𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜'𝙨 𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬 // scaramouche x oc

Chapter 7 - Vodka and Vices

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Scaramouche's Perspective

Is she not disgusted by this crap lifestyle?

Well, that was the first thing I thought.

Rin was raised to Inazuma's poster girl, and it was obvious how that had rubbed off on her. She could handle any situation with poise. She knew how to do everything. She could face the end of the world with elegance, I swore it on my life. She could wear funeral clothes and cry, but not actually feel sad. But when she was actually sad, she would have to smile.

It was so ironic, really.

"U-um . . ."

That nervousness was fake.

"I-I can't open the bottle . . ."

That weakness was fa--

Wait, no, it was real.

I stared at Rin's delicate fingers, weak and slender.

Ha.

She may be impressive, but she isn't perfect. If she was really was all that great, she would've ascended to Celestia already.

Should I . . . help her?

I don't know if I should.

Whatever, I should just . . . 

Irritated, I pried the container from Rin's hand, ignoring her squeal, and placed my thumb under the screwcap, flipping it off with ease and handing her the bottle.

For a moment, Rin stared at the vodka, shocked at my action.

Maybe I shouldn't have done that.

"Thank you, Scaramouche!"

I turned to see her smile, and the soft gratitude in her eyes. 

For a moment, she was the only person in the room. She was the only light in the world, a portrait of perfection, a painting I could gaze at for hours and hours.

As she poured alcohol into my glass, I was dumbstruck.

Why did she thank me?

All I did was open a bottle for her.

Dammit.

Goddammit.

She looked so f*cking pretty . . . when she smiled.

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For the remainder of the evening, the Harbingers told stories of their lives with incredulous exaggeration and dramatic hand gestures, boasting about the feats they had accomplished.

Scaramouche was an exception, however.

He had consumed more alcohol in a single sitting than most men do in the entirety of their lives, but displayed hardly any sign of stopping.

I watched as he poured more vodka into his chalice, red-faced and exhausted, and downed the glass in a single swig, slumping in his chair. Though the amount of liquor Scaramouche had consumed was detrimental to his health, I didn't stop him.

Childe strided over to me, purposefully obscuring my view of Scaramouche, and quickly rummaged through the pocket of his suit, producing a miniature note.

"Read this, but show it to no one else," he whispered mysteriously, leaning down to my height.

Before I could say anything more, Childe returned to his seat and casually resumed the conversation he had previously engaged in.

Curious, I unfolded the message, my eyes slowly adjusting to the hopelessly atrocious handwriting.

My lady,

Meet me at Himeros Garden at midnight sharp, north of here. You needn't worry about getting lost, I have already sent one of my men to accompany you. I'm ready when you are, my lady.

~ Childe

Tucking the letter into my sleeve, I curtsied to obtain the attention of the Harbingers.

"I thank you all, for joining me at this wonderful supper. I am very happy knowing that my goodwill has reached you. However, I'm afraid I must take my leave for today. I look forward to working with you all in the future."

And with that, I vanished in a whirlwind of flower petals.

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As I descended the stairs, I pondered over the recent events in my life with pensive thought.

I was so close to acquiring Scaramouche, so close to going home.

But that red thread . . .

There was no logic or reason to it.

I've already lost too many of the people I loved.

I cherished them, I did everything for them . . .

But in the end . . .

they all left.

"Don't go . . ."

"Please, don't leave me alone!"

"Why can't time stop, even if it's just for us?!"

"I'm begging you, please, just stay with me!"

What will I do . . . if Scaramouche turns his back on me too?

What will I do . . . if they all drift away from me?

Is it true . . .

that I was cursed . . . 

to forever be alone . . . ?

I sighed, calming myself.

Time and time again, I had defied fate with my own two hands. I had done the unpredictable, the impossible, resisted the inevitable. 

I clenched my fists, determined.

How was this time any different?