[Nail on the head with his guess on humans. Though the particularly insidious is that Fontain's human trafficking is particularly focused on the adolescent. Though what Nefer needs to be there for isn't so she can get her hands on something herself. No, just like him she'll have a group of eyes and ears at the party - all equipped with sticky fingers. Her goal is not to take anything herself, but to make sure that her targets make it into the right hands.
The kids can just be let free. Hell, with what she knows of Arlecchino's House of the Hearth? Nefer wouldn't even mind them finding a home there. She has no plans to take any in herself, but she also refuses to let them be sold off when she's already in the are doing business.]
I can't deny there's an allure to the thought of seeing you in action with my own eyes. Rumors rarely do the real thing justice.
I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, Miss Nefer. Given the circumstances of my duties as diplomat, I'll have to resort to less violent means.
( Besides, he happens to have access to exceptionally viable poisons. Hopefully he doesn't end up running into the Knave, and terrible as the Fontaine trading rings are, Pantalone has learned to look the other way long ago.
He's interested in whoever is in charge, not so much playing hero. )
The host is someone who shares the dance floor with us, but isn't very careful about stepping on toes. My feet are aching for a break, so I'll be removing him from the guest list.
[While the pawns take care of the goods, Nefer will make that the job is done. There are people she likes keeping alive to watch and keep tabs on how their punishment makes them suffer, but others? Some pieces just need to be taken off the board.]
Because of that I'll be wearing disguise. You're welcome to one as well.
I'll be in disguise, that much is certain. Though, even with that, I rather keep a low profile in the manner of execution. Besides, I prefer slow dances.
( He sighs, smoking away his cigarette while he still contemplates everything. )
Well, Miss Nefer. Have you prepared lodging for us, or shall I accommodate you at the Northland Bank?
( All branches have housing for Fatui use, after all. )
I had lodgings in mind, but not yet booked. I suppose I could take you up on your generosity.
[A potentially risky move on her part, but it has its advantages. Her disguise having connections with the Northland Bank would further increase the smoke veil around identity and motive. She would have to conduct herself carefully in such a space, but it's not a game she's unfamiliar with.]
( Everyone uses the Northland Bank. Seeing an occasional odd individual enter it may not raise as many flags as she thinks. Then again, there is cause for the paranoia given the gravity of the situation.
Besides, Pantalone has unsavory experiences as far as traveling goes. He would rather stay in the comfort of what he considers home rather than a hotel with faulty security. )
You let me stay at your place. Consider us even for now, but don't be getting ahead of yourself. There are no secrets there for you to exploit.
You say that like collecting secrets is the only way I ever have fun. Do be aware we will have to engage in the party for some time.
["So other types of fun may be part of the requirement," is left unsaid. Though perhaps his fun will be less from the party and more using this opportunity to simply tag along and watch how she works.
Though even if he warns the staff to keep their mouth shut... some people just can't help running their mouth. And the people inside the building aren't the only ones she'll be listening for.]
Have any requests for what you'd like to see?
[Another question mostly made in jest. She wouldn't base her disguise wholly on his preferences even if he were to give them — which she doesn't expect he will.]
Perhaps then I shall pair it with white. I've always found the contrast appealing.
[Blood on snow. Wine on a ceremonial dress. Something soft and pure suddenly marred either by something fresh, fleeting and vibrant — or dark, deep, and permanent. It's a striking combination, but not the most original. Accenting the ensemble with gold and the masquerade theme should be enough to make her fit right in.
After all, most attendants will be some level of ostentatiously gaudy.]
I'll be in the area prior to the event. No need to host me for that long if you like your space.
( Bringing the bitterness of winter to Fontaine would be quite on brand for him, especially with someone at his side. Perhaps Nefer has been destined to carry on her life in foreign land, a place where her cunning brutality will always be embraced. )
No. Meet me at the Northland Bank. We still have to make sure we're both on the same page regarding our agreement.
( After a reasonable amount of time setting up his arrangements in accordance with their plan, Pantalone finally breathes in the crisp air in Fontaine. It's bright here, so much so that he remains cooped up in the Northland Bank office while he waits for the said Mehen to grace the marble floors. Business remains as usual, except that more experienced staff from Snezhnaya have replaced the residents.
The contract rests under gloved fingertips and a smile. He's not disguised yet, that's too much remarkable effort for now, but he's not wearing his typical Fatui get up either. A mere jacket with his usual turtle neck is more than enough for this weather. It's not like people here are familiar with his face, and those who have met him have long been taken by the flow of time. He fits in as a nobleman with equal manners and presentation, stepping into the lobby whenever he hears the doors open. )
When Navia arrives at the Northland Bank, she's dressed in a long, navy blue coat edged with golden embroidery and lined with white fur. Her face is flushed, cheeks chapped from the glacial winds, and even with her mitts and her scarf and every accessory meant to insulate her against the cold, she's still shivering even as a bank clerk escorts her into the plush waiting room attached to Pantalone's private office.
Setting down a bag topped with a blue ribbon, she bundles herself up in an armchair near a lit brazier, peeling her hands out of her gloves and holding them up to the fire to warm them. The Regrator hadn't been joking when he'd said to dress warmly, but the cold in Snezhnaya is honestly unlike even the bitterest of Fontainian winters, where the warm wind blowing up from the vast desert in Sumeru has a way of keeping things temperate all year long.
This is how he'll find her, heated palms pressed to her face to bring some feeling back to the exposed skin, but she hops to her feet when she hears his door open. ]
( The idea of cold is a lifestyle, not a state of the body or weather. It chills every child of Snezhnaya into becoming individuals who must engage in survival from the moment they're born. A simple distraction could result in the kind of sleep that they may never wake up from. A peaceful death. Such is the love that constantly embraces them on the daily. The kind that fortifies and never melts.
Most important calls have already been executed and translated into easy statements with fine ink. Everything awaits Navia on his desk so she can review freely, procured to satisfy any expert set of eyes. At the end of the day, she is the boss, and so he holds her to such regard. It's in this regard which holds his smile whenever he opens the door to finally rescue her from having to wait a second longer. )
I must apologize for keeping you waiting, Miss Navia.
