Chapter Text
Masks, both metaphorical and physical, were no stranger to the one known as Il Dottore, the 2nd of the Fatui Harbingers. His mask of cruelty had shifted and changed throughout his years, providing emotional distance between himself and his ‘patients’. It fed into the title of ‘Monster’ that he had been marked with since childhood, branded onto him like a burn.
However, beneath the arrogance, status and mask, there used to be a measly scholar named Zandik. This name was almost forgotten to time, since it had been so long since anybody had uttered it. Zandik had been the name of a human scientist, whose ideas had once held the capacity to change the world, had they actually been listened to. Zandik had been the original, singular, mortal version of the collective of segments who held the title of ‘The Doctor’ today. Even back then, Zandik had rarely been called his own name. Not while being gossiped about by his classmates, or even when he was driven out of his village with pitchforks. Instead, he was referred to as a madman or heretic, but never a child: for at some point, he had been one as well. Zandik had been shunned and feared so intensely that he had become hardened to emotion, evolving into what they had all accused him of being. This mask of monstrosity had created a barrier between humankind and himself: including the many selves that he had.
Despite Zandik’s development into a powerful Harbinger, he had pondered about the prospect of finding companionship. Yet, scientific discovery waits for no one and he had simply refused to pour his time and effort into finding a partner. Nevertheless, copies upon copies of himself had not filled the cold void in his chest that he had grown accustomed to; it had resulted in demise instead. One does not seek comfort in their own reflection, for the harsh reality of the mirror only further highlights the flaws in themselves that they despise, such as arrogance and selfishness. At the end of his mortal life, 85 year old Zandik should have known himself better than to assume that clones of himself would try to save him. He had perished as a lonely, pathetic mortal.
The current segment of Dottore, the one who acted as the other clones’ leader, was a much younger man, at age 35. He referred to himself as Dottore, or Prime, for he was in the prime of his life. Unlike his creator, he was immortal and did not intend to meet the same fate.
At present, the only person to tolerate the insanity of the many segments was the 9th of the Fatui Harbingers: Pantalone. The Regrator was a calculating, sly man, who lent the collection of segments money in order for them to complete certain experiments within a time frame, benefiting the Fatui and ultimately earning profit for the banker. The relationship between Pantalone and the current Dottore had begun as professional, working together for mutual benefit, but over the years, the two of them in particular had developed a close bond. Pantalone was now considered a friend, the only friend that Dottore had. Of course, the banker considered himself a friend to all of the clones, but some of them were more aloof than others. One thing that was certain was that he spent the most time with Prime.
Right now, Prime was working in his laboratory, located underneath the Zapolyarny Palace in Snezhnaya. It was a remote place, hidden away from the other corridors of the palace, to preserve Dottore’s (and everyone else’s) peace. The laboratory had no windows, meaning its only light source were the stark, bright, artificial lights. The Doctor was analysing a vision that he had stolen from a random test subject and was dipping it into an array of checmicals to see how it would react. A few of the other clones were working nearby on various projects: it was an efficient day so far. Absorbed in his own thoughts, Prime didn’t notice the clacking sound of heels heading down the hallway outside. Abruptly, the large, metal, laboratory door swung open with a resounding clang, revealing Pantalone. Dottore straightened up in surprise, his head immediately snapping towards his business partner.
Pantalone strode into the room, his presence alerting everyone like a magnet, drawing them in. His gaze was sharp as he shrewdly looked Dottore up and down, displeasure evident on his face.
‘Greetings, Dottore,’ He spoke politely, despite the clear frustration that emanated off of him.
‘Regrator,’ Dottore glanced at him warily, placing his equipment down.
‘Do you know why I am here?’ The banker folded his arms haughtily.
‘… I suppose you’re going to enlighten me, whether I wish for it or not.’ The Doctor rolled his eyes.
‘Doctor, you have been ignoring my letters. Care to explain?’ Pantalone’s tone was calm, yet his voice carried an air of warning.
‘You’ve come all the way down here for that?’ Dottore responded, raising an eyebrow. He knew how tight the banker’s schedule was: always packed full of meetings.
‘I have been generous enough with you over the past few months. Other Harbingers’ requests have been denied, but yours have been accepted. In exchange, you were expected to procure results.’ He folded his arms, the movement caused the silver chain, that was connected to his glasses, to swing like the pendulum of a clock.
‘My experiments are exactly as the word suggests: experiments. That means success is not always guaranteed,’ He spoke, sarcasm lacing every word like poison, ‘Perhaps you had better purchase some patience with all of that mora.’ Dottore’s harsh laugh echoed in the large room.
