(scapino 😍)

"Crevaise! What's wrong?!"

When Scapino made it back to the campsite, soaked to the bone and covered in flecks of ice, back aching horribly, he was met with the sight of Crevaise. The poor boy was bolt upright in his tent, their fingers clutching the fabric of their blanket so tightly that it frayed under their grip. Their breaths were quick and shuddery. Tears threatened to spill from blood-red eyes.

Scapino bent to their level. "Crevaise?"

Crevaise hiccuped, "N-nothing! Nothing at all!" and began frantically wiping at his eyes. He had yet to control his breathing, and he spoke as if he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "It was a-a nightmare...nothing more."

"A nightmare?" Scapino removed his gloves and set them on the floor. "Are you sure?"

Crevaise nodded. The action made their head spin, and he grimaced.

"What was it about?"

Scapino handed them a mug of steaming hot chocolate that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere - it was warm and sweet and melted the ice in Crevaise's veins. Archons, Scapino was good at this. Why couldn't he be good at making other things?

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about. Nightmares are common, and I don't expect them to go away. I think that-"

"Hey, hey, cut it out. You're deflecting again. Talk to me, Crevaise. I don't bite."

Crevaise looked at him askance. Sure, he didn't literally bite, but as the 5th Fatui Harbinger he wasn't exactly an angel sent from above. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I heard you all the way from the foot of the mountain. What kind of nightmare made you scream that loudly?"

"Nothing. I'm serious."

Scapino sighed. "Alright, I won't pry. But if this happens again-"

"It won't happen again."

Awkward silence fell between them. Crevaise buried their head into the blankets. The birds overheard sang their evening tune, and disappeared into the frosty depths of the mountain. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Scapino sighed. A frosty cloud escaped his lips and ascended into the air. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."

"You're not my father," replied Crevaise, their voice muffled. "I don't expect you to be there at my beck and call."

"Ouch, you're snappy today. What's got into you?"

"...sorry. Where were you, anyway?"

"Taking care of some business at the foot of the mountain."

"By any chance was it those treasure hoarders eyeing my bag when we got here?" Instinctively, Crevaise hugged their bag to their chest.

"How did you- wow. I really don't give you enough credit for that noggin' of yours. But yes, I was down there. And I've left them in a bit of a state, unfortunately. I ought to go finish the job."

"I'll accompany you," Crevaise hurriedly wiped the tears from their eyes and got to their feet. "I need to stretch my own legs. Perhaps I can be of assistance."

Only then did it occur to Scapino that he had never seen Crevaise on the battlefield. He had heard of the boy's feats from Krone, who gushed about how skilled he was with the benevolence of a loving mother (Crevaise had that effect on many a person, it seemed, and their feats were more than impressive) but he had never witnessed Crevaise slay their opponents with his own eyes. The idea filled him with a sort of excitement.

(slay 😍)

"Of course," Scapino said. He extended his hand. "Shall we?"

"My dearest apologies for the delay, good fellows."

Scapino - with Crevaise in tow - resumed his earlier position in front of the Treasure Hoarders. To his surprise, they had both remained where they had been before as if eagerly anticipating his return. Once Fern laid eyes on Creavise, who met his greedy eyes with a blank one, his teeth stretched into a grin too wide for his face.

"Is this your kid? God, he's tiny!"

Scapino looked to Crevaise as if for confirmation. The latter shrugged. "You could call him that, yes. And I'll have you know that he's average height."

Arthur, however, remained uncertain. He shifted his weight from either foot and offered Crevaise a smile. When Crevaise returned it, his nerves seemed to skyrocket.

"I believe we had business involving some Mora," said Scapino, reaching into his jacket. "But before that, shall we have a game?"

The shark-toothed grin on Fern's face fell. His eyebrows creased with confusion. "A game? Are you joking? I don't have time for a fucking game!"

"You're free to choose whatever game you'd like to play," replied Scapino. "I have chess, dice, cards, poker, anything you want. Is it not easier to do business this way? This is a new suit, you see, and I'd hate to soil it with unnecessary blood. It's very simple. If you win, Crevaise here will hand over every penny in his bag. If I win, however, you leave us alone."

Crevaise scowled. "What if I don't want to give them my stuff?"

