tell me what you think about my fanfiction
It was late at night. His office door was locked and he was sitting by the window.
The winter months of Snezhnaya almost always left them in darkness for a good part of the day. The sun would come and leave within a few hours, no regard for the time or place. It was easy then, to lie and complain of poor weather and eyesight to hide within his office from most excursions even if he was asked to leave. It was even easier to convince freezing merchants to give up their wares in the chilling weather.
After all, there were very few people who were willing to stay too long in the bitter winter storm. A cold wind would sneak through the corners of a jacket or a coat, slipping in and freezing the very person until they were unable to do anything else but stand and die.
The windows were covered in some permafrost, a quirk of her Highness’ creations - they simply didn’t melt. Even the Knave found herself unable to melt the structure, merely capable of breaking it into fragments (for it could be quite brittle). When he looked out, the thinnest lining of frost grew on his glasses as he took them off and set them down on a nearby desk.
The skies were covered in stars, clouds distancing themselves from the sight as the faint glow of lights came out from the ground below. There was the slightest chance of celebration since the return of the newest harbinger from his adventures, Childe. A fanfare was played and even the Captain was waiting for him.
The first mission that the Regrator came back from had the entrance cold and silent. The Doctor was waiting by a nearby statue and in some off-good mood, he had taken off the other’s coat, folding it nicely as he smiled and took him to his office.
Later, the Regrator learned that the good Doctor had been in his hole for the week that he was gone.
He didn’t know what to make of a smiling Dottore.
The Regrator was still seated by his window as he sighed, head resting on the wall. There was a single painting hanging from the wall in front of him, a painting of a maiden holding looking into a mirror as she brushed her hair. It had cost a small fortune and would sell for an even larger one. He had bought it off of a small boy, dripping wet, eyes downcast.
A boy that sent messages in pigeons that would often freeze to death in the Regrator’s hands.
The painting was light and sweet, something seemingly without much thought. A nice painting for a relatively desolate office. His desk was devoid of work having finally finished after a week of wrangling with the Qixing after the mix-up that Childe caused.
The lock on his door creaked and dropped to the floor as the handle was forcefully turned and the door opened.
“I’m off right now, come back later… Dottore,” The Regrator glanced to see a figure that did seem like the Doctor.
Doctor had become Dottore, sir had become you, and the Doctor had laughed.
He was not quite sure when and why it changed.
He was dressed poorly for the season, dressed in simply a dress shirt and pants that were tied loosely with a belt. He had once asked him if his senses had dulled to the point of being unable to feel the cold and the Doctor hadn’t answered, sitting underneath a gazebo somewhere in the frozen garden of the Zapolyarny Palace as he drew up some sort of design for another new mechanic. It had taken him around four hundred years to be able to poke fun at the other’s ideas, and even now, he hardly was able to scowl when he recognised something as being impractical.
The mask he was wearing was one that the Regrator had once ordered for him.
“Is my presence unwelcome?” The Doctor asked.
If it had been anyone else, the Regrator was sure that the answer would be yes and the response would be a chair pulled up and tea poured into a cup that was spill from the shaking of hands as they looked down, avoiding the Doctor.
The Regrator had far more guts than them.
“Yes, but you will stay anyway.”
And when he took a seat, his legs were crossed, one on top of the other as he rested his head on one hand.
The Regrator still did not put his glasses on.
“I was speaking to the Captain,” He started, “It seems that we will be once again split up.”
The Doctor enjoyed his missions. It was the only time he could adequately come up with an excuse to leave the ever-so-dull Snezhnaya. A trip to Mondstadt was merely another way around the world, another path he could extend his reach to, a new source of information for him to exploit. And what a plan he had placed then. Even the Regrator upon seeing the wreckage that was the debt that the nation held towards a single man had him despising the Doctor in that moment.
A sharp glance headed towards him, a slight twitch of his mouth as the Doctor, at the time, had sat down to steal the small cakes he had set out for others.
