The first thing she notices upon entering Pierro’s office is the aroma of a floral tea. She cannot pin down the exact combination of flowers, but she decides that she dislikes it.
The man himself sits behind his mahogany desk, half-shrouded in shadow. He has never stepped out of his shadow, not for a very long time. The curtains behind him are drawn, though Arlecchino knows that it still rains. A light drizzle, calmer than last night’s thunderstorm.
The carpet muffles the click of her heels as she heads towards the solitary chair before the table. The piece of furniture is absurdly large, enough for Pierro to need to learn forward, pushing a cup of tea towards her. She catches sight of the glint of a mechanical eye, newly replaced. She sits up straight, casting a glance over the bookcases that line the walls of the room.
‘I see you have procured more old world memorabilia.’
Pierro sinks back into his seat, though the shadow does not mask the narrowing of his eye. ‘Knave of the Tsaritsa. I am sure you know what you are here for.’
Put it up to him to ignore one of her more obvious jabs. She crosses one leg over the other, sitting with her back straight. ‘Has Fontaine given us any more trouble?’
‘One more stepping stone to Her Majesty’s goal. For that, the Fatui owe you our eternal gratitude.’ She feels his gaze track her hand, bringing the teacup to her lips. ‘However, one loose end has made itself known.’
‘Oh?’ The tea is over-sweetened. She drinks it anyway.
‘Focalors, known as Furina de Fontaine to the masses, has remained in a catatonic state for an unusual amount of time. Though to her own people, she is simply… predisposed.’
‘Hm? And here I thought I’d managed to absolve myself of all responsibility pertaining to her well-being.’
‘Even you do not have the ability to affect her to this degree,’ says Pierro. He pours himself his own cup of tea, which Arlecchino hears rather than sees. Her ghost has left her body.’
‘And you are quite certain?’ says Arlecchino.
‘A body of her make does not permit the separation of the soul and the shell. Things are getting interesting indeed.’
‘And I just so happen to share that interest, director.’
Pierro stares ahead, unblinking.
‘I can’t imagine the border of non-existence being a highly rated vacation spot,’ Arlecchino prods.
Pierro pauses to drop a couple of sugar cubes into his drink, stirring slowly. Only a singular, soft clink is heard by the time he is done.
‘I called you here to entrust this highly delicate matter to you, Knave. Find Furina de Fontaine and bring whatever is left of her back.’
Arlecchino nods mechanically. ‘It is an honour.’
She uncrosses her legs. Pierro’s singular white eyebrow lifts. ‘Are you not going to ask why?’
‘Since you’ve offered to tell me, do.’
Pierro pauses, then removes his hands from the table. In that moment, the shadows seem to consume him.
‘She is one of a kind,’ says Pierro, mechanical eye glittering. ‘A success at an incredible scale. One must marvel at the code woven into her very being, all to hide just enough from the general populace. A pity that it was fated to be used for something so trivial.’
‘I see,’ says Arlecchino. ‘I presume you want her data here as soon as possible?’
‘We are in no rush,’ says the Jester. His own teacup is untouched. ‘However, leaving a memetic entity of that magnitude running amok could be disastrous. Especially if she remembers you, and if she is more capable of harbouring grudges than we previously thought. Well,’ he says. ‘It does us no good to underestimate her more than once. You may go now.’
Arlecchino rises from her seat, bowing slightly to her senior. The man’s shock of white hair is briefly illuminated as she opens his office door. She is one of the few who know how old he actually is, and she turns the idea over in her head, trying to fathom the weight of all those years, far more than his body could originally sustain. Buried under rebuilt silicone skin and a depthless abyss.
Sometimes she thinks they could be more alike than he realises.
~~~
Her own office is located in an apartment building on the edge of Snezhnaya city, taking up multiple floors. Once they had neighbours, but over the years they’d moved out one by one, complaining of the strange, unruly children that would return home at unholy hours of the night, and who all seemed to know each other. Some of the children had been sad to see them go, but Arlecchino deems it a convenience. The House of the Hearth needs no more prying eyes than it already has within it.
The patches of algae on the lobby’s walls have begun to grow again, courtesy of the rainy season. Snezhnaya is a city of rain and rebirth, welcoming purifying waters and new beginnings with each blessing from the heavens. And new patches of mould too, apparently, growing on the handlebars of the elevator. She will need to intimidate the management into doing their jobs, as per their monthly routine. Sometimes she wonders if money would be a more effective bargaining chip than her display of status, but that would require working with the Ninth, of whom she is not particularly fond.
The elevator doors open with twin squeaks at the topmost floor. Arlecchino steps out, producing a set of keys from within the pockets of her coat. That turns out to be unnecessary, however. The only door not barred by nailed planks and fading yellow warning tape is the one at the end of the hall, and it is, at the moment, wide open.
Arlecchino feels herself frown. Light spills down the corridor, the faint streams of sunlight from outside not nearly enough to illuminate the resident darkness. She follows that streak of sodium-yellow light to the door, stepping into the foyer without much ceremony.
From within the living room, she hears a small ‘shush’, then the pattering of retreating feet. She allows them enough time to return to their rooms before entering.
The lightbulb, though recently changed, flickers once. Lyney, leaning over the couch, flinches slightly. His sister sits on the floor beside him, digging through a box of bandages. From between the cage of Lyney’s arms, a shock of wet blond hair peeks through.
‘Did I not tell you to come home early?’ says Arlecchino. Lyney stands closer to his brother on instinct.
