In The Midst of Snow

Right In Front of My Salad?

Stressfully, Scaramouche ruffled his own hair. With a tired groan, he slammed his face down onto his table, surrounded by a jungle of paperwork.

Oh how he just wanted to sink into the realm of dreams and never return. As he closed his eyes, he could hear the scratching of a hundred pens, the sharp ticking of the giant celestial clock that hung above their heads, the rushed footsteps of angels and the constant flipping of paper all echoing in the large office.

He would rather mess around with mortals than be stuck here all day, sitting on a stiff chair with terrible back support and going through an endless stream of paperwork without breaks. He was supposed to be the one enjoying watching others suffer - not suffer himself.

"U-um, Balladeer," one of the angels that sat behind him coughed. "We still have-"

Scaramouche bounced bolt upright, turning 180 degrees around on his squeaky office chair and smiling threateningly at the angel. Simply the sight of Scaramouche's bloodshot eyes was enough to make the angel whimper.

"I-I'll get back to work."

Hastily, the angel lowered their head and started scribbling away at their paperwork. Scaramouche's face returned to a scowl. Curse this sentence Her Majesty had given him. While it was certainly better than getting thrown off Celestia, it was still hell itself here. Oh, how embarrassing it was to be assigned work as lowly as this. He wanted to incinerate himself and the entirety of Teyvat for being turned into a laughingstock.

If only that adeptus- no, traveller didn't convince him to postpone killing him-

He jumped in his seat as the doors to the office slammed open, washing the office in natural sunlight. Immediately, all sounds ceased. A hundred crazed and angry eyes flew to the angel responsible, putting him in a grand spotlight.

"Sorry!" The angel profusely bowed in all directions. "I apologise! Sorry!"

Once those gazes were appeased did the angel scurried into the office. Scaramouche sighed, stretching his back and picking up his pen again. However, he stopped when he felt a shadow fall over him.

Slowly putting his pen down and putting on the fakest smile ever, he sweetly asked, "Do you want something from me?"

"I truly apologise for interrupting, Balladeer," the angel stuttered, clearly on the edge. "B-but I just received a letter from someone named Xiao. He said he wanted to meet you for...something important."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue in annoyance. The angel shrunk into himself.

"So what?" Scaramouche growled. "Just because we were somewhat allies during the Abyssal War, now he thinks we're friends and I'm free as hell? Oh, tell him: breaking news, I'm stuck doing office work for the next fifty years and his boyfriend is all I have to blame for that!"

Quietly, the angel muttered, "The thing is...I'm not sure what he means by this, but-"

Leaning down, he whispered into Scaramouche's ear. The angel had just finished passing the message when he was grabbed by the collar of his chiton, forced to fearfully stare into Scaramouche's wide, crackling, glowing eyes.

"Say what?" Scaramouche breathed.

***

While Scaramouche had been their only hope, Xiao still couldn't believe he still had to seek help from him out of all people. He doesn't like Scaramouche, and Scaramouche doesn't like him. During the Abyssal War, they had only played nice with each other because of Aether. Now that the war was over, they had no further reason to interact. They don't owe each other anything, so they stayed out of each other's paths.