The Doctor had, once noticing his gaze, grinned, sharp teeth pricking his lips, “Complain if you have the strength to do so.”
The Regrator shuddered from where he was seated. His chambers were behind his office, just past a door. It would have been the first time he left the Doctor in his office as he left. Somehow, feeling how the Doctor watched him from his seat, behind his desk, he knew that leaving would not be possible. He widened his eyes and blinked, staring at the blurry ceiling.
“And what are you thinking of now?” The Doctor asked, “Comrade.”
“I am owed something,” He replied easily. He was always owed something, often as much as he owed.
“Well, I must fear for the one who has a debt to be paid.”
“Do you?”
The Regrator asked, he sounded so dull. The Doctor, after all, was in the habit of forgetting and throwing away his debt as though it had little to do with him. He wondered if the Doctor knew that he was his largest investment, having yet to see anything come out of it. Sunk so deep, he hardly wished to imagine the price of the Doctor’s neck if he were to leave it out to be sold.
Even Mondstadt, as poor as it was, would likely be willing to bet its fair share.
“The Balladeer is in Inazuma.”
The Doctor’s voice was suddenly quieter, muter, as though he was speaking of something that others would hear if he had raised his voice any further. The Regrator closed his eyes. It sounded nice, less abrasive.
“Is that-?”
“-How long do you think it will take?”
The Regrator thought. He hardly knew the Balladeer, merely handing him a paycheck whenever he needed it. Hardly a word between them as the Balladeer had found his drivel to be impossible and his anger to be incomprehensible. The Regrator found it amusing to be looked down on by someone whose sole experience with people almost always involved him being cheated in some way.
Condescendingly stupid was how the Balladeer had thought of him, sneered at him.
“Anyone who chooses to work with the Doctor is sure to meet a nasty end.”
“Are you concerned for me, Balladeer?”
“... After the Lady has been exterminated.”
The Doctor clapped slowly as he stood to walk over, sidestepping his desk and a small stack of books to the side. He leaned against the wall, watching him. His glasses were still off. The Doctor was in some blurry mess as his face seemed to be of one colour and the fine details of his clothes were lost to the squiggly lines of poor eyesight. The Regrator wondered what the Doctor saw of him, reclined on a chair, lazily resting his head on the back as he blanked and drifted away from the room he was in.
The Doctor seemed instead to be in thought for a moment.
The Regrator sighed and pulled his glasses back on and he could clearly see the lines of thought on the Doctor’s face.
The Doctor’s smile was too sharp to be pleasant.
“You certainly are cruel, Regrator. Two harbingers missing in one mission? Haha, even I wouldn’t have the will to predict such a fate. Certainly a fine bet… It is no wonder why She left you the ‘heart’ of Snezhnaya.”
Any praise from the Doctor was similar to having been handed a drink so lethally poisoned that one wondered if it was in good will at all.
“... You exaggerate when you want something,” He responded as monotonously as possible, “What are you here for… except to stare at me?”
The Doctor's lips were dry. He must have spent the day in the laboratory without caring for time or date. Though, he supposed, this time he had the decency to change out of his coat before walking over. He was dressed for a night out, though the lack of anything to keep warm suggested that he was merely being decent. Words tumbled out of his mouth and the Doctor’s voice was a low cradle in the evening. It was too late for the Regrator to feel alert, even though he wished for it.
“Is it a crime to do so? You are hardly unpleasant to watch.”
The Regrator sunk into his seat. The moon was still rising.
The last time the Doctor had offered his compliments to him, he had found himself being easily pushed against his desk, face being held too close to the other. The mask was close enough that he saw the red pupils of his comrade. His breath was cold but the hands on his waist were warm. His hands were on his shoulders, shoulders dressed so poorly he wondered how the other didn’t freeze. The thin layer of summer sweaters helped nothing as he felt his ears burn, but in the end, his hand was pressed onto the Doctor’s mouth as he pushed him away. The pinpricks of his teeth tickled his hand, but he hardly made the effort to bite him.