‘None of us could get in touch with him,’ says Lyney. Lynette hands him a roll of surgical tape, which he takes. From the couch, Freminet mumbled something inaudible.
‘Speak up.’
Hands shaking, Freminet attempts to right himself, but tumbles back to the seat. His right sleeve is torn away, revealing an angry branched pattern, and near his wrist, a deep cut. Arlecchino feels herself breathe out with more force than necessary.
‘I told you to stay near the canyon.’
Freminet attempts to speak again, clearer this time. ‘Saw… shipwreck. Old world… Father is interested…’
‘I would have told you if I had wanted you to stray from your usual path.’ She tries to tone down her voice, but what comes out is an emotionless monotone. ‘Find me when you can move again. We have much to discuss.’
‘Father,’ says Lyney. Arlecchino turns, and he thinks better of it, going back to tend to his brother. She passes Lynette, sitting cross-legged beside the coffee table, wiping a diving helmet dry.
The rest of the apartment is clean, if aged. The peeling paint will need a touch-up soon, and the wires that buzz and whirr at her in her sleep will need to be replaced. Wireless is the new way to go, apparently, though she places less faith in things she cannot observe plainly for herself. Still, the world moves on.
Her heels click against the tiled floor. The room at the end of the corridor buzzes with noise, though it quiets down when she approaches, turning to the left to find her office. There, a plain desk sits in the middle of the room, accompanied by a red carpet. Apart from the reclining chair in the corner, beside a sterile metal table with a small lamp, the rest of the room is sparsely decorated. Not much point in waiting, so she fishes an earpiece out of her desk drawer, fixing it to her collar. She’d always thought it terribly ticklish.
The unread messages can wait. Il Dottore has texted her for one reason or another, and she sends that notification to the very bottom of the waiting list. Others are status reports from her children, nothing in particular standing out to her. Though she might need to deploy some more capable combatants to Inazuma city: the local guards are becoming less and less friendly, all thanks to the interference of one La Signora.
Arlecchino holds back a sigh. It’s been two years, and that old woman’s reputation still haunts her House. Sometimes, she misses the bastard. The children do too, though it might just be due to her generosity with gifts.
Old world shipwreck, northern Fontaine. She thinks of training more children to salvage. So far Freminet is the only one who specialises in this field. Though she will have to find a way to circumvent the oxygen issue without being too invasive…
Speaking of Freminet, she hears several pairs of footsteps outside her door, accompanied by the soft drag of booted feet. She waits for the creak of a door and the quick tap-tapping of retreating back to the living room. Let them think they’ve won, even for a while.
Arlecchino makes her way to the room opposite. The small space holds four beds, three of which are currently unoccupied. In the last one closest to the window, Freminet sits up, alerted to her presence.
‘At ease,’ she says. Freminet holds his head and sinks slowly back down, wincing when he hits his elbow.
‘Father,’ says Freminet blearily. His arm is neatly bandaged, with a pink ribbon tied over his wrist for good measure. Arlecchino seats herself down on a nearby chair, folding her hands over her knees.
‘Speak.’
‘I was staying in the canyon, until I saw… that shipwreck.’ Freminet stares up at the ceiling, avoiding Arlecchino’s gaze. ‘Close to the plains. The cloaking was down, and I thought, for a shield to have lasted that long, the technology must have been very well-preserved… I approached, found a hole in the hull, and…’
His brows twitch. Arlecchino waits.
‘I… must have entered,’ he murmurs. ‘I must have. I scanned everything outside the ship, but I had to get inside…’
‘What did you see?’
‘I… I don’t remember.’
‘You don’t remember.’
‘I don’t…’ Freminet shakes his head, immediately whining and holding a hand to his temple. Arlecchino peels his shaky fingers away, tapping the side of his skull with a nail.
‘Electromagnetic pulse. That was not just an old world ship, Freminet. The only kind of EMPs that can affect your current brain were not engineered until after the first flood. I will access your black box records soon.’
‘What are you going to do, Father?’
‘I want your exact coordinates. Whatever it is you came across, it does not wish to be found. That is of my concern.’
‘Don’t go now. They’ll be on guard—’
‘There are very few things in this world that can truly hurt me,’ says Arlecchino, standing up. ‘Fret not,’ she adds at the crease between the boy’s eyebrows. ‘Efficiency is my top priority. An ambush is infinitely better in that department. For now, I will have Foltz look after you. Your siblings may stay, if they wish.’
Freminet is silent. Arlecchino has no better answer to it. Neither of them are particularly good at talking. She simply nods her head and leaves, closing the door gently behind her.
Outside, Lynette leans against the wall next to her office door, an embroidery hoop in hand. Her ears, in their extended form, twitch once. Her hand on the doorknob, Arlecchino stops.
‘A word of advice,’ she says. Lynette’s ears twitch again as she tries and fails to thread a needle. ‘Your hearing has more range than you think it has. You could probably take Lyney’s place and face little to no difficulties.’ At the end of a corridor, the brim of a bowler hat quickly pops out of view. ‘If you are going to eavesdrop this blatantly, you are better off sitting in the same room as the two of us.’
Lynette nods gently. Arlecchino heads into her office, towards the window behind her seat. Drawing them, she watches the rain outside, slowly clearing up as the sky gradually returns to its usual blue.
She finds the earpiece hooked onto the shell of her ear and presses a button.
‘Yseut,’ she says. ‘You know where to find me.’
hyv you had one job making natlan
anyway this fic will be pretty slow going since school and finals and such but trust me it will get finished. they will not leave my head. help me. please feel free to scream about arlefuri in the comments. i wish to collect thoughts on them