𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Scaramouche

𝘁𝘄𝗼

My dearest creation,

How do you fare these days? I hope you know that I sent you to the balladeer with the utmost respect for both you and him. I believe this experience will greatly enrich your knowledge of human nature, as you have so desperately and imprudently struggled to discover. To state that I am disappointed in his reports of your actions so far is an understatement– perhaps take this letter as a warning to watch yourself. Get too comfortable and he (or I) shall surely dispose of you. You were not made to have nor yearn for any pleasantries. Surely you realize that? I had hoped that after all the effort I had put into your upbringing, you would have the faintest idea of how to maneuver yourself (or is that too cruel of a phrasing?). As you know, I am only writing out of pure obligation. I could care less if you died, but I know that you rely on my words as if it was religious prayer, which is a jovial amusement to me. Anyways, I'll say this.

One more misbehavior and I'll send you to the chopping block. Obey whatever orders you are given without question.

–Dottore.

I stared at the letter with the utmost disgust. Jeez, I didn't realize Dottore was such a creep. I mean, I knew he was insane, but I wonder why he dotes on this girl so much. Even writing a letter was a sufficient step forward for that man. Normally he would force someone else to write it in his steed, but this was obviously his handwriting. Janky yet smooth cursive letters dipped in black ink adorned the rough page. Why would I show this to her?

She was sure to just have a panic attack if he were to do so, rendering her completely unable to perform any of the tasks that I required for her. She was already enough of an annoyance as is, so I was simply trying to get one extra difficulty off of my schedule. Folding up the letter, I shoved it into my desk drawer.

"Lord Scaramouche," an agent knocked on my door.

"What?" I raised my eyes to stare at the knob turning as a standard-looking agent stepped through the doorway. Most agents wore uniforms and covered most of their apparent features so they couldn't get tracked down– not that it particularly made much of a difference. For most missions, it was either kill the target or get killed yourself.

"You've been ordered to lead the forces on the battle taking place in Sal Terrae and Dragonspine."
I felt a bubble of annoyance in my chest. "Why? We have plenty of other higher-ups that could take the job for me."

"It's a direct order, I wasn't given the confidential information," the agent bowed apologetically to me, further adding to my irritation. He had a sense that the reason was far too complicated to be explained in a single sitting, anyways. It most definitely had something to do with that thing...

Dottore's 'creation.'

Scaramouche had gone to the office for the day, ordering me to tidy up some spare errands he had left behind. It wasn't particularly unusual for him to do, but I still found myself quite unamused with running around and checking reinforcements.