The Regrator’s calm expression soured slightly, his displeasure almost palpable. ‘I know full well how long these things take. Nevertheless, I have reason to suspect that you have been overspending on trivial things.’
Dottore made a dismissive gesture, though his lips were upturned into a sneer. ‘… Sometimes the clones get antsy. They have no mora of their own and thus, use mine.’
‘You mean mine. Your clones are just as sly and unruly as you,’ The banker scowled and stepped closer to Dottore, his heels creating an echo inside the vast laboratory.
The 2nd Harbinger straightened up, staring up at the 9th. He was naturally taller than Pantalone, but the other man’s habit of wearing absurdly high heels had caused him to appear taller. This was bothersome because the banker loved to look down upon those that he deemed unworthy: which was almost everyone.
‘Are you here to just lecture me, or are you bothering me for a reason?’ Dottore quipped.
Pantalone tilted his head to the side. ‘I could cut your budget,’ He purred, knowing that the scientist received an abundance of extra mora each month for research, that the other Harbingers did not get.
‘Are you threatening me, 9th? Have you forgotten that your place is far beneath mine?’ Dottore retorted, his teeth gritted.
‘Of course not, I’m merely reminding you that you need me.’ Pantalone’s smile widened.
Dottore said nothing, but demeanour was like that of a feral dog who wanted to bite. It was times like this that he regretted allowing Pantalone to mistake himself for an equal: the man had grown quite the ego.
‘Exactly. Now, please produce results before I lose my patience with you,’ Pantalone declared. With that, he turned on his ridiculous heel and left, the sight boiling Dottore’s blood.
***
He grumbled in annoyance once the final traces of the man’s coat had left his sight. That darned Pantalone had no right to threaten him so. If he really did cut his budget, even just for a week, Dottore wouldn’t be able to complete his work and Pierro would have no choice but to get involved to solve the disagreement. This didn’t sound appealing, since he knew how long winded The Jester’s lectures could be: he was even worse than Pantalone. Going back to his work, Dottore decided to put the vision testing aside, to prioritise research that The Regrator would appreciate. This was merely because he did not have the patience for a fight, not that he had any desire to adhere to his business partner’s orders.
A few hours later, a Fatui subordinate knocked at Dottore’s door. When he opened it, the subordinate looked rather frightened, she was clutching a letter.
‘Uhm, Lord Dottore, this is from Pierro,’ She mumbled.
Dottore snatched the letter, ignoring the girl’s flinch, indicating her obvious distress at having to interact with him. He ripped it open and skimmed the contents: it was a formal invitation to a Fatui ball in 3 weeks. He groaned in annoyance, which startled the subordinate. Those balls were always so boring, filled with many rich associates from all over Teyvat, who only came to suck up to the Harbingers in order to earn their favour. They were power hungry pigs, the lot of them.
Some of the Harbingers liked the balls because they gave them more business opportunities. Others enjoyed the social aspect of the events, taking it as a challenge to dress up as flamboyantly as possible: Signora and Pantalone were known to do this. Personally, Dottore thought the whole ordeal to be a huge waste of time, he could be doing experiments instead of gallivanting around at a party. In the past, he had chosen to skip such events or send a poorly dressed clone in his place. However, Pierro had specifically stated in this letter that the original Dottore had to attend and even worse— make an effort. That meant acquiring an outfit too fancy for him to afford, that he would only wear once, all to look good in front of snobby, rich diplomats.
Sighing in irritation, he slammed the door in the poor subordinate’s face, heading back inside his laboratory. Shoving the letter inside his desk drawer, he decided to ignore the problem until closer to the time. There was much work to be done and he couldn’t afford all of these interruptions, especially if he had to clear his schedule of a 6 hour time gap for the day of the ball.
***
As expected, many Harbingers were excited at the news of the event. Many of them were sat in the large meeting hall in the centre of the palace, where a Fatui Harbinger meeting had just concluded. Pierro had mentioned the upcoming ball at the end of the meeting, so several Harbingers had stayed behind to chat about it.
La Signora was practically gushing about what dress she intended to wear, although nobody was really listening to her. Arlecchino was coaching Columbina on how to avoid scaring the guests, yet she was really the worst person to be giving out such advice. Even Tartaglia seemed eager to go, he was attempting to chat to the Captain about it but the other man merely nodded neutrally, not seeming too interested. Sandrone and Scaramouche had already departed, having no interest in the event, just like Dottore. He could only imagine their annoyance at being made to attend. Just as The Doctor was about to leave as well, he noticed one particular Harbinger’s reaction that stood out to him. Pantalone. He looked almost… bashful. The banker was sat across from Dottore, speaking with Pulcinella, who was sat next to him. Dottore found himself focusing in on the conversation between them, eavesdropping intently.
