manipulator | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ scaramouche's ego is too ironclad to be threatened by wearing a wig or a dress, as frilly as it may be. he is the best of the harbingers at putting on an act, and an old pervert won't think to hide much information from an innocent young girl.

why the tsaritsa assigned childe along with him, he doesn't know. perhaps as a red herring, a bad actor and an obvious spy who can be sacrificed when necessary, which brings him enough comfort to keep from complaining.

the master of the house will be returning later in the day but they've already been assigned their duties. scaramouche arrived earlier than expected to snoop around and prepare his troublesome outfit. he's managed to squeeze into the tight dress and slip on the thigh highs and high heels by the time he hears the door open.

he and childe were assigned the servants' quarters nearest the master bedroom with little else beyond two worn cots and a dresser already stocked with their uniforms. scaramouche is brushing through his long, straight wig and doesn't spare a glance to childe.

the only acknowledgement he gives is to turn his back, dress unzipped and sleeves falling down his shoulders. ]

You. Zip me up.

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[ while this type of work is hardly his favorite, there's enough of a promise of excitement if things do happen to go sideways. childe doesn't mind imagining the many ways they can cover up any incident. despite his interest in doing things the bloody way, he wouldn't dare misstep intentionally.

he understands his role in this assignment perfectly. while he can attest that scaramouche is a disturbingly good actor, childe is there to eat up attention. to be the walking, talking, charming distraction for their dirty little spy. he's meant to talk too much, to ask too many questions, and otherwise draw attention while scaramouche does the dirty work. hardly a thrilling task, but childe makes a fashionable arrival. despite not yet being dressed in a servant's attire, he's dressed down for just this occasion, but it'll be nothing compared to his comrade's.

oh, and how enjoyable it should be to see the balladeer slip into maid's dress. it's a sight he never dreamed he'd see. when childe opens the door, it's to find the other harbinger already dressed. what a surprising sight. one surprising enough, he stalls in the doorway for a moment.

scaramouche wears it without a single iota of his pride fazed by the absurdity of it.

how utterly unsurprising.

he closes the door behind him with a solid click, stepping inside their pitiful room, his amusement perking when scaramouche turns. it should be a shame how good he looks like this, easily passable as a cute maid, small milky shoulders peeking out as the dress slips, if only childe didn't know better.]

Right away, my lady, [ he says with his very best manners, falling into character if you didn't count the amused smile. he crosses the room in a few long strides that bring him to scaramouche's back. he takes care to brush his hair out of the way before his fingers catch the zipper to begin to slide it up. ] I wonder, isn't it unseemly for us to be sharing a room? What wonderfully upstanding morals they must think I have.

[ the only bothersome aspect of this job is having to interact with childe. he finds it rather fun to play around with people, even if it means subjecting himself to a pervert's wandering hands, so long as he can end the game however he pleases.

but there's no point to a game with childe when, technically, killing him would be a bad idea. it doesn't help that he has a special talent for getting under scaramouche's skin even with the most benign comments.

he grits his teeth at the nickname and has to keep himself from recoiling as he feels childe's hand brush his hair away, the barest hint of knuckles against the skin of his back. with a testy sigh, he reaches back to swat childe's hand away once the zipper is reachable and he can finish the job himself. ]

I can't tell if you're naïve or just stupid. They don't care about our morals. [ he says the word like it's a ridiculous concept on its own. ] Have you never had your own servants? They're worth less than livestock. At least the animals are kept in separate pens. They want us to know that we're on the same level as furniture, shoved out of sight.

[ if it's all about powerplay, scaramouche ordering childe around as soon as he walks in isn't a coincidence. even in this situation, he needs control over someone. when he turns around, it's as natural as if he were wearing his normal attire. hand on his hip, chin up, looking at childe impatiently like he's annoyed he'll have to wait through him changing too. ] Point is: if you knock me up, at least they'll get another worker out of it.

[ unlike scaramouche, the powerplay between them is fun for childe. contrary to his unwilling partner in crime, he doesn’t care who ends up on top, would gladly let scaramouche enjoy that privilege. in the end, it didn’t matter. what matters to childe is who ends up on top in a fight. that’s his favorite part. this, though? is a fun way to pass the time.

he chuckles when his hand is batted away, as if scaramouche can’t begin to tolerate the hand on his zipper a moment more. he lets the balladeer do as he wants, watching with unabashed amusement. it’d be easy to argue good servants were worth plenty, but the two of them weren’t carefully selected and bred for servitude. lucky for them it was so easy to infiltrate.

as easy as trussing scaramouche up in a pretty dress. and he does look pretty in the dress, so fitting for the role of a cute girl to tempt a perverted lord. who knew scaramouche could fit so well into a maid’s dress? it’s a shame it does nothing to curb the mouth that scaramouche has on him. ]

Unfortunate for them that you don’t have the correct anatomy for that. [ the suggestion is absurd, absurd enough that childe’s smile stays curled into place. scaramouche is tempting and childe in enamored by how he’d undoubtedly try to cut childe’s fingers off if he laid an unwanted hand on him. it’s tempting.

he hums, gaze drifting one last time over the strange sight of scaramouche in a maid’s outfit, before he turns to collect the uniform he should likely already be in. he strips quickly, uncaring if scaramouche stares or not. he talks as he changes, amusement still audible in his voice, ] I suppose that won’t keep our lord from trying his hand at it, don’t you think?