( He tilts his head, closed eyes lifting even more as his smile thaws his cheeks. The squinting is enough to gather the brightness and warmth she carries from Fontaine. )
Oh, good, you didn't underestimate the weather. Most people would, heh. We get brave tourists sometimes who often end up in the hospital... Come in.
( He keeps the door opened for her, allowing the proper space for her. The radiator inside his office is turned higher to keep guests comfortable. Even so, he carries with him an undeniable identity of expensive leathers and cigarettes. Anybody who has ever been in the mighty presence of Neuvillette may cower before him and yet Pantalone appears to be taller. He goes around the large desk so he can sit on more leathery cushions, fingers bridged and smile forward. )
Everything you need is on the paperwork. I'll need your signature after you review them. The rest is a matter of our creative touch. The building capacity is about 500 people and being on the main street will grant any of your personal friends the best views of our city. You'll have to judge that for yourself, though.
( Pantalone may not own a vision to call upon and yet the manner of his ire could easily bring down the temperature of a room to chilling success. His subordinates understand the gravity of their mistakes the second they learn his cryptic smiles, or shift in tone and normally this tends to be the last time they ever get to deal with him. His irises nearly blend into those damaged corneas, glazed almost, like he's half touched by the gates of death.
His cheeks tug with feigned humor. Perhaps Dottore likes the feeling of flying close to the sun to a point where his body can't tell the difference between burning or freezing. To defeat Pantalone when it comes to semantics is one game, but to pull a dirty card like Pulcinella in his presence immediately puts his nerves to the test. )
I already know you're on speaking terms with him. You have to be, and that is a fact I can live with. You and I both need certain resources, do we not? You know full well what you're doing because you also do whatever you like.
( ...Is it worth it? Difficult to tell whether this is just Dottore's way of foreplay, turning a fuse that makes Pantalone's blood boil. Pantalone glances down at his hands, adjusting his rings with a soft laugh acting as another layer to his veil. )
Are you truly sitting here assuming that such a contract doesn't come with prerequisites to bed one another on that first night? You're being so painfully banal, Zandik.
(Dottore does not know when to quit if he is actually enjoying himself. This is far from being the first time he and Pantalone have tested one another's forbearance just to see what would happen.
He found teetering on the precipice of his own demise to be a riveting experience when up against someone whom he considered to be his intellectual equal and a worthy adversary. That being said; none of that meant that he would abstain from playing dirty on a whim simply because he could.)
Funding and specified resources are crucial in furthering my research, yes. Even if the process of obtaining either often proves to be quite the pestiferous chore.
Everyone seems to be on well-enough terms with him; other than you. But that's okay. I'll still show my face in your presence. Even if you are being vexatious.
Oh? And what exactly is it that I am doing?
(Adoration and hatred were polarizing emotions held within the same capacity. To Dottore; the latter was much more intriguing to provoke.
The smirk that had been gracing his features for the better part of their conversation faltered. To the majority of people; the comments Dottore had been making would appear to be objectively worse than what Pantalone has been stating. But neither of them would ever dwell anywhere near that conglomeration of simple minds. Dottore knew how to get under Pantalone's skin, yes. But the same could be said for the reverse. He had been so focused on pushing as many buttons as he could at once that he failed to see the errors he had made until after it was too late. The fact that one answer encompassed both options had completely alluded him.
The way Pantalone spoke his name in that moment felt like someone was pouring molten acid into his ear canals.)
That's.. I'm not... I mean....
(Realizing he was getting nowhere; he froze mid-sentence. He had no idea how to respond when Pantalone's point was logically sound.)
( Dottore is always welcomed to set fire to anything good in his life, or the rare moments of leisure they get to enjoy. Yet he should also be prepared to feel the burn whenever Pantalone pours more fuel into it, or acid. Picking a fight with a man who never forgives or forgets may not be the strongest sign of wisdom. Addiction is more like it, to the thrill they drain from one another when their minds ride the same wavelength.
He doesn't believe for a second that Pierro misses his meetings with him. That man may not know the extent of what's going on, but he sure as hell is aware of the personalities he recruited. Emotions are useless in this game. )
And Pierro wouldn't have approved of some projects, so I still have the upper hand and you still need me.
( He adds on, casually, fatally, like enjoys twisting the blade through that unconscionable heart. The glaze left behind by that surgery flickers like he's enthralled by the sudden show of pain between his stuttering. In the end, he's still Zandik. He'll always be, but Pantalone respects his choice of identity for the time being. He plays along with it, he might even give him the pleasure of moaning it. The truth and matter is, that when his mask falls, the truth comes out. He'll strip his identity, he'll put it on full display and humiliate it if Dottore pushes him so.
He smiles. )
I don't know, Zandik, what are you doing? You tell me.
(Addiction, obsession, insanity. Take your pick. Between the two of them, one is the ignition and the other the accelerant. Knowing who embodies which at any given moment is an impossible variable. If someone is willing to burn anything, their own flesh included, just to keep the flames ablaze; the logistics of whom and how become null.
When it came down to matters regarding himself and Pierro; allowing Pantalone to assume he was right was the least volatile solution. He thrived in chaos, yes. But that wasn't a discussion he wished to continue further at the moment.
Dottore weighed his options and considered his next move carefully. How far was too far? Did such a limit exist for himself? He knew the words that could swing the conversation back into his favor. But at what cost? And was it worth it at the risk of extinguishing the only fire that made him feel alive?
His mind was spiraling. He could go off the deep-end and regain control of the discussion. But would that be considered giving up control of himself? He was hesitating; something he rarely did, and he hated it. Loathed himself for what he considered to be a moment of weakness. Was there even a way for him to win at this point?)
So what if I still need you? It's not like you would deny me. No point in over complicating matters when you became the easy solution.
(He adjusts his mask. He doesn't always keep it on in private; but he didn't trust his face to not say the words his mouth withheld.
A good question. What was he doing? What is one to say when the truth is far too pathetic?
His jaw is tight when he speaks again. Tone clipped, even, clinical.)
I miscalculated. I don't think anything else needs to be said on the matter.
(Stubborn. Even with nothing but scorched earth remaining beneath his feet, logic demanding that he reassess and do damage control from afar; his pride holds him steadfast.)
And if I denied you, would you let me die? Or would you kill me yourself right here.
