What is mine, stays mine.

Purple Candy Wrapper

Scaramouche wasn't well-liked within his colleagues, and never would be. This was due to his attitude and the fact that he could never keep his mouth shut. Even so, the Inazuman was a truly cunning individual just like most of the Fatui harbingers.

Yes, most.

There was a harbinger, younger than all of them, code name Childe. Such an idiot, such a brute he was. A fucked up creation for the Tsaritsa herself, a living weapon... Tartaglia, a weirdo who got off from the thrill of the battle, from the scars all over his tender body.

Scaramouche hated Childe with a burning passion. With an annoyingly bright smile, Childe would speak on and on about his newest battle and how he has gotten even stronger now. His blue eyes that one could mistake for a hydro vision always shimmered with a dangerous yet mischievous glint whenever he was ordered to fight. How annoying.

Scaramouche himself got excited from a little violence as well, there was no point denying it but Childe was truly someone much more fucked up.

Scaramouche remembered their first meeting vividly, unfortunately enough.

After her majesty Tsaritsa had formally assigned Childe as the eleventh of the eleven harbingers, rumours had started to spiral in an almost unstoppable manner.

Scaramouche was essentially not interested in the newest harbinger, but the rumours did get his attention.

"He is so young, a teenager perhaps? Hard to believe he really is a harbinger."

"I heard Childe mastered all sorts of fighting styles and weapons, he apparently has a lot of records!"

"I heard that he could wipe out entire armies on his own, no wonder her majesty Tsaritsa took interest in him."

Scaramouche remembered staring at the young ginger from afar, seeing the awkwardness seep off of him. How pathetic. Then again, it would take some time for anyone to adjust to such a competitive and harsh environment. Not that any of the harbingers were merciful enough to give the young man that time.

Scaramouche had just gazed at the young man from behind a pillar, inspecting him from head to toe with a condescending look on his face.

He soon enough decided that Childe was not worth spending his precious time on, and had just turned his back to leave but-

He was suddenly startled by a hand on his shoulder. If it wasn't for the fact that Scaramouche held his emotions back much better than his tongue, he would have fried whoever this was into a crisp with shocks of electricity.

When he turned his back sharply, he was met with a blue gaze staring right at him with bright eyes.

Scaramouche was surprised, what did this newbie want from him and how the hell did he get over here so quickly?

Just as Scaramouche was about to break Childe's fingers for touching him without a warning, the younger boy started to speak with such a cheerful tone. A tone that no one had spoken to Scaramouche within so long.

Being so disliked by everyone that the rumours had spread to even the lowest ranks of the Fatui, Scaramouche dealt with a good amount of hatred and insults. It was very rare that someone spoke to him with such a cheerful tone, almost as if they were happy to see him or something...

His dumbfounded expression doesn't faze Childe in the slightest, this gives the eleventh harbinger more time to speak to Scaramouche than anyone else would have if they did the same thing.

Childe suddenly hands him candy with a purple wrapper, which only adds to the confusion the sixth harbinger feels.

"Ah, I didn't know we had such young members! I thought I was the youngest one, seeing a child here surprised me. I have younger siblings at home too and-" His voice is soft, cheery and... caring? Scaramouche doesn't really register what the ginger is saying at first, just focused on the pleasant expression and the nice tone.

That is until his dumbfounded state is shattered by Signora cackling.

Childe is then promptly cut off by a furious Scaramouche, he seemingly only now processed what Childe had said, pulling Childe down- no. Actually, yanking Childe down by his collar.

"What did you just say? Repeat that, I dare you." A glare is so cold it may just compete with her majesty Tsaritsa and a voice so venomous that Childe felt his insides melt with acid... Truly, Scaramouche might as well be one of the scariest harbingers. "Who is the child now, Childe?" He speaks in a very condescending and cold tone that could send shivers down anyone's spine.

Scaramouche had yanked Childe down, there was previously a much different height difference, and their eyes met. Yet there was one crucial detail in the picture. Somehow, Scaramouche was much taller than Childe now.

It was something Scaramouche did often, dragging people below him for a sense of superiority and the intimidation factor. He did get teased for his height by other harbingers quite often, much to his annoyance.

Before Childe could speak up, Scaramouche continues being a mockery of the hydro vision bearer. "Now, Childe, you can either get on your knees and apologise for being such a brat or we can take this to a sparring match and I can break every bone in your body." Scaramouche basically spits out. The air is static, Signora and the rest of the Fatui is watching the scene unfold, not one person daring to get in between. The tension only gets higher, people expect Childe to snap at Scaramouche or for him to burst into tears and beg for forgiveness.

But something unexpected happens.

"You'll fight me? Really?" Childe's eyes lit up, almost like a kid seeing the neatly wrapped presents under the Christmas tree. His tone is even more joyous than before as he clasps Scaramouche's hand tightly, thanking him profusely and trying to drag the sixth harbinger to somewhere they can fight more comfortably with impatience laced in his every move.

This was certainly not a reaction anyone was expecting, Scaramouche was even more confused and even more annoyed then before now.

Snatching his hand away, he glared at Childe with hatred blooming in his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you dimwit?" It is less of a question and more of an insult. Thankfully, the dense ginger finally catches on thanks to the growl Scaramouche lets out as he speaks.

After that, Childe had never spoken to him again with such a gentle tone and neither did anyone else. Not that Scaramouche cared, why would he? Scaramouche was never well-liked anyways.

Yet, as much as he hated to admit, he kept thinking back at it whenever he felt the purple wrapper in his pocket.

Scaramouche never lets anyone look at his belongings, and certainly not inside of his pockets. Tsaritsa herself would be the only person he would let go through his stuff, and she certainly doesn't care enough to do that.

The sixth harbinger himself doesn't know why he hasn't thrown away the candy wrapper yet. Thinking back on the memory and the stupid bright smile on Childe's face only made him annoyed, frustrated. He should just throw the wrapper away, as he can't throw Childe into the trash, sadly.

Scaramouche gets up from where he is sitting and walks towards the trash can. He stares at it for a few seconds and his hand hesitantly goes to his pocket. Touching the purple wrapper for Tsaritsa knows how many time this week, Scaramouche still has that weird feeling that arises within when he touches the piece of paper.

Scaramouche can't find it in himself to throw the purple candy wrapper to the trash bin today either, just like all the other days.