‘So, where did you meet this lady?’ The Rooster’s gravelly voice rung out.
‘I had a business meeting with her father, he is one of my clients from Fontaine and he introduced her to me,’ Pantalone replied smoothly, folding his gloved hands over the table.
‘And she will be attending the ball?’ He asked.
‘Indeed, her whole family will be coming, they wish to discuss engagement,’ The Regrator stated, with an air of nonchalance.
Dottore’s whole body froze. His business partner, getting engaged? To whom?
‘I had no idea that you were so interested in women,’ Pulcinella taunted.
The banker paused, his eyebrow raised. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Nevermind,’ Pulcinella teased, ‘I just hope that they aren’t trying to use you for your wealth. It is already hard enough to get money out of you, without a wife involved.’
Pantalone huffed in indignation. ‘Well, I have only met her once, but I know her father. Her family are rich, so they would have no need for my mora.’ He adjusted his glasses. ‘Besides, I don’t give out money to just anyone.’ His gaze slid to Dottore and their eyes locked.
The Doctor quickly averted his gaze, acting as if he hadn’t just been caught eavesdropping. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the prospect of Pantalone getting married. It wasn’t necessarily unexpected, given that the man was in his 30s without a partner. Dottore had assumed that he had been too focused on work to find love, just like himself.
‘So, I shall see how it goes, both at the ball and if I meet her again before then. If I feel that there is a connection, I see no reason not to pursue her further,’ Pantalone spoke amicably, a pleasant smile on his face.
‘And what of business?’ Dottore found himself speaking up, alerting the attention of both conversing Harbingers.
‘Oh Doctor, do not fret. Your funding will still be provided when I am married,’ Pantalone chuckled smugly.
This left a sour taste in Dottore’s mouth. ‘When’ he was married— as if it were inevitable! He could not be sure what his business partner would decide to do in the future if he had a spouse. Perhaps he would leave the Fatui and force Dottore to fend for himself, or avoid paying him in favour of gifting his wife expensive items! Why consider marrying a woman he had only met once, instead of staying loyal to his work and colleagues? Pulcinella gave Dottore a look of sympathy, which confused him further.
Dottore forced out a harsh laugh. ‘You’re being awfully optimistic about this ball. I highly doubt that this mystery woman will be the one for you.’
Pantalone’s pleased expression became one of exasperation. ‘Regardless of whether I marry her, I do intend to marry somebody in this lifetime.’ He drummed his fingers against the table in annoyance.
Dottore grumbled, he could understand that, just not the man’s haste to get married all of a sudden. Really, he had never seen The Regrator express such a desire before, the man despised anything that could cause him to lose money and marriage was guaranteed to be expensive. The scientist was irritated now, so he rose from his seat, deciding to leave. Pantalone’s eyes remained on him until he turned his back, his expression unreadable.
After escaping that suffocating atmosphere, Dottore stalked down the hallway with a grimace. His demeanour radiated fury, a clear warning to anybody who might dare to approach him.
Ever since joining the Fatui, Dottore had gained access to more power and resources than he could have ever dreamed of, thanks to The Regrator’s patronage. Gaining knowledge was the scientist’s main goal, his mind yearned to understand the intricacies and secrets of Teyvat; the prospect of this filled him with a giddiness like no other. Unfortunately, with the Fatui’s power came the bothersome responsibility of being obedient to The Tsaritsa. Dottore had to attend useless financial meetings and complete dull projects rather than his own personal ones.
At least he found The Tsaritsa’s plan to take over Celestia to be intriguing: he also held curiousity about the Gods and how they could be defeated and replaced. They were worth exploiting, holding the key to knowledge so rich that it would be an insult to his entire existence as a scholar if he didn’t try to harness it. Pantalone shared this sentiment, he hated the Gods and wanted to restructure Teyvat, with humans at the head. This gave them common ground to work with; Dottore’s intellect and strength paired with Pantalone’s immense wealth and ambition meant that they could become unstoppable.
Without the Fatui, Il Dottore would be nothing, he would possibly still be wandering the desert in search of a worthy experiment. Yet, if the Fatui lost its value to him, he would abandon The Tsaritsa and her goals in a heartbeat. However, he did not know what he would do if the Fatui, or Pantalone, abandoned him first.