need to hang out more. Idc about Dottore but I need more humorous people around me."
He punched you jokingly on the arm.
"I'd love to... now, I hate ruining the moment but... why did you barge into my laboratory?"

You were curious indeed but you also wanted to finish your mini project and getting rid of the tall ginger was the only option. He slightly tensed up by your sudden change of topics.
"Ahhhh, yes. Well uhhhm...there are many agents that keep complaining about what you're doing."
"What do you mean?"
This question took you by surprise.
You weren't one to socialise with others and spent most of your time alone. How could anybody be complaining? You minded your own business and had fun. There was no problem at all. You didn't even mind when they threw dirty glances at you. What was the ginger talking about?

He turned his gaze to the sky and let out a long sigh.
"I'm not sure why but they think that your position is unfair. You're not a secretary nor a menial like Krupp. You're technically also an agent like them, you see?"
"Yeah, so? Where's the problem? I'm working my ass off for Dottore. Don't tell me they think I'm getting special treatment or something."
"Yeah, about that-"
You face palmed and felt a sea filled with anger rising up.
"Are you fucking kidding me!? It's not like I spend every. And when I say every; I mean every single day and night in this shitty. little. laboratory. I haven't been out in MONTHS. I've been doing so much work and you're telling me these pricks think I'm chilling all day long or sum??!"

Oh, just they wait until you get your hands on them. You'd use them as lab rats and test stuff out they weren't even capable of picturing; considering their lack of imagination.
You felt an uncomfortable sensation build up in your stomach.
Was all the dirty work you've done so far not appreciated?
.
.
.