( This throbbing, living shell of a human has been cheating death all this time. Pantalone should have died multiple times over and perhaps it is this ridiculous amount of extra time the very thing that has allowed him to come to some semblance of peaceful terms with his future. It's true that he's not ready to die yet, but what good would it do fighting an impossible force like Dottore once he makes up his mind? )
Yes, I'm sure you would, actually. You wouldn't flinch at the idea of cutting me open one last time. I'd even argue that it's better than sex, isn't it? Haha.
( Pantalone's gaze is cutting, he can tell the way that jaw tenses. Arguments with Dottore are either compelling or nerve busting, sometimes both but he can't deny that this man is the single best thing that he has come across. Pantalone stands up and adjusts the cuffs on his jacket, the buttons, his rings, before walking over to plop next to him. )
A miscalculation, is it... I'll let it go if you take off your mask for me.
If you denied me; then letting you off the hook with as something as simple as death would be far too generous of me.
(Not the exact words; but damn close enough. His potential death and dependence on Dottore was the singular card he was trying to keep off of the table that night. It wasn't a new revelation to either of them. It was a set-in-stone fact that had been as such for the past several hundred years. If that snippet of information was the only crutch left to keep himself standing at that moment; then he would rather fall. He couldn't find a logical reason to restate the obvious.)
Killing you would be arbitrary when I could force you to remain alive solely because that's what I desired. Why should I settle for one last time when I am capable of flaying you wide open for my personal amusement over, and over, and over again? Better is not that right term to use in this context. One act appeases the flesh while the other satiates the mind. But conjugating the two acts into one could prove to be absolutely enrapturing.
(Dottore knew better than to become too entangled by his own words; no matter how enthralling of a picture they were currently composing in his head. He had already made the mistake of being imprisoned by his own mind a few times that evening and he was still recovering the collateral. Pantalone was the singular person he viewed as being his true equal. It infuriated Dottore to no-end how one man managed to gain the ability to nearly lobotomize him with his words alone.
He sat idly; attempting to feign disinterest. But it was of no use. Despite knowing that every single movement the other was making was with purpose. Practiced, perfected, meant to distract, intimidate, or draw attention away from anywhere other than where he wanted it to be. Dottore still fell victim to the tactics when Pantalone was involved.
His endeavor to remain un-phased when he sat next to him was feeble at best.)
No. The mask stays. (You've already seen too much.)
( Pantalone goes back to fiddling with his rings, more amused than one should be after listening to Dottore's insanity dive head first into narcissism. The threat of getting tied up on a table and dissected over and over is not a new concept. Unless Dottore wants to torture Pantalone for the rest of his life, becoming his walking experiment is a fate he can at least live with. It's more merciful than that of living under the gaze of gods.
The same insane look living inside Dottore's mask is staring back at him, in Pantalone's. )
So what you're saying is, I can reject you.
( Just like Zandik rejected him. Every single molecule in his body, abandoned since the moment of conception, fated to be left behind to rot in the world. A leg crosses over another and his body relaxes, his brand new lungs fill with air before leaving a sigh to the silent room. )
And if I stand up and walk towards the inevitable product of time, as a punishment I get to have your hands on me for eternity? Forced alive just so your greed consumes me over and over? Sounds like a deal to me, haha, but that was to be expected of you.
Your greed is predictable, Dottore.
( He angles himself to better face him, denting the cushion between them under their combined weight, and thighs sharing body heat. This way, he has the best view when he grabs his whole jaw with one hand. The one full of rings. They shine so well in contrast with his gloves and Dottore's eternal skin. His thumb caresses his cheek, sliding up the shadow of his mask. )
(For two people boasting their levels of intellect and years of life experience; they could both be incredibly dense at times. Specifically when it involved their more visceral thoughts in regards to one another.)
Would rejecting me truly make you feel better or bring you any closer to where you want to be, Feofan?
(Dottore knew that between them; they could go back and forth for hours, if not longer. And get absolutely no where until one of them either gave in completely; or found a way to deviate from their path of circular chaos.)
You would willing place yourself on the precipice of death and subject yourself to eternal torture just to have my hands on you? I didn't realize you were so desperate for my touch.
My greed is only parallel to your own.
(He visually tracked his movements with omnibus precision; but otherwise remained motionless. Their joint proximity and shared heat was of comfort; but he was not going to let such simple gestures cloud his perception. Despite the constricting pressure and the way that the metal of the rings was biting into his skin; he only allotted himself three seconds to bask in the sensations before acting. With his opposite hand, he gripped onto the wrist of the hand holding his face. He wasted no time digging the tip of his thumb into the center of the vertical set of tendons.)
And you said I was the predictable one.
You made yourself quite clear. You stated that you would let it go if I took off my mask for you. I want to know two things. Why do you wish for me to remove it? And what does the outcome of you not letting it go entail?
( Between the two, Pantalone guards his emotions with the bitterness of winter. Spending all his life with Dottore at his side has taught him how to care for this type of fortress, and even so, only Dottore still knows how to navigate it. He could be living for another 400 years, a thousand years, and he would still not be used to someone seeing through his vulnerabilities.
This Dottore, though a fragment of what he used to be, still carries the cadence he once came to admire and yearn. Although his hand tenses around that jawbone, he won't betray his privacy or forcefully remove the mask. )
I'm exactly where I want to be.
( He says without truly answering, classic, lethal, and confident. Living this long life with someone who understands him is everything anybody could ask for. Dottore is difficult, if not even more broken than he is. Literally, he's a mere Segment.
The pressure point between his tendons forces his fingers to loosen, and it's reasonably uncomfortable but he doesn't flinch. Instead, his eyes remain settled on his mask, as if he could look into his eyes. )
Why, I thought you were familiar with my greed, Dottore. I wanted to see your face entirely as you stumbled on your words. I rarely get such a treat.
( He twists his wrist around to break away from the pressure, doing so with a smile. )
Hm, if I don't let it go... Let me think... they call it karma, I believe. Think of it like another form of debt.
(Dottore had woven his truth into the literal fibers of his being. Physical evisceration would have been a less cruel fate than the massacre to his emotions and mental state he had been forced to endure. Repairing physical wounds could be tedious, yes. But it was doable. There was a step-by-step process and as long as it was followed; the outcome would likely be favorable. Eradicating emotional damage or reversing past trauma would never be that simple.