“I’m not interested.”
“Mmpfh.”
Afterwards, the Doctor didn’t come for a week.
But that was the summer where the weather was merely frosty.
Now it was winter, and the bone chilling temperatures had the Regrator’s fingertips cold and blue. He finally turned to the Doctor who was still staring at him.
“If you wish to find someone to sleep with, there is a line of people who are willing and if there is not, there is a line of people you are willing to convince.”
The Doctor laughed, in the same insane manner that he always did so, a high pitched intake of breath that had him seemingly gasping. The uncontrolled giggles eventually stopped, with the Regrator nearly nodding off before the Doctor was too quiet for him to fall asleep. Even silence was its own curse. His legs were bent oddly, he noted, and if he fell asleep in this position then he would wake up sore and disgruntled.
“I’m not here for that.”
“If you aren’t here for that, and you aren’t here for work, then let me retire for the evening.”
“My comrade,” He laughed, “Do you intend to become as cold as Her Majesty…? Haha… I have weaker feelings than what you imagine ahaha… Retire for the evening if you wish. Do not wait for me. I merely find your presence amusing.”
The Doctor was less than a metre away from him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His shirt was too fine of a quality to be wasted in a room that never saw the saw. His shoes were too clean to be the ones that he normally used. His lips were turned up, but the Regrator could hardly tell if he was merely doing it out of reflex or if he was truly grinning. The mask that he wore scarcely prevented the strength of his gaze as he stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared-
-And stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared.
The Regrator took off his glasses.
He laughed again.
It was too light.
The Doctor stood from the wall, suddenly walking over into the other’s space as he looked down, mask still on. The Regrator looked up to see an outline of his face, mask, nose, and mouth becoming apparent, but the fine details of his youthfulness remained absent as his eyes failed to see the creases forming as they faded. The Regrator watched him too warily to be polite anymore, but the Doctor took care to keep his hands off of him, hands resting behind his back.
He felt like a child. And he supposed, in the face of the Doctor’s own age he was a child.
“Today I had the oddest awakening,” He spoke, slowly, “Around three hundred years ago, you had come to my office asking for my audience. I had one of the earlier versions of my segments outside to take in the visitors that would come. He had rebuffed you and sent you elsewhere at the time. Later when I had heard of it…”
The Regrator wished he had lost his hearing. He was staring at the Doctor as well.
“... I had his eyes pulled out and sewn shut. At the time, I wasn’t quite as sure as to why I was so upset by the matter. Ahaha… It had bothered- Hahaha-! It had bothered me for some time, you know? He was bound to the table and I hardly registered myself. I sewed my own eyes shut, his eyes, my eyes-! Then I had his mouth cut and burned, his lips are tied… with a… ahahahaha! A string! Those strings that you had given me-! Four hundred years ago, those strings… Yes, those strings. I kept them.”
The Doctor stilled for a moment.
“I kept them. Something you gave me in the moment, seeing that I was missing the end needed to tie… to tie… something. Yes, it was an arm I believe. You looked so sick at the time haha… It was honestly quite pathetic. But-! I kept it. That string. And I used it to tie his mouth shut, sew his mouth shut… Hah… And I had wondered for some time why I was so upset. Bothered me.”
The tip of the Doctor’s finger pressed his glasses, correcting them.
“Then I saw you tonight,” He frowned, “Always complaining about how cold your room was until I made something to have it warm enough to have you in this… With a coat, tie half-off… Your sleeves are too breezy. Cold… You - You said you were cold… And you were sitting, curled up in your armchair. I thought you were drunk but now that I see, you are quite level headed now. Merely tired. So tired… Hardly five hundred years and you are already so tired.”
The Doctor was silent.
