manipulator | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ 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.