Decimate the physical form of self and disperse the remnants across multiple beings and one will no longer have to worry about being seen, judged, or destroyed. Because no one would ever have all of the pieces of the puzzle laid bare in front of them. That which has already been shattered cannot be broken again.
Or so; that was his original thought process. What he didn't account for was the possibility of someone sticking around for hundreds of years and learning exactly how each jagged edge fit together as one. And then after finally seeing the full picture; still choosing to remain by his side.
On paper; it was he who saved Pantalone. Although never out-loud; Dottore sometimes swears it was the other way around.
That mutual exchange of respect and privacy was the reason Pantalone was able to get anywhere near him physically in the first place. And knowing that he would never cross the line is exactly why he was okay with allowing him to do it.)
Familiar with your greed, yes. Though I am not opposed to becoming better acquainted with it. Unless, of course, that too would lead me further into debt with you.
(Dottore caught his wrist once more before he could fully pull away. Gently, this time. He guided it back to rest against his jaw.)
( Long ago, Pantalone had to wait an agonizing amount of time before he finally got a glimpse of Dottore's eyes. Or the shape of his eyebrows, the muscles which creased them, the frosting color on his eyelashes matching the waves on his hair.
Could one say that getting this far is the same experience as taming a wild, scared beast? The one that fears the hand that feeds because it's too used to being followed up with punches? As much as Dottore hides between clinical snark and circles of philosophy, Pantalone has found that navigating his trauma requires using a mirror. A sense of comfort that Dottore can rely on. The same ugliness, the same pain.
Pantalone never lets go of grudges, even if he says he does. Even if he forgives, for everyone else these are just lies that he can later manufacture as IOUs. With Dottore, however, after a stupid game, he has no reason to dangle an argument over his head. Perhaps the real trap was to threaten him with it, not the reality itself. )
Good. Amazing, even.
( He smiles, and his shoulders even relax as his hand is guided back against the warmth of his jaw. )
I believe I shouldn't have to warn you that my greed will find ways to haunt you. Even when you're not asking for it.
( He slowly pushes up against the edge of the mask, cautious, as if he's giving him the chance to regret his decisions. Though internally, he only hopes to keep on seeing skin revealing itself from the shadow. His nose, the bridge of it, both cheekbones, and then his eyes. A firm mark is left behind on his forehead. He puts it on the coffee table delicately, as if Pantalone knows to treat it like another body part. )
It's been a while....You know, since you want to become better acquainted with my greed, perhaps I should demand you to roam like this for me more often.
Heh.
( He glances at him as if he already knows the answer, but he can't help himself. He is greedy. Perhaps saving Dottore means to remind him who he truly is, even if it means corralling his lost emotions until he has no option left but to face them. )
(Even after all they had experienced together over the years; it was moments like this that shook him to his core. He knew he could easily stop everything. He knew that he could over-power Pantalone. Who would win in a physical altercation between the two of them was never a question. Dottore could kill him and make it look like the most effortless of feats. But he never would. And just knowing that is what terrified Dottore the most.
That fear was addicting. It was the one thing he couldn't experience on his own.)
When I'm not asking for it is when I'll be looking forward to it the most. It's how I'll know you are acting solely because you want to. Completely unbridled from my influence or demands.
(Who was truly more selfish between the two of them is a question that will never have an answer. How greedy must a man be to crave everything another person has to offer; that person's own greed included. To own someone in their entirety was to welcome every dark, depraved, and sinister thought that they had and to not stop demanding more until it was impossible to determine where one's existence ended and the others began.
He kept his eyes closed as felt the mask being slipped from his face was a reverence he thought of as being far too gentle for someone like himself. It wasn't until he heard him speak again that he finally opened his eyes and looked up.)
More often; but still only within your presence alone, yes? A curious thought. Though, if I was to do that, what would stop me from roaming too far? Who's to say that I wouldn't stray from your sight? Perhaps even wander out to where the others all gather?
(His expression remains neutral as their eyes finally meet. Dottore would far sooner stand in the nude in front of people rather than show them his full face. To him, a person's eyes are a window to their soul. They are honest without choice; where-as one's mouth can freely spew whatever sort of nonsense it wishes. He knows exactly what he is doing by merely teasing the threat of allowing others to see him in a way that has always been reserved strictly for Pantalone.)
( There are times Pantalone would pay an organ or two just to infiltrate that mind of his. Whenever Dottore goes silent, another world of wonder rips into existence. Perhaps this is why Pantalone likes admiring the shine in his eyes, his pupils or the way they move. While their physical strengths differ, Pantalone makes up for it by seeing through his most human element. The "flaws" Dottore constantly tries to escape from or destroy.
Even when his eyes remain closed momentarily, he can still see the way those eyelids show signs of life. Small nerves keeping them shut and looking so vulnerable. He tilts his head a little, feeling a smile creep until their gazes finally meet. As close as they are, as similar as they are, Pantalone still feels like they could slip away from each other without a moment's notice.
The others have surely met the other Segments at some point. The youngest Segments show themselves but this one is different. He's the one he feels closest to ever since he met him all those years ago. He lets out a soft laugh, pitying himself. )
You wouldn't do that in a million years.
( He shifts so their sides press tighter together. It's a smooth opportunity to lace his arm around his shoulders, leaving it to rest there. )
Heh, first off, that would make me furious and second: it would be like you're rewarding the people who detest you with the experience of a reasonably real side of you. There's no reason why you should give them that privilege for free.
( Even now, Pantalone still gave up his own vulnerability in exchange for Dottore's gaze. The truth of that jealousy would eat him alive and then wage war on him if Dottore did share something so sacred with the others. This kind of honesty is more valuable than mora. )
(His younger segments all showed their faces freely without any care or consequence. The segment he embodied, the one that commemorated his 35th year of existence; he was the first to dawn the mask at all times. So what changed during the years that lied between his segment and the one aged directly below him? What knowledge or perspective did he gain that drove him to the conclusion of hiding his face as being the imperative answer?