Arthur grabbed Fern's arm. He removed his mask to speak. "Listen to him! It's so much easier to do it this way!"

"What are you- ugh, fine! Gimme the dice! And tell your kid to stop looking at me like that, it's giving me the creeps!"

"The game we'll play is very simple," said Scapino. He held two die in-between slim fingers. "I will toss a die under a cup. You will guess whether it will appear odd or even. Satisfied?"

Fern scratched his stubbly chin. He thought for a moment. "Nah. I'll toss the die. And..., hm, actually, I want your kid to guess the result."

Creavise stiffened. "What if I don't want to? Does my opinion even matter in any of this?"

"If you help me with this," said Scapino, leaning back to pat them on the arm, "I promise we'll have a poke around that Ruin Grader you were staring at earlier."

Crevaise was instantly sold.

"Alright then," he slipped into the seat before Fern, "toss the die."

Fern grinned that shark-toothed grin. "You said it!"

The cup slammed onto the stone table with a resounding bang. The dice rattered around the cup.

"Odd or e-"

"Odd."

Arthur swallowed, indecently loud. He reached up to scrape at the stubble on his chin.

"Are you suuuuuure?" Fern drawled. "Such a shame it would be if you turned out to be wrong... especially with how much is on the-"

"Raise the cup, please."

Fern scowled, but complied and raised the cup.

The dice showed a five.

Scapino mouthed a silent 'wow'. He curled the end of his hair around a finger, flicking his gaze between Crevaise and the die on the table.

Arthur released a shaky breath. His eyebrows rose like two curious caterpillars.

"H-how did you... If you don't mind me asking, of course, how did you know?"

Crevaise sat in veiled silence for a moment. He examined Fern's expression, a mixture of muddled comprehension and increasing fury, and picked up the die. "This is a weighted die. It's rigged to always throw odds, specifically a five." He twisted the die between his fingers to display the opposite side. "I assume that this die has been used so many times that the opposite side has become worn. Since two is opposite to five, it's always going to be face-down."

"Wait," Arthur said, "doesn't that mean that your dad- guardian, or whatever - cheated?"

Fern was on his feet almost instantly after, pointing a gloved finger at Scapino.
"Aha! Precisely! He's a fraud!"

"Scapino didn't cheat," said Crevaise. He crossed the table to stand infront of Fern. "Pardon me."

In one fluid motion, he grabbed the front of Fern's coat, dug a hand into his pocket and withdrew a small die. Fern cried out in shock, and shoved Crevaise roughly away.

"This is the die that Scapino gave you. I watched you swap it out just when lifted the cup, and I assume you swapped it out for the wrong die. It would've been an impressive sleight of hand if you hadn't been so open about it."

"I- you- how DARE you? Accuse ME of cheating- you insolent little twit- utterly absurd- do you know who I AM?"

Crevaise made a show of looking him up and down. He smiled. "A treasure hoarder that has no apparent hobby, prompting him to rob innocent passers-by because his life is so miserable that he fails to derive joy, a sense of accomplishment, or purpose in anything else."

Their words were met with a fist to the nose.

This was not unexpected, and their sword was in their right hand as soon as their hand flew up to their nose. Blood trickled down their fingers.

Fern grabbed Crevaise's cardigan with trembling fingers and pulled them close to his face. "TAKE THAT BACK."

"Take what back?" Crevaise said in a thick voice. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat, warm and thick. "I refuse to take back the truth."

Fern's face went an ugly shade of puce. He raised a fist. "Why, you sharp-mouthed-"

"Ah-ah-ah," cooed Scapino, his voice eerily close to Fern, "not another movement."

Before Fern could turn around to face him, however, the sharpener edge of Scapino's blade pressed against his throat. He tried to swallow but found he could not.

"So first you accuse me of petty cheating, and when faced with the truth you choose to assault my son? Tsk, tsk. I'm disappointed. I thought that Treasure Hoarders had better morale than this. But alas, you're nothing but a bunch of crooks. Do take your hands off of their cardigan, if you will. I wouldn't want you sullying it with your filthy gloves."

Crevaise frowned. Son?

