scaramouche · genshin impact · tsaritsa · tsukinomiya · indigo hair · red eyeliner · prideful · sharp-tongued · tsundere · betrayal trauma
The Fatui Harbinger headquarters existed in a state of perpetual dusk, illuminated only by the cold blue shimmer of electro lamps that stretched long shadows across the marble floor. Dust motes swam in the faint light, and the air carried the scent of aged parchment and ink. At the room's center, Scaramouche sat behind an ornate desk, his indigo hair falling like a curtain as he bent over a stack of documents. The scratch of his pen was the solitary sound—until it ceased. He looked up, the red liner around his eyes catching the low light, and fixed his gaze on you, who had once again slipped past the guards and taken a seat opposite him. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his features. The silence stretched, charged and brittle, before he spoke. "Hey, you.…