The shift in posture and proximity renders him momentarily rigid out of instinct. Much akin to manually imputing data; he has to remind himself that this is okay and was essentially what he had agreed to by allowing the situation to progress in the manner which it has. They needed this. He wanted this. Even though his own self-hatred flourished over the thought of him indulging in behavior that was so distinctively human. A few moments later; he physically relaxed and leaned back against the cushions. Accepting his affection without comment or further reaction.
They both knew that Dottore would never show his face publicly. Especially not amongst the ranks of their fellow harbingers. Though the idea of experiencing Pantalone's jealousy induced wrath at that caliber was an enthralling temptation. But just because they both knew the truth; it didn't mean that taunting him with the idea was any less entertaining.)
Everything comes at a price, does it not? Who's to say that it wouldn't be worth it if it meant evoking such a rapacious reaction from you?
(The ghost of a smile flickered across his face. Most people would tease others with playful jabs or harmless jokes. Dottore preferred to tease with declarations of war or threats of a nuclear magnitude. Especially during times like this when he felt the most vulnerable and exposed.
No matter what he said; he would never even consider sharing a moment like this with anyone else. Nor could he tolerate the notion of Pantalone doing the same with anyone other than himself; his other segments included.)
Keep the mask off hmm? And what's in it for me if I agree to such a acquisitive request?
What you're describing now is a mere consequence that would not bode well for you. Not a price.
( His smile lightens the words with an air of humor, despite the real threat beckoning to be released from deep in his heart. After a second or two of feeling Dottore's shoulders ease against the couch, so too does Pantalone's smile.
Surely, there are many people in the crowds of the city who wonder what kind of lives Harbingers live. For such people, Pantalone is an impossible reach. In their eyes, he's no longer a person they can simply talk to, but the system that makes the entire country tick like a clockwork.
Yet even he is partial to the touch of another and the warmth of a body. Crowding Dottore like this is always some gamble, but they don't need the after party games the other people throw. Instead, they take and wrench them into their own. His eyes fall down to the hint of that smile because for once, every muscle necessary to form it can be seen in full. )
But let me think... For starters, it would be a lot easier to kiss you, if you keep your mask off.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
TFLN too close to captcha, hope you don't mind
The kids can just be let free. Hell, with what she knows of Arlecchino's House of the Hearth? Nefer wouldn't even mind them finding a home there. She has no plans to take any in herself, but she also refuses to let them be sold off when she's already in the are doing business.]
I can't deny there's an allure to the thought of seeing you in action with my own eyes. Rumors rarely do the real thing justice.
that's perfect!
( Besides, he happens to have access to exceptionally viable poisons. Hopefully he doesn't end up running into the Knave, and terrible as the Fontaine trading rings are, Pantalone has learned to look the other way long ago.
He's interested in whoever is in charge, not so much playing hero. )
So, who are you so eager to kill?
no subject
[While the pawns take care of the goods, Nefer will make that the job is done. There are people she likes keeping alive to watch and keep tabs on how their punishment makes them suffer, but others? Some pieces just need to be taken off the board.]
Because of that I'll be wearing disguise. You're welcome to one as well.
no subject
( He sighs, smoking away his cigarette while he still contemplates everything. )
Well, Miss Nefer. Have you prepared lodging for us, or shall I accommodate you at the Northland Bank?
( All branches have housing for Fatui use, after all. )
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[A potentially risky move on her part, but it has its advantages. Her disguise having connections with the Northland Bank would further increase the smoke veil around identity and motive. She would have to conduct herself carefully in such a space, but it's not a game she's unfamiliar with.]
How exciting. I may even have some fun.
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Besides, Pantalone has unsavory experiences as far as traveling goes. He would rather stay in the comfort of what he considers home rather than a hotel with faulty security. )
You let me stay at your place. Consider us even for now, but don't be getting ahead of yourself. There are no secrets there for you to exploit.
sorry work kicked my ass this week
["So other types of fun may be part of the requirement," is left unsaid. Though perhaps his fun will be less from the party and more using this opportunity to simply tag along and watch how she works.
Though even if he warns the staff to keep their mouth shut... some people just can't help running their mouth. And the people inside the building aren't the only ones she'll be listening for.]
Have any requests for what you'd like to see?
[Another question mostly made in jest. She wouldn't base her disguise wholly on his preferences even if he were to give them — which she doesn't expect he will.]
no worries!
( He can hold his liquor well, too. Besides, in the realm of underground crime, he might even have them beat. )
Haha. Well...
( She's fishing and he knows it, and if they're going to be working like this then he might as well throw her a bone. )
Perhaps a shade of red, the kind that makes enemies realize it could be their blood on you.
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[Blood on snow. Wine on a ceremonial dress. Something soft and pure suddenly marred either by something fresh, fleeting and vibrant — or dark, deep, and permanent. It's a striking combination, but not the most original. Accenting the ensemble with gold and the masquerade theme should be enough to make her fit right in.
After all, most attendants will be some level of ostentatiously gaudy.]
I'll be in the area prior to the event. No need to host me for that long if you like your space.
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No. Meet me at the Northland Bank. We still have to make sure we're both on the same page regarding our agreement.
( Aka: A contract is waiting for her. )
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switching to action ok?
The contract rests under gloved fingertips and a smile. He's not disguised yet, that's too much remarkable effort for now, but he's not wearing his typical Fatui get up either. A mere jacket with his usual turtle neck is more than enough for this weather. It's not like people here are familiar with his face, and those who have met him have long been taken by the flow of time. He fits in as a nobleman with equal manners and presentation, stepping into the lobby whenever he hears the doors open. )
Miss Mehen.
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When Navia arrives at the Northland Bank, she's dressed in a long, navy blue coat edged with golden embroidery and lined with white fur. Her face is flushed, cheeks chapped from the glacial winds, and even with her mitts and her scarf and every accessory meant to insulate her against the cold, she's still shivering even as a bank clerk escorts her into the plush waiting room attached to Pantalone's private office.
Setting down a bag topped with a blue ribbon, she bundles herself up in an armchair near a lit brazier, peeling her hands out of her gloves and holding them up to the fire to warm them. The Regrator hadn't been joking when he'd said to dress warmly, but the cold in Snezhnaya is honestly unlike even the bitterest of Fontainian winters, where the warm wind blowing up from the vast desert in Sumeru has a way of keeping things temperate all year long.
