To Be A Harbinger

To Be A Harbinger, pt. 3

Her room was brand new, the enameled "12" on the door proved it. Some maids had brought her things over, and she had already unpacked. The room was huge, and she still felt like a foreigner in it. There was a knock on the door.

She rolled off the bed with a wince before opening it. She saw Tartaglia standing there with a dumb grin. "Hello, Harlequin."

"Tartaglia."

They nodded at each other before he scooped her up in his arms, stepping I got he room and twirling her in the air. "You wonderful, dumb genius."

"None of that makes any sense." She chuckled.

"I don't know how you did it, but that was amazing. No one has ever done anything like that before." He smiled again, both of the wincing as he set her down. "You know, you really took a lot out of me. Holding Foul Legacy for so long is hell on the body."

"Well, I never told you to summon a whale." She scoffed.

"And I never told you to try and dice me, but here we are." He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry." She grinned shyly.

"Oh save it." He scoffed. "Anyway, I've got to go see Pulcinella for some medicine-the bastard is practically making me beg for it-but I want a rematch. Don't worry, your title isn't at stake."

He winked as he left, and Lucille laughed, turning around to paw through some more boxes.

"So, Harlequin."

She turned to see Scaramouche leaning in her opened doorway. "What do you want?"

"To congratulate you, of course. You're a harbinger now. It's what you wanted." He shrugged, tracing the 12 on the open door.

"Don't give me that crap. You're angry." She sighed. "I don't know why. I survived. Hell, I even won."

"I'm angry, ma Fleur, because you sold your life away after I went through all that trouble to free you." He made a fist and hit it against the door, making her jump.

"Great, well if that's all, close the door on your way out." She turned around. That was her first mistake.

The door closed and she sighed in relief, rubbing her eyes. When she felt hands wrap around her wrists, it was too late. Scaramouche pulled them firmly behind her back. She struggled, but she was still too weak from her injuries to do much but squirm in his grasp. He held her wrists in one hand as he trailed his other down her side. When he found the place the sword had stabbed her, he pressed down firmly, making her gasp for air. She refused to scream. He wouldn't win that easily.

He pulled her backwards as he moved to the full length mirror. Finally, he made her face it. "You thought that becoming a harbinger would earn my respect? Are you really that naive?"

He didn't relent his pressure until the wound was torn open again, and Lucille was gasping in fear. He tightened his grip on her wrists. "Speak."

"What do you want?" She closed her eyes, trying to calm her heart down.

Scaramouche's bloody hand grabbed her chin to make her look at herself in the mirror. "What I wanted was you."

Lucille laughed bitterly. "Oh please, if you had wanted me, you could've had me."

"But then, so could Tartaglia, or Dottore, or any other harbinger who wanted a piece of you." Scaramouche snarled in her ear. "You were nothing but content to sleep your way up the ranks."

"I earned this position on my own!" She snapped, jerking her chin free of his hand. Unfortunately, it simply slipped down to her neck.

"Clearly." He pulled her back against him. "Tell me, are you so unaware of your own worth, you'd give yourself away to a couple of men who pretend to care about you? Because I can promise you they don't. Dottore can't find anyone stupid enough to let him string them up, and Tartaglia... well, he can't find anyone durable enough."