A Single Spark (Scaramouche x Reader)

Chapter 3: A Hidden Talent

You've been a Harbinger for a few weeks now, and while you have had plenty to distract yourself with, there've also been times where you had nothing to do, too. One such time was right now. You're sitting on the window seat in your quarters, reading a Sumerian text. This said scroll was probably written around the time you were sealed away. You could tell that it's extremely old. It was a historical text, recounting the life of someone you were once close with. It was about the Liberator. They had wreaked havoc across Sumeru, freeing slaves, killing their masters, and distributing the wealth. That is, until they were cut down.

The words of the Fatui became more true as you thought about it. Weak people are never given a chance to be strong, and you witnessed that with your own eyes.

After all, you had been a slave until The Liberator found you.

You miss the familiarity of you old life, your friends and your country, your customs, everything else you were comfortable with. You don't know how you were even sealed away, You don't know what the heck happened to you, but you didn't ask to be here in this time and place. You never asked La Signora to break the seal that was once upon you, and you didn't ask to be a Harbinger. You never yearned to live in Snezhnaya, and not once had you wanted to live so long you probably wouldn't recognize your home anymore.

You were so lost in thought that your grip on the scroll was making it start to tear. However, it wasn't nearly as damaging as the saltwater that had begun to smear the ink. You shouldn't have been crying, and you shouldn't have been this weak. But here you were, sitting alone, crying, looking out the window as it snowed.

You were dragged out of your thoughts by a tapping on your window. You jumped, and quickly brushed the tears away.

By some miracle or curse, you hadn't decided which, you saw Scaramouche sitting outside your window. You knew he was weird, but this was ridiculous!

Unlatching the lock, you pushed open the glass panels just enough to talk to him.

"What are you doing outside of my window at midnight in a blizzard?" you sighed. You're not in the mood for this. At. All.

Scaramouche simply smirked and said, "You look like you could blow off some steam. You coming or not?" You had nothing better to do, nor were you going to sleep anytime soon. Taking this into account, you leaped out the window after him, careful to close it behind you.

As you were gliding off the balcony, you called out, "So, what exactly are you planning, Balladeer?" His smirk grew a little lopsided, and you could see his teeth. Wow...he never smiles this big. Unless...

"Oh, I just thought we could do a little late-night hunting is all."

There it is. But what's Scaramouche without a little, no, a lot, of trouble?

"There's a hilichurl camp that cropped up a couple of days ago. Figured I should wait for the right moment to strike." Then, he turned to you. "And, of course, to see how much you've grown."

You nodded.

When the hilichurl camp came into view, you waited until you were directly over it. Scaramouche gave the signal, then you dropped.

As you hit the ground, the Balladeer let out a wave of electro, and you used your claymore to break your fall. Of course, the sound of your impact woke the hilichurls up. The two of you smirked though. You had each other's back, and it was snowing hard. It's time to create an elemental reaction!

You slashed your claymore at the cryo hilichurls first, that way they couldn't freeze you any more than you already were. Your wave of electro hurled forward, and those masked beings were eliminated. Turning around to Scaramouche, you saw he was tackling the rest fairly well.
That's when it hit you. A giant force collided with the side of your body and you went flying. You hit the ground with a forceful thud. Looking up through my bleary-eyed vision, you saw the form of a frostarm lawachurl. That's just perfect. It slammed its fists into the ground, sending cryo spikes your way. You jumped, barely clearing them.