Fern didn't want to risk the movement. He tentatively released his grip on Crevaise's clothing. "A-alright," he raised his hands, "he's down now. Could you-"

"When I release you, you better run straight for the hills, good friend. Archons have mercy on you if I see you here again because I certainly won't. I may not seem it, but I am exceedingly angry."

"Of course!" Fern whimpered, and Crevaise noticed with humour that with every word uttered from his lips, Fern's voice went an octave higher. "I'll make good sure to leave you alone, sir."

"Sir?" Scapino's laugh was hearty. "What's with the sudden formalities, Fern? Have I scared you senseless?"

Slowly, he withdrew his blade from Fern's neck and pressed the flat edge against his shoulder blade. "Go on, get. Three, two, one..."

Fern didn't need telling twice.

Once he was gone, Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry for the trouble. If I had known he would pull a stunt like that..."

"No hard feelings, my friend." Scapino clapped him on the shoulder, the cold edge to him melting away. "But my offer still stands. Run now, and you'll escape my blade."

Arthur ran.

Kayjax ambled into the room. A lady followed him, holding a brown bag in her hands. "Everyone, this is Samira. Samira, this is Adam, Yasmine, and Neutral."

Samira, a tall, dark-skinned woman with deep brown eyes and short red hair, offered everyone a bow. "Good day to you all. I heard from your friend that you had some historical queries." She drummed her fingers on her bag and smiled. "I'll be willing to tell you everything you need to know, for the right price."

Yasmine looked at her askance. "You're not one of those people that ask for pay before you do the work... are you? I can't get behind people like that."

"That depends. Will you still accept my services if I request a cheque beforehand?"

"What's to say you wouldn't just take the cheque and give us misinformation? You'd walk away with pockets lined with gold, and we leave with information that's useless."

"Goodness me, you're full of questions." Samira thought for a moment. "I tend to check my research with other historians from different nations. If any information I give you is incorrect, you're well within your rights to demand a full refund, provided that you cross-reference with at least two other historians first who agree that the work I gave you was false. Does that satisfy you?"

"I suppose that works. Will you reccomend the historians we go to, or are we free to find them ourselves."

"I have many reccomendations, should you require them."

"Ok. I don't have any more questions."

"Very good. My services cost four hundred-thousand Mora, and I will give you the information by Wednesday."

Adam spat out his cold coffee. "Four HUNDRED-THOUSAND? I'm gonna go broke! We're all gonna go broke! I don't have that kind of Mora on me-"

"Here." Yasmine handed Samira a heavy leather pouch. "Six hundred-thousand Mora, but we get the information by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow..." Samira bit her lip. "Alright. Quite a generous offer, Yasmine. Much appreciated."

Samira bowed and left the room. Kayjax closed the door behind her. "Well? That was a good idea, ri-"

Adam gaped at them. "What are you doing with that much Mora on you? What if you got robbed? You'd go broke!"

"That's just pocket change," replied Yasmine, fiddling with the ends of their veil. "I keep all of my savings in the bank. The Mora I gave Samira was part of what I have in my purse. Had she requested anything more than two million, I would've had to dig into my personal savings."

Adam spluttered incoherently. "You're carrying TWO MILLION FREAKING MORA in your BAG? Oh my GOD, Yasmine! You're filthy rich!"

"Um, just out of, well, y'know, curiosity, how much do you have in the bank, Yasmine? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Yasmine shrugged. "I don't mind. Well, it's been a while since I last checked. Last time it was eighty million Mora, so if I've earned seven hundred-thousand Mora every week since then, it's should be, uh..." They took a moment to count their fingers. "One point three billion Mora. I think. Mental maths isn't my forte. But someone," they shot a scornful look at Kayjax, who blew them a kiss, "is stopping me from making anything more."

Adam was lost for words.

"Oh wow, you're really wealthy!" Neutral sounded amazed. "You weren't joking around with how serious your business is to you!"

"I don't joke around." Yasmine clapped their hands as if cleansing dust from them. "So now we have twenty-four hours to kill until we make our next move. What do you suggest we do to pass the time?"

"I have a great idea." Kayjax smiled. Adam looked at him askance.

"Oh no, I know that smile! Don't even think about it, KJ! I had to take medicine last time we played the shotpot game!"

"What's a shotpot game?" Neutral asked.

"You'll find out, won't you?" Kayjax replied, and the smile did not leave his face.