Dottolone/Panttore (Dottore x Pantalone)

Dishonesty

WARNING: If you are sensitive to stuffs like violence or mentions of torture, careful! ^^

In the heart of the Fatui headquarters, a grand and opulent chamber sparkled with the cold gleam of wealth. Pantalone, also known as Regrator, sat behind his desk, surrounded by ledgers and contracts, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the polished wood. Across from him stood Il Dottore, the eerie mask obscuring his eyes. Though there was no visible tension, the air between them was charged, like a thread pulled tight between two immovable forces.

"Your last set of experiments," Pantalone began, in his usual smooth tone, "was quite... resource-intensive. The figures here suggest we've exceeded the quarterly budget by a considerable margin." 

He slid the ledger toward Dottore, who glanced at it briefly, then returned his gaze to the financier.

Dottore's lips curled into a faint, unsettling smile beneath his mask. "You underestimate the value of time, Pantalone. Every experiment conducted, every second, brings us closer to what you and I both seek: power beyond mortality. The concept of 'return'—Dottore replied, his gloved fingers tapping lightly on the table. "Is irrelevant to the final goal."

Pantalone's smile didn't waver. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, carefully measuring his words. "Be that as it may, I manage the funds for the entire Fatui, not just your—shall we say—hobbies. We must remain efficient, Dottore. Don't you agree?"

Dottore chuckled, though there was no warmth in the sound. "Indeed. But I do wonder how one can place a price on knowledge that could surpass the gods themselves."

Pantalone's eyes narrowed slightly as he opened them, though his tone remained calm. "I understand the scope of your work, I truly do. However, unchecked expenses lead to diminished returns. The Tsaritsa expects balance—results that match the resources invested. So, until we see tangible progress on your... endeavors, I'm afraid I must suggest a reduction in your funding."

The room grew quieter, save for the faint ticking of a nearby clock. Dottore regarded Pantalone with a detached curiosity, as though observing a particularly interesting specimen.

"And what, exactly, do you consider 'tangible progress'?" Dottore's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "My work is not some trifling matter of coins and ledgers. It is the foundation upon which our entire mission stands." 

Pantalone leaned forward, his tone still charismatic. "Dottore, I am only suggesting that we manage our resources wisely. I have no doubt that with a more... careful allocation, you can still achieve wonders. Perhaps, with my help, I can secure you more—through other means. You know I have my ways."

Dottore's lips curled slightly.

"I am not one of your pawns, Regrator." Dottore's voice was low, but it carried an unmistakable edge, even with a bit of amusement. "Your gold and Mora may buy you power over many things, but it will not buy you power over me."

Pantalone's smile faltered for the briefest moment. He'd underestimated the edge in Dottore's words.

"I'm merely offering a solution—" Pantalone started, but Dottore cut him off, his tone growing colder.

"I care not for your solutions. You think yourself indispensable because you control the flow of money, but the moment you believe you control me, you've already lost. If I wanted to, I could break this entire operation apart."

A tense silence stretched between them before Pantalone finally spoke, a smile crossing his face.

"Very well... Dottore. I'll adjust the budget for now." 

Dottore smiled in return, only it was the kind that sent chills down others' spines. "We'll see."

Pantalone rose, giving a final, polite nod. The battle of wills had reached a temporary stalemate.

Pantalone found it interesting, Dottore's reaction to his lie. The truth was, any exceedation of funds would've been no issue to Pantalone--infact, he would gladly manipulate the whole economy if he ran short. He simply wanted the high ground over Dottore like the many others; Dottore was different in that regard--something he could admire. 

He watched the silhouette of the other harbinger as he left, hearing the precise footsteps and tall back of Dottore. A complex game, he was playing.