This is how he'll find her, heated palms pressed to her face to bring some feeling back to the exposed skin, but she hops to her feet when she hears his door open. ]
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Most important calls have already been executed and translated into easy statements with fine ink. Everything awaits Navia on his desk so she can review freely, procured to satisfy any expert set of eyes. At the end of the day, she is the boss, and so he holds her to such regard. It's in this regard which holds his smile whenever he opens the door to finally rescue her from having to wait a second longer. )
I must apologize for keeping you waiting, Miss Navia.
( He tilts his head, closed eyes lifting even more as his smile thaws his cheeks. The squinting is enough to gather the brightness and warmth she carries from Fontaine. )
Oh, good, you didn't underestimate the weather. Most people would, heh. We get brave tourists sometimes who often end up in the hospital... Come in.
( He keeps the door opened for her, allowing the proper space for her. The radiator inside his office is turned higher to keep guests comfortable. Even so, he carries with him an undeniable identity of expensive leathers and cigarettes. Anybody who has ever been in the mighty presence of Neuvillette may cower before him and yet Pantalone appears to be taller. He goes around the large desk so he can sit on more leathery cushions, fingers bridged and smile forward. )
Everything you need is on the paperwork. I'll need your signature after you review them. The rest is a matter of our creative touch. The building capacity is about 500 people and being on the main street will grant any of your personal friends the best views of our city. You'll have to judge that for yourself, though.
@unus_verus_deus
( Pantalone may not own a vision to call upon and yet the manner of his ire could easily bring down the temperature of a room to chilling success. His subordinates understand the gravity of their mistakes the second they learn his cryptic smiles, or shift in tone and normally this tends to be the last time they ever get to deal with him. His irises nearly blend into those damaged corneas, glazed almost, like he's half touched by the gates of death.
His cheeks tug with feigned humor. Perhaps Dottore likes the feeling of flying close to the sun to a point where his body can't tell the difference between burning or freezing. To defeat Pantalone when it comes to semantics is one game, but to pull a dirty card like Pulcinella in his presence immediately puts his nerves to the test. )
I already know you're on speaking terms with him. You have to be, and that is a fact I can live with. You and I both need certain resources, do we not? You know full well what you're doing because you also do whatever you like.
( ...Is it worth it? Difficult to tell whether this is just Dottore's way of foreplay, turning a fuse that makes Pantalone's blood boil. Pantalone glances down at his hands, adjusting his rings with a soft laugh acting as another layer to his veil. )
Are you truly sitting here assuming that such a contract doesn't come with prerequisites to bed one another on that first night? You're being so painfully banal, Zandik.
It's disappointing.
( Translation: Infuriating. )
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He found teetering on the precipice of his own demise to be a riveting experience when up against someone whom he considered to be his intellectual equal and a worthy adversary. That being said; none of that meant that he would abstain from playing dirty on a whim simply because he could.)
Funding and specified resources are crucial in furthering my research, yes. Even if the process of obtaining either often proves to be quite the pestiferous chore.
Everyone seems to be on well-enough terms with him; other than you. But that's okay. I'll still show my face in your presence. Even if you are being vexatious.
Oh? And what exactly is it that I am doing?
(Adoration and hatred were polarizing emotions held within the same capacity. To Dottore; the latter was much more intriguing to provoke.
The smirk that had been gracing his features for the better part of their conversation faltered. To the majority of people; the comments Dottore had been making would appear to be objectively worse than what Pantalone has been stating. But neither of them would ever dwell anywhere near that conglomeration of simple minds.
Dottore knew how to get under Pantalone's skin, yes. But the same could be said for the reverse. He had been so focused on pushing as many buttons as he could at once that he failed to see the errors he had made until after it was too late. The fact that one answer encompassed both options had completely alluded him.
The way Pantalone spoke his name in that moment felt like someone was pouring molten acid into his ear canals.)
That's.. I'm not... I mean....
(Realizing he was getting nowhere; he froze mid-sentence. He had no idea how to respond when Pantalone's point was logically sound.)
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He doesn't believe for a second that Pierro misses his meetings with him. That man may not know the extent of what's going on, but he sure as hell is aware of the personalities he recruited. Emotions are useless in this game. )
And Pierro wouldn't have approved of some projects, so I still have the upper hand and you still need me.
( He adds on, casually, fatally, like enjoys twisting the blade through that unconscionable heart. The glaze left behind by that surgery flickers like he's enthralled by the sudden show of pain between his stuttering. In the end, he's still Zandik. He'll always be, but Pantalone respects his choice of identity for the time being. He plays along with it, he might even give him the pleasure of moaning it. The truth and matter is, that when his mask falls, the truth comes out. He'll strip his identity, he'll put it on full display and humiliate it if Dottore pushes him so.
He smiles. )
I don't know, Zandik, what are you doing? You tell me.
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When it came down to matters regarding himself and Pierro; allowing Pantalone to assume he was right was the least volatile solution. He thrived in chaos, yes. But that wasn't a discussion he wished to continue further at the moment.
Dottore weighed his options and considered his next move carefully. How far was too far? Did such a limit exist for himself? He knew the words that could swing the conversation back into his favor. But at what cost? And was it worth it at the risk of extinguishing the only fire that made him feel alive?
His mind was spiraling. He could go off the deep-end and regain control of the discussion. But would that be considered giving up control of himself?
He was hesitating; something he rarely did, and he hated it. Loathed himself for what he considered to be a moment of weakness.
Was there even a way for him to win at this point?)
So what if I still need you? It's not like you would deny me. No point in over complicating matters when you became the easy solution.
(He adjusts his mask. He doesn't always keep it on in private; but he didn't trust his face to not say the words his mouth withheld.
A good question. What was he doing?
What is one to say when the truth is far too pathetic?
His jaw is tight when he speaks again. Tone clipped, even, clinical.)
I miscalculated. I don't think anything else needs to be said on the matter.
(Stubborn. Even with nothing but scorched earth remaining beneath his feet, logic demanding that he reassess and do damage control from afar; his pride holds him steadfast.)