[ scaramouche could look away and allow childe some privacy, but that would imply he has any level of respect for him. it's obvious that childe doesn't care either way, which also somehow manages to irritate scaramouche and make his gaze that much more intense.

it's only a pity that childe isn't particularly bad on the eyes. a terrible waste of a handsome face that scaramouche would like to see twisted in agony instead of that cocky smirk. his body makes for a decent enough show and scaramouche doesn't bother to hide that he's scanning him.

it's his mouth that's worthless, though just this once scaramouche is glad he'd been listening. a slow, sweet smile spreads across his face, an unassuming look that doesn't quite fit with his domineering posture. ] Oh, are you concerned for my honor? [ he smooths his hand down the skirt of the uniform, shifting enough to let it twirl a bit in place. ] I just can't imagine what the lord of an estate with a uniform that requires a garter belt might want.

[ he pushes the skirt up one thigh to show the strap attached to his thigh highs, like it's necessary to prove the point. ] But the only thing a new maid can provide is the thrill of a cat-and-mouse game. I give it three days before he snaps, which is more than enough time on my end. Unless you think I should turn the game around on him?

[ obviously scaramouche doesn't care about childe's opinion, but it's all about seeing what gets him a reaction. ]

[ it’s something of a byproduct that his body is in an appealing condition — it wasn’t his primary concern. he’s in prime condition for battle, body conditioned for the strength and agility it allows him in combat. that doesn’t mean he’s ignorantly unaware that he’s good looking. least of all now when he strips off his shirt, dropping the garment onto the bed, and scaramouche’s gaze is glued to him. no, no — he likes that.

the sugary sweet smile on scaramouche’s face is dangerous and childe loves it. he is thrilled by how utterly harmless scaramouche can look. he looks every bit pretty in this get up, not at all like he could kill every single person here without breaking a sweat. sometimes, as annoying as scaramouche can be, childe can’t help but admire him.

his head tips to the side, brows lifting at the mention of a garter belt, but really, he shouldn’t be surprised. ]

Typical dirty old man. You’re gonna be such a tease wearing this so cute and obedient for him, [ childe reaches forward, hooking a finger under the garter belt to pull it up, letting the elastic snap back against scaramouche’s pretty pale thigh with a smirk. ] He should be terrified.

[ his expression quickly shrivels, nose scrunching in distaste at childe daring to call him a tease. as if scaramouche needs to do anything in particular to get someone's hands on him—which childe kindly demonstrates for him.

before childe can pull his hand away, quick as lightning, scaramouche wraps dainty fingers around his wrist. he holds childe there against the warmth of his thigh, even guides him temptingly further up beneath his dress. ]

Speaking of. [ without warning, his grip tightens with inhuman strength and he wrenches childe's hand away from his body. he looks at childe the way he looks at the fatui grunts, impassive and haughty. ] Did I give you permission to touch me, dog?

[ suitably for undercover missions, scaramouche doesn't need a vision. even without one, electro flows from his fingertips, intending to send a warning shockwave through childe's entire body. ]

[ as much as he lusts for a good fight, lives for the thrill of combat, it sometimes translates into appreciation of skill. scaramouche, for example, is quite good at some of the things he does. crabby and holier than thou and all around the least favorite if their subordinates were polled. scaramouche grabbing his hand and guiding it back to his thigh, pressing it up higher until childe’s long fingers disappear under the dress completely — childe can appreciate. scaramouche has flawless, porcelain skin, a stark contrast to the dress.

and when his hand is crushed painfully and wretched away, childe’s reactions are tame. more exaggerated than genuine, as childe shakes the ache out of his hand and grimaces with a smile that is wholly meant to be disarming. particularly when he hears the thrum of electricity crackling in the air.

scaramouche is always fun to play with, because he sets off so easily, but this isn’t the time or place for any actual combat. another time, childe would welcome the warm crack of electro against his skin. today, it doesn’t quite have room on the schedule. ]

Come on, you can’t react like that here or you’ll blow it, [ childe says, voice pleasant and edging towards placating. it’s a flimsy excuse, as if anything he’s done has anything to do with scaramouche’s acting. ] Maybe the Tsaritsa should have sent me to seduce him.

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