To Be A Harbinger

To Be A Harbinger, pt. 1

"This is fun and all, but you shouldn't be in here." Signora interrupted their idle banter to give Lucille a stern look. The Eighth harbinger glanced at her colleagues before focusing her attention back on the girl who had risen through the Fatui ranks in a matter of months.

"Oh come on, aren't we past this?" She threw her arms wide, looking a bit like a kid when she did. "Go ahead, ask Six. Or Three. Or Eleven. I'm one of you in all but name!"

"Taking a harbinger in bed isn't the same as taking one in battle, Little Flower." Pedrelino said casually.

Lucille blushed a bit at his statement, ignoring Scaramouche's gaze. She began to list the targeted areas. "Health, attack, defense, stamina, elemental control. Tell me, Pedrelino, where am I lacking?"

"I never said you were lacking, child. Just because you've topped the lower ranks with ease doesn't mean you're ready to take on the role of a harbinger." He sighed, looking to his colleagues for help.

Capitano leaned forward with a smile. "You have to pass the test the Tsaritsa sets out for you."

"Oh yeah? And what is it?" Lucille squared her shoulders.

"In order to become a harbinger, you have to beat one."

She frowned, glancing over at her friend. Tartaglia had an awkward smile on his face. "You see, in order to rise through the ranks so far, you've had to best your comrades in combat. To join the harbingers, its no different."

"Well, it can't be that easy." She said simply, earning a few raised eyebrows from the other harbingers. She rolled her eyes. "There's only eleven of you. There's got to be a catch somewhere."

"Go on, then, tell us." Pedrelino leaned forward and propped his chin on his hands.

Lucille raced through her brain. Of course they'd make her figure it out. The harbingers had to be smart after all. "I can't choose. If that was the case, everyone would square off with Dottore and call it a day, er, no offense, Doc."

Number One smiled. "And?"

"It..." she ran her eyes over the harbingers, marking their number and their abilities, "It has to be the last one. Tartaglia, in my case."

She didn't wait for confirmation before continuing. "That's why there's only eleven. No one in their right mind would want to fight him; he's insane."

Tartaglia winked, but Scaramouche cut off any comment he could have made. "I'm glad you see the situation clearly. I'll see you tomorrow for our mission, ma Fleur."

Lucille ignored him, turning her head to the side to adress her friend. "So, when do we fight, loverboy?"

Scaramouche frowned. "You don't."

"What?" She laughed slightly.

"He'll kill you." Scaramouche said casually, trying to push the emotion out of his voice.

"I'm sorry, are you forgetting how I saved your ass from that astrologist in Mondstadt of all places?" Lucille raised her eyebrows at him.

Scaramouche set his jaw. "I'm sorry, are you forgetting how I saved your ass from getting raped and sold by Treasure Hoarders of all people?"

Lucille let out a noise that sounded like she had been punched. She shook her head slightly, staring at Scaramouche with wide, hurt eyes. The other harbingers were deathly silent. Everyone saw her blink hard and heard her whisper, "Go to hell."

"Oh I'm counting on it." Scaramouche's sadistic laugh set her teeth on edge. She had known him for a year now, but something about him was different, static. The electricity animating from him truly proved his vision. "You however, still stand a chance. You're a healer, ma Fleur, not a fighter. You're not good for anything but patching wounds and stress relief. If you want my advice, you should cut your losses and go."

Lucille didn't know her eyes started watering, but now she was blinking furiously to keep them at bay. Of course he would do this, tear her down in front of the others, make them think she wasn't worth it. He was selfish like that.

"Oh I'll cut my losses alright. Tartaglia," she tore her eyes away from the balladeer, "When do we fight?"

Tartaglia glanced at Scaramouche, but there was little he could do. As the last harbinger, he couldn't turn her down. She wanted a fight to earn a title, and he couldn't refuse her, not on the grounds of office drama.

"A week from now. Monday, 4:00 am." He glanced at Scaramouche quickly, not moving anything but his eyes. He cleared his throat. "I'll cancel my fight with Lumine."

Pedrelino nodded, standing up from his chair at the table. "I'll inform the Tsaritsa."

"Thank you for your audience." Lucille faked a bow, pretending to show reverence to her superiors. She moved to round the table and leave.

His chair scraped the wooden floor as he stood up. It crashed behind him, earning the attention of the other harbingers. He was close enough to shade her under his hat. "You're going to regret this."

Lucille laughed, but there was no emotion behind it. It sounded hollow, and Scaramouche tensed. She finally smiled at him. It didn't reach her eyes. "No, I won't. You know why, I won't regret it, Scara? Hm? Because I'm going to fight Tartaglia on Monday, and either I'm going to die in the arena or you're finally going to have to speak to me with respect."

She pushed past him, and he grabbed her wrist. The two stood still for a moment. Scaramouche was acutely aware of his colleagues' gazes when he spoke in a lowered voice. "I've never asked anything of you, ma Fleur, but I'm asking you now; don't do this."

Lucille faltered for a moment, meeting his dark violet eyes. Suddenly she tore her wrist from his grip. "Find yourself a new partner for that mission. I've got work to do."