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( This throbbing, living shell of a human has been cheating death all this time. Pantalone should have died multiple times over and perhaps it is this ridiculous amount of extra time the very thing that has allowed him to come to some semblance of peaceful terms with his future. It's true that he's not ready to die yet, but what good would it do fighting an impossible force like Dottore once he makes up his mind? )
Yes, I'm sure you would, actually. You wouldn't flinch at the idea of cutting me open one last time. I'd even argue that it's better than sex, isn't it? Haha.
( Pantalone's gaze is cutting, he can tell the way that jaw tenses. Arguments with Dottore are either compelling or nerve busting, sometimes both but he can't deny that this man is the single best thing that he has come across. Pantalone stands up and adjusts the cuffs on his jacket, the buttons, his rings, before walking over to plop next to him. )
A miscalculation, is it...
I'll let it go if you take off your mask for me.
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(Not the exact words; but damn close enough. His potential death and dependence on Dottore was the singular card he was trying to keep off of the table that night. It wasn't a new revelation to either of them. It was a set-in-stone fact that had been as such for the past several hundred years. If that snippet of information was the only crutch left to keep himself standing at that moment; then he would rather fall. He couldn't find a logical reason to restate the obvious.)
Killing you would be arbitrary when I could force you to remain alive solely because that's what I desired.
Why should I settle for one last time when I am capable of flaying you wide open for my personal amusement over, and over, and over again?
Better is not that right term to use in this context. One act appeases the flesh while the other satiates the mind. But conjugating the two acts into one could prove to be absolutely enrapturing.
(Dottore knew better than to become too entangled by his own words; no matter how enthralling of a picture they were currently composing in his head. He had already made the mistake of being imprisoned by his own mind a few times that evening and he was still recovering the collateral.
Pantalone was the singular person he viewed as being his true equal. It infuriated Dottore to no-end how one man managed to gain the ability to nearly lobotomize him with his words alone.
He sat idly; attempting to feign disinterest. But it was of no use. Despite knowing that every single movement the other was making was with purpose. Practiced, perfected, meant to distract, intimidate, or draw attention away from anywhere other than where he wanted it to be. Dottore still fell victim to the tactics when Pantalone was involved.
His endeavor to remain un-phased when he sat next to him was feeble at best.)
No. The mask stays. (You've already seen too much.)
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( Pantalone goes back to fiddling with his rings, more amused than one should be after listening to Dottore's insanity dive head first into narcissism. The threat of getting tied up on a table and dissected over and over is not a new concept. Unless Dottore wants to torture Pantalone for the rest of his life, becoming his walking experiment is a fate he can at least live with. It's more merciful than that of living under the gaze of gods.
The same insane look living inside Dottore's mask is staring back at him, in Pantalone's. )
So what you're saying is, I can reject you.
( Just like Zandik rejected him. Every single molecule in his body, abandoned since the moment of conception, fated to be left behind to rot in the world. A leg crosses over another and his body relaxes, his brand new lungs fill with air before leaving a sigh to the silent room. )
And if I stand up and walk towards the inevitable product of time, as a punishment I get to have your hands on me for eternity? Forced alive just so your greed consumes me over and over? Sounds like a deal to me, haha, but that was to be expected of you.
Your greed is predictable, Dottore.
( He angles himself to better face him, denting the cushion between them under their combined weight, and thighs sharing body heat. This way, he has the best view when he grabs his whole jaw with one hand. The one full of rings. They shine so well in contrast with his gloves and Dottore's eternal skin. His thumb caresses his cheek, sliding up the shadow of his mask. )
Perhaps I didn't make myself clear.
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Would rejecting me truly make you feel better or bring you any closer to where you want to be, Feofan?
(Dottore knew that between them; they could go back and forth for hours, if not longer. And get absolutely no where until one of them either gave in completely; or found a way to deviate from their path of circular chaos.)
You would willing place yourself on the precipice of death and subject yourself to eternal torture just to have my hands on you? I didn't realize you were so desperate for my touch.
My greed is only parallel to your own.
(He visually tracked his movements with omnibus precision; but otherwise remained motionless. Their joint proximity and shared heat was of comfort; but he was not going to let such simple gestures cloud his perception. Despite the constricting pressure and the way that the metal of the rings was biting into his skin; he only allotted himself three seconds to bask in the sensations before acting. With his opposite hand, he gripped onto the wrist of the hand holding his face. He wasted no time digging the tip of his thumb into the center of the vertical set of tendons.)
And you said I was the predictable one.
You made yourself quite clear.
You stated that you would let it go if I took off my mask for you.
I want to know two things. Why do you wish for me to remove it? And what does the outcome of you not letting it go entail?
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This Dottore, though a fragment of what he used to be, still carries the cadence he once came to admire and yearn. Although his hand tenses around that jawbone, he won't betray his privacy or forcefully remove the mask. )
I'm exactly where I want to be.
( He says without truly answering, classic, lethal, and confident. Living this long life with someone who understands him is everything anybody could ask for. Dottore is difficult, if not even more broken than he is. Literally, he's a mere Segment.
The pressure point between his tendons forces his fingers to loosen, and it's reasonably uncomfortable but he doesn't flinch. Instead, his eyes remain settled on his mask, as if he could look into his eyes. )
Why, I thought you were familiar with my greed, Dottore. I wanted to see your face entirely as you stumbled on your words. I rarely get such a treat.
( He twists his wrist around to break away from the pressure, doing so with a smile. )
Hm, if I don't let it go... Let me think... they call it karma, I believe. Think of it like another form of debt.
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Decimate the physical form of self and disperse the remnants across multiple beings and one will no longer have to worry about being seen, judged, or destroyed. Because no one would ever have all of the pieces of the puzzle laid bare in front of them. That which has already been shattered cannot be broken again.
Or so; that was his original thought process. What he didn't account for was the possibility of someone sticking around for hundreds of years and learning exactly how each jagged edge fit together as one. And then after finally seeing the full picture; still choosing to remain by his side.
On paper; it was he who saved Pantalone. Although never out-loud; Dottore sometimes swears it was the other way around.
That mutual exchange of respect and privacy was the reason Pantalone was able to get anywhere near him physically in the first place. And knowing that he would never cross the line is exactly why he was okay with allowing him to do it.)