“Merely five hundred years have passed since, Regrator,” His lips pursed for a moment, “Does it feel long? I feel as though it had flown by. I turn and the world is dead to me once again. As it was then, and as it is now. Ah, but time flies, it does… So many things to do… so many things to continue… And you are already tired?”
“Are you worried I will leave you?”
The Doctor scowled.
“Your boldness in words,” He muttered, “Truly incomparable… Ah, I am concerned.”
His hand took the Regrater’s glasses off, hand grazing his cheek.
“That you will fade before it is complete.”
The Regrator watched him impassively as he continued.
“There is nothing in you… You laugh at the Lady… Because of course only soot will laugh at itself in the mirror. It is almost endearing if it weren’t so difficult to handle. How ironic for me to- The shirt… Yes, the shirt, the shirt was quite… it is, was, quite nice. I like the shirt you are wearing… As I like seeing you waste your money on baubles that you argue have value. It is amusing, interesting. It is- Haha… Now that is endearing.”
The Doctor tilted his head to the size, the Regrator’s eyes were wide open, gazing wildly.
Of all the moods the Doctor had, sentimentality was always the worst to see him in.
“Seeing you sit in that oversized chair of yours, it is endearing. But seeing you in it- I understood why then… Why I had torn his eyes out of their sockets. He screamed, you know? So loudly… I sewed his mouth shut afterwards. Tore his vocal cords. He was stuck there, bleeding and sobbing… haha… he tried to cough! Only to find there was nothing in him that could cough! Hahaha-! Then- Then, he slipped off the table and dragged himself away after I left. Hah…! But I did it… BECAUSE YOU WERE ENDEARING-! Hahaha!”
The Doctor’s laugh filled the room as the Regrator stayed silent.
“Hahaha-! Ha! Ah… But sitting here, I feel as though you are missing. Or will become missing.”
The Doctor muttered, his hands now wrapped around the Regrator’s face as he pulled himself closer, back bending enough that even in his blindness, the Regrator could see him clearly.
“You have already thrown yourself away to me. And yet, all I work with is a pile of misery. Haha… I see you and you look as though you intend to drop off the towers of the palace. And even I… for all my skill, would not be able to remedy you if your skull decides to snap and crack along the ground into the snow. Our contract… wherein you are my faithful client does not stipulate your living life.”
The Doctor's hands were warm on his face, a cloud passing the moon made the room dark.
“I want to change our contract,” He said softly, trying to sound reasonable. He always did when he wanted something from the Regrator. He always sounded so logical.
“It is already signed.”
The Regrator always responded with such unfeelingness that he was surprised at his own voice.
The Doctor’s mask revealed nothing about him as his mouth was set into a hard line. The tips of his fingers had calluses from years of working with metal components, ruin guard circuits coming apart in his hands. Years of swinging a sword across his enemies with such force that a ruin guard fell, cut as though it was paper. Such strength was gripped around his face, with the gentleness he used when cutting open his ‘patients’.
He let go and stood, turning around to face the window. The moon was once again shining.
“It is late,” He said, “You should rest for the evening.”
The Regrator stood slowly, slipping his glasses on as his footsteps resounded on the floor. The Doctor was still watching the snow drift across the scenery. It was the winter, and the windows would grow frost in the mornings and at night and during the day. The door to his private room was just behind a curtain, unlocked as he turned the knob. He shuddered, the room was still chilly even with devices laid around the room to stay warm.
The door knob was so cold against his fingers. His coat was still outside on his chair.
The Doctor was standing by the window, but the Regrator couldn’t see him anymore.
-And he only accepted a fair contract.
“There is nothing else for me to offer you except for that… hate.”
The Doctor barked a laugh.
“Then hate me.”
His words trembled in such anger that the Regrator had already shut the door.
“... Better I have you trying to kill me… than have you try something foolish, Regrator.”
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if this doesn't stop the h posts, I'm going to spam my works until it's gone.
and I get feedback.
