𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 . pantalone

( CHAPTER SIX )

CHAPTER SIX . MIDAS TOUCH

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⸻  AMIDST THE PELLUCID DREARY FRAMEWORK of his somber oaked station— your refulgent existence persisted, breathing life to the still room. The Regrator relished in your quietude self; it was a fragment he may never chance to see again.

     Unfortunately, Scaramouche smeared his imagery. 

     "I do not recall you making a request to visit, Balladeer." Pantalone sat on the left side of the room's chaise lounge, an aloof air encompassing his figure despite the smile he wore. 

     You, on the other hand, decided to occupy a wooden block of chair, not wanting to settle beside either man in the room. Though uncomfortable, it was the closest seat to the small table with a plethora of food and Frederick's coffee with refined piquancy. 

     "Must I need approval to visit a friend of mine?" Scaramouche quipped, plopping onto the leather sofa with a stretch of his arms.

     Friend. Pantalone almost hollered in regalement. The Regrator was apathetic when it came to the people he worked with. After years of exposure to the oppressive natures of life, he had learned that it was better to make no attachments to anyone, or anything. 

      When it came to his fellow comrades, he merely regarded them as consociates who worked together for the same cause, Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. 

     "Of course not." the Regrator smiled, every bit of ill humor he harbored for the man with the gratuitously oversized hat thrown into the pit of his gut. "Now, how should I thank you for returning [Name]?"

     You, whose hands were a hairsbreadth away from the cup of coffee you've been yearning to drink from whence its fragrance trod the air this pesky office, paused. 

      "Why should you thank him? I returned here on my own accord and all he did was offer a ride." you asserted with a straightened posture, the coffee no longer being of any interest to you.

     Pantalone noted the belligerence of your tone to which he replied with a raised brow. 'Oh?'

     "Do you truly dislike me to that degree, Your Gr—" a slip of the tongue, "dear [Name]? I thought we had cleared things over during the trip here." Scaramouche grinned.

     If it were not for Frederick's presence, you would have dug your coat for the dagger you threatened him with earlier and plunged it into his neck. Assuming Pantalone loathed Scaramouche's comportment just as much as you did, perhaps he might even assist in disposing of the puppet's body.