Familiar with your greed, yes. Though I am not opposed to becoming better acquainted with it. Unless, of course, that too would lead me further into debt with you.
(Dottore caught his wrist once more before he could fully pull away. Gently, this time. He guided it back to rest against his jaw.)
Go ahead. Do it.
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Could one say that getting this far is the same experience as taming a wild, scared beast? The one that fears the hand that feeds because it's too used to being followed up with punches? As much as Dottore hides between clinical snark and circles of philosophy, Pantalone has found that navigating his trauma requires using a mirror. A sense of comfort that Dottore can rely on. The same ugliness, the same pain.
Pantalone never lets go of grudges, even if he says he does. Even if he forgives, for everyone else these are just lies that he can later manufacture as IOUs. With Dottore, however, after a stupid game, he has no reason to dangle an argument over his head. Perhaps the real trap was to threaten him with it, not the reality itself. )
Good. Amazing, even.
( He smiles, and his shoulders even relax as his hand is guided back against the warmth of his jaw. )
I believe I shouldn't have to warn you that my greed will find ways to haunt you. Even when you're not asking for it.
( He slowly pushes up against the edge of the mask, cautious, as if he's giving him the chance to regret his decisions. Though internally, he only hopes to keep on seeing skin revealing itself from the shadow. His nose, the bridge of it, both cheekbones, and then his eyes. A firm mark is left behind on his forehead. He puts it on the coffee table delicately, as if Pantalone knows to treat it like another body part. )
It's been a while....You know, since you want to become better acquainted with my greed, perhaps I should demand you to roam like this for me more often.
Heh.
( He glances at him as if he already knows the answer, but he can't help himself. He is greedy. Perhaps saving Dottore means to remind him who he truly is, even if it means corralling his lost emotions until he has no option left but to face them. )
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That fear was addicting. It was the one thing he couldn't experience on his own.)
When I'm not asking for it is when I'll be looking forward to it the most. It's how I'll know you are acting solely because you want to. Completely unbridled from my influence or demands.
(Who was truly more selfish between the two of them is a question that will never have an answer. How greedy must a man be to crave everything another person has to offer; that person's own greed included. To own someone in their entirety was to welcome every dark, depraved, and sinister thought that they had and to not stop demanding more until it was impossible to determine where one's existence ended and the others began.
He kept his eyes closed as felt the mask being slipped from his face was a reverence he thought of as being far too gentle for someone like himself. It wasn't until he heard him speak again that he finally opened his eyes and looked up.)
More often; but still only within your presence alone, yes? A curious thought. Though, if I was to do that, what would stop me from roaming too far? Who's to say that I wouldn't stray from your sight? Perhaps even wander out to where the others all gather?
(His expression remains neutral as their eyes finally meet. Dottore would far sooner stand in the nude in front of people rather than show them his full face. To him, a person's eyes are a window to their soul. They are honest without choice; where-as one's mouth can freely spew whatever sort of nonsense it wishes.
He knows exactly what he is doing by merely teasing the threat of allowing others to see him in a way that has always been reserved strictly for Pantalone.)
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Even when his eyes remain closed momentarily, he can still see the way those eyelids show signs of life. Small nerves keeping them shut and looking so vulnerable. He tilts his head a little, feeling a smile creep until their gazes finally meet. As close as they are, as similar as they are, Pantalone still feels like they could slip away from each other without a moment's notice.
The others have surely met the other Segments at some point. The youngest Segments show themselves but this one is different. He's the one he feels closest to ever since he met him all those years ago. He lets out a soft laugh, pitying himself. )
You wouldn't do that in a million years.
( He shifts so their sides press tighter together. It's a smooth opportunity to lace his arm around his shoulders, leaving it to rest there. )
Heh, first off, that would make me furious and second: it would be like you're rewarding the people who detest you with the experience of a reasonably real side of you. There's no reason why you should give them that privilege for free.
( Even now, Pantalone still gave up his own vulnerability in exchange for Dottore's gaze. The truth of that jealousy would eat him alive and then wage war on him if Dottore did share something so sacred with the others. This kind of honesty is more valuable than mora. )
So keep the mask off, yes? I want to indulge.
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The shift in posture and proximity renders him momentarily rigid out of instinct. Much akin to manually imputing data; he has to remind himself that this is okay and was essentially what he had agreed to by allowing the situation to progress in the manner which it has. They needed this. He wanted this. Even though his own self-hatred flourished over the thought of him indulging in behavior that was so distinctively human. A few moments later; he physically relaxed and leaned back against the cushions. Accepting his affection without comment or further reaction.
They both knew that Dottore would never show his face publicly. Especially not amongst the ranks of their fellow harbingers. Though the idea of experiencing Pantalone's jealousy induced wrath at that caliber was an enthralling temptation. But just because they both knew the truth; it didn't mean that taunting him with the idea was any less entertaining.)
Everything comes at a price, does it not? Who's to say that it wouldn't be worth it if it meant evoking such a rapacious reaction from you?
(The ghost of a smile flickered across his face. Most people would tease others with playful jabs or harmless jokes. Dottore preferred to tease with declarations of war or threats of a nuclear magnitude. Especially during times like this when he felt the most vulnerable and exposed.
No matter what he said; he would never even consider sharing a moment like this with anyone else. Nor could he tolerate the notion of Pantalone doing the same with anyone other than himself; his other segments included.)
Keep the mask off hmm? And what's in it for me if I agree to such a acquisitive request?
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( His smile lightens the words with an air of humor, despite the real threat beckoning to be released from deep in his heart. After a second or two of feeling Dottore's shoulders ease against the couch, so too does Pantalone's smile.
Surely, there are many people in the crowds of the city who wonder what kind of lives Harbingers live. For such people, Pantalone is an impossible reach. In their eyes, he's no longer a person they can simply talk to, but the system that makes the entire country tick like a clockwork.
Yet even he is partial to the touch of another and the warmth of a body. Crowding Dottore like this is always some gamble, but they don't need the after party games the other people throw. Instead, they take and wrench them into their own. His eyes fall down to the hint of that smile because for once, every muscle necessary to form it can be seen in full. )
But let me think... For starters, it would be a lot easier to kiss you, if you keep your mask off.